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#with the SHADES PUSHED UP ON IT TOO

thedreadvampy · 2 years

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I got into a 4 hour research hole earlier bc we're planning to experiment with body casting so my partner's Limited Edition Tits can be immortalised before their top surgery. which is a fun project! but anyway I was doing materials research and I feel like I'm being actively bullied by the fact that every time I put a pigment or paint query into Google I somehow keep getting Stuart Semple products as the first results.

some of you may recall that this does not suit me.

but also they must be putting a LOT of work/budget/keyword research into ads bc. I was searching for Actual Brand Name Products or Very Specific Technical Specs and getting Stuart Semple's colourshift pigments. Stuart Semple's metallic coatings. Stuart Semple's black spray paint like GOOGLE I'M LOOKING FOR A CHEAP BASECOAT NOT A £20 MID BLACK MEME PAINT.

#i have beef with blackest black separate from my beef with Stuart Semple and his fanbase #my beef is. we got it to try out a few years ago and i literally have £2 acrylic from the Works with a better finish #like. a stronger more matte more dense black. from the Works. the place you go for budget sign making materials.#i would be less annoyed if it was like a Windsor and Newton or even Daler Rowney paint beating it out #but. the Works own brand paint in 2018 was SUBSTANTIALLY better in every way too #in texture. viscocity. depth of shade. resilience (idk about the newer blacks but the 2018 version flaked easily #and didn't hold thick layers on curved surfaces it has to be built up in 5 or 6 layers to get coverage)#like the neon pigments i liked but the premixed paints leave a lot to be desired and for the viral marketing push he did #the blackest blacks are in fact. mediocre to bad. the only thing to sell them is Taking A Side In The Stale Kapoor Beef #anyway. the fact that Culture Hustle is CARPETING Google ads #despite the fact i do not go on their website ever and am explicitly searching for different products #really does reinforce my uncharitable assessment that Semple's calling is nothing to do with art and everything to do with marketing #red said

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suguann · 2 months

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Possessive!Gojo who makes you wear his jersey when you go to parties at his fraternity after games, openly admiring the way you dwarf inside his clothes. He leans forward on the edge of the bed to get a better look, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes raking over every inch of you from head to toe.

"Toru, it's too big," you pout, checking out your reflection in the floor-length mirror on his closet door. “I look silly.”

The tent growing in his sweats says otherwise—all the blood in his body rushing from one head to the other just from seeing two things that are his coexisting—and he gives you another once-over, thinking of several ways to describe you, silly not being one of them.

"You’re so pretty, baby.” He swears he’s a little drunk from the sight of you, but he means it.

Possessive!Gojo who pushes you up against the door inside the locker room before a game—slightly jealous from the guys looking at you as they filed out into the hall, and equally turned on because he knows they can’t have you—telling you he can't play with a hard-on before he's pressing into you from behind.

He can feel your tummy quivering under his hand where he holds you close, feels how his cock is carving its way inside of you, and you both moan when he presses down lightly. It makes him dizzy how tight and small you are; pulsing, wet, and swollen-soft velvet that gives every time he buries himself into you.

"You gonna hold all of my cum in this cute cunt until after the game, y-yeah?" he sucks the question into your neck. “Don’t worry, I’ll lick it out of you afterward. Just keep it warm for me, ’kay?”

You answer him with a high-pitched whine as you clench down hard around him, cumming with a muffled scream against his palm and nearly pushing him out of your warm, fluttering heat.

Possessive!Gojo makes sure to stuff his cum back into your drooling cunt with two thick fingers, curling them into your front wall to pull another soft orgasm out of you—just a little more, ah, there you go, always so good for me—before he helps you fix your panties to trap it there.

His arms wrap around you before he presses a tender kiss to your temple. “Don’t forget to cheer for me.”

Possessive!Gojo whose smirk from watching you squirm in the stands, melts into a glare when a guy takes the empty seat beside you, sitting almost too close for his liking.

“Stop staring at your girlfriend and hit the fucking puck already,” Sukuna grumbles, leaning against his stick.

Possessive!Gojo who makes sure to fuck you in the backseat of his car afterward with the windows cracked in hopes that the guy from the stands would walk by to you moaning Gojo’s name, and he eats you out just like he promised—bending you over the center console, smiling to himself at how shy and squirmy you get—only to fill you up again.

Possessive!Gojo who pouts whenever Nanami manages to steal your attention with something sciency and nerdy (something entirely up your alley) whenever you come over on weeknights.

“That’s so neat, Nanami,” you smile, hearts practically in your eyes as you listen to him talk about his latest research. “Maybe I can stop by the lab and check it out sometime.”

Possessive!Gojo who doesn’t miss the way Nanami’s ears turn a shade of red from your praise—color high in his cheeks—how he gives a sheepish smile whenever you talk to him.

“Toru,” you say, finally bringing your soft, pretty gaze on him again. “Are you even studying?”

Yeah, he is, but something else entirely, he thinks as he watches how your shorts hug your ass while you walk around the house’s common room—and he’s not the only one staring.

Possessive!Gojo who slaps your thigh, making you jolt in his lap. "Did I tell you to stop, huh, baby?"

You shake your head, biting your lip and avoiding the pair of eyes watching both of you (intently) from across the room—especially you—a quiet observer as you slowly sink onto your boyfriend’s cock while Nanami thrusts his own into his fist.

"Ah, fuck—b-but–"

Your words break off into a choked moan when Gojo thrusts his hips up underneath you, pressed as deep inside as he can get, and when he looks down, he swears he can see the imprint of himself pressing against your stomach.

"Tell me what I said,” he says through gritted teeth as he starts bouncing you, the couch continuing its steady squeaking under your knees.

Possessive!Gojo who can tell that it's hard for you to concentrate with the way his cock moves inside you, and you’re unable to answer with anything other than babbling nonsense. He decides to take mercy on you and stops to grind you in his lap instead.

He kisses your cheek, your neck, anywhere he can get his mouth on. "I said, don't stop until you cum, and you’re going to let Nanami see how fucking pretty you look when you do."

The next sound out of your mouth is a squeal when he holds your inner thighs to keep you open as he thrusts up into you again and again—letting Nanami see what can never be his.

“That’s it, baby,” he growls. “So good for me. Go on, show him how my good girl takes cock.”

Possessive!Gojo who locks eyes with Nanami just as he’s about to cum, burying his groans of pleasure into your neck as white-hot sparks shudder up his spine and heat pools in his gut.

Mine, he tries to say, but Gojo thinks his frat brother gets it when Gojo’s the one cumming inside you and Nanami’s spilling all over his fist.

Masterlist

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami smut #.things i write #sorry if you're seeing this again #i had to repost #anime smut #jjk drabbles #jjk fic

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augustinewrites · 6 months

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“sunflowers or peonies?”

“awe, nanami! i’m flattered—”

“they’re not for you,” nanami says flatly. “you can buy your own.”

shoko squints down at the man lying on her exam table, arm held up and behind his head. “i’m quite literally stitching you back together, you know.”

the blond thinks bitterly on what had landed him in her infirmary in the first place, injured and likely having to reschedule dinner tonight. it’s already well past the time he’d planned on picking you up, and the table he’d reserved at the new restaurant in roppongi has likely been given away.

he’s dreading calling to tell you, his heart already twinging at the idea of letting you down.

shoko stitches him up neatly, cleaning and covering it up with a layer of bandages. she offers him a hand to help him sit up, but he bypasses it to plant his palm against the cot, pushing himself up with a groan.

she rolls her eyes, peeling her gloves off and pulling her mask down, tossing them both into the trash. “clean and dress it at least twice a day. no sudden movements of strenuous activity for at least a week. if you ruin my work, i’ll put you on bedrest.”

she digs through her cabinets as he awkwardly pulls his shirt back on. his mind drifts to you as he does so. he’d lost his phone in the fight, so he hadn’t been able to tell you about cancelling.

he wonders if the pout on your lips is painted your lips that shade of red you’d been wearing when he’d first met you. wonders if you’re waiting wearing the dress he’d gifted you last week.

he’d really wanted to see you in that dress.

nanami sighs heavily as he does up the buttons, prompting shoko to glance over her shoulder at him.

“what’s wrong with you?” she asks, setting a small bottle of painkillers on the tray table next to him.

“i’m missing an important dinner,” he grumbles, wondering if just a bundle sunflowers or peonies from the small stall outside is enough. he should order you a proper bouquet from a shop. perhaps he can also book you a massage or—

a knock at the door interrupts his spiralling.

“oh!” shoko suddenly gasps. she reaches up, brushing a few stray hairs from his forehead and fixing it as best she can.

“what are you doing?” he asks, genuinely confused in this moment.

“you’ll see,” she simply grins, sending him a wink. then, “come in!”

the door to the infirmary opens to reveal…you.

“kento,” you breathe, the quiet click of your heels echoing through the empty room as you quickly walk towards him.

he’s shocked, but lets you carefully wrap your arms around him, cradling his head against your chest.

but before he knows it he’s holding onto you too, breathing in the deep, sweet scent of your perfume and focusing on the steady beat of your heart.

“what are you doing here?” he asks once you finally release him, taking your hands in his.

“shoko called me,” you tell him. “apparently…apparently i’m your emergency contact.”

his face is suddenly hot with embarrassment. he’d honestly forgotten about that. he hadn’t even realized he’d done it when yaga had asked him to update his information with the school. your name had been the first and only name to pop into his mind.

“sorry,” he apologizes quickly, dropping your hands. he jumped the gun, didn’t he? you’ve only been dating for six months… “i should have asked you first but—”

but no one knows me better than you.

a soft sigh slips from your lips as you sit next to him, with a gaze so reverent that it strips him to the bone. “i love you, kento. i will be your emergency contact as long as you want me to be.”

he whispers the words back to you, suddenly shy.

sometimes nanami lets himself slip a little too far into his own head, overthinking and a little insecure. but you’re always there, ready to coax him back into the light.

“you look beautiful,” he murmurs, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. he’s seen you in a lot of dresses, each one making him weak in the knees. but this dress…this one makes it a little hard for him to breathe.

“well, you still owe me a date,” you tell him, helping him up off the cot. “we could go to the ramen place across from my apartment.”

he wraps an arm around your shoulders, and you reach up to intertwine your fingers with his. “i’d go anywhere with you.”

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk x reader #nanami fluff #jjk fluff

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heart-of-the-morningstar · 2 months

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✨His Queen✨

Short drabble I wanted to write because I am unwell for this man…

Lucifer x f!sinner reader

Summary: Your first time with the King of Hell, and he might be even more nervous than you are~

(I don’t even have a set up for this, I’m diving in head first like I would for Lucifer. This is just porn without plot 🤷🏻‍♀️)

Tag list: @trashbin-nie

@yellowsubiesdance

@j-jinxee

@stevensdickrider

@airwolf92

@mrssabinecallas

@myhornybrainonlyknowsthis

@bee-sinner

@thesoccerenthusiast

Warnings: 18+, smut, humping, pet names, oral (m & f receiving), fingering, p in v, service top!Lucifer

All throughout, the only thing that could be heard in Lucifer’s home was the sound of your lips crashing into his relentlessly. Your nightgown draped over his legs while sitting in his lap for at least an hour now, on his throne, no less. You’re breathless, your lips are swollen, and you can’t get enough. You haven’t pulled apart in what seems like an eternity, Lucifer moaning into your mouth as your tongues intertwine. However, you’ve become increasingly more aware of the bugle that’s growing between your legs. Ever so slowly, you start to rock your hips back and forth. Lucifer instantly freezes from the sudden sensation, inhaling sharply.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized sheepishly, “I didn’t mean…”

Lucifer cut you off with another kiss before you could finish your sentence. “Please don’t stop, love,” he whispered.

Blood rushes to your cheeks from hearing those words. You felt Lucifer’s hands travel down the sides of your body, stopping at your hips. You start rocking your hips again, eliciting such sweet moans from him. He was so sensitive and you knew it, you knew you could make him putty in your hands and that excited you!

“F-Fuck, sweetheart…,” Lucifer moaned, “this is…this feels amazing.”

One of his hands slid down your thigh at an agonizingly slow pace and you continued your motions. His hand stopped when he felt the soft cloth of panties. He tried to hide his small smirk from you, but you caught him. You knew the fabric must have been wet, and it’s clear from his reaction that he noticed too.

“May I, my angel?”, Lucifer asked softly. You nodded your head wordlessly. You stood up almost too quickly as Lucifer reached for the hem of your panties. You felt them get dragged further and further down your legs until they finally touched your feet and hit the floor. You resumed your potion, straddling Lucifer once more.

He reached down to press his fingers at your folds for the first time. You felt your face heat up, it was something you’ve been wanting for so long. Lucifer exhaled heavily, his painted cheeks flushing a different shade of red. You could feel his hand trembling against you.

It’s been a while since he’s been intimate with anyone, Lilith had been gone for so long. Lucifer had been so alone during that time, never pursuing another lover. Until you, of course.

Noticing his hesitation, you brought your hands to his cheeks, cupping his face. His shining red eyes stared into yours as you leaned in for another kiss. “It’s alright, Luci, take your time,” you soothed him.

“Thank you, love,” he smiled. After a deep breath, Lucifer finally began to tease your entrance, running his fingers up and down your slit. You grabbed onto his shoulders as if you were hanging on for dear life. His thumb found its way to your clit, circling it slowly. You couldn’t help but let out a moan. His fingers began to push up into you, thrusting them in and out of you at an even pace.

You rested your forehead on the crook of his neck, your cries were stifling and your checks were burning. “O-ohh my God, Lucifer, you fee-feel so good.” Lucifer placed his lips on your neck and began to bite and suck every inch of it. Your knees were becoming weaker and weaker, you felt a tightening in the pit of your stomach with every motion of his fingers.

But suddenly, Lucifer removed his fingers from you, making you whine in protest. You pulled your head up to ask why he stopped, but it became very evident. He brought his fingers to his mouth and began to suck on them. You pushed your face back down into his shoulder to hide your reddened face.

“Mmmm, you taste absolutely delightful, darling, ” he murmured in your ear. “I need more.”

Without warning, Lucifer scooped you up in his arms and carried you to his bedroom right across the hall. You always forgot how strong he was considering his stature, but it never failed to amaze you. Once he reached the side of his bed, he laid you down as gingerly as possible, positioning your head onto his pillow.

“Wait,” you said, pulling yourself upright and positioning yourself on your knees. You reached for Lucifer’s shirt and began to unbutton it hesitantly. Lucifer said nothing, only nodding, letting you continue your work. His face became flushed once more, you couldn’t help but smile at the way you made him feel. Almost prideful. Almost.

You made your way to the last button and gently push his shirt off his shoulders, letting it hit the ground. He was beautiful, his pale skin was mesmerizing like a marble statue. But he was warm, very warm, you noticed as you ran your hand down his chest. “Beautiful…,” you said to no one in particular. But Lucifer had impeccable hearing.

“My love, nothing compares to your beauty,” Lucifer sighed. “I want to devour you. Please, let me see you?”

With some hesitation, you reached down to the bottom of your nightgown to pull it up over your head. Your body now laid bare before him. You went to cover yourself with your arms, but Lucifer held your wrists before you could.

“Don’t cover yourself, darling,” he pleaded, “you’re the most intoxicating creature I’ve even had the pleasure of laying my eyes on.” He leaned into you again and planted a passionate kiss on your lips, you couldn’t help but moan into him. He pulled away, looking longingly into your eyes. But only for a moment. His eyes couldn’t resist trailing down to look at your chest, his face turning beet red.

“My eyes are up here, Luci,” you said jokingly.

“Forgive me, sweetheart,” Lucifer apologized and snapped his head back up to look at you once more. You chuckled and pulled your hands away from his loose grip to grab his instead. You placed each of his hands on your breasts, almost making Lucifer lose his composure. “So soft…,” he murmured as he began to softly knead at your skin. “Lay down on your back for me, love. I only had a small taste of you, I have to have more…”

You gulped hard, doing as he says. You untucked your legs from under you and rested your head against his pillow once more. You stared at the ceiling, too embarrassed to think about what was happening. You felt Lucifer’s sharp hands on both of your knees, snapping you out of your trance and forcing you to focus on him.

“Open up, angel,” Lucifer asked sweetly. Whenever he spoke like that to you, it was impossible to say no. With a shaky breath, you part your legs, exposing your glistening pussy to him. Lucifer’s shaky breathing echoed in his large bedroom. “S-Shit,” he choked out, “forgive me for this.”

Lucifer’s head fell between your legs in an instant, his hands resting on the inside of your thighs. You let out a strangled yelp at his tongue began to lick up and down your wet folds. Fuck! It felt better than you could have imagined. His tongue darted in and out of you, his lips vibrated against you and he moaned and hummed from lapping you up.

“L-Lucifer, f-fuck ohmygod!,” you cried out. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear,” he responded coyly. You could feel a smile creep across his face as he continued to eat you up. Lucifer took one of his hands and placed two of his fingers right by your entrance, it was almost painful waiting for him to put them in you. “I need you to cum for me, I’m not stopping until you do,” he whispered before plunging his two fingers into your ruined cunt once more. That alone almost sent you over the edge. He began to pump his fingers in and out of you, faster and faster, while his tongue tortured your clit. He continued at a relentless pace, never giving you a chance to relax. Your mind was beyond foggy, you couldn’t even tell him to stop even if you wanted to. Which you didn’t.

“Luci…L-Luci I’mgonnacumFUCK,” you nearly yelled. The tightness in your stomach was threatening to snap. You gripped his soft and silky blond hair as he brought you to the very edge.

“Promise?,” Lucifer responded while pushing a third finger inside of you.

That was it, your head snaps back and a breathless scream escapes your lungs. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train. You feel your walls start to pulsate around his fingers which refuse to slow down. Lucifer devours the mess your soaking pussy made while letting you ride out your high. You finally come back down to earth (so to speak) and are able to breathe again, beads of sweat pooling on your forehead. Lucifer retreats his fingers from you and takes one last taste of you from his now cum-soaked fingers.

“Mmmm, fuck sweetheart, never tasted anything more enticing than you in my entire existence,” Lucifer praised. You brought your hands to face to cover up your cherry red cheeks. His words never failed to make your head fuzzy.

“Luciferrrrr,” you whine playfully, “you can’t just say things like that!”

Lucifer chuckled, “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, love.”

You propped up onto your elbows. Lucifer had straightened up and was now on his knees in front of you. Your eyesight trailed downward and it was obvious how hard he was. His cock painfully straining against his pants. He noticed your stare sheepishly looked away.

“Your turn,” you said as you crawled towards him, only stopping an inch away from the large bulge he had in his pants. It lit a fire in you. It was his turn to be devoured.

“Y-You don’t have to do that, hon, I’m alr-”

You cut him off by placing your hand on his clothed cock. Lucifer immediately tensed up. “You’re right, I don’t have to,” you said looking up at him with ravenous eyes, “but I want to.” You heard Lucifer audibly gulp. “On your back, Luci,” you coerced.

Lucifer nodded and did as you said. He made his way to his pillow and laid down, holding his breath. You began your ascent, crawling and hovering over him. He looked so adorable beneath you. Your hands made their way to his belt, pulling it off in a flash with a clank to the floor. The button and zipper were next. Carefully you undid both with ease. You reached for the hem of his white pants and eased them down his legs. All that remained were his briefs. And my God, they left little to the imagination.

It didn’t occur to you until just now that you’ve never seen Lucifer’s dick before. It drove you wild just seeing the outline of it. He was huge. You bit down on your lip without thinking, Lucifer looked away from you in embarrassment. It was then that you noticed the large wet spot on his briefs from his leaking tip. He was an absolute mess, all because of you. A wonderful sight to behold, for sure.

You couldn’t wait any longer. You reached up to pull down his briefs, setting his cock free at last. It was impossible to look away, you knew you had to eat him up immediately. His dick continued to leak precum onto his stomach, Lucifer’s hands gripped the sheets beneath him as he watched you inch closer and closer to his cock. You placed your hands on either side of it, massaging everything around the one area he needed you to touch. He bucked his hips up at your touch impatiently.

“Please,” you heard Lucifer beg, “pleasepleaseplease!” The sounds of his desperate pleas sent waves of pleasure through your body, it drove you mad. Not wanting to torture him any longer, you took ahold of his cock and placed his tip into your hot mouth. You heard a broken moan escape from him as you lapped and sucked on the head, licking up every drop of precum that had leaked out. It was salty, but you didn’t mind. He tasted divine.

You began to bob your head up and down on his shaft, taking in as much of him as you possibly could. You knew you would choke otherwise. Your one hand remained on his hip to keep him from bucking up into your month while the other hand pumped his cock in tandem with your mouth. You figured it might be fruitless to try and hold him down since he could overpower you in an instant, but you knew he wouldn’t ever hurt you.

You saw that he was unraveling quickly, but you didn’t want this to end so soon. His staggered breathing and wanton moans were music to your ears, you’d do anything to keep hearing them. You trailed a long lick up from the base of his shaft to the head were you peppered a few kisses. One of Lucifer’s hands flew to his mouth to keep himself from being any louder than he already was while the other white-knuckled the bed sheets. It was an absolute dream to see the King of Hell be undone by you.

You felt him throbbing in your mouth, you knew he was close. But all of a sudden, two hands flew to your shoulders to push you off. “Wait, wait, wait!,” he pleaded as you let go of him completely.

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?,” you asked ashamed.

“No, no! Of course not,” he reassured you, placing a hand under your chin. “You…fuck, you felt so good, my love. But…”

You didn’t even know what happened until you were on your back now looking up at Lucifer hovered above you. You noticed his eyes had turned a haunting red and yellow, with black slit irises piecing your soul. His horns had burst from his head with torn flesh wrapped around the base of each, adorning his snake-shaped halo with a burning flame below it. His angelic wings sprouted out from his back, enveloping the entire bed in shadow. His tail had popped out as well, whipping back and forth behind him as if he were a predator on the hunt. You were his prey.

“I’m having a really hard time keeping it together, darling,” he spoke quietly, almost ashamed at his lack of control. His more demonic form caught you off guard, but you weren’t afraid. You smiled at him, reassuring that you were alright. He smiled back, showing off his large sharp teeth. It made you shiver. God, you wanted him. And you wanted him now.

“I-I need…shit…c-can I…,” Lucifer fumbled over his words, struggling to form a coherent sentence. You cupped his face in you hands and planted a soft kiss on his lips. You reached one hand up to stroke one of his wings, curiosity getting the better of you. You could have sworn it was the softest thing you’ve ever felt, you were entranced. Lucifer let out a low hum, his wing leaning into your gentle touch.

“Yes, you can, Lucifer,” you murmured into his lips. “Fuck me now, please, I need you…”

His composure broke completely. His lips crashed into yours with a vigorous force. You wrapped your hands around his neck to bring him as close to you as he could possibly get. You felt the head of his cock graze your entrance. You whimpered at the sensation. Lucifer looked at you expectantly, only for you to silently nod your head.

All you felt next was his cock sliding into your pussy until he was fully sheathed inside of you. It took a few seconds to remember how to breathe again. He stretched you out, filling up every inch of you completely. Lucifer couldn’t help but bite down on your shoulder, desperately trying not to cum right then and there. After only a moment or two of getting used to his size, your body started to relax around him.

“Please move, Luci,” you moaned.

Lucifer retracted the grip his teeth he had on your shoulder and placed his forehead onto yours. Ever so slowly, he started to shift his hips, taking his cock out just to pump it back into you at a rhythmic speed. But of course it didn’t take long for him to pick up the pace, his thrusts becoming more and more staggered and uneven.

You could have sworn you were seeing stars. Or perhaps it was the light bouncing off the tears forming in your eyes. It was a pleasure you’ve never felt before. You felt whole. That new knot in your stomach was tightening once again, and was threatening to release with more force than before.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Lucifer whispered, clenching his teeth and screwing his eyes tight. “Gonna cum, love…gonna cum, FUCKFUCKFUCK!”

Quickly you wrapped your legs around his waist, making sure he stayed in place. “M-me too, sshhhiiit,” you managed to choke out. “Cum in me, pleasepleasepleasecuminmeLucifer!”

Those words made him incoherent. He held your hips down as he thrusted into hard and fast. At last, you felt him throbbing inside of you, emptying his load into your waiting cunt. You screamed as that sensation pushed you over the edge as well, your newly painted white walls pulsating on his cock.

Both of you could hardly catch your breath, your orgasms finally fading away. He stayed inside of you for only a minute longer before pulling out. Your body mourned that sensation already. Lucifer fell down next to you in the bed, his demon form receding. You watched as his chest rose and fell at a slow and even pace. He turned towards you and smiled, he tucked some hair behind your ear that had fallen in your face.

“Thank you for that, my angel,” he spoke softly. “You were perfect.”

You couldn’t help but smile. You scooted your body closer to him, nuzzling yourself into his chest. Still so warm. “No,” you said, “thank you, Lucifer. That was heavenly…no pun intended!”

He chuckled. “Funny you say that considering where we are, my little duckling.” He grabbed you by the waist and ever so gently placed your body on top of his. He let his wings spread once more, wrapping them and his arms around you in a soft and tender embrace. “I love you so much, sweetheart.”

You smile and gave Lucifer one last small peck on the lips before your body collapsed from exhaustion. “I love you more, my king.”

~~~~~

I’m not seeing the pearly gates after this one, lads!!

But please let me know what you think of my very first NSFW fic, I was nervous about writing about something I’m not well versed in 😅

I had fun though and that’s what matters!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer smut #my writing

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suncoved · 3 months

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RAFE, SCARY? PFFT ! — RAFE CAMERON

pairing; boyfriend!rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary: you had the most loving, sweet, precious boyfriend in the world. so why were your new found friends so scared of him?

prompt: “you let anything happen to her and i’ll fucking kill you, alright?”

you could barely contain your happiness as you applied your 5th layer of glittery lipgloss on your lips, holding the decorated pink tube in your manicured fingers. you batted your eyelids at the clock hung on rafe's wall.

kiara told you to be there at 8:00 and it was currently 7:30.

but you didn't want to be late, so leaving now was a good plan for you.

you had never met kiara's friends before. you had been best friends with her your whole life, but after she and sarah split, they told you you had to pick a side. and you would never tell sarah that the main reason you picked her was because of her psychotic older brother who was always roaming aimlessly around tannyhill.

sarah was your best friend, and you wouldn't trade her for the world.

but you couldn't help but ponder over what would have happened if you picked kiara, what life you would have had.

you missed her, truly. so when faced with the oppurtity to reconnect with her through your mothers exchanging numbers on one random night at the wreck, you took it.

and before you knew it she was inviting you to come down to the boneyard with some of her friends from the cut, to which you accepted gratefully.

you were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard the bathroom door click open, the steam rolling out from underneath it like a tidal wave. you turned your head softly at the noise, placing the lipgloss applicator quickly back in the tube.

beads of water trickled down his v line, escaping into the beige towel wrapped around his waist into a place you didn't even have the time to imagine. he lifted his hand up to his head, running a hand through his now brown hair that had darkened from getting wet under the stream of water.

"quick rafe we have to go!" you whined, trying to avoid eye contact with the 6'2 tall build distraction in front of you. you shuffled around the room, going into his closet and picking out clothes for him to quickly put on since he insisted — well — demanded, on driving you down to the boneyard.

you shoved the clothes into his hands, his hand making contact with yours momentarily, creating a spark between the two of you. your cheeks flushed as you quickly looked away, turning around and taking a seat at the foot of the bed.

you watched as he made no effort to move, a smirk you know all too well gracing his face. "rafe, i mean it. get changed" you groaned as you pushed your palms into the soft covers of his king sized bed.

"if you wanted to see me naked baby, you could just say that."

your cheeks quickly turned into the darkest shade of pink you could imagine, your hands quickly reached up to your face, covering your eyes as you huffed softly.

he scoffed at your movements, reaching over to spread your fingers apart so you could see through them. "im just joking ma, you've seen it all before." he winked, moving back to see the full sight of him while lifting his bicep up and flexing it in your face.

you jokingly rolled your eyes, falling onto the bed so you were now staring at the ceiling. your fingers found their way to each other, nervously intertwining as you thought.

you heard rafe shuffling around near his closet, his fly ziping up and the clink of his belt being melody to your ears. "what if they don't like me?"

your voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. if rafe wasn't listening he definitely would have missed it. but he always listens.. to you.

"impossible" he stated simply, using a tone that left no room for discussion. he didn't use that tone often, but when he did, you stayed quiet.

you chewed on your bottom lip, knitting your brows together.

you were so lucky to have rafe in your life. he was kind, caring and patient and always knew how to calm your anxiety.

honestly, you were surprised he let you go down to the beach with the pogues in the first place. you tried your best to keep out of that whole kook-pouge turf war as best as possible. to you, it was immature, unnecessary and just pointless. but it had been around on the island since before you could remember.

though, it was safe to say that you and rafe didn't see eye to eye on that topic. he didn't like the pogues, not one bit. and he made that very, very clear.

he knew how much you loved kiara, and how your face lit up when your mother's voice echoed through rafe's car speakers when she called you after seeing kiara's mother.

it took him longer to warm up to the idea that you would be seeing her whole friend group, which consists of just pogues, and most importantly, jj maybank.

there was nothing more rafe hated than jj maybank.

yet, he knew how happy this would make you. and he was willing to do this, for you. only for you.

"ready bubs" rafe announces, smoothing his polo down haphazardly and stuffing his feet into his shoes. he hears you pulling yourself up and off his bed, your socked feet padding over to him and resting your head on his chest.

he smiles and he brings his arms around your body. sighing contently as he places a kiss on your head before resting his chin on you. "they are gonna love you, like everyone loves you. don't think for a second that they won't"

you giggle against him, somehow trying to push yourself further into him, which was impossible.

"no im being serious baby, i have some serious competition." rafe huffed, pulling himself back from you and looking at your face peering up at him.

"shut up" you joke, your cheeks burning as you blushed at his words. he leaned down until his lips met yours, bringing his fingers to your chin and lifting your head up.

you two melted into each other, your sweet strawberry lipgloss coating his lips quickly. he didn't care though, he was kissing you. so nothing else mattered.

you were losing yourself in his touch, not noticing he was slowly pushing you back until your calfs hit the back of his dark oak bed frame and your body eventually fell against the soft fabric of his covers.

he slipped his hand up your lacy white cami, dragging his fingers up and down the soft skin of your stomach. he detached his lips from yours as his cold slender fingers slipped under the wire of your bra, kissing his way down your neck and chest.

you bit your now chapped lips as you looked down the the brunette boy making goosebumps appear over your skin. you threw your head back against his pillow closing your eyes and opening them again as your head lulled to the side.

your eyes fixated to the clock resting on his wall, reading 7:54. your mind ticked for a second before realising where you needed to be in exactly six minutes, gasping rather dramaticlly.

rafe's head snaps up to look at you, his eyes hooded with worry and hunger at the same time. it was only when he followed your eyes to his sleek white clock that he realised what had happened.

he rolled his eyes and he pulled your shirt back over your stomach, leaving one last searing kiss before smoothing the material down.

"rafe we have to go, now. now!" you whisper yelled almost slipping and you tried to put on your shoes while you hobbled out of his bedroom.

"baby, baby." he spoke, hopping up and walking quickly after you. he reached out to your waist holding you stable so you didn't slip over and hurt yourself.

"ok, ok. ill be careful. lets just go!" you gasped, trying to wiggle out of his firm grip. he chuckled as he let go, watching as you speed down the stairs of tannyhill and down to his white jeep parked out the front.

it was a fairly uneventful ride down to the boneyard, rafe's hand resting on your bouncing leg the whole time, slightly soothing the nervous feeling arising in your chest.

"c'mon baby, we're here" he voiced, opening his car door before quickly jumping out and circling the car before he opened yours for you. your eyes drifted down to the beach as rafe helped you out of his rather tall car.

a blonde boy with a backward cap resting on his head sat on a log with two other boys around your age, beers resting in their hands as they talked. your eyes followed along the beach where you saw kiara picking up trash along the shore, smiling brightly to yourself.

rafe intertwined his hand with yours, tightly squeezing it as he narrowed his eyes at the people on the beach. "you don't have to drink yeah? just tell them no, ok?" rafe spoke.

you nodded softly, peering up at him through your lashes to see his face stern and menacing.

you began walking first, dragging rafe softly behind you as your shoes hit the soft sand below you. you kept your eyes glued to your feet the whole way until you heard voices now crystal clear echoing through your ears.

"hey, you made it!" kiara exclaimed, bringing her arms around you as you let go of rafes hand. "hi kie" you murmured into her shoulder, embracing her into a soft hug.

"hey, rafe. what're you doing down these parts?" the blonde boy asked, standing up from his spot on the large log he was sitting down on before. you saw rafe tick his jaw to the side as you pulled away from kiara, his tongue sliding through the front of his teeth.

"just dropping her off maybank, not here to stay" rafe remarked, turning his attention to you as he leaned down and placed a kiss on your cheek, ghosting his hands over your sides as he pulled back from you.

"call me when you need me to pick you up yeah?" rafe said, keeping his eyes on you as you nodded hastily. he smiled sweetly at you, watching as kiara grabbed your hand a pulled you down to the shore, showing you the tiny baby turtles rushing into the water in front of you.

"hey jj" rafe said, turning his head to the boy standing a few feet from him, not daring to come any closer. rafe watched as he nodded cautiously, pursing his lips together as to almost prepare himself for what rafe was about to say.

rafe took a few steps before he reached jj, grabbing the fabric of his shirt and hoisting him up until they were face to face.

“you let anything happen to her and i’ll fucking kill you, alright?"

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks #obx #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks

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itostea · 10 months

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the strongest (gojo x wife! reader)

gojo can't help but feel annoyed that he feels concern for the wife he swears he doesn't care for.

warnings: arranged marriage au, gojo refers to you as his wife, enemies to lovers (?), gojo tells you to lift up your top, slight angst, he's really bad at feelings okay, image from loving yamada-kun at lv999 (part of gojo’s wife series)

The lines of intrigue and fear are often blurred. It explains why we admire fire from afar, careful not to get too close in hopes of not getting burned. It explains why we find peace in parts of the ocean and tense up in deeper parts. It also explains why Gojo Satoru seeks your presence yet pushes you away the moment he finds himself feeling something other than indifference or vexation–it’s never hatred though. The strongest can’t envision himself ever hating his wife and it scares him.

He’s not sure that can be said about you. Gojo wouldn’t be surprised if you grew to hate him after the treatment you put up with.

Your marriage is what you call a “marriage of convenience” and Gojo made sure you remembered that. He wasn’t always so distant with you. Back then, you might’ve considered him a friend but time did its bidding and you two drifted apart, your time together merely a memory. Now fast forward a few years and you were wedded to him, taking up his surname and sleeping in the same house as him–in separate rooms of course.

Your steps on the wooden floors were silent as you intended not to make a single noise at such a late hour. You sighed, feeling the weight of your heavy shoulders drag you down.

Gojo might be considered cruel to you but the elders were on a different level. They knew this mission would be too much for you yet they sent you on it as punishment for speaking your mind the last time everyone gathered.

At that time, your husband had an unfamiliar gleam in your eyes as you voiced your thoughts on the matter of Itadori. He’s a nice kid, you thought when you first saw the pink-haired boy.

Taking away his youth wouldn’t be fair. After all, he didn’t choose to have the Ryomen Sukuna use him as a vessel. Yet, sentiment doesn’t do well with the higher ups and they made sure you knew your place with the mission they sent you on.

You inhaled sharply, wincing as you felt the bruise on your rib with your palm. There was blood soaking your tights, little cuts littering your legs. You’re so tired you can’t find it in yourself to even eat. Then again, you needed to be in your best condition tomorrow since another mission was sent out of you and specifically you. Those in power always make sure it’s clear that they are in power. Your voice of opinion meant nothing to their beliefs in tradition or what you liked to call, “backward thinking.” That’s one thing you and your husband could agree on.

“Ow,” you wince for the nth time as you open the fridge, scanning the items. Mochi. Ice-cream. Leftover cake. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser to go grocery shopping a day prior so you could have a proper meal. This was the kind of stuff Gojo could live on but you couldn’t. Closing the fridge, you opt for instant ramen instead. Not the best choice in regards to healthiness but cracking an egg in there meant more protein and it also minimized the spice levels.

You’re halfway in between preparing the noodles when you feel a presence right beside you and soft breathing besides your ears. “You’re home,” your ‘husband’ mumbles, his eyes half-lidded from just having woken up.

“God! Satoru!” You gasp, flinching away from and only realizing how close he was. For someone who claimed he wasn’t interested in you, he didn’t know what personal space was. “How did you know I was home?”

“Your cursed energy leaked in,” he shrugs his shoulders, peering down at you without the constraints of his blindfold or shades. You gulp as his eyes flit up and down your appearance, causing your insides to tense up in a sudden wave of self-consciousness. Being scrutinized by the six-eyes himself wasn’t much fun and you’re suddenly aware of the fact that your hair is disheveled and your face is sweaty from just having come home from a grueling mission.

You don’t even notice the glint of rage that crosses his hues before he masks it. “Who did this to you?”

“Huh?” You blink, coming to your senses that your body was bloodied up and battered from having fought a curse. “Oh it was just a mission. It’s normal to be hurt on missions.”

Gojo’s been living with you for nearly half a year now and he knows you’re more than competent when it comes to shaman duties (not that he’d ever tell you). He knows you return home by 7 p.m.., and never at hours well past midnight. He knows that you usually only get injuries on your back because you get careless at times. But now, he sees cuts everywhere and he’s not sure if you’re running on adrenaline or if you’re too tired to notice.

His eyes glance at the way you press a palm on your rib, subconsciously squeezing the area as if hiding it from him. “Let me see.”

Your surprise is immediate and he would’ve felt a strange fluttering in his stomach if not for this concern he was experiencing for you. You smile. “See what?”

“Your injury. Let me see it,” he says again, pressing on the hand you hold close to your ribs, narrowing his eyes as you hiss in pain. “Don’t be stubborn (Name).”

His voice is different from the cheery one he often uses and you’re left leaning further into the kitchen counter, acutely aware of the fact that his taller frame wasn’t allowing you to escape. His eyes widen the slightest once he gets a glimpse of your flustered expression as you peer up at him and he only realizes what he was asking from you. Part of him tells him to ignore this and pretend his concern for you was brief. Yet, part of him screams at him that he was your husband, so he should feel the right to be worried–even if he was months late.

He sighs, tilting his head. “I’m just going to look. I promise I won’t do anything else,” his voice is oddly tender as he speaks to you, a contrast to the usual nonchalance you’re used to.

You gulp and let out a shaky sigh, giving in when your fingers reach to pull your top up for him to see the bare skin that you can’t even say is spotless or void of marks. Multiple wounds litter your skin–some faded, some new. You’re scared his gaze would show some signs of judgment or disgust but you’re left bemused when you see how his eyebrows furrow and his lips purse. For a second, you allow yourself to be deluded by the fact that he might be worried but you quickly abandon that thought, averting your eyes from him.

You can see how he pieces everything together. From the way you rebelled against the elders and how they saw it as a means to punish you. He does it so quickly that you can only blink when his blank expression morphs into something different. You almost feel relieved from the fact that his expression of pure anger wasn’t directed at you and rather those who sent you on the mission.

It’s almost natural how he slides the top further up, mapping the extent of the bruise with his eyes. His hands are warm and calloused. They’re also gentle, tracing the bruise carefully to not hurt you. “I’ll kill those old bastards,” he chuckles with a sneer. “They have some nerve letting my wife take this mission without me.”

You frown as you see his anger first-hand. “Satoru–”

“Why didn’t you go to Shoko?” He interrupts, gently holding on your waist to prop you on the counter while he stands in between your legs. He watches you intently, in search of answers.

You feel somewhat embarrassed as his hand still lifts your top up to see the bare skin but don’t comment on it. “I didn’t want to bother her so late at night…”

For the first time since today, you see him flash a genuine smile, as if exasperated by your reasoning. “But you’re fine with bothering me?”

“That’s different!” You say, a pout slowly forming on your lips and he can’t help but feel drawn to you even if he doesn’t want to.

He laughs as you pull your top down with a huff, finding it cute that you were so bashful. “Because I’m your husband?”

You go silent and for a second, Gojo thinks he’s messed up for mentioning that. Despite being your husband, he’s not the greatest at doing his job. He’s not callous or spiteful towards you, instead taking on more of a cold and aloof attitude towards you. Even so, he thinks that hurts just as much as a few insults.

He’s about to pull back but your voice draws him back to you. “Yeah. It’s because you’re my husband.”

Gojo can’t stop himself from glancing at your lips at that single statement. He was today years old when he realized he was a man of simple tastes. All you had to do was tell him that he was your husband and he’d want to kiss you until your lips turned red. He considers himself lucky that you didn’t see that slip-up of his–though he wouldn’t have minded if you did.

He breathes out a sigh, propping his chin atop your head while his fingers draw circles around your hips. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

It’s a vow he swears to keep.

“I know,” you whisper quietly enough for him to hear. “You’re the strongest after all.”

He thinks it’s funny that even as the strongest, he feels weak when he feels your fingers play with his sleeves. No words are said after that and a comfortable silence drifts between you two. It’s like the barrier between the two of you is cracking once you feel his lips press gently against your forehead and you think it's his way of sealing the promise.

Gojo Satoru thinks–or rather he knows that he wouldn’t mind living the rest of his life with you. And he knows that he should fix his behavior around you and stop running away. That way, instead of a kiss to the forehead, he can finally give you one on your lips.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #arranged marriage #i'm in my jjk phase bye

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swiftispunk · 6 months

Text

creep it real! | joel miller x f!reader

summary: a masked angel. a rugged cowboy. you're the answer to joel's prayers...until he realizes who you are.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader rating: 18+ minors dni word count: 9.8k warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] smut, age gap (20s/50s), dbf!joel comes with his own warning, a bad case of hidden identity leading to what one could maybe call dubcon*, semi-public sex, just a smidgen of degradation (joel calls reader a slut), hints of mean!joel, brief daddy kink, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (we're living in a make believe world in this one, folks), mirror sex, creampie, use of a gag, one (1) pussy slap, spit in places it doesn't need to be, reader has hair and wears make up, hair pulling, spanking, dirty talk, pet names, alcohol, reader's family celebrates halloween, allusions to past parental trauma. no use of y/n. *reader deceives joel by concealing her identity up to the point of kissing. consent is knowingly given for everything thereafter.

a/n: for mimi @mrsquill, who gave me this idea and for being the biggest dbf!joel whore i know. happy belated birthday, angel. also thank you to @joelscruff for accidentally beta'ing this.

my kofi | updates blog: @swiftispunkupdates

It's cooler than it should be.

The end of October has brought with it a chill you don't recall from your years growing up in Texas. Or maybe it's just been too long since you've been home.

You stare yourself down the mirror of your vanity. The light blue wood of it is faded with time, sticky drawers barren save for the remnants of memories from days gone by; letters from now-dead grandparents, Polaroids with now-lost friends, empty tubes of now-out-of-fashion lipstick shades.

Everything around your reflection is the same as it was when you'd left this place five years ago, a frame of youthful innocence. The person staring back at you, however, is anything but innocent, even if she is donning the wings of an angel.

No. Surrounded by the leftovers from your childhood, the angel in the mirror is all woman.

And she looks good.

A white, boned corset hugs the curves of your upper body, pushing your tits up high on your chest and accentuating the slopes of your waist. The strapless sweetheart neckline shows off your collarbones deliciously, the long line of your neck accented by a thin, white choker. A flowing satin skirt fans out over your hips, cutting off at the midpoint of your thigh, just a hint of skin showing between the hem and the lace edge of your white thigh-high stockings.

You adjust the ribbony straps that hold the feathered, white wings in place over your shoulders, fan your hair out and tousle it slightly, testing out your very best smile before letting it fall, satisfied.

You debate whether or not to even wear the stupid mask. Gaudy and ornate, you have to admit it matches the rest of your costume beautifully, with silver gems glued to one side and a sheer, white veil that you know will conceal most of your face. Perfect for the masquerade bar crawl your high school friends are dragging you to later this evening. A bit much for your father's annual Halloween Bash you feel obligated to attend first.

Resignedly, you slip it on - practice that smile again. It's the only part of your face still visible.

Just one piece remains, sitting on the vanity, white and dainty and looking up at you somewhat menacingly. You slip the garter over your leg and wedge it high up on your thigh, concealed under the flouncy fabric of your skirt like a secret.

You take one last look at the obnoxious cleavage spilling out over the edge of the corset and decide, at least for now, to opt for modesty. You carefully remove your wings and follow the scent of naphthalene to your closet, fish out an old cardigan and throw it over your exposed shoulders. A relic from another life, it's a few sizes too small, fuzzy and a shade of ivory that doesn't quite match the perfect white of the skirt. The sleeves hit just below your elbows and the fabric clings a little too tightly to your form but it's better than the alternative.

Pearlescent buttons line its front, and you seal them right to the top, so only a hairsbreadth of flesh is poking out below the silver cross at the centre of the choker.

Better.

You slip your wings back over your arms, smooth out the straps and finally leave the woman in the mirror behind.

Creep it real!

The words line the banner that hangs above your father's front door, just one of many cheesy puns and hokey decorations that litter the main floor of his home.

It's too fucking much. It's always too fucking much. Your dad's favourite holiday for as long as you can remember, Halloween is always a bit of a production.

You help string cotton cobwebs from the ceilings and stick cartoonish bats to the wood-panelled walls. Your mother, dressed as the perfect Bride of Frankenstein, makes punch and fills bowls with chips and candy while your father, dressed as her perfect monster, puts the finishing touches on the lawn display, all gravestones and skeletons and intricately carved jack-o-lanterns. You watch him through the front window with a dubious smile as he gets the smoke machine going. Easily his most prized possession, it had been a lucky find at a yard sale from a neighbour who'd once worked in set direction.

It's funny how, after all these years, your parents haven't changed a bit. It's also funny how seemingly easy it is for them to pretend you hadn't left on bad terms.

"Thanks for helping out, kiddo," your dad's saying as he makes his way back inside, snatching a black plastic spider from your hand and reaching up over your head to the corner of the window pane, lodging it into place in a tangle of cotton. "Nice to have you home."

You give him your best smile, that one you'd practiced so much it probably looks as phony as it feels.

"It's nice to be back," you tell him even though it's a lie. "Thanks for putting me up."

He frowns. "We're not putting you up; this is your home."

It's a nice sentiment but it's not really true. This hasn't been your home in years and you've been more than content to keep it that way. Even now, you've got no plans to stay beyond this weekend, already bored and tired of the life you'd left behind.

"I know it is, Dad, sorry," you amend for his benefit.

"You're a good sport stickin' around for the party, too," he adds.

"Sure," you shrug, although you're selfishly much more interested in getting to the bar and finding someone who will hopefully make it so you don't have to spend the night at your parent's house.

"I think some folks'll be surprised to see you," he goes on. "Dropped in so last minute, I didn't get the chance to tell anyone you'd be home."

Yeah - you know. It had been a somewhat intentional move on your part, knowing all too well how your parents would make a thing out of your return. Plus, you hadn't really planned to be here, either; the timing had just worked out as you'd happened to be passing through the Austin for work. It had felt almost wrong not to stop in for a few days. Try to put appearances and make nice.

"It's fine, I probably won't hang out too long anyway." Best not to get his hopes up.

He grins warmly, tells you to stay as long as you want, and then your conversation is abruptly cut off by your mother blasting 'Monster Mash' through the living room speakers.

Twilight fades into dusk fades into night and the party is in full swing.

The sound of music and a cacophony of voices fills the air, clinking beer bottles and thrumming bass echoing loudly in your ears where you stand against a wall, mostly keeping to yourself unless otherwise spoken to. The living room is dimly lit by a superfluous display of electronic tea lights, casting an orange glow over the crowd of faces that you assume would be familiar if they weren't obscured by smatterings of fake blood, glitter and silicone.

One figure stands out among the throng though, perhaps because he doesn't seem to have put much effort into his costume at all. The dark plaid that stretches across the expanse of his back unleashes a flood of memories (or more accurately, a distant collage of schoolgirl fantasies). You recognize him beyond a doubt, even before he turns to the side and reveals that unmistakable hooked nose and strong jaw, patchy facial hair that's a little greyer now than it was when you used to daydream about how it would feel brushing against your cheek.

Joel Miller.

Your father's oldest friend from down the road, he's broader than you remember him, thicker in the arms and midsection, the latter especially noticeable in the way his belly strains over the waistband of his jeans, confined by plaid tucked into well-worn denim, all accented by an ostentatious belt buckle. His face is partially cast in shadow by the off-white cowboy hat he's wearing, the ensemble capped off by a faded red bandana tied clumsily around his wide neck.

And fuck, if it doesn't suit him. There's something almost natural about the way he tips his hat at passing partygoers, the way he leans against the wall opposite you and hooks a thumb over the massive belt buckle, the engraved metal shining faintly in the low light. Gripping the neck of a beer bottle with his other hand, he's a man plucked straight from a Marlboro ad, even more beautiful now than the last time you saw him - years ago now.

Your heart nearly stops when his eyes suddenly flit upwards and catch yours across the room. He smirks, a lop-sided, curious thing and it's only then you realize you're fucking staring.

You avert your eyes, scan the crowd without seeing anything, only to land your gaze on him again. He hasn't looked away. You stiffen where you stand, hold his stare for a second too long. You swallow harshly and his smile widens.

Christ, you need a drink. Your heart's pounding as if there's anything more to that smile than an old family friend politely recognizing his best friend's daughter.

But then his eyes rake over your front, not-so-subtly fixating on the skin above your stockings. He tilts his head to the side, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think he were assessing you. Even from here, under the low glow of synthetic candlelight, you see a muscle in his jaw click, plush lips pursing as his dark eyes trail back up your chest, landing on your masked face before he brings his beer bottle back up to his mouth and takes a long pull. His eyes don't leave your face.

Okay, maybe you're not imagining it. Sweet, reserved, respectful Joel (a single dad if your memory serves) is definitely eye-fucking you from across the room right now. In your father's home. Like he doesn't care at all that he once knew you as a child.

You resist the urge to pinch yourself.

Instead, you decide to test the waters. Bite your lip and flit your gaze to his mouth, watch him as you turn towards the kitchen and catch the moment he decides to follow.

Not imagining it.

It's lighter in the kitchen, the sound of the party dulled but not entirely silenced beyond the wall. Safer, private.

You feign nonchalance, crouching to retrieve a beer from the fridge, blissfully aware that the boots you hear against the linoleum a moment later belong to Joel without needing to look up and see for yourself.

Sure enough -

"S'a nice costume," a gruff says from behind you. You jolt upright, beer in hand, to face the source of the sound. And there's the Marlboro man in all his glory, standing in the doorway of the kitchen with a playful glint in his eye and a devilish smile plastered to his face.

You grin, cheeks warming at the way he looks you over in the light of the kitchen, so much brighter here than in the living room, staring at your chest as though he could see right through the thin fabric of your cardigan.

You work to play it cool, even as your skin burns under the weight of his stare.

"You think?"

You twist to the side, giving him a better view of the entire ensemble, wings and all. You figure there's no need for subtly at this point; wrong or right, the way he's looking at you now tells you he hasn't just followed you into the kitchen for a quick hello.

"Yeah, I do," he says, inching further into the room. "Go on, let me see all of it."

Jesus. Joel's apparently given up on subtly too. You suppose it could be interpreted as harmless. But then you spin for him, all the way around so the soft fabric of your skirt flutters around your thighs. You come to a stop facing him, watch his smile fade to something darker when you daringly lift the hem of your skirt to reveal the garter with a smirk.

And if there was going to be a moment for him to decide that you'd taken things too far, that would be it. But he doesn't. Instead, he stalks even closer, eyes fixed on the edge of your skirt, almost entranced in the way he shakes his head.

"So fuckin' sexy," he marvels quietly.

"Oh my god."

The words escape you almost like a laugh because there's just no fucking way. Every fantasy you've ever had is being brought to life before your eyes. A moment imagined in a thousand different ways. Joel Miller finally seeing you as an object of desire. Joel Miller undeniably wanting you.

He instantly flushes at your reaction, setting his empty beer bottle down on the counter and removing his hat to run a nervous hand through his hair. And it's the first sign you see of the Joel you think you know - polite, charming. Disarmingly good-mannered.

"Sorry, comin' on a bit strong, I guess," he chuckles. He holds his hat to his chest and reaches his other hand between your bodies. You stare at it in confusion. "I'm Joel. What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Oh."

Another involuntary reaction, whispered and soft as realization smooths across your features.

No wonder he's being so callous with his advances; Joel doesn't know who you fucking are.

Faced with a dilemma, you very quickly work through your options. You know what you should do, what the morally right decision is. You should be honest, tell him your name, remove your mask. Watch him grapple with embarrassment and politely leave you to it. You can't imagine he'd carry on with you if he had any idea you were his friend's daughter.

But then again...he already wants you. Right? And you wholeheartedly want him. So what if he doesn't know who you are? Maybe part of you likes it that way. You're not the same person you were the last time he saw you anyway.

You will tell him the truth, you decide. Just...not yet.

You take his hand in yours and shake.

"Tonight, cowboy, you can just call me Angel."

Joel grins, cocks his eyebrows and chuckles. "Oh yeah?"

You don't get a chance to respond because then he's bringing your hand up to his lips to press a soft kiss against your knuckles and the words die on your tongue, your mind temporarily going blank at the feeling of his scruff scratching at the back of your hand and his dark gaze peering up at you from under his lashes.

"Alright, then Angel."

No. You're definitely not telling him the truth yet.

He lets your hand fall and puts his hat back on before leaning an elbow casually against the kitchen counter. The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up, revealing thick forearms and tan skin. Unconsciously, you gravitate closer.

"S'quite the party, huh?" he grins, cocking his chin in the direction of the music and orange light emanating from just around the corner.

You shrug. "It's fine. I'm not staying long. Going out to a club soon."

You don't miss the way his smiles falters just the slightest bit.

"You live in the neighbourhood?" he asks. "Don't think I've seen ya around before."

"Haven't you?"

"Woulda remembered, I reckon."

You have to bite back a laugh at that.

"Well, I used to live around here, but I moved away a few years back," you shrug. It's technically not a lie.

"But you're back in town," he says. States it. Not a question.

"For now."

Joel smirks, drags his eyes over you again, contemplative. Still, no sign of recognition passes over his features, only unbridled interest that makes your cheeks burn and your mouth water.

"What made you leave?" he wonders after a moment of charged silence, his wandering gaze finally landing on the one part of your face he can see.

Now there's a loaded question. Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead as you consider how best to answer him, attempting to bide yourself some time as you ease your body closer to his with a pointed sway of your hips.

"You know, I don't really like to think about the past," you land on and right now it couldn't be more true.

Joel chuckles, brows knitting together somewhat dubiously at the response. Thankfully, he doesn't push it.

"What are you drinkin', Angel?" he asks, his eyes darting down to the beer bottle in your hand.

"Oh - beer," you tell him. "You want one?"

"Won't say no to ya," he smiles.

You turn back to the fridge, bending at the hip rather than crouching this time, fully aware of the view you're offering him. If he reacts, you don't hear it, but when you face him again, beer in hand, his arms are crossed over his chest and his cheeks are painted a faint shade of pink.

Good.

You extend one of the bottles out to him, eyes fixed on the way his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt. His fingers ghost against yours when he takes the bottle from your hand and it shoots an electric tingle down your spine.

"Bottle opener's in there," you tell him, nodding towards the drawer he's currently leaning against. He follows your gaze and seems to consider moving for a moment. Then he grins.

"I got it," he says, placing his own bottle on the counter. Your brows furrow and then your jaw drops as Joel then begins to fiddle with his belt buckle, undoing the notches so it hangs loose around his waist.

Your pulse quickens and you nervously look over your shoulder, suddenly terrified of someone walking in on you.

"S'alright," Joel assures you, redrawing your attention. When you turn back to him you he's holding a hand out to you. "Let me see."

He nods towards the bottle and you silently hand it to him, entranced. Then you watch as he deftly hooks the edge of the silver buckle under the lip of the bottle cap. He flicks his wrist upwards and with a sizzling pop, the cap goes flying, landing with a quiet clang onto the tiled floor.

"Wow," you murmur, genuinely impressed and suddenly unable to tear your eyes away from his fucking crotch.

Joel seems to notice the response, taking you by surprise as he places the bottle on the counter and wraps his fingers around your wrist, gently pulling you into him. Your bodies don't touch but you can feel the heat radiating off him from here, the static buzz that fills the remaining space between you.

"Old party trick," he jokes, voice low.

You find yourself peering towards the kitchen door again. Joel notices that too.

"Hey," he murmurs, catching a finger on your chin to turn your face back in his direction. You swallow against the nerves suddenly bubbling up in your throat.

"S'this alright?" he asks as he traces his fingers up your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You nod.

"Yeah," you decide, throwing caution to the wind and pressing your hips forward till you feel the hard metal of his loosened belt buckle jutting into your stomach.

He hums, a sound deep in his chest, and it's all you can do just to stand there as he curiously runs his fingers over your shoulder, smirking as he fiddles with the feathers of your wings and inspects the costume up close, dark brown eyes scaling hungrily up and down your body. His hand moves downward then, over the fabric of your cardigan, thinly veiling the bones of the corset beneath and you wonder if he can feel them, if he knows what you're hiding when he rests his palm against your waist and pulls you in just that little bit closer.

His gaze lands on your parted lips and there's a moment of heated anticipation where you're certain he's going to kiss you, the smell of him so close and inviting.

"No halo?" he whispers instead, cocking his eyebrows and lifting his gaze to the top of your head. "Shouldn't a good little angel have a halo?"

Oh, fuck.

"Well, maybe I'm not such a good little angel," you purr, only the hint of a shake in your voice as you widen your eyes and bat your lashes for good measure. You swear you hear his breath stutter before he's shaking his head in near-disbelief. You smirk; it's exactly the reaction you'd been hoping for.

"Anyway, the halo felt like overkill," you shrug.

Joel scoffs, glancing down to grab at the fabric of your skirt. Your brain short-circuits as he hikes it up your leg, revealing the white lace garter sat high on your thigh.

"And this?" he questions darkly. "You're tellin' me this ain't overkill?"

You laugh even though it's not funny, even though arousal is steadily pooling at your core and coursing through your burning veins.

"Well, at least I put some effort in," you attempt to tease him lightly, answering the unrelenting grip he has on your skirt with a tug at the fabric of his shirt, fisting the plaid at his sides and trying not to think too hard about the fact that it's first time you've ever touched Joel Miller like this. That you're only here because of a shameful lie. "Bet you just had all this lying around the house, right, cowboy?"

Joel's lips twitch and he watches in wonder as you reach up and grab the cowboy hat off his head, planting it atop yours with a wink. Joel snakes a hand behind you to tip the rim back, showing him more of your masked face as you stare up at him expectantly.

"Now that's pretty," he marvels softly and then he's entwining a hand around the back of your neck and leaning in closer and there's no mistaking it now; he's going to kiss you and you want so badly to kiss him back but -

"Not here," you stop him with a firm hand on his chest. You don't know what the fuck you're doing, but it can't happen in your parent's kitchen. You give him his hat back and he groans as he yanks you in closer when you try to pull back.

"What exactly are we doin', honey?"

"Just come with me?" you suggest breathlessly, untangling yourself from his grasp and grabbing him by the hand. He doesn't argue, just nods and lets you lead him out of the kitchen. You cautiously watch your back, make sure no one sees you dragging Joel Miller up the carpeted stairs and into the concealed darkness of a second-floor hallway.

There's a beat as you size each other up, eyes adjusting to the lack of light. Then Joel is crowding you against the wall, his gaze flitting over your masked face curiously.

You know in that moment the question he's asking. And you know in that moment what your answer should be. Take off the mask. Tell him the truth. Watch him walk away.

But instead, you hook your fingers into his belt loops and tug him into your body, crane your neck upwards and whisper, "Kiss me," praying to the heavens above you'll be forgiven for this.

You'll tell him. You'll tell him.

But right now you just want to kiss him.

Joel exhales sharply, hums a quiet assertion and then he's crashing his mouth into yours. Your head hits the glass of a framed photo behind you, a sting quickly remedied by the feel of his lips moving on yours, his hands cupping the sides of your face with a tenderness you wouldn't have expected.

His kiss is far from tender though, and for that, you're grateful. It's rushed and breathy, toothsome when his tongue invades the space between your lips. He tastes like beer and mint, and the masculine scent of his skin takes up the air around you as his broad frame encages you against the drywall. Your mind goes blank with the headiness of it, the coarse drag of his moustache along your skin soothed by the plush softness of his lips. Dreams of how that aquiline nose would feel bumping into yours, material at last.

His hands move lower then, traversing the line of your body, making you moan into his mouth while his touch ignites a fire inside you. You don't think, just impatiently begin to unbutton the pearly confines of your cardigan to reveal the corset beneath.

Joel breaks the kiss to glance down at your exposed chest and groan, his upper lip curling at the sight. His hands hover over the scratchy fabric, fingers twitching with another endearing flash of uncertainty. You stamp it out with an overly-confident graze of your palm over the bulge in his jeans, grinning when it makes his breath hitch, when you realize with a sick sense of triumph that Joel Miller is hard for you.

"Shit," he curses softly as he watches your hand work over him and you feel his cock come alive under your touch.

"Touch me, Joel," you quietly plead when his eyes finally find yours again.

He shakes his head.

"Wanna see you," he insists breathlessly, reaching up to toy with the edges of your mask.

You let your hand fall from his cock to swat his fingers away. Joel frowns.

"Where's the fun in that?" you ask innocently.

"Well," Joel hums, ducking forward to press his lips into the space below your ear. "I usually like knowin' who it is I'm about to ruin."

An involuntary shiver courses through you and when you speak, it's with a shake.

"You want to ruin me?"

His low chuckle echoes into the hollow of your ear while his teeth graze gently over the lobe. "Ain't that what you want, Angel?"

Oh, god. Fuck it then. It's now or never.

In a flash of movement, you tear the mask off your face and quickly clutch at Joel's curls, pulling him back into a bruising kiss before he can properly take you in. You take charge as best you can, languidly licking into his mouth and pressing your hips forward till they collide with his. Joel's response is swift, his arms wrapping around you and holding you prisoner against his body while his tongue begins to dance messily with yours.

And fuck, it's perfect. Your hips grinding against his is an almost unconscious thing, pure hunger taking over every other emotion until you feel it.

The way his body goes rigid and his lips still on yours.

Then the sudden, quiet grunt of protest against your mouth that has your eyes flashing open in response. It takes your brain a second to catch up, to notice that he's not looking at you but rather something right behind you.

Only then he does look at you and at last you see it click.

"Fuck - wait," Joel gasps, prying your mouths apart and pushing himself off you with two firm hands on your shoulders. Pathetically, your lips chase after his.

"Joel - " you whine, attempting to yank him back, clutching at the fabric of his shirt. But those firm hands encircle your wrists and tear you away, forcing space between your bodies.

"You..." Joel shakes his head, glancing between you and whatever he's seeing behind you, his expression some mixture of shock and outrage. You peer over your shoulder and finally understand; your high school graduation photo is tacked on the wall beside your head, the beatific smile of a younger, more-optimistic you staring you both down in the quiet darkness of the hallway.

You sigh exasperatedly. "Joel, it's okay. It's fine."

"It ain't - " Joel scoffs lightly and drops your wrists, steps back out of reach. A painful knot of rejection curls in your stomach, made worse by the burning heat of guilt over your stupid, stupid lie. "It ain't fine."

"Joel, please, you wanted me just a second ago," you whisper and you hate that it sounds so broken, so needy. Your words seem to affect him though, his features softening into something almost pained. "Please, I-I'm not some little girl anymore."

His jaw tightens, conflict etching the weathered lines of his face. "I don't think that's how your old man would see it."

"You think I give a fuck what he thinks?" you demand, stepping forward. He doesn't touch you, but he doesn't move either. You sigh.

"You asked why I left town."

Joel frowns. "Yeah?"

"It's because of him, Joel. Both of them," you nod in the general direction of the stairs, to the place where music is thrumming and your parents are obliviously mingling. "I mean, we - we hardly even speak. You have no idea what they put me through."

Joel's eyes stay fixed on the stairs, to the light of the party shining up from below. You see it clear as day - that part of him telling him to run as fast as he can from this. But he doesn't. So you go on.

"They don't know me, Joel," you insist, reaching out to wrap your fingers around his wrist. He turns back to face you and that pained look is back in his eyes. But he's drifting closer to you, hands stretching out in front of him like he wants so badly to touch you.

"You don't know me either," you breathe and at that, Joel scoffs. The pained look on his face gives way to something else and there's a shift behind his eyes as he frees his wrist from your grasp to press his hand into the wall beside your head.

"Actually, I think I do, little girl," he spits, leaning in close, the change in atmosphere taking you aback as your heart pounds violently in your ears. "You think I didn't hear it all from him? All your sneakin' around and actin' out? Runnin' away at eighteen? I know you."

"Who did you think I was running away from?" you bite back, petulant.

Joel shakes his head and chews on the inside of his lip, but you can see it, see the way his resolve is fading before your eyes.

"You're just - you're just a kid. He's my best friend."

You scoff.

"I hate him, Joel."

His eyes narrow and the sound of your pulse in your ears is almost deafening as Joel takes up all the space around you, something darker taking over his gaze, something menacing and delicious and promising.

"You know, that really ain't no way to talk about your daddy," he snarls.

You should flinch away from that tone, shrink and recoil from its threatening edge, its condescension. Instead, you gravitate towards it like a magnet, something warm and achy pulsing between your legs at his words.

"Maybe you need a little discipline," Joel grits out, grabbing roughly at your waistline, other hand still braced against the wall beside you.

And - oh. That really shouldn't turn you on as much as it does. Petulance quickly fades and you find yourself nodding frantically, overwhelmed as arousal swiftly burns through you, when you realize what you're on the precipice of.

"Maybe, I do," you breathe, crashing your pelvis forward into his and craning your neck up higher so your mouths are only an inch apart. Joel doesn't back away anymore. "Are you going to put me in my place, Joel?"

At that, his head falls forward and he's whispering, Goddamnit but it's too fucking late now.

Because his strong hands are clutching at your face as he presses his body weight into yours and he kisses you again, hungrier now and decidedly rougher. You whimper as his mouth moulds into yours, his hands moving to draw the silken fabric of your skirt up your thigh. His knee invades the space between your legs and forces them apart, while his lips greedily begin to trail below your jaw, sucking and nipping at the delicate skin of your neck. You curl your leg up over his waist and pull his body in closer, grind your clothed heat into the strong muscle of his thigh and hear him groan into your skin.

You claw at his back, clutching him to you as he plunges a hand between your thighs and cups your sex through your panties. The lacy fabric, wet with your arousal, scratches dizzyingly against your folds and your head falls back into the wall with a strangled sigh.

"This what you want?" he coaxes, strumming at your clit over your underwear.

"Yes - yes, Joel."

He bites down on your clavicle, pressing harder against your pussy, the tips of his thick fingers moving lower to brush your clothed entrance and cloud whatever is left of your judgment as you melt into his touch.

"Beg for it," he growls, taking you by surprise yet again. His free hand grabs you firmly by the jaw, and when his eyes find yours, there's a desperation burning in his blown-out browns, the lewdness of his request dulled by the impression you suddenly get that he needs to hear you tell him you want it. "Beg."

You don't deny him.

"Please, Joel," you plead pathetically, wriggling on his fingers and clutching desperately at fistfuls of plaid. "Please don't stop. I want this. I want you."

"Yeah?"

In lieu of an answer, you very quickly make a decision. Perhaps the stupidest of your life.

You bite your lip and unravel yourself from his embrace, tugging him hurriedly down the hall to your bedroom before you can think any better of it.

You pounce on him the second the door is locked behind you, throwing your arms around his wide neck and knocking his hat to the floor as you kiss him with newfound fervour.

"What're you doin'?" he demands but his hands are warm at the small of your back, holding you close.

"I said I want you," you repeat, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. Joel swats your hands away, tearing his mouth from yours abruptly.

"Here?"

He glances around the room, seemingly well aware you've led him directly into your childhood bedroom, eyes raking over the juvenile details that remain here; flouncy wallpaper and patterned bed sheets, *NSYNC posters and a corner full of discarded stuffed animals.

You palm at his cheek to redraw his attention, marvelling at the feel of his scruff beneath your fingers.

"Here," you assert.

Joel sighs, long and ragged, almost tortured as he quietly curses under his breath. You stare back at him dolefully, daringly ducking forward to kiss the corner of his mouth and run your fingers through his greying curls.

"Fuckin' Christ," he snarls.

All hesitance fades as his fingers coil firmly around your wrists, pinning them to your sides and guiding you into the room till your lower back hits the edge of your vanity.

"Angel, my ass," he grits, big hands meandering below the hem of your skirt, stealing your breath as he hooks his fingers under the lace edge of your panties. "You're a bad fuckin' girl, aren't you?"

You barely manage a soft, "Mhmm," before he's shimmying your underwear down your legs, taking care not to disrupt the garter around your thigh. He encourages you up onto the vanity, trinkets and make-up and perfume bottles clattering underneath you as you spread your legs for him and wrap them around his waist.

"Wanna taste you," he whispers urgently, like he's afraid he'll change his mind. You shudder as he ghosts his lips down your chest, laying open-mouthed kisses over the exposed skin above your breasts.

"Oh fuck," you whine as Joel falls to his knees between your legs and pushes your thighs further apart, making space for those broad shoulders. He positions your left leg over his shoulder and hooks his arms beneath your knees, dull fingernails digging into tender flesh. "Please."

"Shut up," he growls as his teeth come down on the skin of your inner thigh, chastising. And you know he's right, know you have to find the will to stay quiet. You curl your bottom lip between your teeth and let your head fall into the mirror behind you while Joel hungrily kisses his way closer to the apex of your thighs, groaning when he tastes the sticky slick that's already begun to coat the skin there.

You're throbbing - aching - for him to touch where you need it most and Joel doesn't tease you for long.

"Pretty fuckin' cunt," you hear him say and then his tongue is swiftly licking through the seam of your folds, sending an electric shock through every nerve in your body. Your mouth falls open in a gasp but Joel doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath, closing his lips around your clit and sucking harshly before pulling back with a lewd smack.

Your fingers are in his hair then, desperate to force him back onto you. Joel chuckles, glancing up at you with pink cheeks and wet lips.

"When's the last time someone ate your pussy, sweetheart?"

Too fucking long, you want to say but your brain can't form the words so instead you just whine and furiously shake your head from side to side.

"Oh, she's a needy thing, ain't she?" Joel murmurs darkly, eyes glinting with lust. "Been that long, huh?"

Now you nod, biting down harder on your lip to stop yourself from begging. Though Joel seems determined to make you.

"Poor little pussy," Joel says, making you shudder as he frees one of your legs from his grasp to press two fingers against your folds. He caresses you, languid swipes over your aching hole and your puffy clit, spreading your arousal tortuously till you meet his gaze, pleading.

"Please," you finally break, voice cracked. Joel smirks, triumphant.

"There she is," Joel smirks. Then you watch as he parts your lips with two fingers, exposing you fully to him before spitting onto your clit. Your eyes widen and you squeal at the sensation, watch him marvel at the sight of his own saliva mixing with your arousal as it drips down to your cunt before he catches it on his tongue and begins to devour you.

And fuck - the urge pinch yourself returns full force. Joel Miller, a man you've known most of your life, consumes your pussy like it's his last meal on Earth.

His mouth is hot and wet, eager with his efforts as he sucks and puckers over your folds. He teases you with his tongue, fucking it into your tight hole and making you writhe beneath him. Joel hums approvingly at the response, sending a fresh wave of sensation searing through you as you curl your leg around his shoulder and pull him in closer. His nose bumps against your clit and it's so good but it's not enough; you can't help it. You whine, high-pitched and broken as you wriggle your hips in search of more.

"Quiet now," Joel chides you, using the hand he'd been using to part your folds to lay a swift slap against your pussy. A wet smack fills the room and you arch your spine at the sudden, harsh contact on your sensitive cunt. Your knees instinctively come together but Joel holds them firmly apart, already diving forward to lap at your core once again.

You hiss through clenched teeth, nearly falling apart completely when he at last begins to carefully circle your clit with the tip of his tongue. Tight, practiced, impatient swirls that make your vision blurry and your toes curl. Your fingers slacken in his curls as you give in to him, let the sweet ministrations of his tongue bring you closer and closer to the edge.

Wetness gathers at your core when he flattens his tongue and lets you grind lazily against it, another quiet hum of approval encouraging you as a knot of pleasure begins to pull taut at your insides.

"More," you find yourself moaning softly.

You can feel his smile against you. "Yeah?"

"Please," you keen, rutting up into his mouth, not even entirely sure what it is you're asking for. It's so hot in here you can hardly think straight; your skin burns in the confines of your bedroom, under the heat of his mouth, layers of fabric and feathers clinging sticky to every part of you.

Joel cocks an eyebrow at you. "You gonna keep that pretty mouth shut?"

"Yeah - yes, I will, I promise," you ramble, grabbing wildly for his wrist, guiding it towards your centre.

"You want my fingers?" he asks like he doesn't already know.

"Please."

He shoos your hand before you can even get the word out, pinning it on the vanity beside you before sinking a thick finger into your heat, grunting as the warm, wet of you engulfs his digit. The back of your head collides with the glass behind you as Joel begins to fuck his finger in and out of you, quickly adding a second. You keen at the stretch, some strangled noise getting stuck in your throat as Joel chuckles lowly.

"You like that," he comments matter-of-factly as he hooks his fingers inside you and nudges at a spot seldom found by boys your age.

"Joel!" you gasp, too loud, and the fingers he has curled around your wrist tighten, a warning. You curse yourself, covering your mouth with your free hand in an attempt to contain the noises threatening to claw their way out of way.

Joel doesn't seem to be paying much attention anyway, enraptured as his mouth finds your clit again, fingers still working you open in shallow thrusts and beckoning little motions. His tongue flicks and sucks at the bundle of nerves and you don't know when or how but the hand that conceals your lips falls to clutch as his curls again, your hips grinding into his hot mouth and pushing his fingers deeper. You're so close now, can feel release ready to snap inside you.

"M'gonna stop f'you don't shut up," Joel murmurs against you, muffled wetly into your heat.

You hadn't even realized you'd been making any sound.

You think you whisper, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry but you don't know for sure because then Joel is pulling his fingers from you and gripping your ass under your skirt to hold you flush against his face, softly moaning around your clit as he laves at you, his tongue and mouth insistent, greedy.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," you're chanting and Joel hums a noise that sounds like a question as his eyes flash up to meet yours. You can only moan and nod, telling him without words, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop before your muscles tense and you're coming with such force your entire body preens with it, spine arching and slick pooling where his chins meets your pulsing core.

Joel eats you through it, offering no reprieve even when you begin to squirm and flinch with the come down, stars still bursting behind your eyes.

"Joel, fuck," you whine when it begins to feel too much. "Can't - "

He grunts, finally detaching his mouth from you. You shiver at the loss of his warmth, cry out without meaning to when he licks a parting stripe through your sensitive folds.

When your vision refocuses, you find he's staring up at you wrecked, pink lips swollen and slick staining his cheeks and chin. There's something else there too - that stupid, pained look, that unmistakable conflict.

"Goddamn," Joel groans softly, turning his face to bite at the garter around your inner thigh.

"Joel, it's okay," you find yourself saying. You grab at the bandana around his neck, try to force him to look at you again. "Fuck me. Please. I want you to fuck me."

Joel sighs, shallow and tight, shakes his head against your leg. "You're bad fuckin' news, kid."

You can't contain the smile that spreads across your face at that. "But you want me, too? Right?"

You pet his scruff till he finally meets your gaze. There's a resignation there, in that tortured stare he gives you. But there's also lust. Wanting. He wants you.

He nods.

"Then take me," you tell him.

There's a final moment of pause, of hesitance, as Joel looks over his shoulder towards your bedroom door. You follow his gaze, pussy aching with emptiness. Joel considers the door for a moment, then looks back at you, staring at him beseechingly.

Please don't leave now, you plead with your eyes.

Joel sighs and shakes his head. You watch with curious fascination as he then begins to tug at the bandana around his neck, loosening it enough to lift it over his head.

"Sit up," he orders you, and you do, Joel moving to stand over you. You can see how hard he is now, cock straining against the zipper of his jeans. He doesn't let you ogle for long though, tilting your chin up with a strong hand under your jaw and smushing your face under his calloused fingers as he hinges down to kiss you. You taste yourself on his tongue when he forces it into your mouth, his kiss all spit and slick and commanding dominance before he pries you off him.

"You're gonna behave," he tells you simply. Not a request, but an order as he drops his hand from your face.

"Yes, daddy," you say coyly with a big, toothy smile and Joel groans, exasperated. It makes you giggle.

"Christ," he growls with a shake of his head. "'Course you're one of those. Turn around."

He doesn't wait for you to obey, rather, he manhandles you down off the vanity and spins you away from him, bringing you face to face with your own reflection before a firm hand between your shoulders is pushing you down into the faded blue wood.

You go perfectly still, waiting, feeling the rough drag of denim against the back of your thighs and the hard metal of his belt buckle digging into your flesh. But Joel's not done.

He tugs at the straps of your wings, wriggling you loose from them along with your cardigan and leaving them discarded on the floor, all traces of innocence abandoned.

"Fuck," Joel breathes, eyes flitting wildly between the you before him and the you in the mirror, running a hand roughly down your spine, grabbing at every ridge and curve before landing on your hip and pulling you into him.

"Joel..." you whine and then you jolt, gasping when the tender hand on your hip makes harsh contact with your ass.

"What'd I say?" he chides you.

Before you have time to react, he's moving over you, leaning in close so his lips are right at your ear.

"You're gonna behave," he repeats. You nod but it makes no difference because then there's a flurry of red in the mirror, as Joel slips his bandana over your head. With rough but certain fingers, he tilts your chin upwards and hooks his fingers under the fabric.

"Open," he tells you and your lips part without argument.

You watch him in the mirror as he then pulls the makeshift gag up over your chin and forces it into your waiting mouth, soft, washed cotton pressing down on your tongue and scratching at your molars with how far he pushes it in.

"Bite down," he says and you do, lips straining around red, compelling you to breathe through your nose so all you can smell is the masculine scent of him embedded into the bandana's fibres, woodsy and salty and all-encompassing.

"Good girl," Joel offers and your eyes flutter at the praise. "God, look at you. Look."

His hand in your hair tugs your neck up, giving you no choice but to appraise your reflection as he hikes your skirt up to your waist and begins to unzip his jeans behind you.

You have to admit you look a mess, hair tousled and mascara smudged around your eyes, your mouth stretched obscenely around the bandana, involuntary drool already turning red to dark brown. If you'd thought the person staring back at you in this very same mirror was all woman before, now she is all girl, all mouldable and pliant and dutiful. All Joel's.

Your pussy clenches around nothing and you moan at that thought, impatiently pushing back into him when you hear the metallic clang of his belt hitting the floor.

"Yeah - gonna fuck you now," Joel vows, pressing down between your shoulder blades so your chest is flush with the vanity. Again, he yanks at your hair to keep your eyes up, keep you focused on your reflection when the hard line of cock notches at your entrance. "Watch."

You do watch, watch him as his brows furrow and his nose scrunches in concentration, staring at the place where your bodies are nearly connected before spitting a slow stream of saliva down on to your already drenched hole. He runs the tip of his cock up and down through your folds and you feel like you might go insane with want until finally, finally, he begins to sink inside with a hushed groan.

Your hands brace against the edge of the vanity as you writhe at the stretch, the burn of him filling you. It would almost be too much, you think, if the twinge of pain you feel at the intrusion wasn't one you found so delicious, wasn't a reminder that you don't think you've ever had something this big inside you before.

"Tight little pussy," Joel mutters through gritted teeth, voice strained. "Fuck me."

You whine, wish you could repeat his words right back to him. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.

"What?" Joel goads, bottoming out inside you, stilling with two firm hands on your waist. "What do you want?"

You can only wiggle your hips and moan softly, a silent plea. Joel chuckles once.

"Yeah, I know," he purrs and then at last, Joel Miller is fucking you.

He wastes no time, starting a hurried pace, accented by the dull smack of skin on skin and laboured grunts passing through Joel's teeth. The vanity shakes beneath you, and you wish the rush of panic you feel at someone downstairs possibly hearing its incessant scraping against the hardwood didn't make your head spin with arousal, but it does. Or maybe it's just Joel's thick cock pounding into you, nudging at your cervix with each unforgiving stroke.

"This is what you needed, huh?" he's murmuring, voice low and dark. "A big, fat cock fillin' you up?"

Oh, god. You nod, whine around the gag, find his eyes in the mirror again and your knees go weak at the sight of his form looming over yours, the collar of his shirt askew, sweat dampening his forehead.

"Yeah? Dirty - fuckin' - slut."

You keen at that, push back into the place his hips meet yours and moan. Slick dribbles between your thighs and your pussy flutters around his length and of course, of course Joel notices the response.

"Oh - you like that, don't you?" he grunts, tugging at your hair once again and making your spine arch for him.

"Look," he repeats, coaxing you to lock eyes with your own depraved reflection, a fallen angel spilling out of a corset, willingly split open by her dad's best friend. "Look what a bad girl you grew up to be."

Another muffled moan is swallowed by his bandana, his words sending a lick of heat down your spine as something wild and heady begins to scratch at your nerves. His frame engulfs yours again, lips back at your ear as he whispers,

"Daddy's cock'll fix you."

Oh fuck. Your eyes roll back into your skull and you think you hear him laugh, a mocking sound that only drives you crazier, only makes your brain go foggier when he pulls back and clutches at your hips, fucking you so hard you feel tears prick at your eyes and a tightness start to build in your core all over again.

"Yeah, that's right," Joel rasps softly, breathless. "You wanna be good, don't you? Wanna be a good girl and come again for daddy? Go on, baby - come on daddy's cock."

You want to - fuck, you want to come again. You want to be so, so good for him. To show him you always could be. Your eyes begin to flutter closed as you crane onto your tippy toes to take him deeper, feel the drag of him against the sweetest part of you, hurtling towards release with each thrust of his hips against yours.

"Don't," Joel orders you, tapping your cheek with gentle intent till you open your eyes. "Want you to look at yourself when you come on my cock."

You immediately flit your gaze up to meet your reflection, see your cheek pressed into wood, eyes wet and mouth full of fabric. You barely register Joel reaching around you to toy sloppily with your clit before you're falling apart, coming with a silent scream and clenching down around his length.

"Good girl," Joel grants you raggedly as your body quivers under his and then goes limp, waves of your come gathering around his girth and dripping down his balls. "Fuck - that's so good, baby."

Joel fucks you relentlessly as your second orgasm crashes over you, chasing his own high as he begins to ramble wildly under his breath, his voice echoing hollowly in your pleasure-drunk mind as though he were speaking from very far away.

"Gonna fuckin' ruin you, baby girl. Gonna use this little pussy up. You're not gonna wanna take another cock for weeks."

You whimper tiredly, nod obediently. You're not sure you want to take another cock besides his ever again.

"Maybe I'll send ya out to that club with my come drippin' outta ya."

And you know it's stupid and careless and wrong to want that but you make a noise that sounds like yes please all the same. Joel groans.

"Say that again?" he presses you, the rock of his hips coming faster, more erratic.

Yes please, you try again, words turning into mumbled nothings against the gag.

"Shit," Joel curses lowly, and you're jolted back to almost-reality when he forcefully tugs the bandana from your mouth and air fills your lungs in a cool rush. "One more time."

"Please," you say, voice broken and hoarse. "Yes, please. Come inside me."

You think you catch him smirk in the mirror but it's quickly replaced by something else entirely, his jaw slackening as his breath begins to stutter and his chest begins to heave, a whispered chant of, oh shit oh shit oh shit your final warning before he's spilling deep inside you.

He hardly makes a sound as his big hands come down on the vanity beside your head, thick arms all around you as he pumps his load into you. He's biting down hard on his lower lip, doing a far better job of staying quiet than you are, tired little whimpers pouring from between your lips until he's folding over your back and covering your mouth with his palm again.

You stay like that, your breath hot against his hand and his lips in your hair, until he's emptied himself completely. He frees your mouth once it's over but stays glued to your back, a heavy weight above you as both your breathing levels out.

You both shiver when he pulls out, and there's a softness in the way he tilts your face towards his now, in the way he lazily licks into your mouth at the same time that his fingers reach between your bodies to catch the come dripping out of you and push it back inside.

Eons seem to pass before he's sighing and hoisting himself off you with a gentle, "C'mon, baby." He taps your sides as he steps away but you stay where you are. You're not sure you have it in you to move just yet.

You hear the buzz of his zipper and the clang of his belt buckle and then his hands are on you again, tentative as he pulls your skirt down over your ass and smooths out the fabric.

"Hey," he murmurs, and you're pleasantly surprised at the feel of his lips pressing sweetly into your upper back. "Come on."

He tugs at your arms, gently helping pull you upright and sighing again as he takes in the sight of you. You smile, almost bashful about it, Joel carefully lifting the bandana up over your head and adjusting your hair for you with a sigh. He crouches to retrieve your cardigan and fits it back over your shoulders before slipping you back into your angel wings.

"Look up," he says, and you do, holding perfectly still as he rubs his thumbs under your eyes, caressing away drying tears and smears of black make-up.

He tuts.

"You might wanna..." He makes an errant gesture with his hand at your tarnished visage, and you understand.

The ridiculousness of it all seems to catch up with you then and you giggle breathily, shaking your head as if to wake from some perfect, lucid dream.

"Thanks," you tell him. "Joel, I'm - I'm sorry for lying to you."

Joel licks his lips and you think for a moment he's going to tell you off, scold you like you probably deserve. But then he grins and there he is again - the Joel you remember from before.

"Guess I can't really complain," he concedes, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. "You're, uh - you're somethin' else, sweetheart."

You smile and Joel sighs, finally letting his hand fall. You watch him as he finds his hat, warming when he stops to kiss your cheek before making his way towards the door.

"Wait," you call quietly after him. "So would you...do you wanna do this again? While I'm in town?"

There's a lengthy beat of nervous uncertainty and then Joel laughs. He shakes his head and stares at the floor as he readorns his hat, finally turning to face you with one hand on your doorknob.

"You're gonna be trouble, aren't you, Angel?"

You smirk devilishly back at him. "You're damn right, cowboy."

You offer him a parting wink that has him shaking his head for the millionth time as he slinks discreetly out the door, closing it behind him and leaving you alone with the woman in the mirror.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #dbf!joel miller x reader #dbf!joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #dbf joel miller #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller one shot

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mysicklove · 5 months

Text

cw: sub! megumi, dom! gn! reader, overstimulation, handjobs (as always), dacryphilia, slight sadism in reader, slight masochism in megumi? teasing, "good boy" used once.

wc: 1.3k

a/n: i have been recently hating my writing style guys what do I do </3 also I did this instead of hw so tonight is gonna suck.

“waitwaitwaitwait!” megumi mumbles into your neck for the third time this night. you feel another round of tears drip onto your collarbone, and shaky hands grip your t-shirt in a plea. he was naked — his pale skin seeming to flush a shade of red, and his spine was curved as he caved in over himself.

your thumb circles around the tip, teasing it until you watch another glob of precum bead at his slit. you crane your neck to look at him, using your free hand to tilt his chin up to press a small kiss to his lips. “doing so good,” you mumble into his mouth, and he lets out a broken sob, “staying still and taking it. we don’t need any rope today.”

his whole body feels to be on fire, and with every stroke of your hand, a whole new wave of overstimulation forces another shiver. the boy's mouth hangs open, lip glistening from a mix of saliva from your mouth and tears. “you’re so mean to me."

“poor thing,” you coo, knowing that you aren't going to do anything about his complaint. instead, you use your thumb to brush away some tears. he sniffles at you, nodding his head to hopefully coax some more praise. but your mind travels back to your movements, your wrists twisting back and forth as you focus on the red tip. “but you look so cute like this, i can’t help it, y’know that.”

his head falls back onto your shoulder, and immediately, he plants kisses on your neck, nibbling at the skin to try and distract himself. the top of his dark hair was matted with sweat, but the tips of it tickled your collarbone. you use your thumb to rub at his cheek as you continue to stroke him off, ignoring his sporadic jerks of pain. “can you cum again? just one more time, for me?”

the noise megumi lets out is meek, pathetic even, and he shakes his head into your chest. he has begun to hiccup from the intensity of his sobs, and his hand hasn't moved from gripping fiercely at your shirt. "last one," he breathes, rubbing his nose into your skin, "p-promise its the last one!"

you grab his face again with one hand and begin to pepper it with kisses, successfully wiping away more tears as he whines with shut eyes. his eyelashes are globbed together, and when he opens them again, he narrows them at you, slightly peeved and scared at your lack of response. "promise," he manages to get out before he bites his lip from you rubbing your pointer finger over his slit.

"fine, fine, I promise," you concede, and your hand stops teasing him, instead fully pumping him from base to tip. the act makes his thighs tremble, and you push them slightly more apart to give you easier access. the redness of his cock contrasts his pale skin adorably, and you can't help you're staring as he continues to leak.

"it hurts," he whimpers, mostly to himself, because all he can think about is how overwhelmed he feels. his thoughts are spinning, and even just the slightest touches on other parts of his body seem to startle him due to him focusing his entire attention on trying not to rip your hand off of his cock.

you don't pay attention to the whine, instead just pressing more kisses to his flushed cheeks, nibbling gently at the flesh while he sniffles. but, even with all the complaints and whines he was letting out, you've noticed that his hips have begun to buck back into your hand, only making the lewd noise louder. he tries to pretend that it was you who was torturing him, but his movements were of his own free will.

"you like it now?"

"no!" he says much too quickly, flashing you panicked eyes. "i-i just. 's not my fault!" at this point, you have fully stopped your movements just to watch in admiration of the boy. he was desperate in his movements, and with each thrust of his hips into the makeshift hole a coo leaves your mouth.

"aw, look, now you're getting excited. do you want to cum, megumi?" you purr, brushing his bangs back while twisting your other wrist. his eyes roll back, and his mouth remains open as he lets out quick, short breaths. now, his noises consisted more of moans rather than pained whimpers as he started to chase his high.

"n-no—yes. fuck I-" is all he manages to get out before your mouth is pressed onto his. but he pulls away only five seconds later due to his rapid heartbeat and the need for oxygen to keep up with it. you just chuckle at him and increase your speed, eyes flickering from the sight between his legs and his flushed face.

his thighs begin to squeeze shut, and his moans begin to increase in pitch, a telltale sign that he is teetering near his high. you chuckle at him when he begins to latch onto your neck, planting sloppy kisses to whatever surface he can. "are you close?"

he doesnt even attempt to speak, instead just nodding his head lazily. the act makes you roll your eyes and squeeze just a tad too hard on his dick in warning. he lets out a squeak at the feeling, and this time he does speak up. "yeah. yes. yes. c-close."

you pet his head, satisfied with his answer. "good boy. you can cum, alright?"

another set of tears pools in his eyes, and this time you cock your head to the side. "why are you crying 'gumi? I didn't hurt you that bad, did I?"

"no," he sniffles, "sorry d-dont stop. feels good, don't know why I'm crying. just don't stop!"

"relax. relax. I'm not," you reassure, kissing his face again. "you're lucky you are so cute, with all your demands."

he ignores you like he usually does when you tease him, but you are unsure if it is because he is being his usual self or because he is lost in pleasure.

seconds later, his hands grab at your shoulder, and he goes silent for a breath. then, just as the first rope shoots out, he cries, "cuming! of fuck. fuck!"

your lover's entire body quivers, and his mouth latches into your skin as the first wave washes over him. his eyes roll back and his mouth falls open with a silent scream. more tears come tumbling down his face, and you watch as the most pathetic amount of cum tonight comes dribbling out. it slides down his flushed cock and mixes with the movements of your hands.

eventually, when he comes down from his high and feels the stinging lick of overstimulation once again, he immediately forces your hand off, pinning the white-stained limb to the ground with frantic eyes. then he turns to you, even with his body jerking every couple of seconds from the aftershock, and glares at you — it doesn't hold much effect, considering his cheeks were flushed red and eyelashes were wet with tears, but it was cute nonetheless. "no. more."

you grin at the demand and use your clean hand to ruffle his hair. "your wish is my command, princess."

he narrows his eyes at the nickname, and the man tears himself from your arms. "I am going to shower," he mumbles before using all of his strength to stand up. he takes a step forward, and immediately he comes tumbling down.

megumi pretends he doesn't see the way his legs are trembling, but you see the way his ear twinged red in humiliation. you, of course, use it to your advantage. "need a little help there, Bambi?"

"you're not allowed to touch me for a week," he grumbles but grabs onto your arm and lets himself be left to the bathroom. it was an empty threat, as they usually are.

#mello.writes #dom! reader #dom reader #sub megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro smut #megumi smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #megumi fushiguro x you smut #megumi fushiguro x reader smut #sub jjk #sub! jjk #sub! megumi #sub megumi

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ilygetou · 7 months

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sucking satoru’s cock through his plaid pj’s </3

C/W: slight submissive satoru if you squint, he finishes fast (whoops), satoru cums in his pants, cockdrunk! reader, attempts of dirty talk, the rest is just so filthy & nasty.

NOTE. repost since tumblr decided to be my biggest opp and take it down, didn’t even bother changing the header just made a slight change to it😒

PART 2.

gojo would be sitting on the couch, leg sprawled out his arms wrapped around your body while his other hand was busy holding his phone for him. And you, you were busy eye-fucking his dick print, the outline of his thick dick resting between his thighs was way too visible you couldn’t take your eyes off of it.

So, here you are, in-between your boyfriend’s legs as you looked up at him, begging him to let you suck him off. “Pretty please? Please ’toru, want your dick in my mouth” gojo gave you a smug look, blue-eyes still focused on his cellular device. A pout curved on your lips, frowning as you decided to cup his cock from above his pants. Catching satoru slightly off guard, his eyes moving from his phone to you.

Satoru couldn’t help but anticipate your next move, turning off his phone and throwing it next to him. His whole focus was finally on you.

You couldn’t help but smirk, squeezing his dick as you felt it slowly hardening between your hands.

You watched as his cock twitched in his pants, begging to be touched & you couldn’t help but slightly drool at the sight. His dick print showing off his thick cock, made you want to push satoru’s pants down and shove his dick in your mouth. It was tempting, you wanted to suck on it already but an idea popped up in the spiral of the moment, making you pause for a second.

You looked up at satoru to meet his eyes, eyes threatening to shut, breathing was heavy and his face flushed a light shade of pink.

“suck it already” he murmured, voice low n’ whiny. You smirked–holding his cock as you wrapped your lips around his clothed tip. Sucking on it so messily and sloppily. Satoru gasped, not expecting you to pull something like this, something so vile, so nasty. But he liked it anyways.

You were drenching his pants with your saliva, his head thrown back as you stopped sucking on his tip and started licking his whole length from above his pants. You looked so good underneath him, licking & sucking on his fully clothed cock–“who knew my pretty girlfriend liked to suck dick s’much?” he breathed out, you paused your movements to look up at him once again.

“since forever? Always loved sucking your dick & only yours,” A lazy smirk made it’s way on satoru’s face–his thighs trembling as you went back to sucking his tip, pre-cum kept spilling & staining his pants–making a huge mess between gojo’s legs. A huge wet patch forming that was just spit, drool and his pre-cum.

“mmfph ’toru, wanna have your dick in my mouth already” you sighed, rubbing his length from above his slacks. “Nah, keep doing it like this, makin’ me feel so good baby” he patted your head & you nodded in obedience despite the obvious pout on your lips.

You squeezed his dick again, rubbing his tip with your thumb and giving his shaft long licks, your kneaded the tip with your thumb so fast and rough, not giving the white head any time to process the pleasure he was receiving.

Satoru grips your hair and rolls his head back, fast and low moans leaving him as his cock twitched and pulsated in his pants–his thighs shaking as he came undone in his pants. Staining the fabric even more with his gooey, thick cum.

Satoru stared down at you with a hazy look in his eyes and mouth slightly apart, “can i suck on it now? for real this time?” you asked with a sheepish smile on your face. Satoru rolled his eyes, and pushed you off of him before plopping you down next to him.

“no, i got something better in mind,” it was now satoru’s turn to get on his knees, spreading your legs apart and pulling down your pants. You tilted your head in confusion, “what’re you up to?” gojo only snickered–pushing his face against your crotch and taking a long sniff from your clothed pussy. You gasped, finally understanding his intentions.

“G’nna eat you out through your panties, Ya’ okay with that angel?”

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

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ichorai · 5 months

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wool ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; when you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his.

words ; 1.5k

themes ; mild fluff/angst, slightly suggestive

warnings / includes ; set before events of tbosas so no actual spoilers, making out, clemensia appearance, mentions of other characters, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could, let's pretend the academy also serves dinner

a/n ; this man has consumed me body and soul. this fic was inspired by the song wool by flatland cavalry on the movie soundtrack! let me know if you guys would like a second part :)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Coriolanus Snow was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He bore an aristocratic last name—yet you noticed that his dress shirt’s buttons seemed to be various different shades of black and slightly misshapen. His voice, so sweetly saccharine, charming, seductive—would whisper falsities like it was second nature. He would often claim that he wasn’t hungry, but you’d catch the longing glint in his pale irises as he eyed the steaming bread rolls Sejanus slathered with generous helpings of butter.

Control. That was all he needed.

It crumbled, ever so slightly, when you nudged your slice of apple pie in his direction. His eye twitched, and you pursed your lips, pulling your plate back to you. You ate quietly, and Coryo stared at you all the while, as if he were mentally dissecting your mind—studying you.

You knew. It was all too clear, even if he wouldn’t tell you. And if he wouldn’t tell his closest friend—or, the closest thing he had to a friend, the two of you certainly did things that friends wouldn’t do—he most definitely wouldn’t let it slip that he was financially strapped to anyone else.

That same day, he met you in the back of the library. The two of you were supposed to be studying history—Professor Demigloss was one of the nicer teachers at the academy, but that didn’t mean he was any less strict with grades. And neither you nor Coryo could afford slipping now. Not if you both wanted to get into university. Being on top meant that there was only greater distance to fall.

But there were… distractions.

Mainly, his foot knocking against yours under the table. Your hand over his jostling knee. His teeth digging into his bottom lip. When you shifted so that your thighs brushed against his, the books spread out over the table were entirely forgotten.

He pushed you against the bookshelves a mere second later, the wood digging into your back uncomfortably, and kissed you until you grew dizzy. You were a welcome distraction—he could taste the apples on your tongue. The way you snaked your arms around his neck, toying with his pale blonde curls, pulling him closer until his body slotted against yours just perfectly—clicking into place like a pair of magnets facing opposite directions. It was desperate and heavy and he could only barely pull away to inhale sharply before cradling the base of your head to tilt your jaw back and kiss you even harder. Coryo swallowed any muffled whimpers that slipped from you when his free hand traveled lower.

Lower, lower, dangerously low—

When Clemensia’s voice echoed through the library in search of her lab partner, the two of you sprang apart, gasping for air.

She rounded the bend, and her dark eyes landed on the two of you. Keen, observant, narrowed. Coriolanus was flushed, hair mussed, lips swollen, chest rising and falling erratically. You were looking anywhere but the two of them, smoothing out your clothes and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Oh! I guess I’ll just have to find another time to bother you, Coriolanus,” she tittered, sickly sweet. She tilted her head with a tempered smile. “What’re you guys studying?”

Snow rolled his eyes in exasperation. “History,” he said. Curt, simple.

“Right.” She eyed you curiously. When she spoke again, it was directed more to you than him, sounding uncharacteristically void of frigid scorn. “I’d be careful if I were you. You sure he’s not just sleeping with you because you’re the top of the class?”

You stiffened, and Coryo bristled.

“I’ll be fine, Clem. See you tomorrow.”

There was another beat of terse silence. Her eyes darted warily between the two of you, and she whisked away in a flutter of red and black.

You blew out a breath. Your mouth tingled with the phantom memory of his lips planted over yours, and your cheeks flushed with heat. The two of you sat back down, both quiet. You worked in fluid tandem with each other, as you always did. His hands kept to himself this time.

“I’m not using you,” he whispered, eventually. “It’s not like that.”

“I know,” you replied hesitantly, testing the waters. “It’s not like you’d need to. Your grades are just fine as is.”

The two of you kept working until your fingers cramped with overuse and his head pulsed with the beginnings of a migraine.

“Dinner?” you asked once the clock struck six, nudging him. “I think they’ll be serving mashed potatoes today.”

His stomach clenched at the thought of warm food. Control.

“Sure,” he replied coolly, flicking his books closed and gathering up all the papers to stuff into his bag. “I’m sick of mashed potatoes, though.”

You shot him an incredulous smile, brows quirking up. He was lying, but you didn’t know. “Not even when it’s seasoned with roasted garlic? A dash of the freshest of herbs?”

The blue of his eyes gleamed when they bore into yours. “Not even then.”

“You’re a strange man, Coriolanus Snow.” Your lips twisted downward, but it was more of a smile than a frown. When your eyes darted below to glance at his school uniform, you couldn’t help but notice the unironed creases in the carmine fabric. One of the buttons—the very top one—was oddly shaped and a different color from all the rest. It reminded you of his dress shirt. You quite liked that dress shirt. He looked handsome in it, but you chalked it up to his uncanny ability to look handsome in just about anything.

Your head tilted to the side, molten eyes fixed on the button. You knew. He knew that you knew. Panic seized in his chest, an irrational clawing sensation searing within his lungs. Would you tell the rest of the class? What would you say to them? That he was living as filthily as a District boy? That he skipped meals because he couldn’t afford them? That his cousin mended his clothes for him?

But your frown-smile deepened. Fondness stained your expression, clear as day. Coriolanus found himself surprised, as he often did around you.

“I love your buttons, by the way,” you mumbled, reaching out to trace it with a finger. He held his breath on instinct. “Is it a stylistic choice? Having them all irregular like this?”

Stylistic. Coriolanus almost laughed.

“Mhm. It’ll be in fashion one day. I’m just ahead of the trends,” he murmured charmingly. A bluff.

When you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, Coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his.

“Maybe I’ll start wearing mismatched buttons now, too. Rebel against uniformity.” You stood up from your chair as you spoke, not catching the way Coriolanus’ expression faltered momentarily with your last three words. It was a joke, he had to remind himself. Just a joke. “Come on. Let’s go have dinner. I’m starving.”

He jerkily stood up. Grabbed your hand just because he could, fingers folding over your wrist. He could feel your pulse, thumping quicker and quicker. You regarded him curiously. Snow’s remaining spindly hand cradled your face and he stepped closer, intuitive eyes roaming over your face, wondering just how much of you was real. How much of you was lying, just as he was?

His lips fell over yours again. This time, the kiss was sweeter. Slower, more languid. His nose brushed over your cheekbone, warm to the touch. You hummed pleasantly against him, before placing a hand flat over his chest—over the crooked button—and pulled away with a dazed smile. It felt dangerously good that you hadn’t tugged your hand out of his grasp yet. His grip tightened in a near possessive manner.

As the two of you began walking out of the library, Coriolanus couldn’t help but think back to your hyperbole—about how far from starving you truly were. You wouldn’t ever know, not when your family was the very epitome of Capitol wealth. But he was glad he wasn’t the only one lying, for once, even if your lie was merely an inflation of the truth.

After dinner, Coryo worked off the top button of his uniform with repeated tugs to the threads, pulling apart Tigris’ handiwork. He slid it over the table to you, watching the way your countenance softened in endearment. He kissed you again in the dark hallways outside the cafeteria, finding it difficult to get your lips to melt away from your tightly-stretched grin.

He walked home with a mirroring smile and a missing button that night. One less piece of the wolf’s sheeply clothes.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow x you #hunger games fanfiction #coriolanus snow drabbles #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #young!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow

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