#he cares about them the way you might care about the meat on your plate

[ghouljams]

Hey Ghoul I hope your doing well!

I had a question about Fae!Soap.... What did you mean when you said he 'eats' his darlings?

Like did you mean he physically eats them whole and leaves nothing behind as in they're dead?

Or do you mean it in the sense that he devours their very being, their essence, their soul leaving them an empty shell once the dept is repaid.

Because I thought Fae Ghost and Konig were scary but I'm more afraid of soap now thinking he's done this to multiple ex darlings.

I got literal shivers when you said he eats them

Hi! Hello! I'm doing well, back in the states and eagerly typing away as I am meant to be. I had a lot of fun but it's nice to be home again!

Soap is a Leannán Sídhe, he is made to consume your very essence and being. He's made to be a muse, to inspire fits of mania and inspiration that will eventually drain their artist dry down to their very soul. His Darlings live very brief but very productive lives, and in those lives his only desire is making them produce more faster for him with little care the toll it takes on them. I'm gonna write some fae!Soap horror with a previous darling now.

Your shoulders are stiff, your mind sluggish, you haven't been sleeping well. Every time your head hits the pillow you're struck by another idea that you have to write down. You're too worried about losing it, inspiration has always been so fleeting for you, and your memory isn't what it was a few months ago. You rub at your eyes, scratching the corners with the edge of your nail. You hiss when the skin drags too harshly, pressing your finger against the sting that stops your work.

Soap's fingers grip your chin, pulling you to let him look in at your eye. His gaze is electric green, it's mesmerizing as his eyes flick over your face. Electric green, that's good, you should write that down. He doesn't let you go, his attention pulling you away from your work long enough to remind you of your rapidly approaching migraine. Have you eaten anything today? When is the last time you even touched food?

When is the last time you got up from your desk?

Soap smiles at you, a warm but pitying thing. When did he start staying with you? Why can't you remember the last time you saw your friends? The last time your phone buzzed with a new message from anyone but your editor? Had you even sent your last draft to anyone?

Soap nods, nods your head with his firm fingers. Is he doing this?

He opens his mouth when you do, the words catching in your throat at the way his teeth shine. The second set of molars that he has catching your eyes as you look up at him. That would be good, you think, for an unassuming monster. A nice detail.

You're breathing with your stomach, a conscious, forceful movement to keep air circulating. Soap leans down and kisses you so terribly gently, his tongue swiping through the blood that's started to drip from your nose.

"Think you're almost cooked Bonnie," he murmurs turning you back to your desk, "dinnae want you knocking it before you finish this draft though, I quite like this one."

You raise shaking hands to your keyboard, reading through the last lines of what you'd been working on to find your place again. Soap kisses your temple, easy as can be.

You don't know what you're so nervous about. Soap's fingers massage your shoulders, thumbs pressing on either side of your spine, dragging the ache from your neck. You almost feel bad that you haven't been paying much attention to him recently, not very good partner behavior on your part. You'll do better once you finish this draft, you think he'll like it. It's inspire by him after all.

#fae!Soap #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #soap mctavish #soap mwii #cod soap #könig and Ghost are knowable evils but Soap? Absolutely insidious #he's here to be adored and thats it #does he care about his darlings? sure #he cares about them the way you might care about the meat on your plate #i gotta make his darling moderately immune to his tactics for a more permanent darling #trying to figure that out and its very hard because i love the horror of fae soap too much

[gremlingottoosilly]

Beekeeping age [Dilf!Konig x fem!Reader]

You're ex-boyfriend is an asshole, so you decided to fuck his hot military dad instead. You're going to find out why his first wife ran as fast as she did, very soon - but Konig is still the best dick that ever happened to you.

CW: Daddy kink(obvi), power imbalance, possessive Konig, perverted Konig, age gap(Reader in her early twenties, Konig in his early forties), mentions of cheating(your ex is a douchebag anyway), slightly obsessive Konig, size kink, unprotected sex.

FIRST PART (can be read separately) AO3

— Why your wife left you, again? 

You stuff your face full of…something. He cooked it – gods did he cook it well. It’s meat and vegetables and spices, and it feels like your dad cooking but twice as good. It feels like pure sin because he says you shouldn’t worry about calorie counts or how fat the meat is, or how good everything tastes fried because he needs his special girl to feel good and healthy and fatten up a little bit, and you…gods, you’re down. Bad. 

You wonder if König’s wife left because she couldn’t compete with his cooking. You wonder if his wife left because he was feeding her too good. 

— Why don’t we leave uneasy questions for later, Schatzi? 

He brushes his hand over your hair, taking in the way you look – dressed up in his shirt, skin covered in bites and bruises from his hold. He can’t see it right now but can almost testify to the way your lipstick was all over his collar – good thing he wasn't wearing his uniform shirt, wouldn’t want to make dorks from Kobra jealous. 

He brings you another plate, he fills your glass – you never knew beer could taste this good, but he whispered something about having his own little homemade brewery for wine and beer somewhere in the mountains, in his Summer house. This man has a hug apartment in Vienna and a Summer house – you think you heard him having enough land to go hunting and to keep bees, and you might have cum a little bit just here and there. 

— I would like to know the story, actually. To not repeat her mistakes, you know. 

— You won’t, Liebling. I can already picture you with a ring on your pretty finger. 

— Not so fast. Maybe I don’t believe in marriage. 

— You’re too young to stop believing in it. 

— Way to talk when you’re the divorced one, sir. 

— Shut it, Schatzen. I can still take care of a good girl like you, ja? König leans in to kiss you, his lips brushing over your mouth – it’s wet and swollen, he bite you quite a few times already, and you feel dizzy just from the way his tongue lingers just a second before going in, taking your arousal even more. His hand gently brushes some hair from your face and you giggle from the sensation of his rough fingers on the softness of your skin. It never failed to mesmerize you, just how seasoned and old the colonel might be – and his hands would still tremble as if he is handling the finest porcelain doll in his hands. He has the expression of an anxious, devoted follower – you are not sure how his wife could left him. If he was looking at you like this every day, even as you go through with pregnancy and a piece of shit kid like Paul, you would die before leaving him. 

— Could you two please stop fucking each other? 

— I thought you wanted to move to dorms.

— This is my house too!

— Not on the documents, it’s not. — You can’t just throw me away, dad! — Your new stepmom needs her space. 

König grasps your shoulder as you try to stop them from arguing again – it’s embarrassing enough that you’re fucking your ex’s dad. Colonel makes it a whole fucking show, parading you around as his controversially young girlfriend, making sure that his son will hear your moans and whimpers as you get fucked at every surface of this apartment. You were wondering if you could ask him to move to the Summer house – even with your college and all. You can take a gap year and write a journalist investigation about lonely veterans and their mastery at brewing alcohol. You can take a gap year and try your best in the new trophy wife gig. König’s hand is firm on your shoulder – you know better than to try and argue with him, the silent recognition of authority loud in your head. You sigh, trying your best to just stop yourself from acting too damn weird. It’s their male thing, and you’re just an intruder in a big T-shirt and old leggings. König said it wasn’t his wifey’s – that he burned all of her stuff when she left. Somehow, you find peace in that statement. 

— How could you even…Jesus fucking Christ, this is disgusting. She is my age! — And the most beautiful girl in the world. I can see why you liked her. — She is my girlfriend! — Schatzi came to me in distress and begged me to take her. I think we both knew you weren’t…the best option. You feel more embarrassed with each second of their conversation. You don’t want to listen, you don’t want to take in their words, you feel like a trophy being discarded between two different winners. You feel like a prized mare on a farm – and they won’t even look at you. Too distracted by the sound of their voices, you eat your dinner in somewhat somber peace because you need to eat, after all, and you really like what König cooks. You like what König does most of the time. All of the time. 

Paul storms off the room after a few minutes of bickering. You feel guilty for not stopping him because he was still kinda your boyfriend. You ex-boyfriend. Your asshole incel-ish ex-boyfriend whose assholless literally made you go and sleep with his dilfy dad, and…god, you feel like a whore. Good. Paul was calling you a whore a lot of the time, you may as well take the new name and plaster it in your new badge. 

König’s hand lingers on your back, caressing it gently. You whimper because you feel bad and you’re still in college, and Paul’s disgusted reaction reminds you that fucking a guy in his forties isn’t the best business decision. Even if the said guy is a retired colonel with shitload of money, even if he still goes to work sometimes, just because he wants to feel cool and shoot guns at bad guys, even if this guy buys you cool gifts and he promised to renovate your car or buy you a new one, and he makes plans and takes you to places that don’t make you feel like begging for attention. 

If anything, you feel like he is drowning you with attention. 

His hand lets go of your shoulder – he was holding you so tight the whole conversation, you can sense the bruises forming on your skin. You lick your lips, and he moves to kiss you again. You feel like drowning, you feel like this is all just a dream – and you’re also drunk because gods, König knows how to make a good glass of…something. 

— You shouldn’t act like this. He is your son. 

He laughs dismissingly. He dismisses a lot of things you said – you think it’s the age difference. You think he is just being traditional, and you don’t want to be too nagging. You don’t want to end up like his wife and wake up from the dear you’ve been seeing. 

König’s lips are soft, and you can look past his hands, taking you too possessively – you can close your eyes, and you can just listen to his accent, smiling as his tongue worms its way into your mouth. He is good, you think – at this whole kissing thing. At this whole “Hi there, I’m a retired old dog and I am fucking the girlfriend of my only son. I’m divorced btw” .

He has experience – you know it when he tucks your lip between his teeth, when he massages your shoulders as you spread your legs already, so wet for him, it’s almost embarrassing. You never slept much with Paul – his poor excuse of a son – it was always never enough lube, it was always never enough attention, he always needed you to shave or to leave your hair to grow a little bit, it was either your perfume being too sweet or you no wearing anything at all. You thought he would have much more fun masturbating to his anime chicks and poor gaming sessions with his friends. 

But König isn’t like this – every time he drops on his knees to eat you out like a man starving, you feel utter and complete devotion. In his tongue, in his mouth, in his teeth as he sucks little marks into your thighs, making sure you will remember it tomorrow when he will ask you to stay for breakfast and then ride you to whatever you need to come next. Last time he promised to drive you to the library, he took a few turns and took you to some restaurant instead. You gushed about not having proper attire, he was still in his half-uniform and rocking dark cargo pants, and he was apologizing every time his fingers hit that special spot in your cunt as he fingered you during the second course of meals. He said that he was so, sorry about not fucking you properly, about having to resort to public displays like this – and you were too high on loving him to care. You still are. — I don’t think we should be…

— He left. Won’t bother us anymore. 

— I’m not in the mood right now. 

— You’re always in the mood, Schatzen. Enough to drive me crazy. — You’re a pervert. Like Paul. 

— He takes on after his father, ja?

It would alarm you how much contempt he had for his own child right now. Then, again, you were the one who dumped his son for the powerhouse of a dad. Maybe it was your daddy issues, maybe it was your dumb reasoning and the summer break that you didn’t want to spend with your family. Good thing you’re spending it with the other. 

König’s face is buried between your legs, his teeth tugging on the soft fabric, forcing your leggings down. God, it feels good – he is so high on wanting you, can’t even wait to take off your clothes properly. You never had a man wanting you so badly before – it’s addicting, it’s crushing, it makes you feel like a goddess among men. Makes you feel wanted, a thing that your ex never did. 

You forget about guilt when he kisses your lower tummy, when his lips trace down to your cunt, taking sharp licks through your panties. You wore them this morning, something from a new lacy set he bought – one of the only ones that weren’t torn off from your body the moment you took them on. He always wanted you to make these little fashion shows for him, making good use of his money – you weren’t a sugar baby, not on paper, you still clutched to the last traces of your dignity, but he did buy you a lot of gifts. 

— S’ pretty for me, Liebling. The prettiest girl in the world.

— I assume after…af..ter your wife. 

You giggle when he frowns, his rugged face filled with concern. He doesn’t like jokes about his marriage – you don’t want to ask him about it because it would mean waking up from a dream you want to experience over and over again, but you heard what Paul was talking about. What his mom told him about. you heard enough to know that kissing a man like König is a safety hazard and a liability that you can’t afford, but it’s warm, and he is rich, and you don’t want to go back to your part-time job this season. You want to be dumb and you want to be young – right now, you’re doing both. — Don’t be so dumb, Schatzi. Although it suits you. 

— I’m not dumb! 

— Nein, you’re not. Just silly. 

— You just call me a different type of dumb. 

— I like it when you’re dumb. Makes you cuter. 

König is awkward and funny, and he buys you things that you could never afford. He is mysterious and kind – to you, not his enemies – and he uses German words randomly in his phrases because he knows the accent, and the pronunciation drives you crazy. You never thought of thinking of yourself as a dilf hunter but, hell, here you are. With his dark ginger stubble – and grey streaks that make you go wild every time you look at him – between your thighs. It’s tickling, and it’s a bit irritating, and he will rub some calming lotion in your skin after this, making sure to cover every inch of your skin with some expensive cream that he knows jackshit about, but you wanted it, and so he went out and bought it. Gosh, you felt dumb even asking him for this. 

He traces his kisses along your thighs, tongue lingers to press against your wet, swollen folds. Flirting in front of Paul made you embarrassingly hot, solidifying you as a shitty, bad, horny person who needs fat cock stuffed in your leaking pussy. You lick your lips, and you tremble when he pushes his tongue inside. He is starving, pushy with all of his needs – makes you almost beg for it, like a pet he took from the street. 

— I want to take you to the Summer house next week. 

You open your eyes, shocked. It’s nothing, really, you shouldn’t be this surprised about him wanting to show off his other properties. You want to check out his wine cellar and how sturdy the furniture is. You want to see if he had deers running around the house. If he had any pictures of his family – and if you could ever hope to compete with his ex-wife. It’s a petty competition, but you don’t have much to do and to think about. It’s obvious the love here won’t last until the end of the break, and you want to get as much from it as possible. Maybe even some hot bikini picks at his pool. He has to have one. — What if I have plans, sir? 

It’s innocent and you play the role well. You think some of your friends wanted to hang out or make a study group for the upcoming semester. You are a good girl at heart, with nice grades and a perfectly played-out future, and not as many working opportunities as you may like, but you could manage with something. Writing a killer essay about your life with a smoke show during Summer would be easy with someone like him. 

He laughs, his hand lightly smacks your butt. You bite your lip and whimper, not accustomed to pain feeling this good. 

— You will change them, little one. For the whole Summer. 

— I wanted to study. 

You moan when he lightly presses his tongue on your swollen clit, kissing and licking it. Slick runs down your legs, and he collects it with his mouth. You whimper again, tears prickling at the edge of your eyes – the sensation is sudden and overwhelming, makes you get your hands in his hair and slightly tug. He groans, pleasure from having you so active, so participating is overwhelming. He loves you, loves you, loves you, adores you. God, you’re beautiful. And so, so restrained – just his special good girl. Only for him. — You can study at our house. 

— You mean you and your ex’s house. 

He smacks you again for the foul language – although you know you didn’t even curse, he is still punishing you. In the lightest way possible, of course, you know you won’t handle anything too harsh – still, you feel nice and warm when he isn’t just eating you out, but also smacks you for speaking in such unpretty words again. 

You don’t even register the way he called the house yours too. All too dumb for this, again. 

— I mean our house, Schatzen. Just you and your daddy, ja? You worry too much about studying. 

— I want a nice job. Without…distractions. 

He slips one finger in your warm, tight hole – even just one digit is enough to make you shiver, clenching it like a sloppy whore. He is big in every way – just two of his fingers are bigger than a normal cock, and no, you didn’t want to compare a son with his father, but even Paul’s cock, as big as it was, was still way thinner than his father’s. 

— Why you need a job? 

— Not everyone are retired military. I need money. 

— You have me. 

— I d…don’t want to be a sugar baby. Sir. 

— I have no problems with being your daddy, Schatzen.

König is build like a powerhouse – when he slips just the tip into you, ignoring all previous preparation because, by god, you both need to feel connected, he is dragging you on top of the table, tossing aside the dirty dishes with remains of his perfectly cooked dinner…and you feel like home. Almost. 

You imagine waking up with his cock every morning, and with the nice cup of coffee only he can make. You imagine him gushing about rebuilding the house and working on his tight and neat desk job at the mercenary company – something about instructing, dumb recruits, only the most elite missions as an operator in retirement, creating strategies and tactics for the warfare – and thinking that, wow, your husband is really cool. You shouldn’t be thinking this because this is just a summer fling. Your relationships with Paul weren’t too serious either, you just didn’t want to be alone. 

König gently caresses your fingers, whispering something about numbers – you think you could recognize the word for a ring a bit later when he was making a call to some friend. In German, of course, you don’t quite understand it, but you worm your warm on his lap like a spoiled cat, purring on his crotch like a good fucking girl. But it was a while later. 

Now, you’re gasping and panting, his cock spreading you open and stuffing you like the poor bird he was cooking for dinner. You know you won’t be able to walk after a short while – would probably have to spend the day at his house, with him cooing and gushing about your sore body while he is quietly proud of himself. If you’re lucky, you could convince him to let you go in the evening. If you’re not, he will ask you to stay the night, and maybe even a bit more, and then he will just get the bag with your stuff from your room in the dorm by himself, and then… — What do you think about getting married in August?

Maybe, you do know why his wife left him. 

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #call of duty #yandere cod #cod x you #fem reader #konig cod #konig x you

[mysteria157]

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Black Fem Reader

CW: Profanity, Light Angst, Alcohol Consumption, Explicit Sexual Content, Missionary, Cowgirl, Fingering, Fingersucking, Cunnilingus, Slight Dom Reader (not much), Car Sex, Bathroom Sex

WC: ~16k (It's long so get some snacks)

Summary: 

Maybe you're single for a reason. You’re too outspoken and mean to men, too demanding with your expectations, and you refuse to settle for less. For the ones who aren't worth the air they breathe, you chew them up and spit them out. You savor the taste so you know what to avoid the next time.

So when he looks down at you with that devilish smirk and calls you 'Princess', you're determined to prove that Toji Fushiguro is no exception.

Notes: Hello! This is my first fic with Toji and I'm nervous to get it out here. The setting of this fic and the elements I incorporated connect a lot with my own childhood and the memories (not the interactions in this fic) that I had at family cookouts and get-togethers. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon Header: myself (stability.ai)

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter | **Sequel**

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

“Can I get you a drink, princess?”

When you meet Toji Fushiguro for the first time, it’s on the fourth of July at your uncle’s house. It’s a big get-together at a two-story house located in the countryside. Every year he opens up his spacious home for a gathering of your extended family to bring excessive amounts of alcohol, play old school rap and R&B too loudly, devour delicious fucking food, and set off fireworks that have been collected since the beginning of the year. 

Your uncle has already made a home by the grill and taken control of the speakers after one of your younger cousins attempted to play something ‘a little too racy’ for his tastes. You’re pretty sure it was an Ice Cube song from the 90s that your uncle hates but is too proud to admit, so he lectures your cousin about ‘what young folks should be listening to’ instead. 

The smell of hamburgers and ribs has been teasing your nose for the past hour, and your hunger is borderline unbearable with each sniff. You avoid the allure of the long table of food because if you look, you’ll be three plates in before the meat is done. There’s coleslaw, baked beans, greens, and macaroni and cheese. Your favorite aunt also brought her potato salad and you know she’s going to make yellow cake with chocolate frosting fresh before the fireworks. You love it so much and you were deprived of it last year when you were called in to work at the last minute. You will get some today.

The backyard is expansive and well-maintained, and your cousins and aunts have already laid their claim on swanky cushions of the nice patio furniture. 

The one cousin you’re closest to in age and personality sits next to you on a large blanket a few yards away from the rising volume of your extended family. You were able to get a good ten minutes of conversation from her before her fiancé showed up and made a home inside of her mouth.

Your family normally has something to say about PDA—a stupid quip about acting ‘too grown’ even though you are both knocking on the door of thirty. But she doesn’t care—just like you, that’s why you like her so much even though her fiancé is sucking on her face like it’s his last day on Earth.

Shiu Kong is nice—gentle in his own way and carries himself with a bored air that seems to pull your cousin in. He’s enamored with her, practically folds in on himself when she’s around, and worships the ground she walks on. They’ve been together for a few years and you’ve never had a problem with him.

But that just might change today because he’s brought along a friend who has already ignited a flame of arousal and annoyance deep within your belly. From the moment Toji Fushiguro stepped into the backyard with Shiu, your family was transfixed. Your aunts can’t stop ogling, and your uncles and male cousins try to jokingly size him up.

“Oh honey why don’t you sit down, don’t be shy. Lemme get you something to drink.”

“That’s not steroids? It’s gotta be. Don’t play.”

“How much you bench?”

It’s annoying. So fucking annoying but you can’t help but agree. He’s a little older—maybe early thirties—but dangerously attractive.

Raven hair that reaches his ears, looks unbelievably soft and falls over emerald green eyes. A grey shirt hugs him too fucking deliciously for your comfort and dark jeans hug an ass that’s too fucking juicy. He’s a big man—a burly man and unfortunately, that’s how you like them.

Big, burly like a bear, respectful, and capable of making you feel small and protected but also valuing and worshipping you as a woman. Unfortunately, such men are hard to come by because you tend to intimidate them. You don’t tolerate disrespect in any form and quickly put men in their place if they try to undermine, belittle, or confuse protection with control. You know what you want, and you refuse to settle for less. 

They can’t stand it.

And right now, you can’t stand Toji. As he looks down at you with a well-worn smirk on his face, a smirk that suggests he has plenty of experience in situations like this, your irritation grows. He’s a smooth talker, confident in almost everything he says. His voice is deep, but melodic in a strangely feminine way that makes his words slide like silk down your back, and the minute you heard it, your thighs threatened to rub together. 

Definitely a smooth talker. But the nickname you don’t care for. 

Princess.

Like you’re a dainty little thing who will bat her eyelashes and call him Daddy. It makes your walls of self-defense rise even higher, and the gentle smile you had given Shiu when he first said hello moments ago transforms into the beginnings of a frown. 

Without hesitation, you rise to your feet, plant your wedges firm into the grass, and turn away from them before muttering, “I’m good.”

Toji simply shrugs; a gesture that annoys you even more because he doesn’t offer any other reaction that satisfies you. He settles into your previously vacated spot, leaning back on his hands. The jacket on his shoulders falls open and the sight of his shirt hugging his muscles is too much for you.

You inwardly curse as your eyes wander over his physique. Thick pectorals that you could easily rub your face against and make a pillow for yourself to sleep on stretch the fabric in a way that you’re sure it’ll rip. Abdominals tease just below the surface of his shirt that clings to him like a second skin. You want to lick between each one, press your teeth into the hard skin to make him wince and beg as you count each one.

Four, six, eight? 

Fuck.

You don’t show how you want to straighten your spine against the chill of being caught staring. That smirk is on his face again, tugging at the corner of his mouth. There’s a scar on the right side that slashes vertically over his top and bottom lip and you dislike the arousal that begins to boil between your legs from the sight. You wonder how he got it. If it was a fight, did he win? The thought of him wrestling another man to the floor and taking a cut to the face in the process shouldn’t arouse you, but god it does. 

His eyes make you think of moss as you watch them slide up your body, and it almost feels like invisible hands caressing you. They’re large and pale, littered with scars along the knuckles as they glide up your exposed chocolate legs, dip between your inner thighs, and caress the curves of your hips.

“See something you like?” 

He’s ogling you but has the nerve to try and put you on the spot? You have enough self-control to let logic worm through the rising lust inside of you. You sneer down at him, sharp enough for Shiu to visibly pale and your cousin to giggle at.

“To be honest, I don’t really see much.”

You don’t give him a chance to retort and you pretend not to hear the soft hum of nonchalance he throws back. You walk away from them, turning just in time to shield the way your eyes widen at the feel of your face and neck prickling with heat.

The moment you close the bathroom door inside your uncle’s house, the breath trapped within your lungs escapes in a rush. You press your forehead against the wood and the coolness of it offers only little relief to the burning of your skin. 

You turn your head and press your cheek against the wood so the cold surface can slide along your cheek as you open your eyes to take in your reflection.

Of course, Toji would ogle you. You’re confident enough to know your beauty.

A red sundress that hugs your curves, stops at your mid-thighs. Knotless braids with curled ends are piled on top of your head in a loose bun with a few strands that spill along your hairline.

You’re good-looking. But you’ve been out of practice with a man for a long time. Your last relationship ended when you caught him balls-deep in your coworker. You’re too shy to pursue a one-night stand and not detached enough for a situationship. 

However, you could risk it all for Toji and you hate that you’re entertaining the thought. You hate that you’re imagining him barging into the bathroom, bending you over the counter, and taking you from behind with his large hand digging into the small of your back and whispering how much of a good girl you are as you beg him to cum.

God, get yourself together.

To calm yourself down, you find solace in your uncle’s quiet kitchen. There’s only one person occupying it, your favorite aunt, who is heavily pregnant and working on the yellow cake that you’ve been thinking about all day. You use the opportunity to distract yourself and take over for her, shooing her away to relax in the backyard. 

You crack an egg against the off-white countertop, fractures splitting up the sides before spilling its contents into the silver mixing bowl in front of you. A self-deprecating thought slithers in your ears, and whispers loudly with wicked intention. 

Toji wouldn’t want a woman like you.

You’re too outspoken and mean to men, too demanding with your expectations. It pushes them all away, and although you normally take pride in keeping away those who aren’t worth your time, it can get lonely. 

To see your ex actively cheating on you was icing on a cake that was slowly cooking in an oven of your own self-doubt. You have standards, and while your friends consider you the voice of reason in their misfortunes with men, most members of your family think you’re too picky. You’re too much work, ‘you think you know everything’. 

“Men will always have a wandering eye, it’s up to you to keep them in check, girl.”

“Honey, I love you, but the more you pick apart a man, the less he will want to be around you.”

“They love it when you cook for them, girl. Take care of your man and keep him fed and you’ll keep him forever.”

Bullshit.

It’s bullshit to take care of a man in the same way his own mother does. It’s bullshit to lose all sense of self and independence, to wait on a man when he gives you less than nothing in return—when he can hardly give you the bare minimum. You don’t mind cooking for a man who takes care of you, who loves and values you, who would never hold you back and would encourage you when you can hardly encourage yourself.

But all the good ones are in relationships now, married with a few kids, and in your resolve to stay strong and weed out the bad to find the good, it’s left you a little bitter.

Most black families are old school, and yours is no exception. They hold ‘for better or worse’ a little too close to their heart. They cling to an ideal that a man runs the household down to the basics in a way that makes you uneasy and in your defense, you snap when you’re backed into a corner.

You love them, you truly do, but they probably will never understand just how aware you are of the world and how little you are willing to put up with the problematic things that others consider normal.

Your ex was great at first. But he got comfortable. And when he got comfortable, he got lazy, a little too controlling, and a little too frustrated when you asked for certain things in the bedroom. The only person who knows about your breakup is your mother, who had the gall to be out of the country for work, leaving you to fend for yourself for today. 

You watch as the batter spills on each side of your wooden spoon, parting and then falling back together like sand. In your reverie, you don’t notice a few of your relatives who have now entered the kitchen and are roaming through the fridge. You can hear one of your least favorite aunts—the bitchy one—playfully joking with someone, and whatever drivel comes out of her mouth makes that person laugh. It’s deep and suave enough to make a tingle of electricity stutter down your spine because you know it’s him.

Refusing to look in their direction, you continue mixing the batter until the lumps disappear.

“You been hiding in this kitchen for awhile now,” your aunt begins, Atlanta accent the most grating it’s ever been as she turns her gaze toward you. “You’re normally a little more talkative when your man is here. He not coming?”

There is not a trace of genuine concern in her tone. You and her bicker often; she presses your buttons and then gets mad when you press back. Your ex’s infidelity is ammunition you don’t want to give her, but being caught in a lie is something she would only treasure more to use against you later. 

You clear your throat and turn the spoon in the batter once, then twice before answering without looking her way.

“No, he actually came inside of my coworker a few weeks ago. So we split up.”

You can feel the noise before you hear it—a characteristic and sharp ‘mmm’ that seems to be ingrained in your family’s DNA. It makes your grip tighten on the wooden spoon, and you scrape along the bottom of the bowl until it screeches on the metal.

“You gotta watch out for this one, Toji. She’s always been an outspoken one. Too good for ‘em all and likes to be a little mean to her men.”

You scrape harder and then turn to her, a sickly sweet smile plastered on your face. 

“You’re right. The fact that I won’t settle for someone who will get bored with me after a few years makes me way too good for them. Should have turned the other cheek just like you did with your last husband. Or…was it the one before him?”

You catch the way Toji pulls his lips in to bite down on them, scar twitching as he fights to hold in a snicker.

Your aunt glares at you, purses her lips, and turns them to the side before pulling in a noise that has been passed down for generations. Her mother and her mother’s mother used the very same tactic to strike fear and insignificance in their children when they talked back. It’s a sucking of air between her teeth and the sound makes years of discipline from your own mother flash in your mind like you’re in the trenches of war. 

You know she wants to say something, and you can taste the ‘you always got something to say’ in the air before Toji slides from his perch against the counter and places a hand on your aunt’s shoulder.

“Let’s get you a drink, huh? Didn’t you say you wanted me to try the beer you brought in?” She throws you a knowing glare before letting Toji lead her away; because if there is one thing that will distract her from showing out, it’s letting a good-looking man touch her.

The shaking in your hands helps you sift in the dry ingredients—a mix of sugar, flour, and baking soda—into the batter. The breaths through your nostrils are heavy and thick with anger, and the corners of your eyes sting with heat. You whip the batter harder than necessary, your aunt’s words replaying in your mind like a broken record.

Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. Don’t—

The sight of a can of hard seltzer pressing onto the counter in front of you makes the ramblings in your mind stop. Familiar long fingers unfurl from the can and slide on the counter, their fingertips touching the edges of your mixing bowl in an effort to get to you.

“I would have given you a bottle of beer. But I had a feeling you might bash it over your aunt’s head.” He’s not wrong, and in your frustrated state, you consider his defense admirable. “I like a fight, but I’m a guest and the food looks good.” 

Your grip on the spoon loosens slightly as Toji leans casually against the refrigerator, arms crossed over bulging biceps that stretch the short sleeves of his shirt. His jacket is now gone, and you can’t help but notice the veins in his forearms that protrude, tempting you to lick against them.

It takes the sheer will to tear your eyes away and focus on pouring the batter into the bundt cake mold, observing as it fills the intricate crevices. 

“So he cheated? Most men are pigs.”

“But not you, huh?” you can’t help but retort, shaking the mold to disperse the air pockets that bubble on the surface.

In your peripheral, he shrugs. “I know what I like in a woman and once I get what I want, it makes no sense to look somewhere else unless she wants me gone. I’m a man…but I’m a loyal man.”

When you meet his emerald gaze, you can see a hint of pain and vulnerability that unsettles you, tilts you back on your heels from the force of his honesty. You reach for the can of seltzer and take a long swig to give yourself time to get your thoughts in order. The carbonation is sweet and fizzles along the sides of your tongue and down your throat. 

“So what is it you like in a woman, Toji?”

It’s a question that probably should have been left untouched, but your curiosity overpowers your restraint. You don’t want to go back outside, because if your aunt is still feeling particularly petty, she will say something that will only make you leave. And you don’t feel like letting your family win today. 

Toji’s strong gaze certainly isn’t helping. Those invisible hands slide along the crevices and dips of your body, stroking the small of your back before pressing featherlight against the back of your neck. The hairs rise in response, your skin prickling with gooseflesh. 

Unexpectedly, he pushes off the refrigerator and walks closer to you, and you’re too shocked to back away. Despite his imposing stature, you know he won’t harm you. There’s something about him that’s warm and inviting, soft and tender even though his exterior is hard lines and muscle. The two of you are now mere inches apart, and the air feels thin as if you’ve reached the summit of a mountain and struggle to breathe due to the change in altitude. 

Jet black locks graze against a rough cheek, the tips kissing the raised scar on the side of his mouth. Up close you can see his features more closely. His eyes are sharp and intense with deep green between his lids as if hiding a pearl in an oyster. Thin eyebrows make him look more serious and cutting and you’re swallowing back drool because your nose picks up a faint whiff of woodsy amber emitting from his body. It smells cheap—he’s put together in the most basic sense—but it still smells…good.

“I like a woman who knows what she’s about. Independent and doesn’t fuck around. Smart and pretty with curves I can grab and squeeze. Someone with some sass and isn’t afraid to put anyone in their place.”

He steps closer and your lungs heave in a desperate attempt to pull in air. The brush of the wall against your back makes you stutter out your exhale and you press your palms flat against the cool surface to keep you grounded.

“I like a woman with nice creamy brown skin that smells a little like the cake she’s baking…” Through the sea of delirium, you distantly realize that he’s describing you. “The red dress definitely is a bonus.”

That familiar smirk pulls against his lips again and your heart is thundering in your chest. You would be surprised if he couldn’t see it thumping erratically beneath the skin between what’s exposed of your cleavage. 

But this is just another trick in their book to get you in their bed. Or in the bathroom. Or over the kitchen counter.

And as much as you want to, you can’t give in. Because you’ll hate yourself tomorrow.

So you tilt your chin up at him and narrow your eyes at his amused expression. 

“Describing me in place of your ‘ideal woman’? That’s boring. Go use it on my bitchy aunt, she’s got fillers in her ass so that’s more curves for you to ‘grab and squeeze’ when she throws herself on you after the Hennessey kicks in.”

Toji’s eyes widen slightly before a harsh laugh barks from his mouth. It’s surprisingly nice on your ears and rattles the drums inside in a way that you don’t dislike. He pulls away from you, giving you a few more inches of space and the altitude in the air seems to level out enough for you to take an inconspicuous deep breath. 

“Nah, nothing against fillers, but I’m more of a natural man myself,” he admits.

“Cellulite and stretch marks?” you ask with a lift of a brow, teasing but…mildly curious.

You watch as that smile slowly slides on his face, teeth glittering and eyebrows raising. He looks like he’s hit the jackpot. 

“The whole package, princess.”

Biting the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile, you push down the lingering arousal in your stomach, refusing to let it simmer. He’s funny and you appreciate a man who loves the raw and often overlooked intricacies of a woman.

His response is disorienting, throwing you off balance, and you’re unsure of what to do next. Your usual response is to talk back, to take delight in a man fumbling when his own cards have been turned against him. But you can’t think of anything right now. 

You move around him to place the bundt cake mold into the oven, setting a timer with the plastic buttons above the stove. Snatching the seltzer from the counter, you lean back against the oven, putting a considerable distance between the two of you to think. 

Toji mimics your movements, retreating to the fridge to relax against it, folding his arms across his chest, and god he still takes up the room. Even though you’re further away, it still seems like you can smell the cologne as if it’s sitting right on the skin below your nose.

“Do your moves always work on women?” you ask before taking a good swig of your seltzer.

He shrugs in response and turns around to dig a beer from the fridge. You don’t bother to hold back the urge to leer at him. You want to grab his ass, listen to him squeal in surprise, and blush in embarrassment when you squeeze. The thought of digging your fingers into the skin of it as he fucks you nice and slow makes your mind short circuit, a computer rebooting and making a loud noise before frying out indefinitely.

“On the rare occasion that I happen to use them, yes they always work. But…obviously not on you.”

“I’m not easy to win over. You need to be worth my time.” Your eyes flicker up to his face before he turns around to face you.

He takes a swig of his beer and you watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow. The column of his throat is long and pale and you want to slide your tongue along the side to taste the saltiness of his skin.

“What’s it going to take?”

His interest in you is admirable, and a small part of you is giddy with the attention. But you’re nervous to give him an inch when most are quick to take a mile.

“I have a name so stop calling me princess. I’m not a royal, so unless you’re offering me land, money, or power, I don’t want to hear it.”

He barks out another laugh, his thick chest shaking and eyes closing as he throws his head back. You despise how good it sounds and you’re reminded of these moments when men seem so beautiful and wonderful before the ugliest parts of them are visible.

“What else?” he inquires, still chuckling as he takes another long sip.

“If you’re expecting sex from me, think again. I don’t do one-night stands or friends with benefits. It’s messy and I just don’t have the strength for it.”

He seems to consider your remark as if he has no choice but to weigh your stipulation before signing a contract. Then he smirks that devilish smirk that makes your cunt pulse between your thighs when you know damn well it shouldn’t. You cannot be this turned on by this man.

“Not even if I have a big dick?” he teases.

He’s annoying and you’re mildly disgusted but still willing to banter with him, so you grimace and roll your eyes. “What, you want me to take a look first before I make up my mind?”

He full-on grins, the fucker. “If that’s what it takes.”

But in true fashion, you bounce back with your own quip. “Public indecency is a crime and I also don’t like to look at cock until after I’ve eaten something. It’s nauseating.”

Laughter erupts from him once again, loud and boisterous that it seems to shake the oven against your back. He probably thinks you’re joking. But you’re not. Dick already looks alien. Looking at dick on purpose without any sense of arousal is pathological behavior. 

Your heart flips in your chest when he pushes off the refrigerator again, taking a swig of his beer as he saunters to you and the sight is criminal. Your fingers dig just slightly into the metal can in your hands, a faint pop emanating from it. 

“What are you bothering me for anyway,” you can’t help but ask, frustration coating your words as you frown more at yourself than at Toji. “I have so many other cousins here who are single and would love to get their hands on you.”

At first, he doesn’t respond, and in the silence, you struggle to take a full breath again. You don’t like that he’s so close to you, but you also love the way he smells and the way he looks at you as if you’re someone and not something to fucking eat. You’re a fucking mess. 

His head tilts slightly, and his hair follows the movement, brushing against his cheeks as his eyes take you in instead of scrutinizing you. 

The air feels thin again, and you ready yourself to leave when your pregnant aunt suddenly barges back into the kitchen and stops short at the scene. Toji takes a slow step back, not really bothering to fumble at being so close to you. You’re sure he doesn’t really care.

She’s your favorite for a reason because she understands. She’s not dismissive and mean and she simply smiles knowingly at you both before gesturing with her head towards the backdoor.

“Time to eat. Honey, why don’t you show Toji what’s what before your uncles steal everything.”

***

He stays close to you when you both make it outside, and you do your best to ignore your bitchy aunt’s gaze from her perch in one of the patio chairs. The spread of food makes your mouth water and you waste no time grabbing a plate for yourself and absentmindedly handing Toji one as well.

“I’ve never had some of this before,” he admits, and his voice is a little apprehensive from next to you as he takes everything in. It makes sense, this is probably his first cookout…his first black cookout at least. Strangely, you’re proud to be the one to guide him along.

“What is this?” he asks, pointing to the heavy helping of greens and ham hocks on his plate minutes later. You’re both at a small table alone and away from the noise.

“Collard greens…it’s a cabbage that’s cooked in a pot for a few hours with spices and broth. The ham hocks give it flavor, cook it before you add the greens so the meat falls off the bone better.” 

You bite your lip to keep from laughing as Toji gives them a wayward glance, an arch of a thin brow that makes his features more handsome than they should be, and then he takes a tentative bite before moaning sinfully in appreciation. The vertebrae of your spine lock in place, stiff with a sudden chill at the noise as you picture it slipping from his lips while you ride him until the hinges fall off. 

You take your own bite to stop anything stupid from coming out of your mouth.

You figure he has to eat to accommodate for his size but to see it in action is something else entirely. He finishes two plates in fifteen minutes and as he makes his way to get another serving, your bitch of an aunt speaks up from across the lawn.

“Why don’t you get up and get him another plate?”

Why don’t you shut the fuck up?

You grip the plastic fork in your hand tightly, digging into your diminishing potato salad and swallowing the vile that you want to throw her way. 

Make your man a plate before you make yours, get him a drink, get him another helping so he doesn’t have to, keep him fed.

Maybe this is why you’re single. You want to scream. You want—

“Don’t listen to her. You’re still eating, don’t move,” he levels, and you don’t miss the hint of irritation in his own voice as he gets up. “The same seltzer as before?” he asks, pointing to your drink that you didn’t realize was empty.

“I—”, you fumble before clearing your throat. “I like the strawberry one…if there’s any left.”

He shoots a wink your way and your body ignites with heat.

Your cousin worms her way over when Toji disappears, and you try your best to ignore the sly look on her face.

“Defending your honor from our bitchy aunt? My, my, the perfect recipe for your feminist heart.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you growl, shoving the last of the potato salad in your mouth. 

“He’s Shiu’s best friend. Moved here from Japan a few months ago and is living in the same city as you. It could be fate? You want his number?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap again, feeling exasperated but knowing that unless Shiu is here to stop her, she will talk until she’s tired or you’re swinging at her.

She giggles, undeterred and gearing up for more. “He’s single too. And you’ve got all our other cousins mad as hell because he won’t leave you alone.” You don’t reply, because you’re mildly intrigued and impressed with yourself. It’s nice to have the attention from someone so attractive; it’s just figuring out if he’s genuine that’s the headache. “When the music gets louder tonight…or when the fireworks go off, take him upstairs and fuck him on—”

“Didn’t I say—fuck you.”

She guffaws, loud and unabashed and it pulls a smile from the side of your mouth. You know she doesn’t mean it, you know that at gatherings like these, you’re the black sheep and she just wants you to enjoy yourself.

“Seriously though, cousin. Shiu doesn’t keep many around, but they’ve been friends since they were kids. That’s a good sign right?”

There’s some merit to it, but you still want to be careful.

And Toji Fushiguro makes it hard for you to be careful because he wants you around him all the time and is unashamed to show it. 

Later in the night when the music is booming old school hip hop that your uncle won’t shut up about (he’s drunk), your other uncles—and a few cousins they will definitely con—have a table already bustling with spades. At first, you’re unsure how they convinced Toji to join, but he’s partnered with one of your cousins who has no clue about the game, and you realize they just want Toji to lose so they can feel good.  

Feeling curious, you pretend to bring Toji a beer. He’s frowning down at the cards, irritated with his lips curled into a small scowl and your cousin is trying to act like he knows what to do, but his stupidity is palpable even from where you stand.

You offer him a beer and ignore the fact that the one on the table is still full. When he looks up at you, his sharp eyes hold you like a vice, frustration evaporating quickly before opportunity takes its place.

“Help me.” He doesn’t bother to hide the confusion in his voice and you can’t help the way your stomach flips. 

One of your uncle’s snickers. “She doesn’t know how to play.” You do. “But she can try.”

You’re so annoyed, and you want to snap at him but Toji is pulling you closer to him with a muscular arm before you can. You’re in his lap before you know it, sitting precariously on a thick thigh with your back pressed against a broad chest and you can’t breathe again. The fluctuating altitudes are making you lightheaded.

Any other time and you wouldn’t hesitate to turn around and knock a man’s teeth in for grabbing you. But against your better judgment, you relax into Toji instead. His cheap cologne smells way too fucking good, he’s so big and warm against your body and your throat is drying up like you’ve taken a big breath in the middle of the Sahara.

“Don’t grab me like that,” you can’t help but grumble, only mildly put off.

“I improvised.” It’s a feeble excuse wrapped around a heavenly chuckle in your ear and you pray to whoever is listening, mentally offering up a sacrificial lamb, anything to ensure you don’t drip all over his thigh. “Now help me win.”

You do. Three times. He's adamant about winning and you're sure he has a gambling problem. And if your legs go a little numb from sitting on his thigh or if you lean into the way his outside hand slides to hold the curve of your waist, you don’t complain about it.

***

“You don’t dance?” Toji asks an hour later, joining you on the blanket that you occupied when you first arrived. It’s almost sunset, and the orange of the sky covers half of the backyard as your family revels in their merriment.

You shrug at Toji’s question, gazing at members of your family who are dancing in the yard. One of your loudest uncles is boasting about the music as he teaches one of your cousins dance steps. That used to be you so many years ago, and the moves are like muscle memory as you watch them. One of your aunts takes over the stereo, beginning what will surely be an hour of reminding everyone of the greatest hits. 

You suddenly realize that it’s just you and Toji on the blanket. Your cousin and Shiu are off god knows where, and given her penchant for being a rebellious freak, she’s probably riding him on your uncle’s bed. The thought makes you shudder.

“Are you cold?” he probes, pulling you out of your thoughts.

It is cooler now, but that’s not why you were shivering. You’re ready to tell him no, to start shaking your head even as you watch him pull his own jacket off to place it over your shoulders. His hands smooth over your shoulders and down your arms as if securing it closer to your skin and your blood boils beneath your cheeks. Your skin isn’t light enough to show when you’re blushing, but you’re burning with nervousness.

“Stop being so nice to me,” you hiss instinctively, regretting the words as soon as they leave your mouth. The surprise is evident on his face and you immediately feel guilty. “I’m—I’ll only be mean to you in return.”

For the first time of the night, he looks angry. His eyebrows dip, the scar on his cheek twists with the harsh frown on his lips and he gives a severe ‘tch’ that makes you gape at him. “Why because you’re mean to men?” he snaps, impatient and free of any tease. 

It raises your hackles instantly, and you’re talking back before you know it. “Exactly. So why don’t you take a hint and stop trying to get into my pants—”

You feel a rough finger on the side of your cheek turn you further towards him, preventing you from looking at anything else.

“You just don’t like bullshit. Stop acting up and let me be nice to you.” 

For once, you don’t have anything to say even though your hand is twitching with the urge to slap the words from his mouth. You want to. It’s easy for you to fight back and push them away, you’re good at it. But you can’t fight the way his gaze seems to calm you down against your better judgment.

You pull your face from his hold and roll your shoulders, sliding out of his sharp gaze and turning back to your lively family. One of your cousins is arguing about why the Cowboys didn’t make it into the playoffs, and now everyone has something to say.

You pull in a deep breath, scolding yourself to relax just a little. He hasn’t been so bad, and you’re not one to make things intentionally difficult if a man is honestly trying. You’re still apprehensive about his intentions…but he is trying without being a beast. So you exhale your frustrations into the July air, calm down so your heart can steady its frantic pounding from the lingering scent of his cologne, and dig your fingers into your uncle’s well-kept grass.

“Fine. If I let you be nice to me…what would be the next thing you would say?”

You can’t look at him, but you feel his eyes on your body as you pluck a few blades of grass from the soil. The strands slide against the pads of your fingertips, rough and threatening to cut, before fluttering in the breeze when you release them. 

He’s grabbing you again, tenderly but possessively, sliding you into his embrace so your back is to his muscular chest, his chin rests on the side of your temple and his arms wrap around your waist. Your heart is back to leaping in your chest, pumping loud and fast in your ears, drowning out the music and arguing as if you’re underwater.

“How about you tell me about your family?” he suggests, voice unmuffled through the thickness of your hearing.

It’s a random ask, as if he wants to impress them, as if you’ve been dating for a long period of time and he wants to be prepared to meet them for the first time. The thought doesn’t leave a bad taste in your mouth, even though you know it would never be a reality anyway. You don’t know if he’s just joking and frankly, the feel of him against you is warmer than his jacket on your shoulders and you don’t want to leave.

So, if it means he can stay put, you give in. You tell him about your aunts, uncles, and cousins—where they are from and what they do. You share your traditions when you all get together and the small intricacies you all share. It’s incredibly personal…maybe even too intimate. But he listens, and hums to let you know he’s paying attention, and asks you questions as you talk.

Eventually, his cheek rests on the crown of your head against your braids and you surprisingly don’t mind at all. When you notice his arms wrapped around you, you get a better view of the scars on his arms and fingers, and there is a rising urge to ask how he got each one.

“So she’s been married twice?” his voice is low in your ear so you can only hear him in the noisy backyard. His breath smells faintly of the beer he finished an hour ago, and it slides along the skin of your neck hot and thick. You resist the urge to cant your neck to the side to give his breath more room to roam.

You nod. “She got the fillers after the first husband. Those brought in the second husband. Then he left her for some girl in Cali.”

“Cali?’ he questions, confused.

You snort softly. “California.” You elbow him and the bone slides against hard muscle. Dammit. “You don’t know your states?”

“I’m foreign, not stupid.” The laugh that bubbles from your chest is sharp and you can’t help the smile that pulls against your cheeks from it. “I know my states!” He sounds truly annoyed and for some reason that makes you laugh harder. “Florida, Kansas—”

“I’m not asking you to prove yourself!” you sputter around a giggle, shaking in his embrace. But he’s not listening.

“Montana, New York…there’s another one…the big one.”

You gawk, turning just a little to crane your head up at him. He looks down at you with an embarrassed expression, his cheeks a little rosy even though his lips are flickering with the urge to laugh. 

“I beg your finest pardon…the big one?”

The side of his face twists in the nastiest way, and he’s angry at being questioned. “Don’t—it’s the one down below!”

“In relation to what?”

His eyes narrow, emerald barely noticeable between thick lashes. You can sense his hold on you tightening slightly, his chest stutters in a huff and you realize with rising glee that he’s pouting. Normally you would revel in this…but—

“Texas,” you find yourself speaking up at him, voice soft and gentle on the edges. “The big one down below is Texas.”

He simply hums, his chest vibrating against your back, but his gaze is smoldering, taking you in and dipping down to your lips before flickering back up your eyes. You’re too hot now, his jacket against your skin too suffocating, your heart beating too fast against your ribcage.

You hate just how rebellious you like to be. “What, you gonna kiss me?”

The challenge is fleeting across his features and he leans down so quickly that you don’t have time to react. Your stomach flips with irritation at the implication that he would take from you without asking, and suddenly, you no longer want him touching you.

“I wouldn’t take it without asking,” he whispers in the small space between you both as if reading your thoughts. The tips of his raven locks brush against your cheek, there’s a slight kink in your neck from how you are looking up at him, but he’s so close that you don’t care. One of his hands skims up from your waist, caressing the curve of your ribs, and his thumb teasingly runs along the underside of your clothed breast. His touch is reactive in you, and you angle your body further into his actions. His gaze remains locked on yours, absorbing your very being without doing a thing and you’re fighting to stay in control.

“So can I?” he asks, voice deep with temptation. “Kiss you?”

You swallow the bucket of drool that has somehow pooled in the back of your throat in seconds. The thumping of your heart no longer fills your ears, replaced now by a deafening ringing, spurred by your growing desire as you open your mouth to respond. 

“I…depends…are you any good?”

He nonchalantly shrugs, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as his scarred lips twist into a smirk. He’s completely calm and you can tell if you told him no, he would leave it alone entirely. But he’s enjoying this, you can see it all over his face.

“Jury’s still out.”

You don’t trust yourself to say ‘yes’. Some part of you feels like if it comes out of your mouth, it will sound too desperate and you want to stay in control as much as you can. But, you could give yourself this. You’ve earned it. Just one kiss and then you could hide away until the fireworks and then use the noise as a cover to leave. After all, he’s hot. He’s been so nice and honest and the warning siren in your mind has long faded.

You deserve a reward.

So you nod, stiffly but enough for him to notice, and the air seems to thin out again when he leans in a little more.

“Toji!” one of your uncles calls out, severing through the heavy cloud of lust between you both like a knife. You recoil from his touch, his touch now only making you itchy, and you pull from his embrace so that his arms unravel and his jacket slides off your shoulders. The cooler air is freezing this time against your skin. “Come help me with the fireworks, would you?”

You don’t pay attention to his response, because you’re already up on your feet and making your way inside the house. Your body floods with the embarrassment and shame of being caught by your family…kissing a man that you’ve just met. You know you shouldn’t care…but it’s so easy for their behavior to rub off on you when you feel vulnerable.

***

Thankfully, no one is in the kitchen when you finally make it inside. The music dulls down when you close the backyard door and the ringing in your ears is now silent. 

You resolve to stay inside until the fireworks go off. No one is really paying attention to you anyway—most of them are drunk, others too absorbed in the music and gossip so it’s a perfect chance for you to duck away and show your face again next year.

Should you tell Toji goodbye?

No.

No, you hardly know the man. Just a few hours in good company and a kiss that almost happened that you probably would have let escalate. You probably would have let his tongue slide into your mouth. Probably would have let him pull you into one of the spare rooms, eat you out until you’re seeing stars, and then bend you over the edge of the bed to fuck you until he—

For fuck’s sake.

You yank open one of the kitchen cabinets in search of a glass. You need water because your body is piping hot. There’s a sheen of sweat on your neck beneath the layer of braids that fell when Toji laid his cheek on your head, and your hands are slick as they press into the counter to give you strength to peek into one of the lower shelves. Of course, the only one in the cabinet would be on the highest shelf. Of course, you’re too fucking short.

You climb onto the counter, knees digging into the off-white surface as you lift yourself up and peer into one of the higher shelves. You spot a glass, and you can have a heaping glass to cool yourself off enough to get you home. And then you can just use your vibrator once and go to sleep. Or twice. Or maybe a third time to get the thought of him out of your mind for the foreseeable future. 

Unbeknownst to you, he’s standing behind you. You didn’t even hear the back door open and close. But you catch a glimpse of a long, muscular arm reaching past your ear to grab the glass. You’re frozen, your fingers digging into the wooden shelf, unable to turn around and face him, even though you can feel his gaze hot on your skin.

Your plan is shattered, and you have no choice but to come up with an excuse to leave him. You’re combing through scenarios in your mind as you slowly slide down and perch yourself on the countertop, finally facing him. He places the glass on the counter, away from you, and closes the distance between you until the ridges of his clothed abs brush against your knees. His hands are searing against your skin as they rest on your knees and you watch his thumbs trace an obscure pattern with a touch that is featherlight. 

“Your uncle interrupted us,” Toji finally speaks, his voice carrying a hint of hopefulness despite his attempt to maintain a neutral expression. His gaze, so harsh and sharp, is alluring in its own way, tempting you to relax the steady clench of your thighs.

“It probably wasn’t a good idea anyway,” you chuckle, self-deprecation rising to the surface of your skin and prickling against the pores.

“Why not?”

Maybe because you would be too much for him and scare him away? Maybe the fear of being too demanding in bed, of not being able to stop once he kisses you, lingers in your thoughts, making the idea of having him only once and never again infuriating.

“I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want. I’ll get you water and let you sneak away when the fireworks go off because I know you want to…even though you shouldn’t give a fuck about what your family thinks…but I would really like that kiss.”

Analyzing his features, you take in the sincerity reflected in the moss-green of his eyes. It’s a last-ditch effort to make sure something else isn’t hiding there, and you find yourself coming up short.

Slowly, you part your legs for him to stand between. His hands slide up your thighs tantalizingly slow, leaving a trail of fire in their wake before pushing the fabric of your red sundress up to your waist. You try to ignore the way the cool air on your panties does little to quell the heat radiating from them. His hands wrap around your waist and a gasp heaves from your lips when he yanks you to him, your thighs brushing the sides of his thick waist. 

One of the hands on your waist trails up to the side of your neck, gently tilting your head up, so you can look fully at him as his thumb traces the skin of your bottom lip.

“You better make it good,” you challenge, hoping your faux annoyance can mask the anticipation building in your gut.

He sees right through it and simply hums before he leans down to finally seal his lips against yours. He’s a big man, an overwhelming man, and you feel it in his kiss as his lips take every ounce of breath you have in your lungs. He tastes like the pound yellow cake that everyone got to before you could and a hint of beer and it’s the perfect combination that you want more of. 

His hands are under your dress, brushing beneath your thighs for traction and pulling you impossibly closer to the point where you feel your clothed center brush against the zipper of his jeans. You dig your hands into the fabric of his shirt, twisting and silently commanding for him to give you more. You open your mouth to coax him and his tongue is wet and insistent against yours.

You can feel your resolve dissipating in the air, fizzling against the heat that radiates from your body and your self-control is walking on a tightrope, precariously and seconds away from falling. And once it’s gone, you’ll be a woman unhinged.

He yanks you to him again as if its not enough, harder this time with a growl in the back of his throat that makes you gasp into his mouth, then rolls his hips against yours and behind his zipper you feel him hard and bulging and angry and oh—

You pull away with a harsh breath, gasping for air and biting back a moan that gurgles in your throat when his mouth works its way down the skin of your neck. Your skin is sensitive, and it buzzes with the touch of his lips and invokes a fervent need so deep within you that you’re losing awareness of where you are. You’re lightheaded, brain in the fucking stratosphere and you have to lay down, you have to—

He’s guiding you onto your back before you can do it yourself and the cool counter is a balm against the skin of your exposed shoulders and back. He looms over you from his place between your legs, big and muscular and reeking of hunger. 

“Toji,” you try to speak into the air, stifling a whimper at the sight of him stretching out your leg to rest on his shoulder.

One of his large hands caresses the canvas of your calf before you watch his lips kiss your chocolate skin. His rough scar scratches against you in the most delightful way as his mouth kisses up your calf, bends your leg to get closer, and then resumes his touch on the inside of your thigh. His face should be melting with the amount of heat emitting from between your legs, but he must relish in the burn because the second his tongue slides thick and wet against your clothed cunt, you whimper pathetically into the air.

You have just enough common sense to break from the desire to be fucked thoroughly to whisper.

“Toji, we can’t,” you swallow against the dryness in your throat. “Someone could see.”

You can feel the impatience on his body in waves but he has to listen to you. If your family were to walk in here right now to see their niece or cousin being eaten out like a gourmet meal, the Earth would swallow you whole.

“Shit,” he hisses, pulling you into his arms and carrying you out of the kitchen. You don’t care enough to tell him where to go; you’re too hot, too wet in your panties, and your need is twisting at the base of your spine in the most irritating way, begging to be soothed. 

You hear the beginnings of fireworks being popped off in the backyard and your family is loud, thankfully so loud as Toji locks the door to the bathroom and drops you unceremoniously onto the counter. Though the metal of the faucet digs into the small of your back and you fall into the mirror as you clamber to get yourself in order, you can’t bring yourself to care. He’s on you again, all teeth and lips and sinful tongue in your mouth with equally sinful hands digging impatiently into the sides of your panties.

“Take them off,” you demand, practically whining and in less than a second you can only get one leg out before he’s sinking to his knees, eyes wild and shoulders heaving with untamed breaths. 

“God, you’re so fucking wet. So damn pretty,” he whispers in reverence, throwing your legs over his shoulders, and the compliment makes your cunt throb in anticipation.

You can’t be sure if he’s talking to you or himself. Before you can breathe to calm yourself, it’s catching in your throat, hitching against a moan as his tongue licks a long wet stripe up the slit of your dripping cunt. His tongue parts your folds as if it’s the sea, savoring your essence and then sucking your clit into his mouth like it’s the cherry on top and you love it, whine at the feel, eyes crossing and rolling into the back of your head at the exquisite feeling.

He pulls away for a moment, taking a deep breath as if to regain control, and kisses the inside of your thigh before sliding two fingers up your dripping center, collecting your slick before beginning to rub circles on your clit. He’s mesmerized, and you take a moment to marvel at just how little of his green eyes are visible to you, his pupils are dilated with hunger and focused on the way your cunt moves with his fingers.

“Your bitch of an ex ever eat you out?”

You really don’t want to think about him right now, and you also don’t like the thought of someone feeling like they need to prove themselves to you.

But there’s a big man between your thighs who wants to unwrap you like candy. So you shrug, panting softly as you speak, “Every now and then.”

Toji scoffs, eyes seeming to darken like a forest at night.

“Every now and then,” he parrots, voice incredulous as if he’s heard the most insane thing ever, like he can’t believe it.

He increases the pressure on your clit harshly, causing you to buck against him, yelping in satisfied shock when he flicks your sensitive bud hard with his tongue.

“I’ll make you feel good, princess. Don’t you worry.” 

The nickname doesn’t have the effect as before. No, this time you moan in response, your guts churning with satisfaction at the prospect of being worshiped.

Slowly the two fingers on your clit slide into you, testing the waters, gauging if you’re okay, and your jaw slackens at the feel of the stretch. Fingering is an art, an act that requires patience and skill. You have to know the right pace, when to curl, how to know a woman’s body to determine what she wants. It’s glorious when it’s done right. 

And god, does Toji do it right.

He’s thorough and fluid in his strokes, using the tempo of your moans to curl at just the right time and sucking and licking your clit like he’s ravenous and your head is falling back into the space between your shoulder blades, eyes wide with disbelief as you stare at the ceiling. 

The fireworks are consistent outside, popping off every second and it’s loud enough that you have the courage to voice how Toji is making you feel. 

“Every now and then,” he hisses again to himself, angry and curling his fingers a little harder. You jerk against him, whimpering like a fool when you feel his tongue flick your clit harder as a reward. “He’s so fucking stupid. You taste so good, it’s unbelievable.”

He’s curling more now, brushing against that spongy wall that zings heat to your belly. Your insides churn, a molten heat popping to splatter against the base of your spine, pleasure coaxing you to reach that precipice that will let you fall apart. 

Vaguely you hear him whispering words into the skin of your thighs that you can’t decipher, the thrumming in your ears too loud to hear anything else beyond the fireworks outside, your escalating moans, and the obscene sounds of him slurping you up. The muscles in your thighs begin to tighten, your fingers are sweaty as they slide against the cool marble of the bathroom counter, and you dig your wedges into the muscles of his back, white panties dangling off one ankle. He’s so good, so thorough and your breath is hitching, choking on a moan.

“There you go princess, cum all over my fingers. Get me nice and messy.”

His deep words are accompanied by a sharp bend of his fingers and you’re cumming with a shout, rejoicing in the hot pleasure that puddles along your bones. It’s abrupt and overwhelming, pulling a sharp current down your body that makes your back arch until it bumps into the sink behind you. He’s groaning from his place between your legs, still pumping his fingers and licking your clit to collect as much of your slick as he can.

By the time you look down at him, you’re still catching your breath, your thighs tremble from the sudden chill injected into your muscles. You catch Toji just in time to watch him begin to slip his two dripping fingers into his mouth, but you snatch his wrist, riding off the high of your orgasm to slip his digits into your mouth instead. Thin rings of green widen in surprise and you savor the way his cheeks darken as you swirl your tongue around his digits.

“You’re unreal,” he gulps when you pop his fingers out of your mouth.

You shrug, not willing to show him just how powerful you feel, and wrap your legs around his waist, panties still caught on the buckle of one of your wedges. 

“I’m letting you be nice to me, remember? So what’s next?”

With a harsh pull, he stumbles closer to you, his hands slamming against the marble counter on either side of your waist. His breath hitches as you hastily undo his belt, eyes widening as he takes in the way you leer up at him. 

“You got me a drink, defended my honor from my bitchy aunt, asked me about my family, ate my pussy…you wanna fuck me now?”

“I—” he starts, caught off guard by your forwardness.

“You want to bend me over this counter, make me look in the mirror while I take your cock? Smack my ass and make me beg for you to fill me up?”

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” Toji chokes on a nervous laugh, hissing when your fingers graze the sensitive skin above his belt. 

“Is that a problem?”

The hair of his happy trail is faint and dark just like the hair on his head, and your touch makes his stomach bunch in sensation. He shakes his head in response and you want to laugh so bad at the sight of him struggling to swallow. You haven’t done anything to the man, but he’s sensitive to your touch, and that makes the blood in your veins sing.

“If you’re letting me have you, you can have it however you want.”

Arousal hums to life between your legs, and you can’t help but be turned on at how much he’s giving you. You want him now and while the prospect of being fucked over the counter was what you had hoped, if your family comes in and hears you taking it like a champ, you’ll never show your face again.

So when the door to your truck’s backseat closes, you’re climbing back on his lap, relaxing further into him with the knowledge that you can be as noisy as you want. Your uncle has a seven-month supply of fireworks and land in the middle of nowhere, Hennessey, and classics booming from his sound system… it’s going to be loud for a very long time. 

You’re running on your own current of desire at this point, pawing at his shirt so he can finally yank it off his shoulders and you’re drooling. He’s glorious and you don’t hesitate to rub your hands down firm pectorals, between the abs on his torso, and along the musculature of his Adonis belt. He’s cut like a marble statue, something that takes a painstaking process to hammer and smooth over until the result is almost—

“Let me take you out,” he suddenly suggests, voice gravelly with want but insistent.

Huh?

You’re immediately puzzled, eyebrows dipping into a furrow as you try to decipher his words. His hair is wild, black strands splintering and bushy but still giving you a gateway to his eyes and you see that he’s completely serious.

“On…a date?” A lift of his thin eyebrow in reply and the reality of him actually showing interest flags dangerously against your desire to ride him into oblivion. “Just the dopamine talking, I’m sure,” you say, hoping to dismiss the idea. You hadn’t expected him to actually…want to take you out. You can’t think about that right now because your head is too thick with hunger to try and have a conversation.

He hums, low and dangerous, a hand brushing the skin above your clit and you’re reminded of just how wet you still are from his sloppy tongue minutes before. 

“You’re the only one here that’s cum, princess. I’m being serious.”

“It’ll pass,” you reply immediately, licking into his mouth to shut him up.

Thankfully he doesn’t try to interject because you don’t have time to talk right now—you don’t want to. You don’t know Toji, not well enough. While tonight has been one of the most relaxed evenings you’ve spent with a man in a long time, you’re unsure if he genuinely wants you or if he’s merely carried away by the thrill of being with a woman.

He tried to come onto you the minute he laid eyes on you, tried to kiss you after a few hours, and pocketed your panties even though you pretended to be oblivious. You just don’t know. If you had a pretty girl in your lap, you would probably say the same things. Ask her on a date, make her feel wanted so she’s more giving when you slide her panties off.

It’ll pass.

And that’s what you tell yourself when you feel his large hands palm your ass beneath your sundress. You are teeth against him, nipping his tongue, biting the skin of his jaw, the meat of his neck, and the sharp groan that you pull from him in response makes you drip like a bitch in heat against his jeans.

“Take off your pants,” you whisper to him sharply, turning around and leaning over the center console to fish a condom from inside. You had discovered them months ago, and they should have been more than enough for you to dump your ex then.

“Shit,” you hear Toji hiss from behind you before your ass stings from his slap against it. You yelp, jumping from the contact and you hope he can see your cunt pulse from between your thighs in response. “Hurry up, baby.” 

When you face him again, you freeze, eyes widening at the sight of his cock. As you take him in, he snatches the condom from your hand and unfurls it on his cock.

Surprisingly trimmed with dark hair, he’s thick—not enough to be painful—but enough to enjoy the stretch so you can ride him until he flatlines and enjoy the ache in your thighs in the morning. It’s perfect; pale with a red tip that leaks into the tip of the condom, a vein along the side that you can’t lick without tasting latex. It’s a shame.  

He throws you that devilish smirk, eyes twinkling in pride before he taps his thigh and beckons you like the best ride at the carnival.

“Hop on, princess.”

Your fingers grip the hair at his nape when you feel him inside of you. It’s a delicious stretch that you have to breathe through, and the feel of his hands affectionately stroking your back catches you off guard. You don’t hate it; in fact, you want to lean into it, but you don’t want to give him any ammunition for something you aren’t sure about. So you slide down to the hilt and listen to Toji curse sharply through the sudden heat of you before you start a steady rhythm that throws him off.

Within seconds, you increase your pace, riding him with an intensity that makes the air in your throat catch and drag along the sides. He’s got a satisfying curve to him that grazes those magical spots within you to make the grip on his nape tighten like a vice. Your head is foggy with an overpowering mist that makes your mouth loose and your inhibitions low.

“You feel so good,” he whispers, pulling you out of the delirium you were basking in to focus on him. His jaw is relaxed, hot air puffing from between an open mouth and onto the skin of your neck, a few strands of his hair stick to his forehead and the sides of his cheeks and there’s a slight furrow to his thin eyebrows as if he’s trying to concentrate.

You’re giddy with desire. “Let me guess,” you tease, lips brushing against his. “Am I tight?”

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation, eyelids hooded and upper cheeks darkening with a blush that spreads down his neck.

“Am I nice and hot?”

“Yes, fuck yes, baby.” 

It’s meant to tease, because every man that has ever slid inside of you in the past says the same shit, but to hear it from him brings a strange sense of satisfaction that you find yourself slanting your lips against his. He still tastes like the yellow cake that you never got, but the flavor is intertwined with the remnants of your essence that still lingers on his tongue that dances with yours. 

You plant your knees harder into the seat on each side of him, use your muscles to bear down and give you more control, and then you roll your hips, guiding him in and out in a tantalizing dance that elicits groans from him and makes him roll his head back against the headrest.

“Let me take you out,” he gasps into the air and you refuse to answer him—you can’t. It’s harder now to believe his sincerity because he’s delirious with lust. “Answer me.”

You growl softly and yank your hands from his hair to push down the straps of your sundress. You’re not wearing a bra, and he cusses like he just stubbed his toe as he watches your breasts spill free.

“Stop talking,” you whisper and yank his head forward, beckoning him to you and he catches on quickly, licking and sucking a nipple before pulling it into his mouth. The sensation makes you shudder, a gentle pleasure that your cunt appreciates and you pick up your pace on him again. “Stop asking me. Just let me fuck you.”

He bites down in retaliation to pull a squeak from you and licks over the sting in a half-assed apology. When you look down, his gaze is illuminated by the streetlights, a harsh glare that showcases his annoyance with your deflection, but his eyes droop when you squeeze around him in response.

You’re stuffed full of him, stretching along the sides, punching the air out of your throat with each bounce on his cock and your legs begin to burn with the build-up of exertion. Your nipples are wet and sensitive against his taste buds as he teases each peak into his hot mouth and it helps to mix that pot of pleasure in your stomach to life again. 

You can feel it, like a crescendo of waves crashing against a dock, but the waves are coming in quicker and more turbulent with every moan and cry that falls from your lips. You push him off of your chest, dig your fingers into his shoulders for more leverage so you can ride his cock like you have nothing left to lose.

His chest is blooming red, covered in a light sheen of sweat that dips between his pectorals and pools in his collarbones. Your bun of braids came loose when he was eating you out in the bathroom, and now some are heavy on your skin with sweat and plaster over your shoulders and between your sternum and you’re hot and sweaty and trying so hard to reign it in. 

He doesn’t buck up into you and you’re unsure if it’s due to laziness or the fact that he simply wants to watch you while he brings himself closer to climax. You hope it’s the latter. 

“Do you like this?” you pant into his mouth and nip his bottom lip. “You can tell me, you know. Be a good boy and tell me just how I’m making you feel.”

He groans and lands another smack to your ass that makes you gasp and arch further into him. It's the right amount of pain that makes your pussy pulse in response, the right amount of manhandling that can take you higher in a second.

“You’re a natural, princess. You ever ride him like this?”

You shake your head and he smacks your ass again, harder this time and digs his fingertips into the flesh to let the sting linger. It's so good, and you can't help the whine that you puff against his lips as he smirks up at you with a proud disposition.

“He couldn’t handle it. Probably why he cheated wasn’t it? You were too much for him. You know how you like it and he couldn’t deliver.” 

You don’t answer him, but he’s right. He’s so right. He couldn’t stand it when you took control, hated when you asked him to do something that didn’t result in him being dominant, hated when he couldn’t even eat pussy without you having to ask. 

The feel of his fingers on your clit makes you jump and you poke your fingers into his nape again and pick up your pace, panting and moaning like you’re running a marathon as the pleasure rocks inside of you like a pendulum. 

“Oh god. Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you whisper, stomach burning.

You’re fluttering around him—pulsing and clenching and gushing over the thickest cock you’ve ever had and it’s glorious, you’re in fucking heaven.

The streetlight shines faintly into your truck, painting half of Toji’s face. He’s beautiful; that same annoying flicker of desire that captivated you when his green eyes met yours hours ago glimmers thin and dilated.

There’s a ruggedness to him that exudes masculinity, but glimpses into the depths of his eyes reveal a tender vulnerability that makes you wonder how soft he could be if he allowed you to get close enough.

The thought makes your cunt tighten around him, your thighs tense and fill with lactic acid and his fingers on your clit are unceasing, rubbing in a precise rhythm that makes you hiccup on a moan of incredulity. The hand not occupied with your clit is reclined across the headrest behind him and it makes him look unbearably sexy.

“I’ve never had a woman ride me like this,” he whispers, and you smile into his mouth, your kiss messy as you swallow down his compliment. He yanks you away and breathes that same insufferable ask against your lips.

“Let me take you out.” He rubs your clit faster, using the way you tighten around him as a guide to your pleasure, and his hand leaves the headrest to dig into the meat of your ass. “One chance. One dinner. I’ll give you what you deserve, whatever you want, princess. I promise just—”

“Stop it,” you whine and fight the burning sensation in your eyes. You’re so close, so fucking close and the storm inside of you is out of control but he won’t stop fucking talking. Won’t stop being so damn nice even though his cock is rearranging your guts in the nastiest way. You grip his hair and pull him closer to you so there’s no space between you to breathe. “Stop talking. Stop asking. Make yourself useful and make me cum.”

Thankfully he does. He scowls up at you behind the curtain of his hair but pinches your clit and you squeal, rolling your hips, riding him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. The windows have already fogged up, the truck rocks with your movements, and you are consumed with a blissful incoherence that forces you to surrender and let your walls crumble.

Your thighs burn, your dress clings to your sweaty body, and the stimulation on your clit becomes almost unbearable as you whine with the need to cum. He hisses loudly into the car, bares his teeth for a second, and then his eyes roll before he’s slack-jawed and panting into stuffy air, a current of groans beneath.

“That’s it, Toji,” you gasp, voice strained as you teeter on the brink of an orgasm that threatens to overwhelm you. “Be nice to me just like you said and give me everything like the good boy you are.”

The hand not on your clit slips against the sweat on your hips, and you lick up the side of his neck, savoring the salt taste of his perspiration on his smooth skin, just in time to hear him. It’s faint and low, practically a whisper but he chants--

‘Fuck yes, fuck yes. So fucking good. Ride me, sweetheart.’

It’s tilted in a whine, pathetically desperate, but the sound of him does the trick because the flick of his fingers on your clit makes the biggest wave of pleasure crash over you.

You don’t get the chance to tell him you’re cumming, you simply yank his head back from the sudden force, tilt your head up to the ceiling and cum with an exhausted and wrung out ‘fuck!’ that you’re sure your uncle’s neighbors will hear a mile down the road. You’re dumbfounded with pleasure, dizzy with it and your belly is hot and simmering as you gasp and whimper at just how good it feels. 

He’s laying you back on the seat before you can catch your breath. You’re still coming down, still moaning to catch up but his large hands are under your knees and bending them towards your chest to chase his own orgasm. The edge of the seat digs into the crevice of your spine, and your hand flies out to smack against the back of the driver’s seat so you don’t fall but it slips with sweat, is hard to hold onto and you can hardly focus with everything that’s going on. 

His mouth is on you, stealing your breath that you still can’t control, swallowing your moans as he fucks you with a ferocity that pulls your soul from your body. He pulls away with a deep moan and stares down at you with a look that makes you anxious—like he wants to see you again, like he wants to come to another cookout with your rowdy family if it means he can bother you some more—like he really likes you. 

You know he’s going to try and say something that you may not be able to talk yourself out of, so you take the intense furrow in his eyebrows and the stuttering of his hips as a cue.

“You gonna cum?” you purr up at him, moaning weakly from the harsh thrusts that stroke you into overstimulation.

“Yes,” he answers without fail, eyes locked on yours. “Yes, I’m gonna cum. Fuck—”

Reaching up, you cup his cheek, unsure why but feeling an inexplicable need, and the words that fall from your lips help him across the finish line. 

“Cum inside me, Toji. Take what you want and fill me up.”

His eyes widen before they roll closed and he’s slamming against you three times hard and rough before the deepest moan you’ve ever heard slips past his lips. He pants heavily stuttering tiny thrusts into you as he comes down, the tips of his hair drip a few drops of sweat onto your neck before he lowers himself to rest on top of you. He’s too big for the seat and his knee digs into the floor of the truck to maintain his balance. His hot breath washes over your neck, slowly calming down, and in your daze, you realize that you’re holding onto his shoulders. 

The hard lines of Toji that you noted when you first saw him now feel gentle against you.

He rumbles your name into your neck and you’re cutting him off before the dopamine can speak for him. 

“We should get back inside before someone finally notices that we’ve been gone.” He abruptly lifts to look down at you, annoyance etched on his devastatingly handsome face. He wants to argue, you can taste it, but your fear wins. “My bitchy aunt has been at me all night, the last thing I need is her snooping.”

He’s quiet still, the edge of his lips curling into a dissatisfied frown. It stretches his scar in a way that takes away from the beauty of his face. Makes him look more alien and you have to pull your gaze from him. But he doesn’t argue like you think he would. He doesn’t speak or try to talk back or voice how annoyed he is.

He slowly pulls out of you and you immediately miss the feeling, ties off the condom, and pulls you up tenderly from the seat. Your skin is sticky and the truck reeks of sex. The high has worn off and all that remains is the overwhelming unease that rises like bile in the back of your throat. 

When you both are finally dressed and creeping out of the backseat, the cool air is a welcome feel to your overheated skin. It washes away your trepidation, if only for a moment. Toji looms over you, tall like a bear that you desperately want to sink your embrace back into, but he still doesn’t speak, and the crease of annoyance between his brows doesn’t leave. He should hold onto it. It will help him get over you. 

“Do you mind getting my purse from inside the house? I don’t want to go back inside just yet and I need to check my phone.”

Impatience emanates from his every pore, yet you can sense his anxiety as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. But he still doesn’t fight and makes his way back inside without a word.

You lied.

Your purse is in the front seat of your car—you threw it up there when you both snuck into the vehicle in the first place, but his attention was too busy trying to feel you up than pay attention to the satchel hanging off your shoulder. 

Once you see the front door close, you get into the front seat, start your car, and drive away without a second thought. Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly as the temptation to turn back tugs at you. 

It may not be right to leave without saying goodbye, and lying to him has left a bitter taste in your mouth. Your family is too occupied with the fireworks and each other’s company to really notice your absence anyway, and you’re sure they’ll have no problem trying to distract Toji when he realizes that you’re gone. 

The grip on the wheel doesn’t lessen, but you roll down the windows and let the evening July air wash away some of the sex that still lingers on the seats.

***

“So you did fuck him,” your cousin snickers over the speaker of your phone a week later. 

It’s a Saturday night and you’re knee-deep in your wash day routine. It took you all day to take out your braids and the clear shower cap on your head traps the deep conditioner inside. You wipe away some of the excess near your ear.

You have Chinese waiting to be delivered, and you’re ready to finish your routine so you can go to bed. Your eyes are glued to your television playing some sort of nature documentary but your attention is elsewhere, specifically on trying to worm your way out of this conversation with your cousin. She’s called you every single day since the 4th and she’s done nothing but make you feel guilty about your abrupt departure. 

As you expected, your family didn’t really notice your absence. But when Toji asked your cousin for your purse and then realized you had lied, he sulked in a lawn chair for the rest of the night before Shiu drove him home.

“Yes, I fucked him. So what?”

“Soooo do something about it. Fuck him again? He lives in the same city as you and is here indefinitely. Make a move—”

“It was a nice night, but he was already trying to flirt with me as soon as he saw me and I still entertained him and fucked him and—I shouldn’t have done that…I should have waited, maybe tested the waters more. He only tried to ask me out because he was horny as hell.”

She’s quiet on the other line, and you look up at the ceiling in exasperation because you can feel her annoying logic rev up before she fires away.

“So you’re just scared? Your ex cheated on you because he was a spineless pissy boy who slithered away because you didn’t take his shit. That’s not a reflection of you, at all. I know you like to have it all figured out before you make a decision, but not everything works out that way. Toji saw a fine ass black woman who talks her shit and he made a move. He’s a nice guy...a little rough around the edges, but truly…a nice guy. Someone for you.”

James Attenborough elegantly voices something about the cuttlefish on the screen while you try to contemplate what to say. She’s right. You hate that she’s right. It’s why you two are so close but still you retort in the best way you know how.

“Girl, fuck you.”

Her raucous laugh vibrates over the speaker in delight and you snort and roll your eyes when the doorbell cuts you off. The prospect of your Chinese food makes your mouth water and you’re rushing to the door.

Only it’s not your Chinese food at the doorstep, it’s Toji Fushiguro. Toji Fushiguro who is protected from the rain under the overhang of your apartment door with one hand in the pocket of his jacket and the other clutching a container. The annoyed look that you last saw on his face is gone, replaced by a neutral and bored look that seems natural for him, even though his eyes don’t convey that specific emotion. Those green eyes are reminiscent of your uncle’s well-maintained lawn as they look down at you with a nervous glint. 

“Toji,” you breathe in disbelief. “How did you get my address…”

Your cousin squawks on the other line and swallows a giggle. “I’m gonna go—”

“Your cousin finally gave it to me.,” he replies simply and gestures down to the phone in your tight grip. “I’ve been trying to get it since you fucking left.”

“Damn, thanks?!” she barks at him. “Lemme get out of here, I’m getting another call anyway. Bye!”

You’re going to kill her. Slowly. Painfully and maybe in front of Shiu to get a few tears out of him if you’re feeling particularly evil. 

You know she’s right about Toji, but you can’t do this. You shouldn’t have fucked him in the first place and you should have thought of a backup plan on the off chance that your cousin was going to be annoying and nosy as hell.

You ignore his intense and heavy gaze, shifting in discomfort, scratch the back of your neck, and blanch in horror when your fingers brush the edge of your shower cap. You’re wearing a large t-shirt, your feet are bare and your head is covered in a shower cap with deep conditioner leaking from the sides; a stark contrast from the calm and collected woman who snapped at him all day a week ago. Mortification washes over you in a heavy wave, drowning your mantra of not giving a fuck about a man’s opinion, and you step back to grab the door.

“Listen…I’m waiting for food and then I have to get ready for work in the morning. So you need—”

“You have time to spare then,” he cuts off and walks past you. You round on him, indignant in your gaze.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?! Get out, Toji!”

“You want me to leave? Hmm?” he asks, goading you like you don’t know if you’re sure.

You’re not sure, but—“Yes, goddammit! I shouldn’t have left but I don’t do this sort of thing! The moment you met me, you only wanted to get in my pants. And that makes you trying to ask me out while your cock is inside of me, a lot harder to believe!”

He firmly places the container in his hands on your kitchen counter, takes a deep breath to calm himself, and gives you a look that either makes you want to melt into him or slap it off his face.

“Listen—”

You’re on the defensive now, backed into a corner and ready to pull every card you have to just make him go away. “You here for a quick fuck then? Because you got me to let my guard down and because we had such a steamy time in the backseat of my truck, you thought, what? You could just show up and bend me over my couch?”

That flicker of irritation is back on his face and it crinkles the edges of his eyes, makes him look nasty and hostile.

“Fuck, will you stop—”

“Wanna have a little ‘situationship’ while you get acquainted with your new life here? Have me get nice and comfortable and as soon as I ask for something more, you’re jumping ship. Sounds like a good plan, doesn’t it?”

A sharp growl leaves his throat and he glares.

“Girl—” he starts and immediately stops, eyes wide as saucers at the venomous gaze that you shoot his way. There it is, a hint of a name to make you feel small and insignificant. It reminds you of your parents when you used to talk back and they slid the name to you in a warning to stop talking. You hate it and it stings that you have to hear it from him.

“Get out,” you bark, seething with a rage that brings a sting to your eyes. 

He throws up his hands in frustration, looming like a bear from his place in your kitchen. “Will you just stop it!”

“I said—”

“Oh my fucking god—I like you!” 

His admission catches you off guard, cutting through your anger, and you stare at him in astonishment. His face is red with embarrassment, eyes trained up at the ceiling as if asking the gods to give him patience. He takes a deep breath before meeting your gaze from across the kitchen.

“You don’t do this sort of thing?” he asks, gesturing between the two of you. You can’t find the words to respond, still too shocked, so you simply nod. 

“What sort of thing is that? Flirting with you because you looked like the sexiest little thing in that backyard and I wanted your attention?” He’s annoyed, deep voice razor sharp as he speaks, but you don’t miss the step he takes closer to you.

“Me trying to make you feel better because your family is judgmental? Teaching me about the food you like because I’m not from here?”

He’s closer now and the air is thin again just like that night a week ago.

“Helping me win that little card game?” It’s spades, but you’re too lightheaded with how close he is to correct him. “Telling me about your family? What sort of thing is that? Hmm? Tell me.” 

You don’t have a retort. You’re too stunned to speak even though you refuse to let the annoyed expression on your face vanish. You want to hold onto what little shreds of defiance you have left.

“You aren’t mean. You don’t tolerate bullshit, you don’t fuck around, and you put people in their place. You refuse to settle for less, and I already told you that’s what I like in a woman…And I like you.”

What do you even say? You never expected to see him again, and your mind is muddled as if you’re submerged in water. Your heart feels too big in your chest, your body too hot and sweaty and you’re nervous. He’s angry with his confession, almost annoyed and you’re beginning to realize that it is an emotion that’s second nature to him even if it’s not as intense as you think it is. 

“Is that right?” you can’t help but test him, lifting a brow. You have to crane your neck just a little to look up at him.

He scoffs, the crease in his eyebrows smooths out and the scar on his lips twitches. 

“Yea, that's fucking right. So…” he takes one more step closer and his body is brushing against yours. He smells mildly of toothpaste and bergamot from another brand of cheap cologne and the combination makes you weak in the knees. “Let me take you out.”

It’s the same demand that you’ve heard so many times now, but this time, it feels more serious, more meaningful with a hint of desperation. In the kitchen light, you can see just how silky his raven locks are and you grip your phone and the fabric of your t-shirt to resist the urge to run your hands through them. 

“I’m listening,” you jest with a practiced air.

That wicked smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, scar adding a devilish flair to his features, and your stomach burns with the realization that he’s too cocky for his own good, and you’ve unfortunately grown to like it. 

“Shiu has tickets for something here called…football? He’s taking your cousin and has two extra tickets. Come with me and show me how to win.”

You can’t help the snort that leaves your mouth and your stomach flips at the genuine confusion on his face. “We don’t participate in the game. We watch it. But it’s fun.”

“All the more reason for you to come with me.”

“I…”

It’s a compelling argument, all of it is. And you want to, you really want to give this a shot and just be vulnerable for once. Because Toji seems like the kind of man who would let you be just who you are and would never make you feel lesser than about it. 

The feel of his large hands cupping your cheeks pulls you out of your thoughts, and he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes are mesmerizing, like the color of pine trees right before the sun sets and you feel yourself weakening completely.

“One date, princess.”

The deep timbre of his voice does little to help you and it’s worse because it’s just how he fucking talks. You’re not a royal, and you don’t have land, lots of money, or power, but you can tolerate ‘princess’ if it’s coming from his mouth. 

Just one date. You deserve it. You’ve earned the reward.

You wave away his hands from your face just so you can breathe a little easier. He chuckles but gives you your space, and makes his way to the door that you usher him towards. 

“Fine. Make sure you bring cash because it’s easier at the concession stands. I want a pretzel…and a hot dog.”

He snickers as he pulls his hood over his head, obscuring most of his face except for the ethereal glow of his eyes. His teeth shine from his bright smile and you roll your eyes in response before watching him open your door. 

“Toji?” you call, your voice softer…apprehensive.

He turns around to watch you shuffle to him, your feet and legs cold against the chill from the open door. You hand him your phone wordlessly and he takes the hint to insert his number. When he’s finished, you open your mouth to speak, lips shaping words that won’t come out—words you want to say. But you can’t. Not yet. Maybe one day.

For now, you throw him an annoyed eyebrow lift and grumble. “Parking is a real bitch, so pick me up early.”

You avert your gaze, frustrated at yourself for sounding so mean as usual. Because that’s just who you are. The bitter, mean—

A finger beneath your chin lifts your gaze to him and he kisses you full on the mouth, slow and reassuring, minty breath sliding into your mouth when he nips your bottom lip. The self-deprecating voice in your head finally quiets, smothered by a pillow held down by his scarred hands.

When he pulls away, that stupid smirk is on his face, but it’s not as teasing, and your heart does something weird in your chest that makes you swallow hard.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies finally to your demand.

You watch his eyes take in your form from head to toe before he kisses you quickly once more and ducks into the rain.

When you finally get your Chinese and place it on the counter to dig in, your eyes land on the container that was in Toji’s hands from earlier. 

You peek inside, and your heart does that weird thing again in your chest when you see a heaping slice of the yellow cake that you never got to have a week ago.

Thanks for reading! You can find the sequel here!

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

#Toji Fushiguro #Toji Fushiguro x Reader #Toji Fushiguro x Black Reader #Toji Fushiguro x black fem reader #Toji x you #Toji Fushiguro x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x black reader #black fem reader #black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #Maneater #mysteria157 #anime x black reader #Toji Fushiguro fanfic #jjk fanfic #Toji Fushiguro smut #Toji Fushiguro fluff #toji zenin #fushiguro toji #jjk toji #Toji fanfic #toji smut #toji x reader #toji jjk #jujutsu toji #soft Toji #jjk fic #jjk au

[0asisbliss]

How HXH characters react to you cooking for them

Characters included: Chrollo, Kurapika, Pakunoda, Feitan, Illumi, Shalnark.

A/n: This has been sitting in my drafts for a while..😭

Chrollo:

He's fairly surprised, but then he isn't that's what's just expected of you. I mean you love him and you care for him, and you’re just showing that by doing this small simple act.

•May go over and give you small faint kisses on your cheek.

•Asks if you need help with anything.

•Loves it when you cook his favorite foods

•Will steal buy those cute aprons that say corny shit like “Guess who’s cooking?” Or, “Kiss the cook.” He will. Multiple times.

•If you like cooking dishes specifically from your culture he would looove it. Giving you compliments like “Honey it smells amazing”, “Whatever your cooking I’d like to try it because it looks good.”.

•Likes when you bring the food to him too. He’s patiently waiting for you to finish, and you sit two plates down at the dinner table.

•Chrollo has always liked when you two would sit down and chat about how your days went, while eating some type of delicious meal. It’s even better when you cook it.

•Tries to be helpful, but will listen if you tell him you’ve got it.

Kurapika:

He already introduced you to his love of seeing you cooking. He never verbally told this though. You found out from him when he came home one day after work to see you in the kitchen stirring up a pot of pasta. You didn’t notice he was home until he was standing beside you staring at you in awe.

•When you noticed that he likes seeing you cook when his eyes sparkled the minute they laid on you once he entered your shared home.

•Tries to help you by chopping up vegetables, or washing meats.

•He helps you season the meats also.

•Or he could just stand behind you and hug your waist while you fry up some meat.

Feitan:

•Clingy. He doesn’t try to be though he just stands there behind you and watches as your stir something in a pot.

•Sometimes you think it’s because he thinks you’re going to poison him. You even asked him.

“Fei?”

“….Yes..”

“Do you really think I’m going to poison you?”

“….”

•He did nothing but stare at you, but that was enough of an answer that you needed.

•Man is this man’s chop game astonishing. You give him 3 cucumbers and he has them all chopped up in 3 seconds. Maybe all of that killing has its benefits.

•Will just stand there beside you and watch like a little kid.

•Will ask to help every now and then. When understand if you say no.

Shalanark:

Another clingy one. Hugs your waist from behind while he watches you look for seasonings in your cabinet. He thinks it’s cute when you cook for him. He starts to steal buy you cooking supplies, aprons, and ingredients for you to cook more for him.

•He’ll tell you some of his favorite dishes, and constantly compliment your cooking.

•Never to critical. He’ll be honest with you when you ask him about the food. He’ll tell you what went wrong, and right.

•Loves helping you. Will do it either if you ask him or not.

•He always say thank you every time you set the plate down on the table. He likes the little talks you two have while you eat dinner.

•Will listen to you ramble about your day.

Pakunoda:

Thinks it’s cute when your in the kitchen cooking for her. Will go grocery shopping with you once you pick up the ingredients. Giving you advise on higher quality brands, and other food items.

•She thinks you might hurt yourself while cutting so she cuts everything for you.

•Pakunoda thinks that you both should cook for each other once she sees you cooking for her, so you guys end up taking turns in cooking and watching.

•She finds different ways to help you out. If she’s not cutting something she’s seasoning something. If she’s not seasoning something she could be measuring some type of liquid.

•She’s a foodie. She’ll love anything you cook her. Especially if you cook your cultural foods! (Doesn’t matter where your from)

•Everytime you cook for her she’ll say thank then begin to eat. (She’s so sweet💓)

Illumi:

He usually has his butlers cook for him, but once you ask him to come over as a date he’s hooked. He’ll ask you so many questions. He won’t sit down and watch he’ll stand over you to see exactly what you’re doing. It’s not as cute as when feitan may stand beside you he just stares, and not even blinking.

•He’ll ask questions the whole time.

•He’s also another one that’s good at chopping things.

•He might not look like it but he has a major sweet tooth!

•He likes it when you bake for him just as much when you cook dinner for him.

•Will tell what he likes about the dish at dinner.

•He may never admit it, but he likes it when you invite him over to cook for him.

•He likes the way you smile every time he says something good about the way it tastes.

“Illumi?”

“Yes darling? Is there something wrong?”

“So? Uhm.. how does it taste?”

“…I like it. Actually it tastes great. You’ve did a good job.”

•He may even pat your head once he gets up, and leaves

That’s it for today lovelies! Have a great day, and remember to drink enough water, eat.



#hxh x reader #chrollo x reader #hxh chrollo #pakunoda #shalnark x reader #illumi x you #illumi x reader #feitan x reader #kurapika x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #hxh chrollo lucilfer

[spider-stark]

PRECIPICE

Aegon II Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary - Forced to attend a stuffy ball, you find yourself hiding beneath a table with Aegon.

Warnings - implied targcest as always

Word Count - 4.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

The delicious aroma of roast mutton is wafting over you as you pass one of the many long serving tables lining the walls of the ballroom. Your gaze drags along the vast spread that has been prepared for tonight; a variety of artisan breads, cooked meats, and candied desserts are laid out upon silver serving dishes. 

As you reach the end of the first table, a pile of lemon cakes snag your attention. Neatly stacked atop an ornate porcelain platter, the cakes are coated in a thin glaze that shimmers in the light. Your mouth instantly begins watering at the sight, your stomach growling in a way that would be deemed improper for a Lady. 

Beside you, holding a plate that has been loaded with mashed potatoes and honeyed chicken, Jace turns his head to cock a brow at you.

“Hungry?” He asks, chuckling softly. 

You suck in a deep breath before forcefully tearing your gaze from the cakes. “Extremely.” 

It takes an enormous amount of will power to turn away from the serving table while still empty-handed, but you somehow manage to do just that. Having hardly even walked a few steps, though, Jace is abandoning his plate to rush after you, softly seizing your wrist to keep you from moving any further. 

“If you’re hungry, then you should eat.” 

His concern is obvious, not only through his tone, but his expression as well. With his furrowed brow and tight-mouthed frown, you’re fairly certain that he’s already considering the consequences of dragging you back to the table and feeding you himself if need be. 

Jace had always been that way—not only with you, but with everyone. He was kind hearted and considerate to fault. 

“I would,” you smile, shaking your head slightly to dismiss his concern, “but I’m afraid that if I do, I might very well pop right on out of this ridiculously tight corset.” 

You wave an idle hand down to your waist, unnaturally cinched by the intricate lacing and boning of the garment beneath your evergreen gown. His eyes follow the motion, tracing along the intense curve, lingering for a moment too long. 

The explanation seems to wash away much of his concern, relieved to know that discomfort was the only reason you had chosen to abstain from the treats being served. Even so, a touch of empathy remains, accompanied by the faintest hint of desire gleaming in his amber gaze. 

Amber—an unusual color for a boy of Velaryon blood. His eyes were one of the many reasons that your mother, the Queen Alicent, felt so confident in labeling Princess Rhaenyra’s boys as bastards behind closed doors. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you knew that there was likely truth to her claims. Your nephews probably were bastards—but you didn’t particularly care. 

Jace was nice to you, and that was all that had ever mattered to you. 

He clears his throat, realizing that he had been gawking at your body for far longer than he should. “It looks uncomfortable,” the words spill out without permission, and you nearly laugh when his eyes go wide. “That didn’t come out right, nothing about it actually looks uncomfortable—it looks stunning! I mean, you look stunning! It’s just that, I don’t know, I imagine that having something squeeze you so tightly might be-” 

“Jace, it’s okay! Truly,” you interrupt his rambling with a soft giggle. “You should know that I’m not so easily offended,” you playfully chide. “Besides, you’re right. It is quite uncomfortable!” 

Actually, quite felt like an enormous understatement. But you didn’t figure that Jace was particularly interested in hearing about how your breasts were aching from being roughly shoved up by the tight garment. 

Jace looses a breath, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Then why bother wearing them? Many noble-women go without corsets. Even my mother hardly ever wears one—she believes they’re vile things that only aid in the objectification of ladies.” 

Your brows rise, agreeing with the claims of your half-sister. But then you let your attention shift to the dais, meeting the rough stare of the reason why you had been forced into the tortuous garb—your mother. 

She’s already watching you when you meet her eye, her lip curled as she sends you a pointed look, silently urging you away from your nephew. It takes a great deal of effort not to shrink beneath the weight of her attention, and you’re beyond grateful for the group of women who shuffle past you towards the dance floor, giving you an excuse to break the hold she has on you. 

“I wear it because my mother wishes for all of her children to look their best,” you answer, shifting your focus back onto Jace. “And who am I to disappoint the Queen?” 

He notes the sudden callousness of your tone, as well as the way you clasp your hands together at your waist, fidgeting with the golden ring on your index finger. He doesn’t bother asking if you’re okay, however, knowing well enough that you were not—and already knowing why, as well. 

You imagine that Jace doesn’t much like your mother; both for her part in the rumors spread about him and his brothers and for the way she has treated his mother. 

It makes you upset in a strange way, a part of you always wishing to defend the Queen, no matter how abhorrent her actions. After all, she was your mother—whether you like it or not—and you knew very well that if someone were to try to hurt you or your siblings, then she would gladly lay her life on the line for you. 

You were thankful for her; even if her protection hurt, even if her maternal love only exists when your life is at stake.  

“Speaking of your siblings,” Jace suddenly notes, veering slightly off-subject as his own stare drifts towards the dais, “how did Aegon manage to weasel his way out of attending tonight?” 

Your brows snap together before letting your head snap back towards the dais, managing to avoid your mother’s nasty stare this time by looking to her right, taking note of each of your siblings. 

Aemond is sat directly by her side, his posture rigid as his eye scans across the room, alert and on-guard as usual. Next to him is Helaena, leisurely picking at her plate of food and mindlessly bobbing her head along to the symphony being played for court musicians. Daeron, who your mother insisted fly Tessarion here from Oldtown so that he might be present for tonight, is sat next to your empty chair, making idle chatter with those around him. 

But Aegon’s chair, sat between yours and Helaena’s, is vacant. 

A knot forms in your stomach when you look back at Aemond, his piercing violet eye catching yours, gleaming with a silent order—find our imbecile brother before he makes a fool of us all. 

You give him a curt nod before looking away, head whirling as you begin searching the crowd around you for any sign of your eldest brother. 

“Simple,” you huff, “he didn’t.” 

Jace hums his understanding as you politely excuse yourself, turning away from him to begin shoving through the throng of people filling the room. 

You decline invitations to dance and spout excuses as to why you can’t stop to chat as you push past noblemen-and-women from various Houses, trying to maintain the pleasant persona your mother favored while still moving fast enough that you might find Aegon before he finds any new ways to publicly bring shame upon the Targaryen name.  

It’s exhausting work—and by the time you have shoved yourself to the other end of the room without finding him, you nearly consider giving up. Your chest hurts and your scalp is itching from being poked and prodded by a dozen or so pins, all of which had been meticulously placed by servants to arrange plaits into a fanciful half-updo. 

In many ways, you look like your mother; with your elaborate hairstyle and green dress, the look is tied together by a pendant of the Seven-Pointed Star dangling from your neck. 

And, in many ways, you hate it. 

Much to the Queen’s dismay, you’ve never much liked the elegant styles preferred by many women at court. No, instead you spent much of your time donning mail with your hair lazily pulled back, joining Aemond for practice in the training yard. 

She hated how unrefined you were, how indelicate you were; fearful for how others at court might view you for it, for how much attention you might draw to yourself. 

You blow out a sigh, resisting the urge to pull all of the pins from your hair as you will yourself to keep walking, to keep looking for Aegon. A table overflowing with carafes of arbor wine and flagons of ale catches your attention, setting off alarm bells in your mind. 

If Aegon were going to choose anywhere to hide at this godsforsaken ball, then it would certainly be in close proximity to the alcohol. 

A cacophony of laughter and clinking goblets surrounds you as you approach, scanning over rows of bottles and skimming the faces of those nearby. Spinning your ring on your finger, you walk along the entire length of the long serving table, disappointed when you reach the end of it and find that your brother is still nowhere in sight. 

Chewing on your cheek, you fight the urge to pour yourself a drink when you notice a carafe of blackberry wine. The plum colored liquid seems to call your name, singing promises of sweet oblivion, an escape from the restless feeling clawing at your chest. 

You’re out of place here in court, and you always have been—you know that, and you worry that everyone around you knows, too. 

Sensical enough to recognize that alcohol would likely just exacerbate your current ill-feelings, you shun the carafe and turn towards the grand entrance. Lifting your chin and squaring your shoulders, you try to appear more composed than you feel as you saunter towards the large wooden doors. 

If Aegon had snuck off with one of the serving girls, then there was a good chance that he was still somewhere in the hall, either flirting or feeling up their skirts. And, if you were wrong, then at least he had provided you with an excuse to slip away from this mess of a ball. 

As you pass by the last serving table, the platters and dishes atop it already thoroughly picked over, you feel someone tug at your dress. You whirl around, a fiery retort already falling off your tongue, fully intending to rip into whoever had found the audacity to touch you without permission—only to find yourself insulting the air. 

There was no one there, at least not close enough to have touched you. 

For a heartbeat you begin to reel, wondering if you’ve started to lose your mind before feeling the sensation again. A sharp tug at the fabric, just by your knee. Your head snaps down towards your dress, covering your mouth before a gasp can slip your lips. 

An arm is peeking out from beneath one of the finely embellished tablecloths, and a well-groomed hand is clutching your skirts. You instantly recognize the hand as Aegon’s, having become intimately familiar with your brother’s touch throughout your life. 

Taking a step closer to the covered table, you try to look natural as you hunch over it slightly to get closer to his level, feigning an interest in a half-eaten roast duck. 

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing, Aegon?!” Your voice is hushed, not quite a whisper, but low enough so that no one other than him might hear. 

Releasing his hold on your skirts, Aegon lifts the tablecloth a little higher, revealing his face. “Get under here,” he tilts his head, motioning for you to join him beneath the table. 

“No!” 

He swiftly presses a finger to his lips in response to your incredulous shout, shushing you. You stiffen, nervously flicking your eyes to each side, checking to ensure that no one had heard you. Fortunately, the courtiers around you appear far too invested in their conversations and drinks to notice how you appear to have shouted at a roast duck. 

Aegon’s lilac eyes are wide, pleading as he shoves the tablecloth up higher, giving you more room to slip beneath it. “Would you just shut up and come?” 

It’s the sheer urgency of his tone that piques your interest, although you wish that it hadn’t. You huff out an annoyed sigh, taking another look around the room before gathering up your skirts and sinking to your knees, crawling underneath the table. 

Once you’ve successfully sat down beside him on the stone floor, he drops the cloth, shielding the two of you from any prying eyes. The material is thin enough that it allows some light to pass through it, very dimly illuminated Aegon’s grinning face, all urgency having suddenly vanished. 

“Welcome,” he almost sounds breathless, the word airy—and utterly unnecessary. 

You can faintly see the rosy coloring of his cheeks, a few messy silver waves tumbling across his face, and you’re immediately willing to bet that he’s extremely buzzed. “What are you doing, Aeg?” 

Your tone is firm, but there’s a certain gentleness to it that was specially reserved for your eldest brother. While you maintain that you love all three of them equally, it’s undeniable that your relationship with Aegon has always been… different. 

He reaches to his side, lifting a carafe from the ground beside him. “Having a party,” he says, raising it towards your face and playfully swirling the garnet colored liquid. 

“I’m unsure if you’re aware,” you motion towards the cloth shrouding you from the bustling ballroom, “but our mother has already planned quite the celebration for tonight—and she likely does not wish for it to be ruined by her drunkard son ducking beneath tables like an imbecile!” 

Aegon pokes his bottom lip out into a pout. “Why must you assume that I am drunk?” 

“Because you’re you,” you drone, cocking your head at him, “and you are always drunk.” 

Rolling his eyes, he sits the carafe down on the ground between you. There are only mere inches separating the two of you, both of you squeezing your limbs close to your body to avoid having a foot peek out from beneath the table. Sitting this close to him, you can smell the sweetness of the arbor red of his breath—as well as the faintest hint of sulfur, a sign that he had clearly gone riding on Sunfyre earlier and had failed at washing off the dragon’s strong scent. 

You take another breath, inhaling the smell of him into your lungs. It was familiar—comfortable, urging your taut muscles to slacken in his presence. 

“And what if I told you that I am sober right now?” 

A snort escapes you, sparing him an incredulous look. “Then I would call you a liar,” you tell him, tapping a finger against the rim of the half-empty carafe. 

His stare drops down towards it, watching as the liquid ripples when you pull your hand back. When he looks back up, he’s wearing a crooked smile that makes your heart flutter. “Mostly sober, then.” 

It’s nearly impossible to stifle your laugh, clamping a hand over your mouth so that you might muffle the sound and prevent passersby from becoming suspicious. The sound only makes his smile grow wider and more genuine, an expression that he graced very few people with. 

“I’ll ask again,” you say, speaking only when you're confident that no more laughter will tumble out. “Why are you down here? If mother finds out then she will be furious and-” 

Aegon tosses his head back, cutting you off with a groan. “Mother will be furious no matter what,” 

Disdain drips from each syllable, thickening the air around you. He didn’t like talking about her much, and you couldn’t blame him for it. Of all your siblings, Aegon had been dealt the worst hand, simply by being born first. He got the brunt of your mothers vile behavior; and you hated that, too. 

“Because,” lazily rolling his neck so that he can look at you again, he answers, “I’d rather spend my night under here,” he flicks a hand up, lazily gesturing around himself, “than be forced to sit through even one more tedious speech from some ancient Lord of gods-know-where!” 

You bite your tongue, holding back another laugh. 

“And,” he continues, nodding in your direction, “I am now saving you from the same mundane fate. You’re welcome.” 

“What makes you think that I needed your saving?” You ask, brows rising. 

Aegon purses his lips, placing a finger against his chin as he feigns contemplation, studying the intricate styling of your hair, the modest long-sleeved gown, and the Star resting against your covered breasts. “Perhaps it was that our mother has you dressed up as though you’re an aspiring Septa.” 

Thinking of the plain women, with their simple gowns and traditional head coverings, you nearly laugh again as you ask, “How many Septa’s do you know that wear corsets and jewelry, brother?” 

“None,” he admits, shoulders lifting into an indolent shrug. “Though, if they looked more like you, then I might finally have a reason to attend prayer. Beautiful women would be more than enough to turn me into a pious man.” 

A warmth creeps up your neck as blood rushes to your cheeks, unsure if his statement was meant as a compliment—was he saying that he found you beautiful? If so, it shouldn’t have been a particularly shocking revelation. After all, Aegon had complimented you before, many times. 

In all fairness, however, most of those times had been when he was thoroughly besotted. He had a habit of sneaking into your rooms and practically draping himself off of you, muttering drunken nonsense about how breathtaking you were. You had never placed much truth in the statements though, assuming that Aegon likely didn’t even recognize who he was speaking to, much less whose bed he had crawled into. 

But even if this was a genuine and mostly sober attempt at complimenting you, the flattery of it doesn’t last nearly long enough. Your own insecurity washes back over you far quicker than you like, reminding you of just how unlike yourself you currently feel. 

“I do not believe that anything would be capable of turning you into a pious man,” you joke, trying and failing to cover up the melancholy that has settled into your bones. “Not even beautiful women.” 

“You could.” 

The answer comes far too quick, spilling from his tongue with an eagerness that even seems to catch him by surprise. 

“Though, I must say, for as exquisite as this dress makes you look,” his hand reaches across the short expanse dividing you, mindlessly running his fingers along the fabric covering your shoulder, “I much prefer the way look in armor—sweaty skin, messy hair, sword in-hand—all of it.” 

Your breath catches in your throat as his touch drifts towards the center of your chest, fingers dragging along the thin chain leading to your pendant, lifting the Star into his palm. He stares at it for a moment before yanking it roughly from your neck, grinning when you yelp. “But this,” he lifts the Seven-Pointed Star slightly, “I absolutely hate.” 

With that, he tosses it from underneath the table, sending it skittering across the floor beyond the tablecloth. 

Your jaw drops open, a hand pressed against the now-sore spot along the back of your neck. Despite yourself, your lips start to curve into a playful smile. You try fighting against it, try pressing them into a firm line, but fail. “Mother will not be happy about that-” 

“She’s never happy,” Aegon interjects. His own expression shifts, the line on his forehead deepening as he says, “Do not let yourself bear her misery. Life is too short—and you deserve more than that.” 

A palpable silence is thickening the air, and your breathing seems to synchronize as you simply stare at one another. 

Slowly, nervously, you say, “I’m not sure what it is that I deserve,” 

“You deserve,” he pauses, lips still parted despite the absence of speech. Then, swallowing back the words that had been building in his throat, he says, “you deserve whatever it is that you want, sister.” 

Your hand falls from your neck into your lap, and you avert your gaze, watching your fingers as they fidget with your ring. “And what if I do not know what I want?” 

Once, you had thought that you wanted a life like Jaces. A happy life, with a mother that knew how to love you and siblings that hadn’t been raised in fear of their half-sister ascending the throne, taught that their very existence was a threat to her power. But, suddenly, you felt as though you were no longer sure. 

Aegon hesitates, watching you carefully. His lilac eyes appear as though they’re searching for something within your own—a hint of recognition, or reciprocation. If he found what he was looking for, then you were unaware. “Then you’ll figure it out,” he sighs, his smile not reaching his eyes. “You have all the time in the world to decide.” 

There is something reassuring about his statement, making it resonate with you in a way that you hadn’t expected. You look up, holding his gaze for a heartbeat, then two, and you almost swear that you can see it—the silent invitation, the plea to delve deeper into his words, to decipher exactly what it was that he was promising you. 

You have all the time in the world—all the time in the world to decide if he might ever be something you want. 

Suddenly you find yourself dancing on the edge of a precipice, chest tightening as you grapple with the idea that, maybe, something more might exist between you and Aegon. 

That, maybe, he had always known who he was complimenting and what bed he was slipping into. 

That, for him, it had always been you. 

“Aegon, I-” 

He shakes his head, cutting you off before you have a chance to say something that he fears you may regret. Then, sliding the carafe between you to the side, he scoots closer. “If you plan on staying under my table,” he teases, clearing his throat, “then we need to do something about your hair.” 

“I thought you said I looked exquisite?” You stay still as he starts toying with the strands, trying to swallow the tumult of your own emotions. 

Aegon’s plucking various pins from your hair, tossing them to the ground. “Yes, but I also said that I prefer your hair when it’s messy. It’s more…” he sucks in a breath, unable to hide the admiration swelling in his chest when he finally exhales, “you.” 

Your cheeks are burning hot, and you’re suddenly very thankful for the lack of light around you. On instinct, you almost tell him how your mother wouldn’t agree—but then you think better of it. 

“You’re… generous.” 

Something about your voice sounds foreign in your ears. You sound nervous—and you’re not used to feeling nervous around Aegon. 

His fingers are combing through the plaits forming your updo, his brow drawn taut, framing his lilac eyes, shining bright with concentration. “Generous,” he snorts softly, nails raking lightly against your scalp as he shakes the strands loose, “I don’t hear that one often.” 

“Well perhaps you’d hear it more if you weren’t such an ass,” you shoot back, slowly trying to slip back into your usual self. 

“Me? An ass?” He’s untangled the final braid, scooting away from you slightly now as he presses a hand to his chest, feigning innocence. “Never.” 

Now falling in loose waves, free of those incessant pins, you brush your hair over your shoulder. “Just earlier I heard you telling Lord Grover that if wisdom were measured in wrinkles that he would be named Grand Maester.” You point out, unable to mask your amusement while recalling the old man’s shocked expression. 

“Is it not true?” Aegon smirks. “The man is nearly seventy, and his age certainly shows.” 

“Lord Grover is only two-and-fifty, brother.” 

His brows shoot up, gaping at you. “Tell me that you’re not serious!” When you nod, confirming that you are, he sucks his teeth. “Wow—how unfortunate. He looks positively dreadful for his age, then. I thought that he surely had one foot in the grave by now.” 

“Aegon!” You rebuke through your own sputtered laughter, shaking your head at his insolence. “See? This is what I was talking about! If you weren’t so crude then you might get more compliments.” 

Swinging his arm back to grab for the carafe, Aegon’s nose scrunches slightly. “Why bother?” He implores, a hint of mischief in his tone. “My crudeness is what you like most about me, is it not? Without it, dear sister, your life would be quite boring.” 

Just before he brings the carafe to his lips, he inclines his head towards the tablecloth, emphasizing his words. A reminder—that, without him, you would still be out there, sitting miserably amongst your siblings and being forced to dance with Lord’s twice your age. 

There was something more beneath the veil of humor and arrogance, however. A craving that had him tipping the carafe back, hoping that the stinging of the alcohol might numb his gnawing desire for validation—to hear you say that you yes, my life would be boring without you. 

“I suppose you’re right,” the admission has him pausing, the carafe lingering against his bottom lip. “Truth be told, I had never put much thought into it before, but you do have a way of keeping life interesting, Aeg. So, I must agree that, without you, my life would be positively dreadful.” Staring at the ground in-between you, you smile before adding, “After all, who else would be able to convince me to risk our mother’s scorn and crawl beneath a table to drink wine and fix my hair?” 

There’s a slight tremor in his voice when he speaks, trying to mask the warmth swelling in his chest, “You have yet to drink a single drop.” 

“Then I suppose that is the next thing you’ll have to fix,” you say, sticking your hand out towards him, urging him to pass you the carafe. He hands it to you while biting back a grin. 

“Careful,” he warns, “drink too much and you may end up like your drunkard brother.” 

“I don't mind,” You mirror his expression, your own lips curving as you raise the glass upwards, the strong scent of the arbor red stinging your nostrils. “I quite like my drunkard brother.” 

His gaze burns against your flesh as you tilt your head back, allowing the alcohol to slip over your tongue, and you suddenly realize that you are no longer standing on the edge of that precipice. 

You’re falling.

a/n - i was honestly just thinking about jude and cardan hiding under a table in the cruel prince and ended up with this? so yeah, definitely inspired by jurdan content (but y'know... no coup d'etat lmao).

#aegon targaryen imagine #aegon ii targaryen imagine #hotd imagine #hotd #asoiaf #aegon targaryen imagines #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen #hotd imagines #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon x you #aegon targaryen one shot #targcest #targcest imagine #aegon ii #hotd aegon #aegon the second #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fic #aegon targaryen

[alloftheimagines]

joel miller | shelter

masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

note: this can be read as part two of survive

words: 2.4k

warnings: 18+. please do not continue if you're uncomfortable with discussions surrounding rape/sexual assault, violence, blood, and cannibalism. spoilers.

synopsis: after the events of episode eight in which reader takes ellie's place as david's hostage, joel finds a cabin where he can take care of you in the middle of the woods. hurt, comfort, and fluff ensues. reader x joel, reader x ellie, and joel x ellie interactions, but mostly joel cleaning you up after a horrific experience.

tags: @sweetbabygirlsworld @m4tthewmurd0ck

It feels like you’re walking for miles before you find the abandoned, dusty cabin in the middle of the woods.

Your teeth chatter as Joel leads you inside, Ellie following behind. The smell is stale and it isn’t much warmer, but you’re out of the snow and that’s enough for now. When you see snow, you see blood, too. 

“Alright, here we go,” Joel says, propping his gun against a ratty couch and looking around. 

Ellie shuts the door on the howling wind, raising her brows. “Not bad.”

“Let’s see if we can find anything to clean up with.” Joel begins searching the small cupboards above a sink still stacked with plates. 

You don’t know what to do, don’t know how to think about anything but the blood in your hair. His blood. You need it off you, need to rid yourself of any hint that he ever existed, ever hurt you. Absently, you scratch your arms and wander over to the fireplace. Charred tinder and ash sit in the hearth, and beside it, a pile of logs have been stacked haphazardly. You throw a couple in and shrug off your backpack, your fingers trembling as you find a lighter. Anything to help you feel something other than this yawning emptiness, this black hole, this disgust and this fear. 

“Fuck, yeah!” Ellie exclaims, yanking her gloves off and warming her hands. You offer a wry smile, perching on the closest couch and trying to focus on the orange glow. 

But then you think of the candles in the restaurant. The way you set David alight with them. The stench of burning clothes and hair as you walked away. 

You close your eyes, your fingers curling so tightly into your palms that they leave marks behind. 

“Hey,” Ellie says softly, kneeling in front of you. “You’re safe now, y’know?”

“I know, kiddo.” You put on a brave face for her benefit, though she’s smart enough to know you’re not okay. “Thanks.”

“What did… What did he do to you?” 

Before you can answer, Joel’s stern voice echoes around the cabin. “Ellie, go see what you can find. There should be a bathroom, washcloths, somethin’.”

Sighing, Ellie offers you a kind expression, which you return, and then she disappears into the next room. 

You cast Joel an impatient look. “You don’t have to do that.” You push off the couch and wander over to him. “How’s your wound? Any pain?”

His jaw ticks, and he shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“You need to rest.” It was hard to believe he was still standing at all, and you hadn’t missed his bloody knuckles. You wonder what he’d done, who he’d beat just to get to you. James, maybe, and the men David threatened would find them. It’s a miracle any of you are here. 

“You need to drink.” Joel pulls a bottle of water from his pack and hands it to you, watching you carefully like he’s just waiting for you to break. “I’ll go hunting first thing tomorrow. Get you some food.”

You think of the ear in the kitchen, the meat on the plate David offered you, and your stomach turns. Using the counter for support, you take a steady breath. 

“Baby…” Joel is there in an instant, his hand caressing the small of your back. 

“I’m okay,” you lie. 

He hesitates a moment. “Did he…?”

You know what he’s asking. Did he rape you? “No. No. He tried.” A wave of anguish rolls up in you, so thick in your throat that you feel like you might throw up again. “I slaughtered him, Joel. I… I couldn’t stop. There was so much blood.”

Joel’s nostrils flare with suppressed anger, but he pulls you closer, smoothing down your matted, tangled hair. “He deserved it.” 

“I didn’t think I was getting out of there,” you admit, voice cracking with tears. 

“You did, darlin’.” He sighs, wrapping his arms around you. “You got out. I've got you now. You’re safe.”

You’ve never accepted comfort so readily before, always desperate to prove to Joel that you can be just as strong as him, that you can carry his burdens as well as your own. But you’re losing your grip tonight; on yourself and on everything that you know. Something has changed in you after seeing the monstrosities that men like David can commit. It’s like he’s poisoned you, and you can feel it creeping beneath your skin. 

Ellie reappears from the other room, waving a bottle of what looks to be shampoo in her hand. “The bathroom’s well-stocked. And I’m calling dibs on the bed, by the way.”

“Like hell you are,” Joel grumbles, giving you a final squeeze before urging you forward. “C’mon. We’ll clean you up now.”

***

You look in the grimy mirror and don’t recognise yourself. Blood is splattered all over your face, clothes, hair. Your wrists are blistered, angry red welts covering your skin where you tried to wriggle out of your rope ties. 

Joel has sent Ellie back into the other room to warm up more water, and you’re glad for that. 

“You mind if I check that cut on the back of your head first?” Joel asks gently. 

You shake your head, watching his reflection as he moves behind you and separates through your hair to see your injury. You don’t remember how you got it now. You were knocked out by James, but David gave you a beating too before you…

You give a sharp intake of breath as the memories flood back again, and Joel pulls away quickly. “Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No. You didn’t.” You swallow. “I was just… remembering.” 

Understanding crosses his features. “Sit down,” he offers, as though he knows that you can’t bear to be haunted by your reflection for a moment longer. You do, perching on the edge of the bath. He goes back to checking your injury. 

“It’s not too deep,” he murmurs, his touch feather-light. “Should be okay once we get it clean. ‘S it hurt a lot?”

“No.” Nothing hurts, though you know it should. You can barely focus on anything but the aching heaviness in your chest, the unease in your stomach, the thought that you’ll have to live with this now. Knowing that the world is even more broken than you thought, and it almost killed you. 

“Gonna clean your face first. That okay?”

You nod, and he rolls up his sleeves as he kneels in front of you, wringing out a washcloth in the sink of water he’d warmed by the fire. You want to tell him you can do it yourself, but you can’t. You don’t want to be left alone in this bathroom. You don’t want to watch the blood drip into the water. You don’t want Joel to leave you when you thought you’d lost him for good not too long ago. 

Carefully, he runs his thumb over the bruise on your cheek. “I should'a got there quicker.”

“You were a little busy trying not to die,” you remind him. You take his hand, finally allowing yourself to acknowledge his bruised and bloody knuckles. “They came for you, too?”

He grimaces, pulling away as though ashamed. “Don’t you worry about that. I took care of it.” 

“You always do,” you say, throat feeling raw. “You always take care of us.”

He softens, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You took care of yourself just fine today, baby You shouldn’t have had to, and I’m so… I’m so sorry.”

“Stop saying that. Please.” Tears slip down your cheeks. “It isn’t your fault. Please don’t make this your burden, Joel. This one… this is all mine, and I’ll gladly take it if it means you and Ellie’re okay.”

“We ain’t okay if you’re not.” He wipes your tears away. “I thought… I thought I’d lost you.” Now it’s his voice that fractures, and it leaves you sinking with pain. His pain and your own. “I was so scared. Could barely breathe. I’m never letting that happen again, you hear?”

You can only dip your head as you choke on a sob, wishing you could be stronger. Wishing all of this was easier. 

Joel begins dabbing your face with the washcloth, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger. You close your eyes when you see it come away red, trying to focus on the water lapping in the sink when he rinses it and squeezes it out. 

“That’s it, baby girl. Close your eyes. Let me take care of it.” 

You do, and his touch keeps you grounded, keeps you from slipping back into that cage, or worse, back into David’s arms. For a moment, you’re not in an abandoned cabin, twenty years into a pandemic. For a moment, you’re home, letting the man you love take care of you without guns or threat; with only a washcloth and a tender hand. 

He’s careful against your bruise, and he doesn’t leave any spot unclean; your jaw, your neck, behind your ears. 

“Almost done,” he promises, but you wouldn’t mind if it took all night. 

He lets the water swirl down the drain when he’s done, and Ellie comes in soon after with another heated pan. 

“Thanks, kiddo,” you say, blinking the droplets from your eyelashes. 

“Is there anything else I can do to help?”

Joel gives her a warm smile and squeezes her shoulder. “We got it covered. Go get the couch ready. You know, since you’re sleeping there tonight.”

She groans in a very teenagerly way, trudging out of the bathroom as though she hasn’t spent many a night on forest floors. You can’t help but let out a small laugh, and Joel smirks at the sound.

“Pain in the ass," he comments with more adoration than annoyance.

“You love her and you know it.”

He only hums, grabbing a cup. “Lean your head back for me.”

You do, feeling renewed when the water trickles down your scalp and into the dirty bathtub. It reminds you of being a kid again, not yet old enough to wash your own hair. Somehow, the nostalgia leaves you emotional, and you’re trying not to cry again. 

“Hey, hey,” Joel says, putting the cup down. When you sob, he breathes, “I know. I know. C’mere.”

He pulls you into his chest without caring about how you dampen his shirt, and you clutch onto him as the grief, the terror, all rush through you. You can’t control it. It’s been pent up for too long, and this is your last straw. The thing that has pushed you over the rocky edge. 

Joel only whispers again and again: “I know. You’re okay, baby. I got you.”

***

Later, after you have stopped crying for long enough to let Joel shampoo your hair and the fire has died to embers you can’t risk rekindling, you crawl into your sleeping bed on top of the double mattress that Ellie so desperately wanted to sleep in. You smell like strawberries, and your skin is brand new, having scrubbed it top to bottom once Joel left the bathroom. You’re wearing one of the shirts he picked up at Bill and Frank’s over your own sweater, and it carries his musk, his warmth. 

Joel is looking out of the windows. After so much danger, you know it’s hard for him to settle. To believe that you might just be okay for one night.

“Joel?”

“Hmm?” The room is dark, but you see him glance your way, eyes shiny in the moonlight. 

“Come to bed. Please.”

His brows furrow, and he sits on the mattress slowly. “I can take the floor if you don’t want—”

“I do. I do want.”

“You don’t think I should keep watch?”

“I think we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. Only things that’ll be bothering us here are the birds and the deer.” You regret bringing that up as soon as it leaves your mouth. You think of the deer you hunted, the thing that brought you to David, and stiffen. 

Joel must sense it, because he slouches in resignation and kicks off his boots. “Okay. Just for a little bit.”

You scooch over in your sleeping bag in the hopes he’ll understand what you need. 

He does. He slips in, holding an arm out so you can curl into him, so you do. His chest is warm, breaths steady, and if you can just stay like this for a while, maybe you’ll be okay again. 

“Sleep, darlin’,” he whispers into your hair. “I’ll be right here.”

“Do you think we’ll make it through this in the end?” you wonder aloud. “Ellie, the cure… if we make it out alive, if all this turns out to be worth it, what will we do afterwards? Where will it leave us? We can’t go back to Boston.”

“We don’t have to worry about that now.” He strokes your arm, and goosebumps rise on your skin. 

“I need something to hold onto, Joel,” you admit. “I need to imagine it won’t always be this bad.”

Moments pass, the silence a cold, unwelcome blanket across you. But then Joel folds it away. “When this is over, we’ll go back to Jackson. You, me, and Ellie. We’ll get us a real house, live a boring life with Tommy. Go watch movies and yell at Ellie for being a little shit.”

You snort at that, and her voice echoes from the front room: “I can hear you!” 

“Go to sleep!” Joel yells back. 

“I would if I wasn’t lying on an old uncomfortable couch with the fucking fleas!” 

You roll your eyes, rubbing his chest lovingly. “Just get in here and stop complaining!”

“Seriously?” he murmurs, though there is no surprise there; only something warm, amused. If you can find that after a day like today, you can find it anywhere, you think. 

Before you can reply, Ellie’s hopeful face appears in the shadows. She clutches her sleeping bag, a cheeky grin on her face. “Shift over, old man.”

Joel glares, but he pulls you closer so that Ellie can lie on the other side of you. You wrinkle your nose as she jumps onto the bed, kicking herself into her sleeping bag with little grace. He huffs and puffs, murmuring into your ear, “Regret it yet?”

“No,” you say, and you’re not just talking about the offer for Ellie to join you anymore. You pull her into you so that you’re sandwiched by the two people you love most in the world, and finally, with Joel’s warmth at your back and Ellie’s ponytail in your face, you feel safe. 

Joel’s fingers trail up and down your spine as Ellie settles, and they stay there as you slowly fall asleep. 

If this is what Joel’s boring life will be like, you’re ready for Jackson. You’re ready to go home with your family.

#joel miller fic #joel miller imagines #joel imagine #joel #joel miller #joel tlou #ellie x joel #joel and ellie #last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller imagine #joel miller drabble #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #tlou #the last of us #joel miller oneshot #pedro pascal #the last of us fic #hbo the last of us #joel the last of us #the last of us show #hbo tlou #the last of us imagine #the last of us fanfiction #tlou show #tlou fic

[charlottesuzee]

Stealing Food From His Plate (One Piece Men x Black!GN!Reader)

Monkey D Luffy

- Don't even try. You will get your hand bitten. He's like a starving dog. He'll growl and glare at you. Which is ironic, because he has no problem stealing food off of your plate.

- "Luffy, lemme get a bite of your meat-"

- "ARGHGHGH"

- "BITCH DID YOU JUST BITE ME ?!?"

- "KEEP YOUR HANDS TO YOURSELF ! YOU HAVE YOUR OWN FOOD !"

- In all honesty, if he'd feel that you were actually hungry and you didn't have your own plate of food, he might give you a bite.

- That's a strong might though.

Roronoa Zoro

- "You just told me that you weren't hungry, now you're pawing at my food."

- "I just want a bite ! Please baby ?"

- "No. Face the actions of your consequences and starve."

- He'll begrudgingly give you some though anyways but will still grumble about you getting your own food next time but he'll still share with you every time.

Vinsmoke Sanji

- "OF COURSE I'LL SHARE WITH YOU, DARLING~!"

- Does not hesitate to let you pick off of his plate, what's his is yours.

- Will insist on feeding you though, as a way to pamper you and act all lovey dovey cutesy wutesy.

- Will ask if you want food off of his plate all the time now, even if you have your own plate.

Eustass Kid

- He's not afraid to smack your hands away from his food and pull his plate away. Just be careful, because you might not know which hand he's gonna smack you with

- "OW ! YOU HIT ME WITH YOUR METAL HAND, DICKHEAD !"

- "SERVES YOU RIGHT FOR TOUCHING MY FOOD, GET YOUR OWN !"

- "NOW MY HAND IS GONNA BRUISE !"

- He will feel bad about bruising your hand though and as an apology, he will push his plate towards you as a peace offering, letting you take whatever you want off of it.

Killer

- Even though he's wearing a mask, the look he gives you radiates "bitch are you fucking serious ?!?"

- "I asked you if you wanted me to heat you up some pasta, you said no, now you're swiping off of my plate."

- "I'm sorry Kill ! I wasn't hungry at first but after seeing your plate, I just wanted a taste !"

- He'll just sigh, push his plate towards you, and go get another plate of pasta for himself to avoid you picking off of his plate.

- You end up feeling a little guilty because of it and offer him food from your plate whenever you have some.

Trafalgar Law

- He'll deadass use his devil fruit to cut your hands off before you touch his food. It's one of his pet peeves, people touching his food without asking. Baby 5 used to do it all the time when they were younger and she had to learn her lesson the hard way too.

- "LAW, WHAT THE FUCK ?!? PUT MY HANDS BACK NOW !!!"

- "Promise you won't pick at my plate without asking again."

- "IT'S NOT THAT SERIOUS DUDE !!"

- But it is that serious to him and he wont put your hands back until you promise you won't swipe off of his plate without asking again. After you promise, he'll put them back and offer you food off of his plate but after seeing your own severed hands, you're not really hungry anymore.

- He's probably scarred you from ever picking off of his plate, and he feels sorta bad about it and does whatever he can to make it up to you after realizing that what he did was really fucking mean.

#black reader #luffy x reader #one piece #one piece x black!reader #one piece x reader #sanji x reader #zoro x reader #blackleg sanji #gender neautral reader #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #eustass kid #eustass kid x reader #killer one piece #killer x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #reader insert

[renlyslittlerose]

Today's drabble is 'First Kiss'. This is a quick little drabble set in the Moonlight Serenade universe. This is from Padmé's POV during a visit back home. Takes place summer 1952~

---

Padmé wondered if Anakin knew about all the subtle ways Obi-Wan cared for him.

She wondered if he knew that Obi-Wan always stood to his right, their shoulders brushing, only a few inches of space between them as they navigated through crowds and public spaces. That it was Obi-Wan who protected Anakin’s injured side, blocking it from view and from touch, always mindful of where he was in relation to Anakin’s arm, keeping it safe within the shadows of his form.

Or how when Anakin’s manufactured bravado and fake cheer would wear down, instead replaced with weariness and irritation, Obi-Wan would tilt his head upward just to hear Anakin’s soft voice grow ever softer, and to breath in the words Anakin spoke. Obi-Wan never asked Anakin to speak up, to put on a show, to smile and laugh and coddle those he normally might disappoint. Instead he changed his own demeanour to fit that of Anakin’s, bringing his energies down until they swayed together like reeds in a lake.

Or when Anakin’s smile became tight, his shoulder tense, his eyes glassy with pain, Obi-Wan would grip his residual arm and hold. A friendly gesture, to the unknowing gaze, but filled with so much love and care it sometimes hurt to see. Obi-Wan would replace Anakin’s pain with something else to focus on - the stern yet still tender touch of a lover. The ache in his arm and the stinging in his skin would be replaced with the heat of Obi-Wan’s palm and the strength in his hand, grounding and steady as Anakin trembled through the memories of an agony not yet finished.

She knew, of course, Anakin noticed the most obvious things. Like how Obi-Wan would hold his plate at dinner events and pile it high with foods, asking Anakin what he wanted as they went down the tables, making sure Anakin’s belly was sated before he’d see to his own needs. Or how he tied Anakin’s tie and helped with the laces of his shoes when asked; how he styled his hair in the morning, and ruined in the evening; how he shaved along the curve of Anakin’s jaw and down the stretches of his neck; or how he cut the meats and vegetables for their dinners while Anakin did what he did best in the kitchen - make a mess.

And other stills, that Obi-Wan didn’t know she knew. Things more intimate that Anakin would confess over the phone, his voice bright with cheer as he detailed the latest night of passion, Padmé curling the phone cord over her finger as she laughed and sneaked glances into the living room to make sure no one could overheard the detailed descriptions.

Padmé wondered if he knew. Because she did.

“Padmé?”

Padmé blinked and turned to her mother. They were stood on the back steps of her parents estate, summer sun shining down on the backyard party. Vancouver had rolled out the nice weather for her visit, the skies clear and the winds gentle, the smell of roses fresh in the air. She’d missed this.

“Sorry, mother,” she said, and kissed her cheek quickly before venturing down into the party, a tray of cocktails in her hand that she’d offered to take out to the party.

The grass was cool on her bare feet, and she greeted those she passed by with a smile and an offer of a drink. By the time she’d reached Anakin and Obi-Wan, the tray was empty save for two glasses of gin and tonic.

“Fancy a drink?” she asked.

Anakin’s hand was occupied by a plate with the leftovers of cake on it, so Obi-Wan - as was expected - took both glasses and raised one to her in appreciation.

“Lovely party,” Obi-Wan said. He glanced around the space, his aviators sitting on the bridge of his nose, hiding away his blue eyes that Anakin had described to Padmé more times than once all those years ago. “Thank you for inviting us.”

“You’re welcome, though I’m sorry I haven’t been able to chat much.”

“It’s been six years since your last visit,” Anakin said, the word ‘six’ sitting heavy in the air. “It’s natural people would want to spend time with you.”

His shrug brought Padmé’s attention to his shirt. It was a pretty green silk and short-sleeved, the lapels broad and the top few buttons opened. Padmé could see Anakin’s scars along his chest, and his residual arm poked out at the bottom of his sleeve, exposing it to the world.

“I like your shirt,” Padmé said.

Anakin smiled, though it seemed hesitant. “Obi-Wan bought it for me.”

Adoration filled Padmé then. Of course he had, because he knew Anakin wouldn’t buy it for himself. Because he still cared what others thought; still hid from the world despite it all; still faltered where confidence would be best.

But Obi-Wan knew how beautiful Anakin was, and made Anakin believe it. If only for a short while.

“Ani, I forgot my pocket mirror in my purse back inside. Could you go and grab it for me?” Anakin made move to leave, but Padmé stopped him to grab his plate, replacing it with the drink tray. “And take this back inside, will you? Give it to Samantha.”

Anakin rolled his eyes but did as instructed, his long legs carrying him quickly through the throngs of people. He still cut quite the image, broad shoulders and slim waist making him look more a model from one of the catalogs, than a mechanic with a penchant for hot-rod racing.

When she turned back to Obi-Wan, she didn’t have to see his eyes to know where he was looking.

“That shirt really does look lovely, doesn’t it,” Obi-Wan mused with a soft smile.

Padmé laughed and dragged him in for a kiss. It was quick and sweet, and when she pulled away the greys in Obi-Wan’s beard were painted in red lipstick.

“Padmé,” Obi-Wan mumbled, his cheeks a delightful pink that matched the ruby tones of her lips. He leaned a little in, voice low enough for her to hear. “Not that I’m not flattered, but I’m a married man.”

She giggled again, but when she gripped his arm and held she couldn’t help but squeeze down as she spoke, voice serious, her brows furrowed. “I just wanted to say thank you. For the things you do, the things you say. For who you are. Thank you.”

Obi-Wan’s smile softened, and he nodded quickly. “No need to thank me. But I cherish the sentiment all the same.”

When she pulled away she grabbed a napkin and passed it to Obi-Wan and took one of the gins from his grasp. By the time Anakin returned the lipstick had been wiped away, and Padmé watched as Obi-Wan quietly filled the empty space next to Anakin’s right side once more. She ended up keeping the gin and tonic, while Obi-Wan and Anakin subtly shared the one, lips placed over the spot where the other had drank, like a soft kiss shared between the pair, known only to the trio stood beneath the summer sun.

#star wars fanfiction #lemon fanfiction #obikin #moonlight serenade

[keigologies]

kazuha has been a lone wolf for as long as he can remember; he struck out on his own to wander inazuma at such a young age and with everything that has come to pass in teyvat, that decision feels like it was made a million lifetimes ago. he has no home, no true home; there is no place for him to come back to, no building on land that provides a roof over his head for longer than he can stand. the crux is the only semblance of such a thing, of family that he has and he's alright with that.

but then you waltz into his life, as beautiful and as gentle as a crimson red leaf from a maple tree. you're a close friend of beidou's and it escapes kazuha how you've never managed to meet in all of his time with the captain's crew. you're the owner of an inn just off the docks of liyue harbor, an establishment that caters specifically to fleets like the one beidou leads. you offer the crux lodging when there's a particularly terrible storm brewing on the horizon, one that makes it ill advised to stay on the water. beidou accepts, of course, and the crew takes up most of your rooms for the night.

you serve them dinner, the best hot meal they've had in a while, hand-crafted and slaved over. you always pull out all the stops when the crux is in, beidou tells kazuha as you make trips from the kitchen to the dining area. you're a naturally caring person, it's something she appreciates about you; it's what has kept the crew going for so long. and he has to agree because the plates of almond tofu, mint salad, tianshu meat, and jade parcels you set before him rival the cuisine of xiangling. 

it's not until hours later, though, that the two of you officially meet. he's sitting out in the just-beginning rain, sat on one of the benches in the private little courtyard your inn boasts, when you appear in the threshold to snuff out the candles on the covered patio. you ask him why he's purposely sitting in the rain and he explains his reasoning for it: he enjoys being close with nature, he speaks its language, he appreciates it in ways that others don't. he's endeared by the way you stand and listen to him with rapt attention, not judging, not interrupting, just taking in his words and understanding. you leave him to it, bidding him a goodnight, his blond hair growing darker by the second as the rain wets him.

and when he comes in for the night as the rain comes down harder, he finds a couple of warm, fluffy towels by the door that weren't there when he'd gone outside. he's never really known the sweet taste of love in this way before, full-bodied selflessness that melts on his tongue like a sugar cube. 

and the more the crux visits liyue, the more you open your doors to the crew, the more you treat him to that saccharine sweet, warm love. and he, the man who prefers sleeping under the stars and reading poetry and listening to nature, the man who has a hard time staying in one place after so many years of wandering, finds himself wanting to stay a little longer every time he visits you. and that doesn't scare him nearly as much as he thought it would. he figures he might have to learn a new language, one of romance and home and staying put. he thinks he could do it with your help.

keigologies 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

#kaedehara kazuha x reader #kazuha x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #.drabble #.fluff #.kazuha

[anna-hawk]

Greedy

Pairing: Shane Walsh x F!Reader Fandom: The Walking Dead Rating: E 🔞 WC: ~2,5K

Summary: You have a surprise for Shane

Warning: this is basically just smut that includes a butt plug. The anal play isn't too intense, but Shane definitely is, and this is how we all love him 😏😏😏

A/N: inspired by this picture, which was sent to me by @darlingshane as a request for my milestone celebration a few months ago. There weren't any specifics, but my brain went for that idea.

Also read it on AO3

It was shortly past noon on a Sunday, the weather as sunny and warm as would be expected from the start of summer. Shane, however, didn’t care about that, nor about the small group of people currently sitting at the long table in the middle of his garden. Well, not that he didn’t actually care about them, or didn’t want them here, it was more that his whole attention was on you. As it had been since that morning after you’d informed him about one specific detail just when your first guests had arrived, which had rendered him unable to find out more. 

“Somethin’ up between you two?” 

Shane’s eyes quickly glanced at a smirking Rick, who had joined Shane at the barbecue without him noticing. His eyes immediately returned to you at Rick’s words, before Shane snorted and shook his head as he checked on the few steaks and veggies he was grilling. 

“Nah, we’re good.” 

Rick lifted his hands in an if-you-say-so gesture, and chuckled as he took another pair of tongs to turn a steak as well, before he returned to sit next to his son.

As obvious as he might have been to his friend, Shane still couldn’t stop himself from following your every move as you got up to get more drinks or serve a dish, all while laughing with your extended family. You were talking to Maggie when you suddenly lifted your gaze to him, only to meet Shane’s eyes, since he was still watching you. You blinked in surprise at finding him already staring, but grinned cheerfully a second later and returned your attention to Maggie. What had Shane stopping in the motion of putting some bell peppers on a plate was the tiny crease that appeared in your brow for a brief second as you sat back down. It hadn’t been the first time, today. And that, as much as what you’d revealed earlier, had been one of the reasons that had him continuously watching you as well. You didn’t look in pain, but you kept biting over your lower lip at odd intervals, and your eyes seemed to turn glassy while you did so. In simple words, you looked… aroused. Not obviously so for other people, but Shane definitely knew that expression or the way you kept squirming around, as if unable to sit still for too long.

His nostrils flaring with his own arousal, Shane was annoyed that he couldn’t just walk up to you and demand that you show him what you’d hinted at earlier. That morning, you’d chosen to wear his favorite summer dress over … a surprise, as you’d put it. That had been all that Shane had been able to find out. He guessed the so-called surprised to be a sexy new pair of panties, but if your behavior was anything to go by, there had to be something more. 

It was that more that had Shane finally giving in to his curiosity. He’d just taken the cooked meat and veggies off the grill and placed everything on the table for everyone, when he saw you rise once more and head inside. He threw a quick, be back in a sec, to the table in general, and followed you. 

He found you in the kitchen, pouring fresh water from the fridge into a large glass pitcher. Taking the pitcher from you, he placed it onto the kitchen counter before silently clasping his fingers around your wrist and dragging you to the back of the house and into the living room. 

“Shane?” you said in confusion as you walked behind him. 

He didn’t reply until you were standing behind the couch, and he turned to you to unceremoniously push your upper body over the couch.  

“Shane!” you gasped, as your knees hit the back of said furniture, and you had to catch yourself on the pillows. 

“Alright,” Shane rumbled, as he leaned over you while his hands trailed along the back of your thighs to push the dress up. “Enough teasin’. Show me what you got for me.”

“Wh-what? Shane, not now,” you whispered sharply and turned your head to the hallway leading back to the kitchen and outside. 

“Oh, yes now. Your own damn fault for tellin’ me about that… surprise, before everyone got here. You shouldn’t have said anythin’ if you didn’t want me to do exactly this,” Shane growled into your ear before he reared back to get a good look at what was hidden under the dress. He groaned when he saw the pretty new panties, the fabric soft and silky under his touch as he ran his fingers over your ass. You whimpered when he squeezed your cheeks and then slid a thumb teasingly over your covered lips. 

“So pretty for me,” he praised, loving the feel of how warm and damp you were on his fingers. 

His hand came to a sudden halt as his thumb moved higher and something hard met his digit. With a frown, he began sliding the panties down, but was surprised as you started moving and trying to bat his hands away. 

“Ah, Shane, wait. Not now, I-” you pleaded, voice going up an octave, sounding between aroused but also curiously embarrassed. 

Now all the more curious, Shane didn’t stop and ended up freezing at the sight that greeted him the second he revealed your ass to him. 

“Oh God,” you moaned as you hung there, hiding your face in your arms. “I told you not now.” 

Shane could do nothing more than simply stare for the longest time as his brain caught up to what his eyes were seeing.

A butt plug. A fucking butt plug was snugly fitted inside your ass, only the flat, colored crystal at the base visible to him. Teasing him. Shane swallowed at the unexpected erotic sight, his pointer finger tracing around the base. The two of you had jokingly talked about using this kind of toy a few weeks ago when a friend of yours had gotten one as a gag gift at his bachelor’s party. Except that Shane hadn't thought that you'd want to go through with it. Anal sex hadn't been talked about in your relationship, but only because it had never come up. Talking about that toy had been arousing, sure, but Shane had more or less forgotten about it right after that conversation. You, on the other hand, clearly hadn't. And it wasn't like Shane could complain. Far from it, with how pretty the color of the crystal looked against your skin. 

“So this is what had you squirmin’ like that,” he observed after a long silence, his voice deep. He lowered himself over your back again to speak into your ear. “Are you so greedy for my dick that you want me to fill all your pretty holes?” 

His dick throbbed in his khakis at your whimper. Fuck, the idea of getting absolutely all of you was making him slowly lose control. He'd only meant to check out what you were hiding before going back outside, but with this? 

Standing straight again, Shane licked his lower lip as he gently pulled on the base and grinned at your immediate intake of breath. He stopped you from turning around with a large palm pressed against the middle of your back. 

“Sha-Shane, no, ah,” you pleaded, only your head turning towards him and revealing your wide eyes. 

“Shshsh,” Shane whispered, as he turned the toy inside you before pushing on it and watching your arms falter as you bit down on a groan. “Can’t expect me to not play with it a little, hm?” 

Fuck, he was already so incredibly hard just from teasing you that little bit, and had to quickly adjusted himself.

“No, please… What – ah – what if someone co – oh fuck! Shane d-don’t.” 

You managed to keep your voice low as you begged, but you still pushed your ass out more as Shane began pulling at the toy. His heart was racing with the lust running through him and the need to see the warm metal stretching you for him. Despite you being right, despite several people being just on the other side of the house, Shane couldn’t stop himself from teasing you some more. Especially as he listened to you begging him to stop while moaning so wantonly, your body obviously loving every second of it. Shane was completely unable to pull his hands away from you. 

As soon as the widest part started to appear to his eyes, the act having your body shaking as you fought every sound you wanted to make, Shane pushed the toy back inside to the hilt. A cry left your mouth, but you managed to choke it down before it turned too loud, and instead you bit into your forearm. 

“Look at you, baby,” Shane said appreciatively, and ran two fingers along your soaked flesh. “Pleadin’ n’ beggin’ me to stop, but your pussy’s more honest than you.”

Your legs trembled, and you didn’t shy away from his touch, but you remained silent, your head lying over your folded arms on top of the couch. His mouth turning into a smirk, Shane pushed those two fingers slowly inside you until they couldn’t get any further. He hummed in satisfaction as you gasped, and your walls squeezed around his fingers. Playing with your entrance, Shane used the hand still lying on your back to go to the toy and pull at it yet again. Your head instantly flew up, and you slapped a hand on the pillow before fisting it as Shane tortured you in all the best ways. 

“Shane,” you sobbed in pleasure. “Please.” 

“Mh, please what?” Shane teased some more, pulling and pulling until the toy was almost all the way out. He had to fight with all his might to keep himself in check and not just fuck you right then and there at the sight of both of your stretched holes. 

“Just… oh fuck… please… you gotta…” The end of your sentence was cut off by your pressing your mouth to your arms as you cried out when Shane plunged both fingers and toy back inside you. 

Shane chuckled breathlessly. Shit, making you lose your focus was always such a turn on for him. Having you come apart on his fingers, mouth, tongue, or dick was the surest way to have him go over the edge as well. He’d never tire of watching you like this. As he tugged the toy out this time, he started to slowly fuck you with it, in synch with his fingers inside you. 

“Hey, you guys here somewhere?” Glenn’s voice suddenly came from the kitchen. 

Shane froze and so did you. Shane grunted under his breath as you tightened around his fingers, and smirked. 

“Oh, that’s what you like? Want someone to run into you lookin’ like this? You sure squeezed real nice around my fingers just now,“ he rumbled straight into your ear before lifting his head and talking loudly. “Yeah, we’re right here.” Shane smirked as he kept fucking you with both hands and saw your wide eyes and your mouth opening to speak, but he talked over you. “We’ll be out in a minute.” 

There was a pause in Glenn’s steps, before they retreated again with an audible grumble. Shane laughed under his breath. 

“You think he knows, hm?” Shane thrust his fingers faster before taking them out and going straight for your clit. 

You shook your head fervently while moans began falling from your mouth continuously as Shane increased the pace again. Shoving the toy back inside you, Shane wrapped his hand around your throat and pulled you up against him, turning your head until your eyes met. 

“No? Should I call him back then? Or even Rick? Let 'em see what a dirty girl you are, hm?” Shane asked as his fingers flew over your clit. 

“N-no!” you said in a high, urgent whisper and shook your head again while meeting his gaze with your wide, need filled eyes. “Please, Shane. Only need you.”

The hand on your throat tightened a notch as your declaration hit Shane deep, his possessive streak screaming in satisfaction in his head.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he hissed before claiming your mouth with his for a hungry kiss. 

Shane groaned in approval as you lifted an arm to curl it around his neck to keep him against you. His erection pressed against your leg while his hand still worked between your thighs, and he growled deep in his throat as you came in his arms. The orgasm was so intense that your knees buckled, but Shane’s hold on you kept you from pitching over the couch, although you had to break the kiss to get your breathing under control again. Shane gently lowered you over the couch again to finally reach for his fly, and almost ripped it apart in his haste to open it and lower the pants enough to pull his cock out. Words of praise gushed out of him as he frantically fisted himself, the copious amount of pre-come making the glide easy. His eyes were riveted to your ass and slick folds, your juices covering the top of your thighs as well from how he’d played with you. Shane moved over you, his free hand holding him up on the couch as he kept speaking to you. 

“The way you look right now. Fuck… Wish I could send everyone home now and take you apart.” His eyes returned to your ass and the toy. “And that toy, baby? Such a big plug for my girl,” Shane groaned at your muffled moan from his continuous praise. The toy wasn’t outrageously big, but he’d seen smaller ones, for sure. 

“Had to,” you mumbled and turned your fully blown out pupils on him. “Had to make sure you’ll fit,” 

Shane’s dick pulsed at the hidden praise, and he growled deep in his throat as the visuals assaulting his brain, as well as the current sight of you, brought him to the edge of his release. Leaning up again as his hand flew over his dick, Shane pulled one of your butt cheeks to the side and grunted harshly as the first strings of come hit you straight over the toy before he painted the back of your thighs as well. 

Both of your quick breaths were the only sound coming from the room for a long minute, while Shane stared at your deliciously messy form through heavy lids. He leaned down to press a tender kiss to your nape before he helped you gingerly stand, making sure that your dress didn’t touch the mess on your skin. You turned around to face him with a languid smile, which had him moving in to kiss you for a few, long seconds. 

“I think you should head outside while I,” you trailed off with a chuckle.   

Shane snorted and nodded, watching you walking through the hallway and vanishing into the bathroom before heading outside. Sitting down next to Rick, he was greeted by Maggie’s knowing smirk across from him, which he unapologetically met head on with one of his own. Glenn’s uncomfortable expression, when you made your way out again a few minutes later, only served to have him laughing as he kissed you in welcome before he reached for one of the salads. 

#shane walsh x reader #shane walsh x female reader #reader insert #shane walsh #the walking dead #shane walsh fanfiction #shane walsh smut #mes fics #milestone celebration

[jokeringcutio]

Reader x Stepdad William Afton (Drabble)

AN: You got me there, ANON. All right, here's a very QUICK drabble for you, because I COULDN'T RESIST. MATURE THEMES/NO EXPLICIT SMUT. Just a happy family dinner (well....)

Also, I am overwhelmed with prompt requests and I love them, so do keep 'em coming. But if you want to help me out for reaching my goal to save up to commission a celebratory piece of artwork for this tumblr (as we've almost reached 1000 mutuals following this account :3 ) please feel free to donate me a little something on Ko-fi ♡ ︎.

based on this in my inbox: [ See Reaction to the post here x ]

The clink of silverware against porcelain punctuated the silence, a staccato rhythm that seemed to echo in the cavern of your chest. Across from you, William’s hands were steady as he cut into his steak, but there was something about the tightness in his jaw, the way his blue eyes didn't quite meet yours, that whispered secrets.

"Sweetheart," your mother's voice sliced through the tension like the knife in William's hand through meat, "it's time we talked about a paternity test."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, a wild, frantic thing eager to escape. You swallowed hard, the mashed potatoes on your tongue now tasting like ash.

"Whoever the father is... he deserves to know," she continued, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling beneath her words.

"Of course," you agreed, the word brittle on your lips. Your gaze flickered unintentionally to William, then quickly away, fearing what might be revealed in a single glance.

He cleared his throat, a sound that rumbled deep and low, a prelude to the storm you knew brewed within him.

"It's only fair," he said, but his voice was a masterclass in control, every syllable measured, every intonation practiced.

"You can ring up the boys... see if they're willing." She was all practicality, all motherly concern, not an inkling of suspicion clouding her features. If only she knew…

"Right," you breathed out, the lie sour and heavy in your mouth.

In your bedroom, Evan's chest rose and fell with the innocent trust of sleep. Unaware. Untouched by the deceit that hung thick in the air. The door ajar, otherwise he wouldn’t sleep if he didn’t hear that you were near. As if somehow, your tiny son was aware that he had been born in a house full of dark secrets and possible danger.

Your fingers curled around your glass, the cool surface grounding you. Water, while your parents were drinking wine. Wasn’t your mom still trying for a baby? Had she finally given up now that she saw how it was to be between diapers and the soreness of giving milk?

William's gaze flitted toward the open door where your son lay oblivious to the grown-up games played at his expense.

"Will do it tomorrow," you promised, your voice a whisper of determination laced with dread.

"Good girl," your mother smiled, contentment lighting up her face. But in William's eyes, the reflection of a different kind of pride—a dark, devouring satisfaction—flickered and then died.

You pushed your plate away, appetite lost. While inside your thoughts careened like a runaway train, you tried to remain your compose. Look and act normal. But what would happen when the truth came out? What would happen when the masks fell away?

What would William do?

Because in all honesty, it wasn’t your mom and her feelings you were worried about the most any longer. She had proven time after time again to be there for you, no matter what lies had been told about you. Her two-goody-shoes daughter, suddenly a wild partying animal who had gone and get laid whilst drunk – even if she bought it she faithfully helped take care of you and your newborn son. She was so – so darn sweet! Like an angel sent from the blessed sky. If she’d forgiven you this, then you wouldn’t doubt she would forgive you the truth.

But…

Could you bear her disappointment? Right now? Could you see her so crestfallen and betrayed? Did you want to break that dam and wait whilst pain raked through you both – a pain that only time could mend?

Beside you, William scraped his throat, his thick fingers scraping past your thigh underneath the table. The horny beast. Even now he couldn’t stop touching you.

Shouldn’t he be working on one of his new robot animals? Like that yellow bunny suit he was making to resemble your favorite plushie? With the only difference that it was ten times bigger and build for him to wear?

You tried not to glance at your stepfather, not even when his fingers reassuringly squeezed your already bruised thigh. You gritted your teeth at the soreness – thanks to his latest bout of fucking, of course. The man took his chances whenever he could.

No, the real problem here was your stepfather. William was a tall, strong and dangerous man. His mind worked in ways that only left you guessing. And you had no doubt that he had hurt others in the past before to get exactly what he wanted.

If you wanted to play this game, you had to play it right.

Silently, you vowed to protect Evan from the shadows that lurked behind William's aviator glasses, from the manipulations that twisted beneath his agreeable facade. You would stand between your son and the man who wore danger like a second skin.

"Let's finish up here," your mother suggested, unaware of the battle lines being drawn right before her eyes.

"Indeed," William agreed, and his smile was a predator's grin, hidden in plain sight.

The baby slept on, his dreams untainted by the turmoil that swirled just beyond his reach.

#anon answered #quick drabble #Stepdad William Afton x Reader #William Afton x Reader #william afton x you #Stepdad William Afton

[seresinhangmanjake]

Signed Away: Part 3

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader Series

Summary: You find out about the contractual marriage your parents arranged with Jake’s when you were a baby. You’re plently angered by it, but Jake doesn’t seem too bothered. He might even be happy.

Notes/Warnings: typos, i’m sure, cursing, fluff, eventual smut, angst, contract marriage, loss of rights, feelings of being trapped, poor parent/child relationships. Italics are a flashback. This is planned out to be ten chapters of similar length and an epilogue.

As always, comments can make my bad days worth getting through, so i’ll never not appreciate them. Reblogs and likes make me smile uncontrollably, but no pressure :)  

Masterlist

Words: 1639

Your fork pushed the salad around the pale china plate, weakening the freshness of the lettuce until it wilted and drowned in the peppery dressing. You couldn’t focus. The food in front of you just was a blurred mass of color, nothing you cared to put in your mouth. You were too exhausted from the tension, the awkwardness, and it crushed any appetite.

The plate was eased out from in front of you, leaving your fork hovering in mid-air until the smoky aroma of your family chef’s expertly grilled steak filled the room. A wave of guilt crashed over you, knowing you wouldn’t be sinking your teeth into the meat either.

“Thank you, Allan,” you mumbled. He squeezed your shoulder and you glanced up to be met with pity.

He knew. You didn’t know why you felt a flash of surprise. Allan had been working for your parents long before you were born. Unlikely that your mother ever pulled him aside to explain the fate of your future, but by now the news was hard to ignore. Your engagement had been announced in the damn paper just days before.

He gave you a quick nod before placing a plate in front of your father.

“A shame your parents couldn’t join us tonight, Jake.” Your father’s voice broke the air of uncomfortable silence. It was appreciated to hear anything other than the bubbly chorus of your carbonated water, even though you had little intention of contributing much to any conversation. “Across the pond, are they not?”

“Bill, I already told you—”

“Deanna, let me talk to the boy. Go ahead, son.”

“Uh, yes.” Jake’s knee bumped yours as he shifted in his seat. The brief friction of his jeans burst a buzzing hum along that spot of your skin. Your heartbeat pounded behind your ribcage, fingers tightening around the handle of the fork “Visiting my aunt.”

Your mother took a generous sip of her wine. “Do they still intend to return next week?���

Jake nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, that’s good. Amelia and I have a lot of planning to do. Flowers, venue, guest list, the dress.”

The sharp stab of a pointed-toed heel to your shin forced you to look up. Your mother’s eyebrows were tipped down in the center, painted lips pinched. Clearly, you’d missed something. “What?”

“The dress.”

“What about it?”

“Surely you’re excited to find the perfect one, right Darling?”

Her words came out gritty through clenched teeth. A hefty pause weighed down the already thick air of the room and you suddenly wished the bubbles of your drink never ceased their popping.

“I doubt you’ll have to worry,” Jake said then looked at you. “You’ll look amazing in anything.”

You couldn’t tell if he truly believed it or if the deafening silence was getting to him the way it did for any guest stuck between you and your mother. Your father was the only one unaffected, continuing to work away at his steak.

It was sickly sweet, the smile your mother shot Jake. “Jake dear, you don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not ly—”

“She needs to understand how important it is to look appropriate for such an event.”

You silently snorted before plastering a mocking grin across your face. “Believe me mother, I already understand everything I need to know.”

“Are you giving me attitude, young lady?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare.”

“Y/N, you are such a—”

“A what!”

“An ungrateful little—”

“Jake,” your father’s voice boomed, dousing all others. “You like bourbon, son?”

You froze at the thought of being left with your mother. Jake must have noticed the rigidity of your body because his fingers lightly gripped your lower thigh under the satin tablecloth, giving a brief squeeze. It was far more comforting than you cared to admit, and gave you a sense of protection, as if from his fingertips a barrier spread and formed around you in attempt to keep your mother out. He was on your side in this, and maybe you would have to start acknowledging that.

Then his head turned away from you and toward your father. “Yes sir, but—”

“Come,” he said, already standing and rebuttoning his suit jacket. “Let us leave the women to their business.”

-----

He didn’t want to leave you. An invisible force tugged at his sleeve, begging him to exit the confined space of your father’s office in favor of returning to you and taking you somewhere safe were you might be able to take a decent breath. But he didn’t need your father hating him. Both his and yours placed an extremely strong value in respect, and escaping the den wouldn’t be doing him any favors in the long run.

The extended hand invaded Jake’s peripherals. He blinked then accepted the glass offered to him, but before he could thank you father, the elder said, “You like my daughter.”

Jake took a drink of the amber liquid, letting the familiar burn wash down his throat.

“And I see how you try to hide it in front of Y/N,” he continued. “You don’t wish to scare her off and you’re wise to recognize that it would.” Bill gestured to the nearest seat as he sat in his own armchair behind the cherry wood desk. Jake sat and your father stared at him, hard, for long agonizing seconds. Then he set his glass on a coaster, leaned back, and rested clasped hands on a rounded stomach. “Make this work, Jake Seresin,” he said.

“I was under the impression I didn’t have a choice, sir.”

Bill smirked, perhaps expecting such a response, or perhaps not but appreciating the quick agreement. Again, beats passed. Bill took another sip of his drink, Jake watching intently with each movement of hand on glass, glass at lips, hard swallow, glass back on desk. “I am not like her mother. I do care about her feelings, despite how it may appear. So let me rephrase.” He paused. “Make her forget the circumstances of this situation. Make her happy.”

It would be rude to laugh, so Jake kept his mouth shut, taking a lengthy drink until the impulse passed. Making you happy was all he’d thought about for the past month. It was you who didn’t want him to. “She’s stubborn, sir.”

Your father released the laugh Jake had held back. “She is. I’ve been watching her run her mother ragged for nineteen years.” The laugh settled and his tone fell into seriousness. “But you are a determined man by nature. Am I wrong in understanding you once wished to be a pilot?”

Jake’s gaze dropped to his drink. It was nearly empty. He’d need more. Much more. “No, sir.”

“See, a man who would choose such a career path is a man who knows how to get what he wants,” Bill said. “Getting my daughter down the aisle, while no easy task, will be doable for you. You have my full trust in that.”

-----

“Well, you missed dessert,” Deanna snapped, following a scoff and a roll of her chocolate brown eyes. Her polished nails looked like vulture talons perched on slim hips and the sneer on her lips made Jake wonder how you could possibly be born from someone so unappealing. “Now she’s out back. Being a brat.”

Bill replied, but Jake didn’t hear it. He was too focused on the gentle swaying of your body as you occupied one of the swings of your childhood swing set. He couldn’t begin to count how many times he’d been in the swing beside you as a kid, taunting each other to see who could fly higher. He was too young then to recognize that a five-year-old you was much smaller than he was at nine, and had you fallen you’d surely have broken a bone. You, on the other hand, were so competitive and determined to prove yourself that you’d have risked a damaged limb without question, and often did.

Jake slipped out the sliding glass door without notice, wet grass smushing under the press of his steps. “Are you alright?” he asked, but when you didn’t answer, didn’t look up, he crouched down and rested his crossed arms atop your knees. “Hmm? Tell me.”

A tear fell, splashing on the surface of your thigh.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Jake reached forward and brushed the salty liquid from your skin.

“I hate that she gets to me,” you whispered, then meeting his eyes, you said, “You know what she told me while the two of you were off drinking that overly expensive crap? She said I’m so fucking fortunate to have you because not another man will want to marry me if this is the type of person I want to be. And then she promptly reminded me that even you have to do it. You’re not choosing me on your own.”

“Y/N, I consider myself lucky.”

You shook your head.

“Yes, I do.”

He knew you wouldn’t believe it, not by his word alone. Regardless, if you’d allow him, he wanted to protect you, take care of you, put a smile on your face and keep it there. It wouldn’t happen overnight, neither would gaining your trust, but he could try to start somewhere.

“I can get us a place,” he said.

“What?”

“An apartment or something. I have money, and I know a guy who owns a nice building. We could probably be in in the next couple days if you wanted.”

“Why would you do that?”

The corners of Jake’s lips tugged upwards when the little wrinkle between your brows softened and smoothed to match the rest of your silky skin. He tucked some hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing along your cheekbone, and said, “I don’t want to leave you here.”

 Wedding Countdown: 589 days

tags: @marvel-ousnesss @thespeeder @nobody7102 @marrianena @fangirlingoverfangirls @blue-aconite @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @dempy @chaoticassidy @alana4610 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @dracosluvbot @smoothdogsgirl @smit41 @princessphilly @kkrenae @castle-bookworms-world @xoxabs88xox @blackwidownat2814 @acupnoodle @callmemana @zippitydoda @asteria33 @the-mouse27 @111angelnumbers111 @shanimallina87 @creativitybeware @roosterscock 

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin fic #top gun #top gun fic #top gun 2 fic #top gun 2 #top gun maverick #top gun hangman #top gun jake seresin #top gun maverick hangman #top gun fanfic #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin angst #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #glen powell #jake hangman seresin x y/n #jake hangman seresin fanfiction

[starfall-spirit]

Burning in the Starlight

Summary: In the wake of Amarantha's downfall, Feyre finds herself struggling to acquaint herself with the ways of Autumn nobility. Once a third-born daughter, now Cursebreaker, attention and gossip around the court were to be expected. What she didn't expect was the young and rising High Lord's proposal-nor her father's arrangement without her consent.

Trapped between a marriage bed and a mating bond, Feyre finds herself tangled in a new game, thanks to Rhysand's affinity for bargains. A game that would create the sort of scandal a proper Autumn lady shouldn't find herself caught in.

Feyre can't quite bring herself to care.

BitS Masterlist Ao3

@polyacotarweek Day 3: Secrets

Chapter IV: Wife, Mate, Spy

Dinner was an even more casual affair than breakfast, if that was possible. Feyre had lost track of time in the library and Rhys had found her on a window seat, curled up in a blanket with her nose in a book. She was so distracted in fact, it had only been the soft prodding of her mental shield that alerted her he was near.

“Is it getting easier to maintain?”

“Yes,” she murmured, accepting a plate of cheese, meat, and fruit from him as well as a glass of wine. “I’m not so sure that will hold true if I have to be paranoid about you poking at it.”

He frowned, sitting down beside her. “As I said, visitors and powerful officials to Autumn will be a bigger threat to you. Soon enough it will be an unconscious habit and won’t take any energy to keep it solid and in place.” He shook his head, that frown morphing to amusement. “Did you gather every pillow in the house?”

She shot him a glare, burrowing a bit deeper into her nest and balancing her plate on her knees. “What business is it of yours? It’s not like I was poking around your room.”

“And just where were you poking around, Feyre darling?” 

He leaned in just half an inch, his body hardly doing more than tilting towards her. And yet that was all it took for his scent to wash over her. For the second time that day she was paralyzed, but rather than having her control stolen, it was raw instinct bringing her to pause and recognize the thread between them. It was a thriving thing, emotions and fears and dreams tangled in and along it, pulsing between them. 

He cocked his head, watching her straighten and sit back, letting her slowly widen the space between them.

“What is beneath this house?” Rhys raised a brow, rolling a grape between his finger and thumb. “Well, there must be something beyond this place. This part of your territory can’t just be this house and the mountains beyond it. So?”

“We are rather isolated if we’re discussing the cardinal directions. Beneath the house, however, lies my… occupation, one might say. The Hewn City is unpleasant to say the least. It mostly governs itself unless someone needs a firm reminder about who is High Lord.”

“Hewn City?”

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Amarantha was not as clever as she pretended to be. What you found Under the Mountain was a sanitized version of the Court of Nightmares. And yes, it’s every bit as horrid as its name.”

Feyre hummed, reaching for her wine. “What is it about you wicked and dark types, holding court underground?”

She thought she had masked her distaste well enough, especially with her teasing at what she was truly coming to recognize as a facade. He merely held her stare, his face almost pensive. “Not only are the people there horrid, but it is a reminder. Those years there—” Beneath the stone where he saw no stars. Those years in Amarantha’s bed. “—won’t be forgotten. The first time I returned to court, appearing as High Lord, it was far from easy.”

“Would I have to go there? If…” If she chose him. This place. How long would it grant her this tranquility before the facade faded to the same fascism and maneuverings she was forced to endure in Autumn?

There were many subjects going unspoken tonight. “I would not force you to attend those audiences. My mother rarely did, but then she was not my father’s equal.”

“They weren’t mates?”

“Mates, yes. Equals is another matter. This morning Morrigan mentioned the traditional title a wife or mate inherits. Lady of Night, Autumn, Winter, and so on. There has never been a High Lady, as I’m sure you know through your political studies in Winter.”

“I didn’t have much need for politics or history,” she admitted with a blush. “But I’ve gathered a thing or two since returning to Autumn. Is this your next attempt at a bribe?”

He chuckled. “I’m not foolish enough to believe you would be swayed by something as shallow as power, Feyre. In fact, I’d be disappointed if that was all it took for me to win your heart. This is my pathetic attempt at transparency. Considering where I spent the last fifty years, you could say I’m out of practice in that courtesy.”

Feyre offered him a smile, letting herself scoot an inch closer. “I think you’re doing well enough, all things considered.”

His lips twitched to mirror her own. “I want everything on the table to avoid any unnecessary surprises down the road.” His expression suddenly sobered, making Feyre wary. “Speaking of power, have you discovered any consequences of your resurrection?”

She shook her head. “the usual parlor tricks I had already mastered before going Under the Mountain. You and Eris really believe something was passed to me?”

”It’s been centuries, maybe longer, since the High Lords have seen someone worthy of reviving, and I’ve yet to find any sort of record of the results. Even then, I’d imagine the results are case-by-case. We just need to find your trigger before it does you harm.”

Because fae who tried to suppress power, be they in hiding or something else, had gone mad and burned up from the inside out, trying to lock their power away. “Write to me or—” He huffed, grinding his teeth. “—or inform Eris. He can at least train you in control of Autumn gifts you may possess. Stop smirking like that.”

“You males. Always so jealous when it comes to your mates.” Ignoring his soft snarl, the shiver it sent down her spine, Feyre refocused on the subject between them. “Training the other gifts? Autumn’s ties are tumultuous on a good day, and you have few friends outside of the Night court.”

“The principles will be similar enough through each branch of magic. Once you learn to control a high magnitude of power, the rest will come easily enough. And something tells me you’re a quick study, regardless. Don’t start worrying about that until you actually have to. Especially with the other problems we’re juggling.”

“Hybern, right? Or something else?” She grimaced “You’ll have to fill me in. Vivian could only get crumbs of information behind Kallias’ wards.”

He gave another heavy sigh. “War is coming, Feyre. And fast.”

~~~~~

Rhys’s failure to give a fuck must have worn off on Feyre in the week she was away, because despite her desire to be at least well-mannered enough to show her face in high society, the sheer horror on her mother’s face was worth the risk of wearing Night Court loungewear home.

Though her father scowled at the exposure of her midriff and the sheer sleeves she wore, he had other concerns. “You carry his scent.”

There laid the roots of her concern. The scent of a mating bond left in limbo. She’d spent all week fearing it would snap into place without her consent just because of their physical attraction to one another. “A result of the bargain,” she lied smoothly. “And likely the fact he kept me close during my stay. Monitored, I mean. The last thing he was going to do was let Eris’ bride go snooping.”

There was a semi-truth to that. While there had been little to no classified information to find in the Moonstone Palace, when he spoke to his general and cousin in her presence, there was a vagueness to his words. And a slight pain in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Feyre,” he told her once. “But even with the bond, I can’t tell you everything yet. One day I hope I can.”

“The day I accept you and your court as my own?” She had no right to feel so bitter, but it still stung for some reason.

“The very moment you do. That’s a promise, and I never break my promises.”

Shaking off the memory, she gave her parents and sisters a tight smile. Elain seemed particularly worried, Nesta simply suspicious. “It was all… taxing. But I’m unharmed.”

”I imagine so,” her father replied, voice still laced with suspicion. “Go change into something proper. It’s nearly dinner and the High Lord expects you to join him.”

Insufferable bastard. All he wanted at the moment was to interrogate her, she was certain. And perhaps try to discourage her romantic pursuit of his enemy. Still, she was sitting across from Eris at a quarter to seven serving herself a portion of roast meat and various side dishes. “What exactly is the point of this dinner, Eris?”

“Do I not possess the right to wine and dine my fiancée?”

 “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

He grinned. Dangerous, was the descriptor that came to mind. It seemed she had a type. Where that thought had come from she wasn’t sure. But she couldn’t deny he was attractive, at least. “You walk freely through my enemy’s household and you expect me to just ignore it?”

Feyre sighed. “You’re being quite predictable, actually. Mates or not, he doesn’t trust me yet. And even if he did, it’s none of your business what he and his court are up to.” 

He cocked his head, one short nail clacking against his glass. “And if your mate asked you to spy on me?”

Feyre sighed. “He didn’t ask me to spy on you like that.”

His hand stilled. “Like that?” Just what does ’like that’ mean?”

She raised her own goblet to her lips. “What is your stance on the war against Hybern?”

He chuckled. “Tell me you have a bit more couth at court. That I’ll have the slightest hope at training you in political parley.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have no desire to beat around the bush this evening. That doesn’t make me incompetent. Now, Hybern.”

To his credit, Eris only hesitated a moment longer. “Hybern has had a very long time to plant the seeds of doubt in his people’s mind. Regardless of his own power, an army full of anger can be beyond dangerous. Worse than that, particularly unpredictable.”

“What is Autumn doing about it?”

That was where she saw the change in him. Where this was shutting down. “That’s none of your concern, Feyre. Unlike some, I know when to keep my cards close to my chest.”

“Sounds like a whole lot of nothing.”

Chuckling, Eris wiped his face, standing from his chair. She tensed, but remained seated as he approached, reaching for her chin. He was all too smug the next time their eyes met. “I might be convinced to share such information with my wife.” His thumb stroked down her jaw, the motion small, yet possessive. “Think on that, little wolf. I’ll call on you soon.”

~~~~~

Taglist: @highladysith // @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @stars-and-scripts // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @mybestfriendmademe // @lilah-asteria

#burning in the starlight #BitS #acotar #feysand #feyris #feyrisand #feyre archeron #rhysand #eris vanserra #polyamory #poly+acotarweek2024

[neo404]

What about a nick x younger brother where the younger brother thinks he might be gay so he goes to big brother nick for advice ( p.s. i know this isn’t like any of your other stories but i cant stop thinking about it ) ( the younger brother is gay )

Proud of you, buddy.

Summary: you think you have catched feeling for one of your classmates, unsure about these new feelings towards this boy, you decide to ask your older brother Nick for some advice.

Note: Nick, Matt and Chris call reader ‘Buddy’. Also a bit short, hope you like this.

The bell rang, I stood up grabbing my backpack and walking to the parking lot of the school. I was excited because my brothers were home for mom’s birthday which is on the weekend. As I check my phone to see if Matt was already outside to pick me up like he said he would I feel an arm resting on my shoulders.

‘’HEY! Why are you in a hurry?’’ Jackson is my friend since I entered this school, he’s outgoing and loves to do sports and play videogames. Recently, I have started to feel weird around him.

‘’I didn’t tell you? My brothers are here for mom’s birthday.’’ We walk side by side, his arm around me, my face red and my gaze focused in front of me, I didn’t want him to look at me like this.

‘’That’s so cool. That means I’ll finally meat them, right?’’

‘’Yeah, I almost forgot mom told me you could come to the dinner.’’

‘’Of course I can go, she loves me.’’

‘’Yep.’’ I try to not let out a sigh, I try to not run away. Why do I feel like this? ‘’Hey, I think that’s Matt there, so I need to go, bye, see you tomorrow.’’ I don’t give him time to reply and rush to the car.

‘’Hey, buddy. Everything okay? You are all red?’’ Matt looks at me while I put my seatbelt on.

‘’Yeah, all good. I’m glad you guys are here.’’

‘’Me too, buddy.’’

-------

‘’Omg, you are actually taller. That’s amazing.’’ Chris hugs me as I entered the kitchen. ‘’I think you might be as tall as us one day.’’

‘’Soon, you’ll see.’’ I smirk, and punch him playfully.

‘’Careful ladies, my bro is not here to play.’’ I stop smiling, he doesn’t notice ‘cus he’s already sitting at the table with Matt.

‘’All right, Chrissy. Leave your brother alone.’’ Mom says while putting another plate with food on the table. ‘’Honey, can you call Nick?’’ she looks at me and I nod.

I go to Nick’s old room and knock on the door. ‘’Come in.’’ I open the door and he is taking out some stuff from his backpack. ‘’Oh, Hi. How have you been?’’ I rush to him and hug him; he laughs and messes up my hair.

‘’Do you think… maybe, we can talk after lunch?’’

‘’Of course buddy, did something happened?’’ he looks down at me concerned.

‘’No, I mean, not really. I just wanted to talk to you about something.’’

‘’Okay, after we eat, we can talk about whatever you want.’’ After another quick hug we go downstairs to eat.

We talk about everything. How is it where they live, how’s school, old friends, about mom’s birthday, dad’s new hobby, Justin wanting a new car. Just a lot of chatting, and a small pit of anxiety grew on my stomach. I know Nick won’t say anything bad, he will be so supportive, understand me, but I’m not even sure if I’m gay, maybe I’m bisexual, I don’t know if I have ever liked a girl that way? What if I do some day?

‘’Buddy, lets go.’’ Nicks hand is on my shoulder. Matt and Chris were cleaning up the table. Mom and dad were picking up a movie to watch together. Nick and I went to the backyard.

‘’So, what is it that you wanted to tell me?’’ he sits on the cement floor, I sit besides him. The breeze messing our hairs.

‘’I like someone.’’ Nick looks at me and tilts his head. I think he know; I could tell anyone at this house, I can talk about girls with dad, Matt, Chris, Justin. Why would I be telling him about my crush if they weren’t a ‘he’.

‘’Okay, and?’’

‘’That someone is a boy… and I don’t know if I’m gay or I don’t know. Also, I don’t know what to do, because I want to be with him but what if he doesn’t want the same? And I’m freaking out, so I wanted to talk with you because maybe you could help me.’’ I cover my face with my hands.

‘’Wow, that’s a lot to take in… First of all, thank you for telling me. Second, you don’t need to know what you are, you don’t have to put a label to yourself yet, or ever, if you don’t feel like any sexualities define you, that’s okay.’’ My eyes start to water up a bit. ‘’So, about this boy. What is it that you like about him?’’ I let out a chuckle.

‘’What is it that I don’t like about him? he’s the best, so funny, kind, smart. I’m afraid because he’s my best friend, and I don’t know if he likes boys. I’m terrified to mess things up.’’

‘’Ow buddy.’’ He pats my back. ‘’It’s all right, you are still young, it’s okay to mess up and be in love. You can try to ask him out, I know it’s terrifying. But sometimes being afraid it’s better than regretting not doing it.’’

I nod and a few tears start to stream down my face. I feel Nicks hands wrap around me. This reminds me when he came out to me, he cried, and I cried because he was crying, we hugged and I told him I loved him. I bury my face in the crock of his neck I let myself go, all my fears, my anxiety, it went out in form of tears. After a while I stop, I back up a bit and clean my face with my hands.

‘’Want to get something to drink?’’ I nod.

‘’Don’t tell them yet. Please.’’ Nick gifts me a warm smile and nods. He knows what I’m experiencing, and I’m so glad to have him by my side to live this and learn about myself.

#i dont know how to tag this #nick sturniolo x reader #younger!sturniolo #nick sturniolo and younger brother reader

[lifeontoast]

A Very Sokovian Christmas

Baron Zemo x reader

First Danny Bunch thing, here we go! This one’s about making an absolute feast with the Baron. (since Sokovia isn’t a real country, and nothing about its Christmas traditions is in the public domain, I’ve mostly taken inspiration from German traditions). Enjoy :)

…

Christmas in Sokovia (with a Baron) certainly was a very elegant affair. It was a time of champagne, dancing and evening gowns.

But there was another side to it.

There was the side with hot chocolate, candles and Christmas markets. Spending hours bundled up in a certain long leather coat and woollen scarves, wandering through warmly lit ailes of stalls upon stalls upon stalls. Lebkuchen hearts swung slowly in the gentle wintry breeze, and your eyes flickered in the blazing candle light. Hot drinks made your hands glow with warmth. You decorated your Christmas tree with candles too, fake ones that glimmered when the lights were turned off, catching the silvery baubles in a most enchanting way. They threw patterns upon your walls, telling you of long-forgotten tales of cold Christmas nights. It was those cold yet joyful times that made you glad you had someone to spend them with.

Then there was the food: there was no small way to celebrate Sokovia’s celebrated gastronomy at Christmastime. Roast meats (or meat substitutes), stewed cabbage, dumplings… a whole world of flavours that you’d never experienced before. The tang of the cabbage, the hearty cheeses, the softest dumplings. The biscuits alone were something to behold: you made more Lebkuchen, Stollen and Spekulatius biscuits than you cared to mention. Your arms felt ten times stronger than they did in October, before you started rolling biscuit dough for a living (it might as well have been). Who needs the gym? Making biscuits with your Baron was something you enjoyed immensely. Each and every time you vowed that you would make them perfectly, and with a mess-free kitchen at the end; each and every time it looked as if it had snowed inside your house, with every surface covered with flour, including the two of you. You couldn't deny that you thought it was fun, though.

The Baron introduced you to more different foods than you could’ve tasted in a lifetime, and in return you treated him to some of your favourite traditional winter foods. He accepted every dish you made with true gratitude, taking pride in your country’s heritage and traditions. He never stopped telling you how talented you were; how beautiful the food was. This was one of the things you loved most about Zemo - he was so interested in learning everything there is to know about your home country.

One night you decided to treat yourselves and make a veritable feast. You handled the deserts, while Zemo took the savouries. You worked together in the kitchen, so harmoniously, so in sync, it was almost a dance. Waltzing with potatoes, quick stepping by the oven, tango-ing with mulled wine.

The end result was glorious: he whipped up the finest roast meat/meat substitute you’d ever had, it was glazed with honey and lemon, and the delicate flavours exploded in your mouth with every bite. The cabbage was tart, and complemented perfectly the buttery potato salad and soft dumplings on your plate. He truly was a skilled cook, though he never ceased to sing your praises when it came to the dessert course. The flavours of your desserts went together flawlessly, leaving you satisfied with every mouthful. The simmering mulled wine (can be alcohol free) tied everything together, and it slipped down your throat as easily as water. It warmed your stomach and gave you a pleasantly light feeling. All the spices made your nose tingle, and the sweetness was heaven. Citrusy, cinnamon-y, it really was delightful.

Not even the arduous task of the clearing up could spoil the fun; it was so typical of Helmut to turn it into a game. You were singing, dancing and flinging water at each other without a care in the world. By the end of the proceedings you were all but throwing the plates and utensils around, absolutely soaked with soapy water.

The evening ended with more wine beside the roaring fire; dressed in the cosiest pyjamas and slippers, covered with blankets, and chatting away until it was long past midnight. You thought you could never eat another mouthful of anything ever again, but my goodness, it had been a most enjoyable experience to cook this fabulous feast together - you would do it every night if you could.

…

Hope you enjoyed it :)

#lifeontoast #zemo x reader #baron zemo #daniel bruhl x reader #danny bunch #daniel bruehl #daniel bruhl

[callsign-joyride]

I'm so excited for Summer of Smut!!! Whenever you have time can you either do My sweetest pea Bob with 19 or Coyote 10. Thank you❤️❤️❤️

Also congrats again for being almost done with your classes! So proud of you!!!

Tastes Like Strawberries | Javy "Coyote" Machado

Summary: Javy tries to fix your AC during a 4th of July cookout

Pairing: Javy "Coyote" Machado x f!reader

Content warnings: SMUT (18+), oral (f!receiving), fingering

Prompt: "Fuck… just… right there! That feels so good!"

This was written for my Summer of Smut writing event. Feel free to send in requests!

When you had decided to host the 4th of July cookout for the Dagger Squad, you didn’t plan on your AC breaking down a few nights before. All of the windows upstairs were open and fans were running on high power throughout the house. Rooster was one of the first people to show up, and he immediately noticed when he walked in.

“It’s hot in here,” he said as he walked to the kitchen with a pack of beers and burger meat.

“Yeah, the AC blew a few days ago and no one can come out to fix it until after the weekend. I’m surviving, though.”

Bradley helped you finish setting things up outside while the rest of the Dagger Squad arrived. You had been so stressed about the AC and the cookout that you forgot to get ice for the coolers, so Javy greeted you with a kiss and said that he was going to run to the store to get ice. Phoenix got the music going and set out the fruit salad she brought and it felt like things were in full swing.

“Are they manning the grill together?” You asked Phoenix as the two of you turned to see Rooster and Hangman at the grill.

“Oh God, they might kill each other. I’m gonna help Coyote with the ice.”

You were talking with Fanboy and Payback when Javy wrapped his arms around you from behind. Maverick and Penny arrived with cookies and a pasta salad almost right as Rooster and Hangman finished making the burgers and hotdogs. Everyone sat down with their food and kept in light conversation. 

“I’ll be back, I gotta get a trash bag,” you said as you stood up and put your plate and empty water bottle on your chair. Javy agreed and followed you inside.

“You know you could’ve told me about your AC, right?” He asked.

“I didn’t want to bother you about it.”

“At least let me look at it? Maybe I could have it fixed and you wouldn’t have to pay a contractor way too much.”

You sighed and finally gave in.

“Tools are in the garage. Be careful.”

You walked back outside and Payback helped you weigh down the trash bag with a brick from the fire pit. Things started to calm down after everyone ate and you brought out some sparklers and yard-safe fireworks.

“There are vodka-infused popsicles in the freezer if anyone wants one. I have regular ones, too.”

“Oh, hell yeah!” Fanboy shouted as he jumped up and practically ran inside. He came out with three and gave them to Payback and Hangman.

Everyone seemed occupied with their popsicles, so you decided to go inside and check on Javy. His shirt had been thrown on the couch and he had taken off the cover of the AC unit. The sight made you want to climb him like a tree.

“This thing is at least twenty years old, babe. I think you need a new unit. Stay with me for the next few days. I’ll get one first thing on Monday.”

“But Jake-,”

“The high for tomorrow is 95. I’m not letting you stay in this sauna of a house if it’s that hot out and I don’t think he’ll mind.”

You couldn’t explain what came over you at that moment. Javy gasped in surprise as you jumped in his arms and started to kiss him. With your legs wrapped around his waist, he started to carry you over to the stairs as the kiss became more heated. You only stopped kissing so that he could carry you up the stairs without the risk of tripping, but he quickly got to your bedroom and threw you on the bed before hiking your dress up and taking your panties off. He stuffed them into his pocket and kissed you while rubbing tight circles on your clit. You moaned into his mouth as he started to finger you.

“You gotta be quiet. You’ve got open windows,” he said when he slowed down. You nodded your head and he pulled you by your ankles so that you were at the edge of the bed. You let out a breathy moan at the feeling of Javy’s tongue on your clit. He used his free hand to hold your hips down as you became a writhing mess under him.

“Fuck… just… right there! That feels so good!” You gasped. Javy moaned into you as you came and slowly withdrew his fingers from you. From downstairs, you could hear the back door slide open and closed.

“Everything okay in here? Where’d you guys go?” Fanboy loudly asked from downstairs. Javy looked at you and chuckled before pulling your dress down.

“We’re good, man. We’ve got exposed wires up here.”

You tried not to laugh as Javy stood up and went to the bathroom to grab a washcloth.

“Oh, okay. We’re all gonna go and get ice cream. This was a good time, though.”

Everyone left and the two of you went downstairs to put all of the leftovers away and clean the yard. Both of you showered and you packed a bag and closed the windows before getting in the car with Javy. He called Hangman on the way back to their apartment and explained the situation.

“Her AC blew out so she’s staying with us for the next few days.”

You could practically hear the smirk on Hangman’s face.

“Was that the only thing that blew out?” He asked. You couldn’t help but laugh at the comment.

“Do you think Fanboy knows?” You asked through laughter.

“Oh, he definitely knows.”

Taglist:

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