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prythianpages · 3 months

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Lay All Your Love On Me | Bonus

summary: After failing to recognize the mating bond, the Cauldron sends another sign. One that, yet again, you and Cassian are blind to.

warnings: mentions of violence/abuse (reader losing her ability to fly & then taking out her revenge); implied smut at the end

a/n: I'm glad everyone enjoyed this story! This is like a summary/background of reader & Cas that mentions when they met, fell in love and when the bond snapped for each of them. I bolded & italicized those parts.

Cassian knew you would become someone special to him the moment his eyes met yours.

In the aftermath of war, Prythian lay in ruins, a realm brimming with tension, particularly between the Spring and Night Courts. With the ascension of two young and unprepared high lords, Rhysand of the Night Court and Tamlin of the Spring Court, the atmosphere was fraught with chaos and death.

Rhysand’s first task as high lord was to ease the tension among the Illyrians. They lost many of their soldiers in the war. He decided to use this opportunity to introduce the idea of banning the wing clipping of females and training them to become warriors instead to increase their numbers. He knew the great opposition he would face. Not even the camp lords had agreed with his proposition when he first introduced the idea to them in private. That didn’t stop Rhysand though.

The crowd immediately burst into chaos, whispers and shouts in protest. Rhysand shut it down, power emanating from him in dark waves and moving the mountains. Yet, one of the camp lords dared to crudely question him, stepping out from among the crowd with flared wings.

"No female here will want to train, and I highly doubt any female could become half the warrior of any male in this camp."

Cassian’s jaw had tensed and Azriel’s fist clenched at his sides. From where he stood, Cassian could see Rhysand’s gaze darken, icy rage pooling within his violet eyes at the male but he caught the way it softened ever so slightly at the sound of another voice.

“I will train.”

Cassian turned his gaze back to the crowd and his eyes widened at the sight. He heard Rhysand ask for your family name and he recognized it. Your father had died in the war and your brother was left heavily injured. He couldn’t hear much past that, the world coming to silence around him when your gaze met his.

There you stood, head held high and shoulders squared. Your wings, tucked behind you, trembled every so slightly yet there was a fiery determination in your eyes. A testament to your bravery. One he immediately admired.

In the span of the following year, Cassian assumed the role of your mentor, taking you under his wing. His training methods were often unforgiving and ruthless, relentless in their pursuit of excellence. Azriel, on occasion, would step in, offering a gentler touch and much needed respite to your instruction. Your ability to adapt and learn quickly was remarkable, your skills surpassing all of Cassian’s expectations. You often reminded Cassian of himself when he was younger.

Despite the disdain from the males in your camp who viewed your unconventional training as the utmost betrayal of tradition, you remained resolute. Their bullying and abuse seemed to be never-ending but so was your determination. The fire Cassian first witnessed the day he laid eyes on you, the very one he had grown fond of during your training sessions, still blazed brightly–like a flame that refused to be extinguished.

Somewhere along the line, Cassian softened in his methods, your training lasted longer and your time spent with him went beyond the training grounds. He took you to Velaris, grateful that your wings had been left untouched so you could fly beside him, where he introduced you to various new foods and shops. His smiles grew warmer, tone lighter and unbeknownst to him, you crept further into his heart.

After five years of rigorous one-on-one training, you not only matched but exceeded the proficiency of your male counterparts. When Cassian assigned another upcoming warrior to spar with you, you had emerged victorious. He’d never forget that moment–the way your eyes had widened in pleasant surprise and immediately had searched for his. When your eyes met, the radiant smile you bestowed upon him lit up the entirety of the training grounds. In that heartbeat, he felt a warmth kindle in his chest that was more than just pride.

Your triumph against one of Windhaven’s promising great warriors was quick to reach the ears of the camp and though you were placed under the High Lord’s protection, some of the males wanted to teach you a lesson.

Cassian was away on a mission when it happened. He remembered waking up that day with a strange unease that he was unable to settle. When that unease grew, it pressed heavily upon his chest like a weight he could not lift. A sudden snap within him triggered a cascade of emotions—panic, fear, and an indescribable pain. Without knowing or questioning, an ominous certainty engulfed him. It was coming from you and something was terribly wrong.

When he landed in Windhaven, he found you laying in a pool of your own blood. Fear gripped him at the sight. Bruises, cuts, and gross wounds littered your body and your wings–gods, your wings were torn so harshly…

His siphons gleamed with an intense light, and his fists clenched at his sides but a strangled whimper escaped from you. A heart wrenching sound that sent him to his knees in an instant. Cassian approached with utmost care, his heart sinking as he witnessed your flinch away from his touch. "It's okay, it's me. Cas," he reassured, attempting to reach out once more. This time, you didn't resist.

With gentle precision, he shifted your body, cradling you in his arms, his attention focused on the delicate task of handling your injured wings. Your eyes remained shut, your face etched with pain, tears streaming relentlessly down your cheeks.

"I didn’t see them coming. Cas, they–they–I can’t feel my wings."

"I’m sorry, y/n. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. From now on, I've got you. I always will."

And he meant it.

He took you to Velaris, screaming at Rhysand and Azriel to get Madja. Guilt ate him from the inside because he was foolish for not protecting you more. If you had just stayed with him instead of insisting you stay with your brother, if he had put more thought before pushing you to spar with that male, if he hadn’t been out on a long mission–so many if’s. But regardless of the many ifs, you still lay there in his arms broken.

As Madja rushed to heal you, he refused to part ways with you. He held you down while you screamed and writhed in pain, whispered soothing words into your ears. She was able to restore some of your damaged nerves but not enough for you to be able to fly again. Nothing prepared him for when your eyes finally opened days later. When they met his eyes, his heart sank to his stomach at the loss of warmth in your gaze. The once vibrant fire in your eyes was dim, its flickering flame on the verge of going out.

They broke you and he wanted nothing more than to break them but he realized this was not his battle. Azriel found the group of males responsible for drugging and attacking you. Rhysand gave you permission to carry out their punishments however you wished to. Cassian was by your side when you returned to Windhaven after weeks of healing and building up your strength for that very moment.

As you landed, his hand found yours, offering you a comforting squeeze. I’ve got you, he silently promised. You nodded your head and took a deep breath. There were rumors that you were dead so your return had shocked many. Cassian caught the awe and admiration in some of the female’s eyes as they looked up at you and he took delight in the fear that flashed in some of the males’s eyes.

Cassian felt every emotion coursing through you that day but he was too concerned over you to question why. You hunted the four males one by one. You didn’t kill them, though. They did not deserve that mercy. Instead, you slashed and cut through their wings, maiming them and rendering them useless as they had done to yours. “Please, just kill me,” the last male had begged. “It was your brother. He paid us to do this. I was only doing what I was told.”

The haunting revelation of your brother being behind all your pain and misery had your breath hitching in your throat. You sought out your brother next. Your brother was never kind but cruel was not a word you would use to describe him. Not until he betrayed you, anyway. Cassian was aware of your brother’s envy toward you from the stories you’d tell him. Apparently, your brother wasn’t fond of your father letting you skip the clipping ritual of your wings when you had first bled and your training had only angered him further. Still, you never thought he’d be the one behind your attack.

It was as if your brother was waiting for you when Cassian and you found him in your small home. He didn’t blink at the blood drenching your leathers and you spared him no mercy as you did the same to him. You didn’t stop at his wings. You kicked and punched, using all your strength to shatter him as the males had done to you, until he was left laying in a pool of his own blood, barely breathing. Until Cassian pulled you away, not wanting you to bear the burden of killing your own blood.

“Let’s go home,” he had told you and he felt as the words violently shook through the very core of your being.

Because Windhaven was no longer your home. Cassian was. As he pulled you into the haven of his arms, the revelation sent shivers down your spine and gave rise to a newfound warmth in your heart.

News of your revenge shook through the camp of Windhaven. The men who had hurt you, including your brother, took their own lives within the span of a year. They could not bear the thought of living without their wings. You had stripped them of their very being. The same way they did to you and all the other females before you.

Yet, there was no relief when Cassian reported their deaths to you. He was hesitant in telling you, already anticipating the reaction it’d stir from you. It nearly crushed you all over again. Because it was all unfair. The way they no longer had to live through the consequences of their actions. All while you still had to live, carrying the burden of all of theirs as the memories of what they did continued to haunt you.

Cassian was there for you, guiding you through your hysteria. “Stay with me, y/n. Breathe with me. Don’t let them win. Keep fighting. I promise you it will be worth it.”

And true to his promise, it was worth it. You only grew stronger from it, your days gradually growing brighter and brighter.

Cassian became your lifeline. Your spark. The one who brought life back into your eyes. You two are inseparable. Training, drinking and going on missions together. It’s during one mission when you're attacked by small puffball faeries that gives rise to your nickname. Bibble. Though the tiny creatures are fur balls of blue and purple with wide wicked eyes, it’s their feisty yet adorable attitude that reminds him of you.

The two of you have a few little love affairs here and there but they never last long and Cassian would never admit to you all the times he’s purposely sabotaged them. Unaware that you had done the same. The fine line of friendship and something else begins to blur between you two as teasing becomes flirting, gazes drift lower, touches linger longer than necessary and thoughts drift to more deviously sinful ones.

It’s nearing the decade of your friendship when Cassian finally convinces you to attend Starfall. You were never fond of extravagant parties and up until then, had always come up with an excuse every year as to why you couldn’t go. When your excuse this year is because you don’t have a dress, he asks Mor to take you shopping.

Cassian had only known you in your leathers, simple dresses, and casual loungewear. He always found you beautiful, especially in your leathers. The way they hugged your every curve nearly had him drooling every time. But the moment he saw you adorned in a sparkling ball gown, a vision crafted with Mor's expertise, you were absolutely breathtaking. A Goddess he wanted to create shrines for, and yearned to worship on his knees.

When your eyes met, it felt like discovering the final missing piece to an intricate puzzle, a puzzle that held the essence of your connection. It brought forth a fluttering feeling deep within your chests, leaving Cassian momentarily speechless. The only words he managed to utter were a feeble "you look different," failing to encapsulate the overwhelming beauty that had left him awestruck.

The words sparked a warmth that surged to your cheeks, as though he had recited the most enchanting verses of a romantic poem. Yet, neither of you became aware of the reminder of the rare blessing the Cauldron bestowed upon you.

Azriel’s shadows were the first to pick up on the shift in your scents, excitedly reporting the change to their master. However, despite the unmistakable scent of your mating bond, Azriel observed no overt changes in the dynamic between you and Cassian. You still regarded each other as friends, despite your burning feelings for one another.

In an attempt to unravel the mystery, Azriel cautiously broached the topic with Cassian, inadvertently stumbling into a bargain, where he swore to guard the secret of Cassian's love for you. He then realized three things. One, that though his shadows had just picked up on the bond, it was not new. It had been there for a while. Two, neither of you had a clue over said bond. Three, a loophole in his bargain. He had promised not to tell you about Cassian’s feelings for you. So he told everyone but you.

The golden thread, unbeknownst to both you and Cassian, continued to weave its intricate pattern between your souls. Starfall acted as the catalyst that set alight the simmering cauldron of emotions that had been quietly kindling within. The pot, brimming with the heat of your burgeoning affection for one another, now stood precariously on the edge. It was only a matter of time before the intensity of those emotions would tip the pot over.

It was only after a visit to the Summer Court that led to jealousy and the destruction of a building, that the pot finally tipped over. Though that led to a passionate night together and a confession the next morning, you and Cassian still remained unaware of your bond. A notion that nearly drove Rhysand and Azriel crazy but luckily for them, your ignorance doesn’t last much longer.

A couple of weeks into your newly established relationship with Cassian, you find yourself waking up in your apartment. After a night of drinking and dancing at Rita’s, you and Cassian had been too tired to make your way back to the House of Wind or the townhouse. With a yawn, you crawl out of bed and freshen up. Heading toward your kitchen, you hope that there’s something edible to make.

You’re grossed out by the expired milk in your fridge but relieved to find eggs and bacon. That will have to do, you think to yourself with a sigh, missing the House of Wind. The sentient house has definitely spoiled you all these years. You can’t even remember the last time you had to make something for yourself.

As you begin to plate the food, strong arms wrap around you from behind. Your wings are pressed against Cassian’s hard chest and your breath hitches at the sensation, body sinking further into his welcoming warmth. His breath tickles your ear.

“Come back to bed.”

“I made breakfast.”

“I want something sweeter.” His arm tightens around you while the other travels lower. You somehow manage to turn before he could reach his destination, revealing the teasing grin on your lips as you look up at him. He pouts in response, kneading the soft flesh of your ass instead.

You recognize the look on his face so when he leans in, you’re shoving a piece of bacon into his mouth to keep him occupied with something else.

“After.”

Cassian lets out a hum, holding your gaze as he munches on the crispy meat. Deciding to tease him further, well aware of the consequences that would follow later, you rise up to lean in and bite at the end of the bacon hanging from his mouth. His pupils flare, darkening his gaze with a hunger you know can not be satiated with food and heat pools down to your stomach.

A surge of overwhelming warmth courses through every fiber of your being, and your eyes widen in response. It draws you closer to Cassian, akin to a golden thread, and there’s something humming madly in your chest the closer you’re pulled. You know he can feel it too. The sensation is not entirely new to either of you. You’ve felt this–the mad fluttering in your chest for one another–for years.

Yet, in this moment, it’s as if a veil has been lifted from your eyes. The significance of it takes on an entirely novel meaning for you, revealing a secret you and Cassian were unaware of keeping.

“Now,” he nearly growls at you and you immediately give in. “I want my mate.”

Mate. The word echoes through the depths of your soul. It's a revelation that leaves you questioning when exactly the delicate strands of your bond had woven themselves so intricately between you and Cassian. Because despite the newfound awareness, everything still feels achingly familiar. The same way it did when you became aware of your feelings for him.

As he set you ablaze with his hot kisses, you can’t bring yourself to care anymore when the bond had snapped. You love him wholeheartedly and you’d choose him in every lifetime. There’s a tug in your chest that you now recognize as Cassian, echoing your thoughts. The bond is but an outgrowth of a love that was already deeply rooted.

A love that was always meant to be.

a/n: when writing this, I imagined the bond to snap for them at different times but they're too focused on hiding their love for one another to notice. So the Cauldron decided to work its magic again at Starfall. I couldn't help myself with this meme lol.

#cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian x y/n #cassian angst #cassian imagine #acotar cassian #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar x y/n #acotar x you

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macfrog · 9 months

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checkmate cowboy like me chapter nine

hi sorry it’s late please don’t hate me 🥲 would just like to note- reader's pasta is gluten free, alright? i have had too many gluten-induced traumas to write about it anymore. she is a gluten free queen. thanks parts 1-8 on my masterlist here, n my ao3 here. love u all the most!!!

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel steals you away during a family meal to give you a telling off...in the form of a quickie

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) pining reader, bratty reader, brat tamer joel, spanking, oral (m receiving), face fucking, dom!joel, orgasm denial, theft of underwear, loose mention of someone cheating, alcohol, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, marty robbins

word count: 8.1k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Know you can take it, baby, you’ve done it before. That’s my girl.” You whimper in response, mouth full of his cock. “Keep makin’ those pretty noises, whole hotel’s gonna be wonderin’ what’s goin’ on up here.” He allows you a second to pull off of him, gasping for air when your mouth’s free again. “Want ‘em to hear,” you choke out, lips slipping back down his cock.

The water dances to-and-fro, kissing the lip of the pool and splashing onto the concrete at your feet. It’s windier than normal today, trees whispering overhead, breeze taking your hair and lightly tossing it around.

You’re sat out back on a lounger, waiting for Joel to come pick you up. Joel and Sarah, that is. Picking you and your dad up. Be nice if it were just Joel, wouldn’t it? You and him, alone together again. Out on a date, or even just following him around, side by side in his truck as he goes about his day. His hand on your thigh, pretending to roll his eyes at your music choice.

As if that would ever happen. As if that could ever happen.

He and your dad have organized some dinner to celebrate yours and Sarah’s return home; some hotel resort with a restaurant looking out over the river. Your dad couldn’t remember the name of it. Said it was all Joel doing the booking.

You can still fucking hear him. Your dad. His voice lulls through the open kitchen window, the wind carrying it to your ears almost comically. You wish you could bat it away. He’s had the same Marty Robbins song stuck in his head all morning. You’d finally reached breaking point when he’d graduated from just humming it to full-volume singing, even doing his own impression of the guitar.

And now it seems that sneaking out to the backyard hadn’t rid you of the damn song either, no matter how loud the trees may be rustling.

Joel said he’d be here by now – he’s late. You slink off to the back gate to slip out front and wait for him there. And maybe also to escape your dad’s voice. No offense to the guy.

A couple minutes to six, his truck pulls up by the curb you’re perched on. Sarah climbs over the front seat to the back, and you join her.

She scoffs when you slam the door shut. “You’re eager.”

You shake your head in response, warning her with a roll of your eyes not to ask. She gives you an understanding nod and your eyes turn to Joel.

“You’re late.”

He looks back at you in the rearview mirror. “Not my fault. Traffic. We left twenty minutes ago, didn’t we?”

Sarah’s lip curls. She shrugs a little. You know he’s telling the truth.

When you turn back, Joel’s eyes are still on you, expression a little softer. A greeting. Making up for the fact he can’t wrap his arms around you, pinch your nose affectionately, kiss you to say hello. You smile back at him.

“That watch a’ yours runnin’ slow, Miller?”

Your dad’s voice is like a fucking foghorn. Sarah covers her mouth to stop a laugh from escaping her lips. He sweeps down the driveway toward the truck and you lean back in your seat. Quiet moment ruined.

Joel lightly chuckles and then gives you one last hazardous glance in the mirror before pulling off, ignoring your dad’s teasing. Probably for your benefit.

The relief of a quiet journey doesn’t last long, though. Barely five minutes in, your dad picks up the humming again.

“Dude,” you groan, “will you quit that? For the love of God.”

“It’s stuck in my damn head,” he chuckles, arms crossing defensively.

You roll your eyes again. “So your plan is to plague us all with it, too?”

“Pretty much.”

“What’s he singin’?” Sarah asks, leaning forward.

“Marty Robbins. Old song.” The lack of tone in Joel’s voice and the quick shake of his head as he says it tells you he ain’t the biggest Marty Robbins fan either. A voice inside you thanks God, like it even matters what music he’s into.

“Never heard of ‘im.”

“Lucky you,” you breathe, and your dad holds up a finger over his shoulder.

“Heard that,” he says.

“’s why I said it.”

Joel’s shoulders jerk with a laugh. “You’re in a real mood today, aren’t you?”

Your head falls against the window, bumping along with the road as Joel drives.

“Hold up a second,” your dad rounds on him, “you ain’t showin’ your kid real music, are you? She doesn’t even know Marty Robbins.”

“I ain’t puttin’ her through the pain of knowin’ him.”

A smile forms across your lips. Just another thing you two agree on. Another little string connecting you both, separating you from the rest.

You almost snort at yourself. Counting strings.

Sarah interrupts your train of thought when she requests the radio be put on. Joel turns the dial up and she sits back, victorious. You stifle a laugh. But even Taylor Swift doesn’t fully drown out your dad’s voice – she sure doesn’t stop the way he bobs his head as he sings to himself. It’s helpful, all the same.

You and Joel have been quite literally counting down the hours until you’re alone together. Alone for a whole weekend. Each morning, you’ll text him to announce it’s one less day. And he’ll reply some witty comment, some crude joke, or else a thumbs up emoji which usually meant he was working, or had company and couldn’t text. Company meaning eagle-eyed Sarah.

It’s been almost a whole week since the last time you had uninterrupted, unsupervised time with him. When you could link your arms around him, feel his head lean down on top of yours, say things without threat of anyone else hearing.

Seeing him there in the front seat, inches away from you, and not being able to touch him or even talk much to him, feels like a form of torture. Makes you curse your dad ‘n his tone-deaf singing all the more.

You’re supposed to be meeting Sam and Anna and a couple others from work at Frank’s, Saturday night, 8PM sharp. Rodeo night. Your dad’s leaving for Fort Worth in the late afternoon, he said. You’d kinda sulked when he told you, realizing that left a tiny window of time you could see Joel that day.

And then he told you he’d text Joel to ask if he’d be around to pick you up from Frank’s if you needed him, and you chirped up.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be really good. Can you ask him to?”

“He said just to text you if you need ‘im, hon.”

“Cool, I will. I mean, I will if I need him. Thanks, Dad.”

If you need him. If. Just on the off-chance, right?

The thought draws a smile across your face. You reckon his presence will be very, very needed this weekend.

Soon enough, the truck pulls in to some ornamented, fountain-guarded resort, bursting with greenery and flowers, paved in pristine sandstone. A red canopy over the entrance, golden letters spelling out Hillcrest.

“Damn…” Sarah leans over into your space to get a glimpse of the building from your window. “This is so fancy.”

“You treatin’ us or somethin’, son?” your dad asks Joel.

He doesn’t reply. But his eyes flit up to meet yours, then back to the road ahead. In a one-second look, you understand.

Sarah’s still staring outside, mouth wide open, blinking eyes taking everything in. “Dad, what the f…”

“Language,” Joel clips.

You smirk. It’s funny, hearing the man who’s whispered far worse things – filthy things – to you in earshot of company, chastise his nineteen-year-old for cursing.

The four of you roll by the water feature – three robed women made of stone pouring water from vases into a pool at their feet – and park up. As you hop out, a woman in a silk dress struts by, floppy sunhat bouncing with each step she takes.

Joel meets you at the back of the truck, letting Sarah and your dad stroll off ahead. They’re busy pointing at different features of the lavish hotel – the purple-uniformed bellboys running in and out of the lobby, the glimmering revolving door, the guests eating on balconies overhead.

“You outta that mood yet?” he asks, and you snap out of your daze.

“Not in a mood,” you reply bluntly, eyes still ahead.

“Huh.” He nods, unconvinced. “Marty Robbins gettin’ to ya that much, is he?”

“Marty Robbins ain’t the problem.”

“No? What is it, then?”

His hand finds the small of your back. It straightens you up like a shot of fire through your spine.

“Not a what. A who.”

You lead him inside.

A man in a pressed white shirt greets you all at the entrance to the restaurant.

“Reservation for Miller,” Joel says, and the man nods curtly and darts off into the sea of tables.

Sarah skips off with your dad on her arm, the two of them fucking ecstatic to be somewhere so fancy and fun. You and Joel amble through, past wine coolers, dodging fleeing waiters, slipping between white-cloth tables and silver spoon diners. His hand never leaves the skin between your shoulder blades, red hot on your goosebumped skin.

You’re seated at a table by the window, overlooking the river. Joel sits opposite you, your dad by his side. Sarah nudges your elbow and holds her phone up, snapping a selfie of you both with the glimmering water in the background. She tags the location and adds text below: fine dining. Her thumbs search for emojis, picking two champagne glasses, some sparkles, and a pink heart. Then she swaps the heart for a smiley face, and tilts the phone to you, wordlessly asking for your approval.

“Cute,” you tell her, and she beams, hittingpost.

The server returns, hands out menus, leaves a jug of ice water and some fancy bottle of wine you’ve never heard of by the table, and then nods his head once again before he rushes off. Your dad salutes him as he goes. You cringe.

“Boy’s gonna take a damn heart attack,” Joel mutters, watching your dad lift the wine from its bucket.

Sarah’s watching, too. She looks from the bottle of wine over to Joel, eyebrows raised. He flatly tells her, “No.”

“Come on,” she protests, “it’s not like anybody here knows what age I am.”

“We know.”

“Dad, I–”

“Water, or nothin’.”

Her eyes dagger into his. “You ain’t exactly a stickler for the rules yourself,” she breathes, sliding the jug across the table, and you scoff.

You’ve seen her do worse on her Instagram stories, and the way she glares at you warns you not to open your mouth. If Joel’s this pressed about some wine with a meal, it’s a damn good thing he doesn’t have a social media account.

“Let’s toast,” your dad announces as he pours wine into three of the glasses, “to…to you girls bein’ back home…” He raises his wine and Sarah lifts her little water, lemon slice floating on top. “…and to a fun summer ahead. Hm?”

You and Joel both hesitate a little before lifting your drinks, clinking them softly against each other with a glint in your eyes.

A fun summer. Sure. You’re certainly having fun. Yeah.

You watch Joel as you take a sip, frowning at the bitter taste. His mouth twists just like yours, neck winces as he swallows. Then he promptly slides his glass along the table back to your dad, clearing his throat and wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“No?” you ask, amused.

“Not my thing.”

You tilt your head. “Maybe they have Bud at the bar.”

“You’re hilarious, you know that?”

You flash a proud grin at him. The denim of his jeans brushes against your ankles. Your dad takes Sarah up in conversation. No one would see if you just…

Under the long white tablecloth, you nudge open his calves and slot your feet between them. Joel’s boots close at the back of your legs, holding you to him. Holding you against him.

It feels…nice. It’s almost normal. Like something a real couple would do. Not a pair of hopeful idiots wrapped up too tight in some clandestine affair. You almost feel like you could reach for his hand, and you’re willing to bet that if it weren’t for your company, he’d let you take it. Let you part his fingers with yours. Let you run a light touch over his knuckles.

When you finally look up at Joel, he’s looking right back. Watching you. Reading your mind.

You avert your gaze, reaching to pour a glass of water.

A few quiet minutes pass while the table studies the menu. You’re still looking around, taking in your surroundings. The more you look, the more you notice. Velvet drapes framing tall Palladian windows. A man nervously checking his blazer pocket while his girlfriend’s at the bathroom. Joel’s legs give yours a wiggle and you’re drawn away from the pocket square and slicked-back hair.

He smiles affectionately. Asks in his eyes if you’re okay. Your shoulders meet your jaw with the inhale you take, and then you nod. Imperceptible. Some dumb smile across your lips that mirrors his. Like you really are on your own or something. It’s stupid.

“Reckon I’ll have the steak,” your dad says.

Joel hums in agreement, nodding.

Sarah orders a Caesar salad and you decide on the fettuccine Alfredo. The nodding waiter snaps his little black book shut and collects your menus, before disappearing again. Conversation flows across the table naturally: your dad’s big client, Joel’s working week, Sarah’s sophomore year. Of course, the Rangers are mentioned once or twice.

Your wrist is shaking your glass, watching as the water swirls around inside. The thought turns over much the same in your head. A question for Joel. When your food arrives and the chatter lulls, you brave up enough to ask it.

“You think I’m…brighter…here?”

He smiles, a little confused. “Brighter?”

“Aw, kiddo.” Your dad shakes his head, knife tearing into his steak. “I knew you’d take that to heart.”

Joel’s still looking at you. Concerned.

Sarah elbows you. “What’s that mean?”

Your dad sighs. “Bill told ‘er on Sunday she used to be miserable whenever she came home. Said that this time ‘round she looks…”

“…brighter.” You lift your hands to form air quotes around the word, pasta wrapped around the fork between your fingers.

Joel’s expression relaxes, his smile grows. “’cause of anything in particular, or…?”

You instantly regret bringing it up. He’s a dick. Has to ruin every sweet moment with a smug smirk and testosterone-induced impulses, doesn’t he?

You mock smile back and shake your head.

“Y’know what I think it is?” your dad says, and Joel finally turns to him. He nods at you and Sarah. “The pair of ‘em. Back home like old times. How long has it been since the four of us were out doin’ stuff together?”

You and Sarah exchange a sideways glance.

“I’m serious!” he says, waving his hands. Cutlery almost flying out of his grip. “It’s nice. Joel, back me up.”

Joel’s sat back in his chair, midway through cutting his steak, watching this show unfold. He clears his throat and offers, “Yeah. Real nice.”

Your dad looks defeated. He retires from the conversation, focusing on the meal in front of him.

“What are you guys gonna do all weekend without us?” Sarah asks, shoving a forkful of salad in her mouth.

“I, uh…keep forgetting y’all are goin’ away,” you lie, staring down at your pasta.

Joel clears his throat again. “This guy at work was showin’ me these videos of folks playin’ chess – did you know there are these…leagues, for chess? Professional leagues ‘n competitions. They win money, good money, for playin’ chess.”

Sarah, like everybody at the table, is quiet for a few seconds. “Is…is this your way of sayin’ y’all are gonna…play chess?”

You’re staring at Joel, amused and yet a tad embarrassed. The dude you’re sleeping with just went on a ramble about chess.

You twirl your fork in your hand before taking another bite. “I’ve never played chess. Maybe you’ll have to play it alone.”

Joel narrows his eyes. “Don’t think you can,” he says, gritting his teeth, “it’s a two-player game.”

“Nah,” Sarah chimes in. “A guy in my Physiology class plays against himself to practice. He’s pretty good, I think.”

Your head nods toward her, eyebrows raised at Joel. He’s grimacing back.

“He always goes on about speed, says it’s all about playin’ fast so your opponent ain’t got time to think. Quick hands, he says.”

Your brows arch, lips petted. Poor Joel. “Aw. Looks like you’ll be playin’ with yourself.”

His brows angle and you notice a twisted smile on his lips. Pissed – sort of aroused, but pissed. You lift your legs from between his. He holds onto your ankles with his own for a second, forcing you to stare at him, before he frees you. You tuck your legs under your chair.

Just then, Sarah’s phone vibrates on the wooden table.

“Oh, shoot, two seconds. Hello?” She screws her face up. “Are you kidding me? No way. No, I don’t– You– Kels, can I call you back in, like, an hour or something? I’ll call you back, I’m just at dinner with my dad and my…No, I’ll literally be, like– Alright. Lemme call you back. Okay.”

She hangs up and swivels in her seat to you.

“You know Kels? Kelly Ramirez?”

You draw a blank. Push your bottom lip out. “Should I know a Kelly Ramirez?”

“She played soccer with me in high school? Remember, that game you came to,” Sarah leans in, knocking your arm with the back of her hand as if giving your memory a swift kick, “she played in goal to fill in for Stephanie, and broke her ankle tryna save Amber Murphy’s shot? Passed out from the pain?”

Nothing. You shake your head.

She huffs. “Coach Lee had to drive her to the emergency room and it’s all she went on about for weeks.”

“Oh!” The penny drops. “That was her? Didn’t she carve his initials into the girls’ room stalls?”

Your dad and Joel exchange a bewildered and, quite frankly, weary glance. Sarah shuts her eyes and nods, ashamed.

“That’s her.”

“Wow. I wonder if he knew how bad her crush was…” you muse, choking back a laugh when Sarah gives you a dead-eyed stare.

“He would have,” Joel says flatly, and you both shoot him a look. “Girls ain’t good at hidin’ that sorta stuff.”

“Oh, like you’ve ever had anyone have a crush on you.” Sarah bats her hand at him and then her fingers lock around your wrist. “Anyway…”

You can see Joel’s grin from your peripheral. He gives your sneaker a tap with his boot under the table, and you feel your cheeks start to heat. You move your leg.

“…she’s just caught her boyfriend cheatin’.”

“Who has?”

Sarah huffs. “Kelly Ramirez! For cryin’ out loud, are– are you even listenin’ to me?”

“I was caught up in the Coach Lee stuff. Right. No, I’m with you now. Is she okay?”

“She suspected it for weeks. He kept cancelling plans last minute, kept coming up with dumb excuses. We were all tryna tell her, just ask ‘im. Ask him or find out for yourself. So, she did. Checked his phone and found all these messages between him ‘n some girl from college.”

“How’d she hack into his phone?” your dad asks.

Joel, head now resting against his fingers, draws him a look: Really?

“She didn’t,” Sarah tells him. “She knows his passcode. Used it to get in, I guess.”

Your dad nods, taking note, eyes narrowing. He looks over to Joel, then you. These kids and their technology, you imagine him thinking. But he’s staring a fraction too long. You shift in your seat. Give him a comical shrug – Don’t ask me – and he eventually looks away.

The rest of dinner passes smoothly – Sarah picking up her phone, rattling a message into it with her thumbs, and then dropping it back down onto the table. Your dad, battling his steak, asking Joel what he thinks of the Rangers’ chances against the Astros tonight, and Joel…well, Joel not taking his attention off of you for one second.

He’s answering your dad, saying all the right things at the right times, but anytime his eyes lift off of his plate, they land on you. Your arm, draped on the tablecloth. Your hand, moving pasta around your dish with your fork. Your eyes, flitting between the view outside to that inside.

You can see him the entire time. Watching you. You’re not fucking blind. If Sarah didn’t have Kelly Ramirez spamming her phone with cheating boyfriend updates, she’d probably be commenting on it. Did she grow a second head, or somethin’? she’d quip.

But you never look back. Not once. Just let him observe you, let him wait for a glance or a kick of the foot that never comes.

You’re leant back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest, when the waiter clears your table. Watching some couple wander off down the riverside path. She’s wearing a white sundress that dances around her calves with each slow step she takes. He’s in a plain black tee, tan arm around her back. Looking around at the view, taking it all in.

Then she turns on her heel to him. He lifts a hand to move her long, dark braids from her face, drops it to cup her jaw. Pulls her in to him, presses his lips to hers. Her hands are linked at his spine. Like they’re the only two people in the world.

There’s a feeling in the depths of your chest. A throb. Uncomfortable. Maybe even painful. You shift in your seat to move it, but it doesn’t budge. Your gaze falls, travelling along the window frame, onto the white cloth and to Joel’s elbow. Up his arm, across his shoulder.

You reach his jaw and look away. He’s watching everything.

“Alright,” your dad’s hands slap down on his thighs, “we good to go?”

“You go on,” Joel tells him. “I’ll get the bill.”

“Absolutely not, bud,” your dad protests. You and Sarah both lean back in your chairs at the same time. May as well get comfortable, we could be here a while.

“I got it,” Joel says, almost annoyed, getting up to stand. Your dad follows suit. Joel holds a hand out. “I’m sure you’ll repay me somehow. Hey, I got that job in a couple weeks I said I might need you for. Help me out and we’re even.”

Your dad’s hands are on his hips. “I ain’t happy about this, Joel.”

“Stick,” Joel mutters. “I’m sure I’ve done worse that you’ve forgiven me for.”

His eyes finally find yours and your cheeks flush. He covers it by gesturing to you to stand up with a snap of his head.

Why was that hot? Is it…weird…? That that was hot? All he did was nod his head.

You stand – Sarah copies you, sliding her chair under the table. Joel pushes yours in for you. His hand’s on your back again, fingers drawing circles. The four of you are walking toward the exit. Your dad’s still murmuring about owing money.

“Hey,” Sarah calls, pointing, “this place has an outdoor bar. Let’s go check it out.”

Your head’s beginning to dizzy. Why is your head dizzying?

Stick.

The way he pointed, flicked his head toward the door. Knowing you’d just fucking obey him. And you did.

Yep. That was hot. Hot enough that it restarts something in you; something deep down begins to wind. An idea sweeps across your mind.

Sunlight bursts through the French doors up ahead, golden rays flooding in through the glass panes. Joel stoops his head as he wanders through, dodging ivy draped around the doorway. On the other side, drowned in daylight, a paved courtyard.

There are tables and chairs dotted around. Benches in front of flowerbeds. More random statues – a cherub, a rearing horse. Wooden planters with vines growing toward the sky. Another slightly smaller fountain in the middle.

This…is fucking insane. Last night for dinner you ate leftover Chinese food ‘cause your dad was working late. Tonight, you’re strolling through a five-star hotel garden after the best fettucine of your life.

Ahead of you and Joel, your dad nudges Sarah and comically offers her his arm, elbow outstretched. She nods graciously and links her arm in his, and they saunter off, chins up, dumb grins across their faces.

Joel scoffs. Your lips tug a little, chest still tight. Body still tense. And he senses it.

“What?”

You shake your head. “Nothin’. Just…taking in the view.”

“’s nice, ain’t it?”

“Mhm,” you admit. “Word on the street is it was all your idea.”

“Wanted somewhere nice for you. For both of you. Didn’t know it would be this nice, but…it’s what you deserve.”

Your eyelashes flutter, blinking rapidly to conceal the look in your eye. The look that says…something dangerous. You betray the thoughts circling around your head and press your lips together in a tight smile. “Thanks,” is all you can muster the strength to say.

Joel looks forward; your dad and Sarah are strides ahead, still gawking at the garden, chatting, snapping photos.

“It improve your mood any?”

“I already told you, I ain’t in a mood.”

“That why you couldn’t look at me at dinner?”

It stops you in your tracks. You glare at him. Almost about to punch him out of frustration, right before you catch yourself and your expression softens.

“Did you want me to look at you?” you coo, leaning in a little. Your hands rest on his forearms.

Joel tenses. Opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it. But you want him to fucking say it. So, you push further.

“What we were doin’ under the table wasn’t enough? Poor baby. Guess you just wanted more of my attention, huh?”

His expression doesn’t change. Lips barely move when he utters, “Thin ice, kid.”

You shrug. “I’m not the one begging you to look at me.”

He swallows. His eyes are staring you down, huge, glowing warm in the evening sunlight. There’s so much energy thrumming around your body that you feel almost faint, like your knees could give. Just swoon, fall into his arms.

“I’m bored,” you back up, turning back to the hotel, “going to the bathroom.”

You’re gone before he can react. Taking off for the doors, stumbling out of the sun and into the cool restaurant, catching your breath when you’re safely in the shade.

You approach the bar – a deep, shiny mahogany, wine glasses hanging from above, glistening footrail at the bottom. Intricately carved, varnished and smooth. Bottles of spirits and ales and wines decorate the back wall, lined up on shelves against a glimmering mirror.

Two girls in black polo shirts stand, elbows leaning against the back shelf.

“I served a duck the other night,” one of them says to the other. She has short brown hair, freckles painted across her nose. A tattoo down her right arm. She twirls a pen between her fingers as she speaks.

“A duck?” The second girl screws her face up.

“Yep. When I gave him the check, he told me to put it on his bill.”

The second girl snorts. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Hey, excuse me?” you call over, and the girl with the tattoo steps forward, still laughing. “Where are the restrooms?”

“Upstairs,” she nods to the doors by your side, “they’re on the right.”

You nod in thanks and she twirls the pen again, resuming position.

The bathroom is freezing cold when you burst into it, almost panting, and stumble across to the sink. Your palms plant firmly on the marble countertop, head falling limp between your shoulders. When you look up to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, a laugh passes your lips.

You look…flustered. Bothered. You’re not sure if Joel noticed it. You were too busy trying to conceal it to gauge whether he’d caught on.

What the fuck is he doing to you? More importantly, how is he doing it to you? Can you seriously not go a couple days without him? Need, want, desire. Everything he causes, only he can fix.

But then, he never can fucking fix it. There’s always something or someone in the way. And you swear Joel gets off on it – watching you need him, miss him, pine for him, and knowing he won’t be able to relieve it.

Staring at yourself, you start to feel that energy charging up again. Heat pooling between your legs, blood drumming through your veins. What the fuck is he doing to me? Nothing, he’s not doin’ nothing.

Nothing I can’t do right back to him.

You push yourself off of the sink and shoot one last glance in the mirror, giving your reflection an affirming nod before striding over to the door. It swings shut behind you as you pace down the hall, feeling a lot more steel and a lot less sweet.

As you round the corner to head downstairs, a familiar shadow stalks up the last two steps and bursts into the hallway. Without a word, his arm hooks around yours and he drags you back the way you came.

“Joel– What the fuck are you doin’–?”

He passes by the restrooms and onto a plush red carpet. In a blur, he flings open the first door in sight and throws you inside, ignoring your gasps.

He slams the door shut, whipping you around to shove you against it. From over his shoulder, you notice your surroundings. A bed over by the window, pristine white sheets tucked perfectly under the mattress. Nightstands spotless, desk against the wall topped with a tray holding a bottle of wine and a tiny card that reads Welcome to the Hillcrest.

You’re in one of the hotel’s rooms. One of the hotel’s empty rooms.

Of course it’s empty. It’s like he fucking planned it.

“Alright. A hotel room. Did you book it, at least?”

“Naw,” his eyes scan you up and down, “I didn’t fuckin’ book it.”

“So…what are we doing in here?”

Joel’s pressing against you, forcing you up against the wooden door. Caging you against it with the weight of his body. Clearly, in the time you spent giving yourself a pep talk in the bathroom mirror, Joel was doing the exact same downstairs. The fucker.

“Said you were bored. ‘n that’s a real shame, given I just took you to dinner. Ain’t no pleasin’ you, is there?”

Your head rolls back against the door with a laugh. “That really got to you? So, what, now you’re gonna fuck me? Wine, dine, ‘n…yeah?”

Joel’s lips are tight, eyes staring you down. He’s seething. He’s turned on, and he’s seething. Exactly where you want him.

“You get sluttier every fuckin’ day, you know that?”

You nod, teeth taking your bottom lip. “You like it, though, huh?”

Joel doesn’t reply. You lean in closer to him.

“You like me bein’ a little slut,” you whisper, running a hand softly over his hard jeans, “just for you, don’t you?”

His voice lowers in response. “Not when I can’t do nothin’ about it.”

You pull back, cocking an eyebrow. Angle your head. “You’re the one who pulled me in here. It’s an empty hotel room, man. Do whatever the fuck you want.”

He glowers at you. His face rigid, one hand still locked around yours, almost assisting you in palming himself; the other above your head, flat against the door.

His head dips. Jaw lines with yours, breath against your ear.

“Whatever the fuck I want?”

“Mhm.” You nod, maybe a little too eagerly. Not that either of you care. Then you pause. “Oh! Wait.”

Joel lifts his head, narrowing his eyes. Looks like you just cut in front of some spiel he had planned.

Your cheeks swell. “Do you have a bottle?”

“A bottle?”

“Beer bottle. You need me to go grab one? What if they don’t have beer? It’s kind of a fancy place. Would wine work? Or is it only beer that gets you goin’–”

“Alright. Enough. Fuckin’ – brat.”

You cock your head, tongue in your cheek, pushing around the shape of your mouth. Keep going.

You spurt out a laugh. “I’m a brat?”

“Yep. Never do as you’re fuckin’ told.”

You lean in close, lips brushing off of his, so close you can taste him. Feel how tense his jaw is. Your voice is low, barely above a whisper.

“Then…make me.”

Joel’s still staring you down, watching you like a predator watches its prey. His eyes are so dark you can’t read the thoughts behind them, but the way his grip tightens on your wrist, so rough it feels like he’s fucking bruising you, the way he yanks you off of the door, tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

“I ain’t got time for this,” he hisses, pulling you over to the bed.

You stagger behind him, still snickering. Joel sinks down into the mattress, thighs apart, pulling you to stand between them. You look him up and down once, smirking, his hands still roughly gripping yours. Then –

In one fluid movement, you’re over his knee. Thighs digging into your stomach, face hovering over the soft carpet. Your hands grip his calf to hold onto something – anything – as he pulls the hem of your dress up so roughly, you’re sure he’s ripped it.

“You want to act like a brat?” he asks, and you smile, feeling his hand run from the back of your knee up your thigh, coming to rest on your ass. “Get treated like one.”

The first time his huge palm slaps against your skin, your mind blanks. The sharp sting, Joel’s grunt as his hand comes down on you. The way your body jerks, and the whine you let slip as it does. The throb when he lifts his hand, the cold air hissing against your heated skin.

He’s fucking – he’s…He has you in an empty hotel room, door unlocked, entire lobby of people downstairs. Over his knee, skirt hiked to your waist, spanking you. Hard.

And then you realize. You fucking like this.

“Joel…” you moan, catching your breath when it comes back.

Another sharp sting.

“Yeah, baby? You want me to stop? You gonna stop bein’ a little brat?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, filthy grin on your lips.

“F-fuck no.”

He slaps you again. You whimper, wrapping your arms around his leg.

“Didn’t fuckin’ think so. Can feel how wet you are for me.”

He curls a finger around the hem of your panties and drags them down your thighs, letting them drop off of your legs and to the floor while his fingers return between your legs, running up and down your slit. You whine.

“Such a pretty little mouth, huh? You were runnin’ it just a second ago. Where’d all your big talk go?”

You open your mouth to reply, barely even make a sound, and his palm smacks against your ass again. He’s not done.

“Always got somethin’ to say, don’t you?” he grunts, hand coming down on you again. “You remember that day I ran you home?”

You whimper in response – yeah, I remember.

“You ‘n me alone, you being a little fucking tease. Wanted to fuck you so badly, baby. Those tight little shorts you were in…fuck…”

“Why…didn’t…you…?” you whine, muffled into the denim of his jeans. “Would’ve…fuck…let you.”

“Yeah? You wanted me to, darlin’?”

“Wanted…you,” slap, “in the kitchen.”

You gasp when Joel’s grip becomes tighter around your waist, holding you still as his hand sears against your ass. Rougher. Harder. It turns you on more.

“Wanted you in my mouth.”

You swear his breath catches. Swear you can feel his hand hovering over you, almost ready to spank you again, but he pauses.

“That right, baby? In your mouth?”

You nod, unsure if he can even see you. And then you feel him bend, feel his fist in your hair, lifting your head until his lips are curled around the shell of your ear.

“You wanna show me what you woulda done?” he whispers, breath hot.

Your body’s still shaking, throbbing; you’re a sobbing mess, but still, you utter: “Yeah.”

Joel pulls you all the way off his lap then, widening his legs for you to sit between them.

“Gotta be quick, babygirl,” he tells you, pushing you by the shoulders down onto the carpet.

Your knees part to lower yourself closer to his crotch, fingers shakily fumbling with his zipper. Joel helps you, shifting his jeans until his cock springs free. He’s as hard as if you’d been playing with him this entire time, so hard you almost begin to drool at the sight of him.

He sighs shakily, hand leaning behind on the mattress to steady himself. “You’re gonna sit there like a good girl and make me cum, alright?”

You nod, eyes blown black with lust.

He grips the back of your head with one hand and guides his cock to your mouth with the other. You take his thick length in both hands, allowing a trail of spit to fall from your lips and cover his swollen tip, running down his shaft only to be collected and dragged back up by your fingers.

“Good girl,” Joel whispers, watching you. “Doin’ what I tell you, huh?”

A few strokes and his cock’s soaked. When his head lines up with your bottom lip and you open up wide, he pushes into your mouth, filling you up without stopping to let you catch your breath. You gag when he hits the back of your throat, and Joel groans.

“Know you can take it, baby, you’ve done it before. That’s my girl.”

You whimper in response, mouth full of his cock.

“Keep makin’ those pretty noises, whole hotel’s gonna be wonderin’ what’s goin’ on up here.”

He allows you a second to pull off of him, gasping for air when your mouth’s free again.

“Want ‘em to hear,” you choke out, lips slipping back down his cock.

“Yeah?” he bucks his hips up into your mouth. “You want ‘em to know? Why don’t I just take you downstairs right now, fuck you in front of everybody, huh? You like that?”

You whine, gasp something that sounds like a yes around his warm skin.

“Thought you would, fuckin’ dirty girl. Want everyone to see just how good you take me, hm? How fuckin’ wet you get for me?”

Your fingers reach for his balls, kneading them softly in your hands. Joel’s head tips back and he lets out a guttural groan.

“Look at you,” he purrs, “soakin’ wet all over the floor, lettin’ me fuck that pretty little mouth. Needed it bad, didn’t you?”

You follow the words he’s saying with your eyes, never taking your doe-eyed gaze off of him. He’s all you can see; the surrounding world blurred by lust and sex and by Joel.

“Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day,” he mutters.

You pull yourself off of him, disobeying his tight grip at the back of your head.

“Yeah?” you breathe, giving in to him. “Been thinkin’ about you, too.”

Joel almost looks surprised, like he wasn’t expecting that to come out of your mouth. He’s never expecting any of what you say to come out of your mouth, is he?

Hell, you don’t expect half of what comes out of your fucking mouth these days.

You sink back down on him, eyes screwing shut with the feeling of him filling you up to the very bottom of your throat.

“So slutty, baby. You like that? Yeah?”

He’s speaking so soft but being so fucking rough, pushing you down onto his dick and then hauling you back off with a fistful of hair. His hips snap against your mouth and your hands leave his body to balance yourself on his thighs, stabilizing yourself with fingers through his loose belt loops.

You’re gagging on him, choking every time his salty head brushes against your throat, but Joel doesn’t stop. Each whimper, each muffled cry from you only pushes him closer, sends his head back in a wave of euphoria at the sight of you taking his cock in your mouth so good, the sounds of you choking on the size of him.

Your chin is soaked, dripping with spit and precum. Your cheeks dappled with tears. He doesn’t let up. You don’t fucking want him to. Your knees are slipping further apart, your cunt wetter than ever, dripping all over the plush carpet of the classiest hotel you’ve ever been in.

It’s fucking filthy, and you love every second of it.

Your lids grow heavy and you stare up at him, doused in rays from the window behind, blissed out on his body, him blissed out on yours, and you know he’s about to cum. His brows arch, his jaw falls slack. He’s focusing only on the feeling of your swollen lips around him, your throat contracting with each thrust of his hips.

He jerks, grunts out a, “Throat?”

“Uhuh,” you choke back, hands clamping around his thighs when he leans back.

One more jolt and he releases rope after rope of warm cum down you, painting the back of your throat and filling up your mouth. That all-too-familiar taste of Joel trickles all over your tongue.

He’s whispering, “Fuck, fuck, darlin’, fuck…” over and over, chanting your name, breathing curses and praises between.

When he stills and you feel him relax, your hands fall limp on your lap. You don’t move, not until Joel’s eyes flutter open and he slides his soft cock out of your mouth.

Your head rolls onto his thigh, eyes wide and soft as you gaze up at him. Equal parts enamored and painfully aroused.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he tells you. “Brats don’t get to fucking cum.”

There are words coming to your mind that you wouldn’t dare call him when he’s in this mood. Words you wouldn’t call him any other time, either, if it weren’t for the agonizing ache between your legs. This – fucking – guy.

You want to sob. Want to wrap yourself around his legs as he stands and beg him to throw you down on the bed, part your legs, use whatever the fuck he wants just to let you cum. Just to give you some release.

It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Dumb for this man.

He sits forward and tucks his limp cock back into his boxers, redoes his jeans. Then he leans down, scoops up your soaked panties and scrunches them in his fist. He slips them into his jeans pocket and, with a heaving sigh, pushes himself up from the bed.

You’re still squatted, knees apart, on the carpet. Arousal probably streaming out of you. Joel only lowers his hand and you take it, letting him pull you up to height. You still don’t believe he’s gonna let you walk out of here undealt with.

Until he wanders off toward the door, and there’s nothing left for you to do but follow.

Each step hurts, your thighs grazing against each other. Your naked cunt throbbing with every tiny movement.

Joel pauses at the door, turns the handle slowly, quietly, opening it just enough to poke his head and shoulders out, before beckoning you forward with a wave of his hand.

He blindly takes your wrist and leads you out of the room in a daze, letting the door close over as you both head back the way you came toward the staircase.

Under spotless chandeliers, past romantic paintings. Along the same plush carpet he’d shoved you along less than twenty minutes ago. Down the stairs, emerging at the bar, pair of you scanning the restaurant for your dad and Sarah. No sign of them.

“C’mon,” he nudges you, “still gotta get that bill.”

You stand by Joel’s side at the bar, catching a glimpse of the pair of you in the mirror opposite. Elbows touching, palms inches apart on the polished surface. Your heart swells to the point of almost hurting at the sight. The cover is back up, you’re back on planet earth; you’re nothing but a pair of acquaintances, friends at best.

Just a guy and his best bud’s daughter.

Joel’s tapping his credit card against the wood.

“What’s up?” you ask him.

“Hm?” he replies, eyes finding you, head still facing forward. Almost bracing for your dad’s appearance at any given moment.

“You’re being weird.”

“Ain’t being weird.”

“Still not gonna let me cum?”

He’s almost startled. You asked it quiet enough that nobody would’ve heard, if there were even anybody around you, but still. It feels like dangerous territory talking about it this out in the open.

“Nope,” he replies, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“You know I’m gonna do it myself the second I get home, right?”

He shrugs. “You gonna call me?”

“Facetime you, if you want.”

His body goes rock solid. You knock into it, smirking. Before he can muster up a reply, the girl with the tattoo shows back up, smiling at Joel. He tells her the table number and she slides him the bill.

“How much is it?” you ask him.

He turns to look at you. “You won’t be findin’ out.”

You mock offense. A small part of you isn’t kidding. “’n why’s that?”

Joel ignores you. You twist over his arm to get a look and he bats you away, holding you at bay with his elbow while he places his card over the total amount and slides it back across the bar.

You admit defeat, though it kills you a little inside.

Joel does his little head nod again and you follow him to the exit. You walk out of the restaurant together, your chin as high as your shame will allow it, Joel’s parallel to his chest. Your dad’s stood against the truck deep in conversation with Sarah. Or, rather, Sarah’s deep in conversation at your dad.

“…so, she thought he was just textin’ his boys, but here she goes onto his Instagram messages, and it’s all these hearts, all these messages sayin’…”

“Where did you two get to?”

Joel opens the door for you silently, and you breathe a slightly awkward Thanks before climbing in.

Once he’s back in the front seat alongside your dad, he replies. “Charged me twice. Problem with the card reader.”

“I hope they apologized,” your dad says with a concerned tone. “Hope they ain’t tryin’ anythin’.”

“Nah,” Joel bats it away – unconvincingly. Or is that just because you know he just…you know.

Sarah’s still yapping – Kelly’s heartbroken, doesn’t know how she’s gonna go on. She – Sarah – is furious with Kelly’s boyfriend – ex-boyfriend? – his name is…Mike? Mick? Something beginning with M…Your ears are screaming.

“Happened to me once at a gas station. Charged twice for one tank a’ gas. I went back the next day ‘n asked the girl, she said she didn’t remember me. I showed her the bank statement, said, Why the hell would I need two tanks of gas for one vehicle? She had to call her manager. It was…insanity, Joel. You be careful.”

Joel’s pretending to listen, murmuring Right and Uhuh when appropriate, but he aims every second glance at you from the rearview mirror. You tug your skirt as far down your thighs as it’ll go, feeling exposed and guilty and ashamed and yet so fucking good all in one.

You can still taste him on your tongue. Your throat feels raw, your jaw sore. He knows it, from the looks he’s giving you in the mirror. It’s satisfaction, mixed with longing, mixed with guilt. Your underwear is in his front pocket. Your thighs clamp shut, feeling yourself seeping all over his backseat. One big, chaotic mess.

The car falls into silence, Sarah’s thumbs typing rapidly, Joel’s elbow propped against the window, cheek leaning on his knuckles. You lean your own head against the window, the engine drumming into your skull, the cold of the glass relieving your scorching skin. Your dad starts quietly singing again, and you wish you had the energy to put on a convincing voice to tell him to shut up.

“Maybe tomorrow a bullet may find me, tonight, nothing’s worse than this pain in my heart.”

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#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #cowboy like me

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bonesandchalamet · 9 months

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the last night - c.fisher

masterlist

pairing: conrad fisher x fem!reader

warnings: some angst?? + some fluff

a/n: kinda hate this!!! if you have any Conrad or Jeremiah requests my inbox is open!! there are NO spoilers to season 2 or book 2!!!

the thing with Conrad was that he never said what he wanted to say. he let opportunities and moments pass instead of stepping up and saying what’s on his chest.

you spent all summer chasing after his heart. living for the little lines of hope that he would give you every other night. he had the capability of making you feel like the most important girl in the world, only to tear it down and make you feel like the smallest the next day.

the final night of summer had finally fallen under cousins beach. it was the last night for anything. you could either leave your whole heart on the line, or walk away with your tail in between your legs scared of admitting the truth.

that was the ability August had on summer romances. it only lasts for so long until that dreaded month rolled around. the one that threatens everything.

“any plans?” Jeremiah asks. he slips into the lounge chair beside you. two of you soaking up the final rays as much as you could. you didn’t care if you left looking like a lobster, summer was officially ending.

“no,” you pause for a brief second before turning to him, “you?” you ask and tilt your sunglasses down your nose. his hair just reaches above his eyes, blond highlights from the summer scatter across his head.

“something with steven. you’re not hanging out with con?”

you shrug and turn your attention back to the pool where conrad swims laps. his heads underwater, you’re sure he can’t hear a thing when you turn back to his brother, “I’ll probably just stay in and pack.”

“that’s boring.” you hear from across the pool. your head swivels in the direction of his voice. he’s drying off with a towel sitting on the edge of his chair.

“well what are you doing then?” you bite back. watching him take a swig out of his beer, you roll your eyes in disgust. you can’t help but want those lips against yours despite the bitter contents against them.

he shrugs his shoulders in response. you watch him get up from the side of the pool and saunter his way over to you and Jeremiah, “something more entertaining than rereading that book, that you’ve read no more than five pages of.”

he picks the book up by the spine tossing it into your lap, the pages spill out against your stomach.

this was another thing you hated about conrad. how his words were always cold and bitter, even if you know he didn’t mean them the blow still hurt.

you feel nervous under his gaze. the way his eyes were hard on you before he slips into the summer house and you can breathe again.

you look over at Jeremiah who shrugs his shoulders and says, “august means he goes to school. no more him ruining my parade.”

there it is again. the reminder you didn’t need to hear: it was in fact august.

—

summer with conrad was a rollercoaster. one minute, you were having the best time of your life. chasing the high of the ride. and then the next, your stomach was twisting in knots and sobbing into your pillow over the silly things he’s said.

maybe your friends back home were right. this should be the year you let go of conrad. this summer was his final chance to get it right.

except, summer was just starting to end. he never got his act right like you wanted, and you kept chasing him like you always did. god, he had the ability to make you look like a kid chasing after a balloon in the sky. so naive it’ll come down.

you’re seated in the back of Jeremiah’s car. Steven in the front seat, shayla beside you in the back. this was a now or never type of moment. you could go inside and convince conrad to join the last beach party of the year, or go alone.

“just go talk to him.” Steven turns to you in the back seat, “you’re the only one that can convince him.” his eyes are pleading for you to get out and go.

the boys would be fine without conrad, it was you they knew would regret the choice you made.

you huff out a sigh pushing open the car door and allowing it to slam behind you. you rush up those front steps and carefully place the door behind you.

you snuck up the stairs and without a thought in your mind, push open his bedroom door. lucky for you, he’s laying in bed.

“can I help you?” he crosses his arms over his crinkled blue t-shirt, eyes narrowing on yours and suddenly you’re speechless.

like all the words you wanted to say were stuck in your throat. you wanted to express how you wanted one last night with him, that the summer was over, and this was your last time together until next year. but you don’t find yourself saying that.

“there’s a beach party, did you want to go?”

you swallow the thick saliva in your throat. you suddenly feel like a little girl asking for your mom to extend your summer curfew. your fingers nervously toy with the loose ends of your shorts, your shoes anxiously tap against the creaking hard wood floor.

“I’m a little old for that.” he replies back turning to the book he’s snuck under the bed. you laugh, seeing it’s an identical copy to the one you’ve read each summer in cousins.

“its not even 8pm and you’re in bed reading? what a loser.” you scoff making him smile. it doesn’t happen often, the words you say only have the impact to make Steven or Jeremiah laugh, so this was a win. a smile was a win.

“what if I just want to spend time here with you?” he asks. the way his eyes shimmer under the nightstand light lure you in. how could you say no?

“it’s the last night of summer.” you say inching closer to the side of the his bed. you want to hang out with the people sitting in the car waiting for your arrival with him. but would you really skip the chance to have one last time alone?

his arm extends outward, finger tips grazing the back of your knee, “and?” he asks, head tilting upwards to look at you. he makes you swallow nervously. his stare turns butterflies in your stomach.

“and I want to spend it with you too.” you pull on his arm slightly, his weight too much for you to pull him upward out of bed, “so come join us will you? please?”

“alright, alright I’m coming.”

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ssturniolo · 9 months

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Fireworks

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 - Chris x fem!reader

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 - realizing y/n is sensitive to noise, Chris does everything in his power to make her feel comfortable.

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 - noise sensitivity, kissing, nervousness

Loud noises have never been y/n’s favorite, so even she didn’t know why she agreed to go to the Fourth of July firework festival. Even when she was little, y/n would be easily overwhelmed by loud noises, from simple sneezes, to, well, fireworks.

She hadn’t ever voiced her issue, because it’s never been an actual problem. The past few fourth of July’s, she’s simply made an excuse, and stayed home. But this one was different, this time she was dating Chris.

Although she was crazy nervous, she put on a smile, not wanting to ruin the day for Chris. He had been so excited when he asked her, she couldn’t help but say yes, hoping for the best.

Pushing through the crowd, Chris reached out, grasping her hand to keep her close. “Excited?” Chris yelled over the loud chatter of others, walking up to Matt, Nick, and Madi, hand still interlocked with hers.

Putting on a fake smile, y/n let out a unconvincing“of course” earning a knowing look from Madi. Madi had offered to stay home with her, being the only non related person that knew about her issue with noise, only to be turned down by a lovesick y/n.

Chris hadn’t noticed her unease, letting go of her hand to point at the dark sky. “Look, it’s about to start!”

Right then, a burst of color boomed through the sky, causing y/n to cover her ears with the palm of her hands, which barely muffled the noise.

Squeezing her eyes shut, y/n took deep breaths and counted back from 100 by 3’s. “97…94…91…” she whispered, her hands still covering her ears.

Just as her closed eyes began pooling with tears, she felt an arm snake around her waist, leading her away from the noise. Immediately knowing it was Chris by his firm, but gentle hold, y/n leaned into his side.

Now further from the noise, y/n opened her eyes to see Chris jingling the car keys.

“Stole these from Matt, hope he doesn’t mind”

Smiling slightly, y/n winces as more fireworks erupt in the night sky.

“Thank you” she says as Chris closes the car door, sitting next to her in the back seat.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were so sensitive to noise?” Chris asks gently, not wanting to upset or embarrass her.

“Didn’t wanna ruin the day for you” she reply’s, looking down at her hands, heat creeping up her neck.

“You could never ruin anything for me ya goof” he says, planting a kiss on her forehead. He begins peppering kisses all around her face, pausing before pressing his lips on hers, for a soft, but passionate kiss.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

I know this is really bad, I’m terrible at coming up with ideas on my own. PLEASE send some requests in 🙏

XOXO - Zoe

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #fypage #imagine #nervous #noise sensitivity #chris sturniolo imagine

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netherfeildren · 10 months

Text

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .5

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Possessive behavior; Jealousy; Size difference; Size kink; One sad horny old man; Angst!!!! that will continue just FYI no abusing poor little vic for enjoying the suffering of others :) it’s not my fault :)

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: peep the cameo!!!!!! :)

Word Count: 6.1K

Read on AO3

Vanish. Pass into nothingness: the Keats line that frightened her. Fade as the blue nights fade, go as the brightness goes. Go back into the blue. I myself placed her ashes in the wall. I myself saw the cathedral doors locked at six. I know what it is I am now experiencing. I know what the frailty is, I know what the fear is. The fear is not for what is lost. What is lost is already in the wall. What is lost is already behind the locked doors. The fear is for what is still to be lost. You may see nothing still to be lost. Yet there is no day in her life on which I do not see her.

Joan Didion, Blue Nights

Weeks pass after that night in his truck. He calls, many times, but you never answer. And it makes you feel like the worst sort of liar, but you can’t. You can’t hear the sound of his voice, it’ll ruin you, destroy your resolve, force you to your knees at his feet, which is, if you’re being honest, the only place you really want to be. It is, perhaps, the greatest struggle of your entire life, to hold on by the skin of your teeth to this idea you have of what it is he and his marriage should remain as, and what you and he should be and should not be.

It’s Gerri’s birthday, and Tommy and her sister had decided to throw her a party at her house. Big surgeon money makes for a big fancy house, and Gerri was over the moon, filled with happiness and laughter and that wonderful brand of Gerri specific infectious glee that forces even your miserable, morose self to pull your butt out of bed and get ready to go celebrate her. She knows you’re sad, missing him, even if she doesn’t know it’s him specifically. Although, you suspect she might have an idea of it.

She’d begged you to come during class at the start of the week, planting her stubborn butt on a stool to stare you down while the rest of your students finished up their work and then put away their materials. Please’s and threats of tears and bodily harm and promises of copious amounts of alcohol, and if you’re feeling up to it, I could even hook you up with someone – an accompanying waggle of her eyebrows. What about a surgeon? My sister knows the perfect, sexy doctor for you. You’d profusely, profusely refused that. You could not even consider another man right now, the idea was almost repulsive to you. As she begged and pleaded and whined, another one of your students had come up, eavesdropping on the pathetic display of supplication, “Come on, teach. Don’t be a sour puss, put her outta her misery, and go to the fucking party with her,” she’d laughed. One of your best students – she had the most gorgeous tattoo on the inside of her forearm of two overlapping ferns with an intricately detailed moth at the head. She’d told you once she’d sketched it herself. You’d rolled your eyes at them, sour puss, my ass. But you knew you had to get out of this hole you’d dug yourself into, and so, their teasing had gotten to you in the end – forced you to agree to the party out of sheer preservation for your reputation. Gerri’d taken to calling you the boring barnacle… yeah, and she’d never stop if you didn’t agree – would probably force all your other students into making fun of you for the rest of the semester, as well. Annoying little shit, it was very aggravating that you loved her so much.

The house is stunning – big surgeon money indeed. All shining glass, sleek wood and modern edges. A huge infinity pool in the backyard, flanked by an impressively sized guest house that Gerri said she and Tommy stayed in sometimes when they got too drunk to drive home.

There was, after all, a doctor from Andrea’s work waiting for you at their undesired and annoyingly meddlesome behest. He was nice, handsome, boring. Not tall enough, not broad enough, hair blonde and straight and kind of straw-like – no dark, silver streaked curls and deep, warm eyes. He kind of reminds you of a shiny scarecrow, if you’re being honest and not very kind. Not Joel enough. But he was nice, and seemingly interested and he’d gotten you a drink and stayed by your side all night, attentive and polite.

You feel miserable and made out of plastic. Your smile, fake, forced, terrible. Something has to be done about this. Perhaps, electrotherapy, a lobotomy, an exorcism. Anything to get him out of your head.

The shiny, blonde scarecrow – doctor – is telling you about his shiny, blonde family and their fancy skiing trips now, and oh, do you ski? No? I bet you’d love it – maybe I can take you one day? Never mind that you’d been born without a single athletic bone in your entire body, when, suddenly, you hear your name being barked, rough and angry, from behind you, and then a large, searing hot palm circling your bicep on one side while his other palm slides along the span of the small of your back to grip you at the bend of your waist. Fuck.

“Joel–”

“Hi, sweetheart.” He does not look at you as he says it, but his grip on your waist tightens for one second. He’s staring down the shiny scarecrow, murder in his eyes. Oh, that look is very scary.

“What are you doing here?” He turns the scary look on you at that, and nope, nope, it’s even scarier pointed in your direction.

“Tommy told me you were here.”

“Wh– what? Why would he tell you?” He gives you a pointed look, and you glance at the scarecrow, nervous. “You told Tommy?” you whisper back at Joel.

Poor doctor man looks at a loss, gaze swinging back and forth between the two of you. “I’m so sorry, can you give us a minute?” you say, embarrassed. He takes one look at Joel’s terrifying face and scampers away.

Moron, he thinks, sour gaze following the fucker as he tucks tail and runs. He turns back to you, answering your question, “Didn’t have to, baby. He figured it out on his own. Don’t think we’ve been what one could call discreet if you’re really paying attention.”

You shut your eyes tight, bring up a shaky hand up to rub at the delicate wing of your brow. He desperately wants to smooth out the tiny frown marring the space between your eyes.

“N– no– but,” you stutter.

He takes the drink you’re holding out of your hand, takes a sip of it – something sweet and way too strong for your light-weight little butt. “Mm, he get that for you?”

You scrunch your nose up at him, and he knows he’s meant to take it as a sign of your annoyance, but all he can think is that you’re too adorable for your own good. “Wh– I– you overbearing, ridiculous – give that back!” you frown up at him as he holds it out of your reach. He sets the glass on a table behind you.

“Hmm–” His big hands span the width of your waist, can’t help himself, you’re so small compared to him. It makes his cock so hard. “Let me talk to you, please. Let’s go somewhere quiet.” He doesn’t care that he’s not supposed to be here, that he shouldn’t be bothering you, he’s reached the end of his rope.

“No – go away. It’s– it’s Gerri’s birthday.” You try to wiggle out of his grasp, but he pulls you further into his chest. “I’m supposed to be having fun. She said she’d be mad if I didn’t have fun.” There are already overwhelmed tears in your eyes, and if he wasn’t so fucking desperate to see you, to talk to you after all these weeks of you ignoring him, he’d run away. Far, far away, where he can never make you cry again.

“Just for a little bit, please,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, causing the little wisps of hair there to flutter.

You shiver. “Where– where’s Sarah?” You bring your small hand up to clutch at his beard, cup his jaw, and scratch your nails gently down the side of his cheek, and fuck, he’s ready to burst, just with that, even as your other hand feebly tries to push at his chest. He slides a hand low on your back to press your pelvis into his.

“Baby-sitter.” Hearing you ask after his daughter has that soft spot behind his ribs where you live now, burn and pinch painfully.

“And–”

He cuts you off, doesn’t want to hear you talking about her. “Gone for the weekend – work conference.” Not that he believed that.

You open your eyes again, the tears lining your lashes make them almost glow in your skull. He can’t help himself, he bends to press a soft kiss over your eye, feels the whispering, wet flutter of your long lashes against his mouth. You let out a broken mewl for him – full of all your matched wanting. “F– fine. We’ll– we’ll just talk.”

Just talk, just talk, just talk.

He can feel the pulse of his blood beat through the line of his erection against his thigh. He wraps his hand around yours and starts leading you through the house, spots Tommy at the back of the kitchen, leaning against the counter talking to someone. His brother takes in the two of you together, gives him a subtle nod, inclines his head towards the backyard – the guest house where Joel was headed. Tommy had known, since that day so long ago when Joel had tried to discreetly tag along to the college – hoping to get a glimpse of you, he’d known there was something. Nothing discreet about your half assed excuses, reeked’a desperation, he’d said. His brother wanted him to be happy, to have a good, fulfilling relationship. He’d been telling Joel to get a lawyer for months, had been the first to tell him to not get married. He’d help him now, give the two of you time to sort this out. He knows just how insane Joel had been these past few weeks, like a caged animal, pacing and hissing at not being able to get at you.

He steps out the back door and pulls you towards the guest house. He’d been here once, months ago, helping Gerri’s sister out with a repair she’d needed. The two of you would have privacy there to talk, for you to finally stop avoiding him. He needs to speak to you, touch you, smell you. He was going out of his goddamn mind thinking about you, dreaming about you. His cock, constantly at half mast and leaking, at all hours of the day, just at your memory. Desperate, that’s what he is, he’s desperate for you.

“Who was that guy?”

“Who?” Your voice is anxious, breath hitching. He knows you’re twisting yourself up in knots, and he turns to pull you into his arms now, in the privacy of the dark room, lit only by the light of the moon spilling through the large bay windows.

“The one you were talking to.” He draws his palm slowly up and down the line of your spine, feelings the little bumps and jitters of your trembling form. Skittish little rabbit. He rubs his mouth over the line of your hair, baby soft wisps tickling his nose and mouth. You smell so good, he wants to rub himself all over you like some sort of animal – mark his territory.

“Wh– I– You cannot be serious right now.” You push at him, turn to move away, but he catches you around the bend of your elbow, tugging you back forcefully into his chest. He presses his front along the line of your back, grips your hip to bring your ass into the hard line of his cock.

“Does this feel serious to you?” He’s hard as stone, throbbing beneath his jeans.

“Oh God, Joel–”

“Don’t want you talkin’ to other men, thinking about any other men. I know it sounds insane – can’t help it, I’m sorry.”

“I– I don’t think about anyone else but you,” you whimper.

He wraps his arms around your waist, brings one large hand up to cradle the weight of your breast and squeeze. He can feel the stiff little furl of your nipple through your dress. He feels a little unhinged right now, overwhelmed by the feel and scent of you. “I miss you,” he whispers. “Have you missed me?” He presses a soft kiss to the shell of your ear that has a violent shiver jerking down your vertebrae, you grind your ass harder into him, give him the sweetest little moan. “All I do is think about you.”

“I did, I did– I miss you so much. I wanted to talk to you, I did,” you whimper, “But– but we shouldn’t, Joel,” you say at the same time as your hand comes up and around to twist into the curls at the back of his head. He turns your head with his hand wrapped around your jaw, his entire palm cups around your neck to your cheek, thumb pressing harshly into the corner of your mouth to angle you exactly how he wants you, and then he’s tasting behind your teeth, the wet lick of his tongue into yours sends a bolt of lust straight through him, almost bringing him to his knees. He moans, deep and rumbling into your panting mouth, and your answering keen has the dribble of his precum sliding down his thigh. He needs to be closer, he needs to be inside. Fuck, he’s in danger of coming just from this, just from the sweet taste of you, your little moans, all for him.

“Did you like that boy? Think he was nice, hmm?”

“Wha– No– no, Joel. I don’t even know him.” Brow scrunching into the most adorable little frown he’s ever seen. You blink your lashes at him, eyes glassy and slightly dazed.

He snakes his other hand down the front of your dress and under the lace of your panties, cupping the entirety of your mound in his palm. Fuck, you’re soaked and he’s touching you, finally, finally, he’s touching you here.

“Is all this wet for him or for me?” he says softly, dipping a single finger into your seam, a ghost of a touch over the bud of your clit. Fuck, you’re soft. Soft and swollen and soaking wet. He never wants to see you near another man again, it’s unreasonable, insane, he knows this. But the dilemma of having seen you, tasted you, felt you, but only by half measures, not really having you, well… it sets the stage for insanity. This he cannot help.

“For you, for you– please, Joel. Just–”

“She’s drooling for me, baby.”

“Don’t be mean,” you cry.

“Will you let me make you feel good, sweet girl? Please, I just want to make you feel good.” He presses wet kisses over your cheek, down your neck to lick into the hollow of your collarbone. Your hips hitch in little grinds trying to gain more purchase against his palm, and he circles your clit slowly. You’re fucking dripping, and he moves down to press over your entrance, gives you the slightest hint of everything else he’d like to give you.

“Oh, please–” He slides two of his fingers into the last knuckle then, to the hilt. You’re so wet, there’s no resistance at all. Your cunt swallows his fingers whole, and the both of you let out ragged moans in tandem. You’re fucking tight, and he needs to feel you around his cock, he has to. He’ll die if he doesn’t. He’ll die.

“We– we were supposed t– to talk,” you stutter, little cunt grinding down as hard as you can on his thrusting fingers. The wet squelch is deafening and obscene in the quiet of the guest house, and he can almost feel the steam of your lust and embarrassment at the sound rolling off of your skin like heat waves.

“Yeah, yeah, baby. We’ll talk in a second.” He licks a long wet swipe along the edge of your jaw, bites down harshly, and he can feel the tight clench of your cunt at the small hurt. He pulls his fingers from you, and you let out a protesting mewl, but then he’s spinning you in his arms and kissing you. Something savage and uncontrolled rising up inside of him. He half carries, half drags you down the hall to the bedroom he knows is at the back of the house, pulls the neckline of your dress down to get at your tits, sucking and nipping as much of the soft flesh he can get at. All the previous moments of restraint, of not touching, of just watching, have turned him into this uncontrolled beast. He can feel your little feel dangling off the ground, over his boots. He almost stumbles as you lose one of your sandals, stepping over your shoe, and gripping the back of your thigh to hoist you up higher, grinding you against his length.

He sets you down on the bed, pushing you back to lay across it as he tugs the soft cups of your bra down to get at your bare tits, sucking one peaked nipple into his mouth and pulling hard on the tip. So fucking beautiful. He swirls his tongue around your softness, kisses the underside of it, nips at the full, round side, switches to give the other one the same attention. You’re whining and crying out for him, almost sobbing. So sensitive, so sensitive – little fingers twisted in his hair to pull him closer, but he’s moving down, pulling away from your searching mouth and lifting the hem of your dress. He bends to bury his face in the soft apex of your thighs and breathes deep – satisfaction, hunger, rumbling through his chest. You smell so fucking good. He sticks his tongue out to lick at your slit over the lace of your soft, pink panties, sweet, little bow adorning the front of them.

“Hush, lemme kiss your pussy for a little bit,” he soothes, “Don’t cry,” and you’re spreading your legs immediately at that. Good girl.

He hooks his fingers under the soaking wet center plaque of your panties to pull it aside and drags the flat of his tongue right through your seam. Fuck, fuck. He shuts your legs to rip the fabric down your legs and then rips them open again to get at your cunt. Your back arches, curved tight like a bow string, and you spread your legs wider for him, tug on his hair to urge him closer. He settles between the space you’ve made for him – thinks that he just might like to live here for the rest of his life. He sucks your clit into his mouth and starts to press a single finger inside, giving you something to bear down on.

“God, Joel–” your gasps are wet, on the verge of overwhelmed tears, or already there, perhaps, “Feels so– so good.”

“Taste so fucking good–” He starts to fuck you with his finger, adding another, giving you more to stretch around. You’re so wet, leaking down to pool in his palm, and he focuses on your sensitive little nub, licking and sucking and kissing it, all while he watches the heave and tremble of your breasts, back arched so that you can rock into his ministrations.

“Oh, I’m– I’m gonna come.” Yes, already, “I’m gonna–” He can feel the ripple and throb of your inner muscles working around his thrusting fingers, he hooks them against the deep, spongy spot at the front of your walls and sucks on your clit. Everything goes tight and liquid inside of you. The rapid flutter of your muscles trying to suck his fingers deeper, as you gush into his mouth, has all the blood rushing from his head to his dick so quickly he feels slightly faint. He licks you through it, gentling the thrust of his fingers but not stopping. Your restless legs shift around him, too much, and then he’s shifting back up to you, a bite to your nipple, a kiss pressed to the underside of your jaw, and he’s pulling you down the bed so your ass is right at the edge and tugging at his zipper, pulling his boxers down to free his aching cock and heavy balls. Fist clenched tight around himself, he jacks it once, twice and then presses the angry, red head to your clit, slides the underside of it through your cleft to feel the heat and wetness. Shit, your skin is scorching hot, soaked, and he can see the slight clench of your hole, begging to be filled.

“Joel, please I– I want–”

“Fuck – will you let me– will you let me put it in? Just a little bit?” He’s thrusting against the slick red of you, palm pressed against the shaft to create friction on either side. On every pull back his head catches the smallest bit at your entrance, and fuck, fuck, it would be so easy, so good, “Just– just for a second, baby, please? Just the tip?”

“I – I don’t– I–” The head catches more fully, the wide tip of it giving you just the first slight stretch of it. “Oh, please–” Please, please, please.

He feeds you the first inch – eyes glued to the way your little hole stretches obscenely around his fat girth, “Shit,” he snarls. He fucks you just like that, with just the tip and you try and arch even more, impossible, you’re already pulled tight as an arc, trying to take him deeper, and then your knee is hitching against his hip and pressing him in closer. He slides all the way inside, to the very end of you, in one smooth, devastating go. He feels his tip bump against the mouth of your womb, and your shared moan is pained and ragged. Your fluttering lids springing all the way open, eyes wide, almost shocked. The look shared between the two of you – incredulous, as if neither of you knew – had ever occurred to you – that something in this world could ever feel this good.

He buries his face in your neck, shuts his eyes tight. Fuck, he’s gonna come, he’s gonna come. Your gasping moans, the lush press of your breasts to his chest, the fluttering of your cunt around him – nothing in all his life has ever felt like this. There’s a pain, deep in his chest, in a place he didn’t even know existed. This is like nothing else that has ever existed in this world. He’ll never be able to let you go after this, never, never.

He wraps his hand around your throat, tries to settle you. “Don’t– don’t move, don’t make a sound–”

“I can’t– I can’t– You’re so deep.” Your legs kick restlessly around him.

“Baby, shut up, please,” he begs, he cannot come yet, he cannot. This is the first time in over three years he’s been inside of a woman, the first time he’s been inside of you. He cannot ruin it with a happy trigger finger. You’re clawing at his back, gasping and crying for him to move, to fuck you, please, please, please, fuck me. He slides a hand under your butt and lifts you slightly off the bed to bring you closer to him, grinds his cock deep, deep, right at your cervix so that you’re crying for real now.

“Too much, too much,” you clutch tightly at his bicep, going back and forth between trying to push him away and pull him closer. He can feel the wet press of your tears sliding along his cheek, over his mouth, and he licks his lips to taste them, has his eyes rolling to the back of his head at their saltiness. He hitches you more firmly in his grasp and starts to fuck you. His thrusts, deep and devastating, punching all air, voice, thought out of you, heavy balls slapping wetly against your ass.

“You can take it, you can take it. You can take anything I give you. You’re my pretty, perfect girl,” he grits, pulls himself up so he can stare at the place where you’re taking him, puffy, red cunt stretched obscenely around his slick base.

“You feel so good– I can’t, I can’t– What are we going to do? What are we going to do? It feels so good.” You’re crying, incoherent, fucked out look in your eyes as you claw at his shirt, little nails scraping over his belly and chest. He grips you under one knee to pull your leg up, hooking your ankle over his shoulder to deepen the angle. You come again, instantly, just at the change, the deepening of the angle, the head of his cock battering savagely against that deep, soft spot inside you.

“Fuck, yeah. Let me feel that cunt get wet, little girl.” Your mewls are high pitched, supplicant, and you gush around him. He feels it soak his pelvis, drip down his balls.

No one’s ever been this deep, nothing’s ever felt like this, you say, over and over again.

He plants one knee on the bed and hunches over you, ankle still dangling limply over his shoulder and pounds into you. The feel of your cunt rippling around him, sucking him deeper is too much. He wishes he could last longer, feel you come around him again. What if you never let him do this again? What if you never want him again after this? What if it’s just a one time thing? He’ll never get over this, he’ll never be able to move on from this. He can’t hold back, he starts to fill you, hot thick spurts coating your insides, and you moan again at the searing heat of him, right at the mouth of your womb, grinds deep, deeper, as deep as he can, the contractions of your inner muscles pulling him in. He wishes he could crawl beneath your skin, live inside of you, make a home for himself behind the safe cage of your ribs, and he thinks that you’re right, nothing has ever felt like this, nothing will ever feel like this again.

He’s ruined now. You’ve ruined him

He collapses on top of you, wants to crush you with his heavy weight, meld your chests together so that you’ll have to be with him forever after this. He presses wet, breathless kisses to the vulnerable underside of your jaw, behind your ear where your scent is the most concentrated, breathes you in deeply. You wrap your arms and legs around him, and he can feel the clench of your inner muscles around his softening cock. He hasn’t done this in a long time, he wonders what his refractory period is now, if he’ll be able to go again soon, if you’ll let him.

“I wanted that so badly,” you whisper, nuzzle your nose into his hair.

“Me too, sweetheart.”

“I’m scared.”

“You have nothing to be scared of. I would never hurt you,” he promises because it’s the truth. He’d never do anything to purposely hurt you.

“I’m scared of what I feel for you,” you say quietly, “I– I don’t–”

He slides his hand under you to press you closer. “I know, sweet girl. Me too.” He angles your head to give himself access to your mouth, starts his kiss out soft and gentle, slotting your full upper lip between both of his to pepper soft little pecks and sucks to it, then tilts his head to get a deeper angle and lick into you.

You’re completely relaxed beneath him. Soft and warm and wet, entirely pliant. So sweet. It’s one of the things he loves most about you, how sweet you are. Sweet and kind and earnest – tenderhearted. You’re right, in a way, this is something to be afraid of. The things he feels for you – the depth of it, it’s not something he was expecting, not prepared for, but he’s certain there isn’t a way of stopping it now. This is what it is, will go where it was always going to go, from the first moment he saw you, touched you, tasted you.

“What are we going to do?”

“I want to tell her.” It’s the only truth, the only road he wants to go down. He wants to be with you, he wants this out in the open. “You aren’t a secret to be kept or hidden. You deserve to be cherished out in the open.”

Your tears spill harder at that, “Joel–”

“Baby,” he lifts up slightly to look at you, “This is it.”

You turn to look away and he feels dread coil in his gut. If you pull away from him now he’ll lose his mind. He isn’t prepared for this, he isn’t the type of man who’s ever had to deal with this type of feeling. “I – I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I– I don’t want–”

“You don’t want what?” he brushes a loose strand of hair away from your face, runs the tip of his finger along the arch of your brow, down the slope of your nose. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you,” he says, because it’s the truth. In this moment, he thinks he’d do anything at all you’d ask of him. Open his very veins for you. You have him speared by the heart, eating out of the palm of your small hand.

“I don’t want to be the reason your marriage ends,” your brow crumples, “I told you. I– I can’t be. I couldn’t live with that.”

“My marriage never really began to start with. I told you that.” He moves to pull out, both of you groaning softly at the sensitive slide of his cock slipping out of you, the slick gush that follows. He sits back on his heels, grips both of your knees to keep you spread and enjoy the sight of the viscous drip of his spend out of your messy hole. He wants to bend to eat his own come out of you. You’ve turned him into some sort of beast, subjugated to the scent and sound and feel of your body. But instead he turns to sit at the edge of the bed, tucks himself back into his jeans. He leans forward, elbows resting against his spread knees, and drags his palm over his face, rubs the scruff of his beard. He feels you turn to curve around him, your hand snaking up the back of his shirt to press your palm against his hot skin, your knees curling into his lap around his waist. “It was never – it was never– I don’t even know. Never a real marriage, I suppose. Or never something either of us wanted for the right reasons. I – I felt like it was the right thing to do, at the time, for Sarah. I told you this. But– but it was never how it should’ve been. I worry now, sometimes, if we haven’t just done more damage to her, built a foundation that’s so rotten, so broken, that she’ll be able to feel it for the rest of her life.”

“Joel,” you whisper, dragging your fingers softly up and down his back.

“She was born into a broken home – how can I ever– how can I ever make that up to her?” He turns back to look at you then, “A home where her parents never loved each other – barely even tolerated each other. What is that gonna do to her? What will that teach her about love and relationships?” He grips you around the bend of your knee, anchors himself with the feel of your soft skin beneath his rough palm.

“I think that, from– from experience, that it will be enough for her to know that she has you, that you love her, that you’ll always be there for her. You’re a good father, Joel. A– a wonderful father. She’s so, so lucky to have you.” And the look in your eyes as you say this to him is so earnest, so sincere and kind that he knows, in that very instant, that he’s falling in love with you, that he is already in love with you. He folds over to press his face into your belly, hug you tight to himself. “Your love for her will teach her what love is supposed to be. Honest, forgiving, patient. She doesn’t need any other example than that. That’s enough for a little girl, trust me.” You drag your nails gently along his scalp.

He presses a kiss to your belly, another to your still bared breast. He rests his cheek on your chest to look up at you. “Thank you. Thank you for that.” What he really wants to say is, thank you for existing, thank you for finding me, thank you for being magic, thank you for letting me touch you. Please, let me keep even one small piece of you, I’ll take such good care of it for the rest of my life, I promise.

“But you– you can’t tell your wife about this, can’t– can’t leave her for me. That isn’t– that isn’t ever what I wanted, or– or set out to do. I told you why, I explained this to you.” He watches a bright flush flood your cheeks, brow folding into a frown as you stutter out the words. “I don’t want you to do that.”

“What’s left of this marriage is going to end either way. It’s only a matter of time.”

“But not for me. Not because of me, or for you to run straight to me. I can’t– I couldn’t live knowing I’d done that.”

“You haven’t done anything. This was done a long time ago, the foundation was damaged from the start.”

“N– no, still. I can’t.” You shift away from him, sit up to right your clothes. There is a part of you that hums the sounds of uncertainty, he can hear it in your voice, but it is so quiet in the face of everything else. The echo of your screeching guilt and fear so loud, it overwhelms everything else.

“So, then what? This was just a one time thing? You want nothing more from this? From me?” He spits, hurt. He knows he should be gentle, not get angry, but the thought of you taking yourself away from him now makes panic climb like fire up his chest and throat.

“I don’t know,” you say quietly, face still turned away from him. “I– I can’t tell you that right now. But I do know that I don’t want you to tell your wife, or to leave her for me.”

“So you think I should stay with her? Even though we’re both miserable. Even though all I want is to be with you. That’s what you want me to do?”

You let out a hoarse, anguished little sound at that, but then: “That’s not for me to say.” Your voice sounds broken, jagged, lacerating. “That isn’t my business,” you say so quietly, almost like you’re afraid to utter the words out loud, know what a lie they are. But he hears it. Loud and clear, like a slap to the face.

“Not your business?”

“I should get back.” You stand to right your dress, he watches your shaking knees knock together, and he reaches out to catch you if you need him, but you steady yourself on your own. When you finally turn back to look at him, there are tears streaming down your face. In some sick, twisted way, the sight of them is a comfort. They tell him that this isn’t what you really want, that your words hurt you too. In a way, they help him understand you better, as well. You’re trying to do what you think is the right thing, as wrong as it is for all of you involved. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, wringing your hands together. He only nods. You go to clean yourself up in the restroom, shutting the door quietly behind you.

When you step back out into the bedroom, he’s already gone, but there’s a glass of water left waiting for you on the bedside table.

Chapter .6

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

#someone's fic #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic

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softestqueeen · 5 months

Text

red roses and deadly promises

pairing: Zade Meadows x fem!reader

summary: When your stalker, Zade Meadows, has to do some business out of town, someone new makes an unwelcome appearance. How will Zade react when someone tries to steal you away from him?

warnings: 18+ MDNI!!!! stalking, cunnilingus, blow job, face fucking, attempted rape, dom/sub, pet names, death, murder, body parts, rough sex, knife play, dirty talking, aftercare, p in v sex, breeding, creampie, stabbing

wordcount: 10.658 (lol)

a/n: I think there is not enough haunting adeline fanfiction out there, so here you go! btw I don’t know what happened I only wanted to write about 7k words…. anyways enjoy <3

It had been going on for a while.

It started out with harmless flowers paired with deadly promises. Whenever you got home there would be a bouquet of fresh red roses waiting for you. Hanging from it: a note. It wasn’t always the same, but it always went along of the lines of You’re mine, if anyone ever touches you, they’ll die, you’re so beautiful, I love watching you, etc.

The first time you received a bouquet of red roses, the note read:

You’re so beautiful, I love watching you my little mouse. Can’t wait to play with you. Don’t even try to go to the police, it will change nothing. Love, Z

You were scared shitless. You didn’t know what to do. Even though the mysterious stalker told you not to go to the police it seemed like the most logical option. You didn’t want to ask your best friend, as to not worry her too much. She already didn’t like the fact that you moved into your grandmas old “haunted” house that was literally in the middle of nowhere, so the only logical thing for you was to wait. Wait what his – you assumed it was a man - next move was or if he maybe would even stop.

But actually, quite the opposite happened. The roses came more often, even inside of the house while you were there. Sometimes they were in the kitchen when you wanted to eat breakfast or in your bathroom, which could only be accessed through your bedroom or through the window, which is almost too small for a frown man to get through. You found them in rooms you normally wouldn’t go in. Your grandmother’s old study, in the attic, behind doors that were so dusty, you had to wear a mask before entering, scared you would inhale too much of it.

And still, you could be sure in almost every room in your house was a bouquet of red roses waiting for you.

After a few weeks you suddenly felt a shift. You weren’t as scared anymore but rather felt a weird sense of comfort anytime you got something from him. You knew he wouldn’t let anybody hurt you. He protected you like no one ever did and even protected you from himself. Alone the memory of that note made wetness pool in your panties.

I wish I could come to you little mouse. I live to protect you. No man will ever lay a hand on you, be sure of it. But protecting you also means protecting you from me. I wish I could come to you and ruin you, make you my slut and my good girl. I want to be the cat that fetches you and eats you alive, little mouse, seeing the life draining out of your eyes. Every time I, watch you undress, or watch you showering, rubbing yourself with soap, letting it glide over your skin… I’m always so fucking tempted to take you right then and there, especially when I catch you touching yourself. But I will have to wait. I don’t want to ruin your innocence. Yet. I’ll see you soon little mouse. Love, Z

It was the longest note you’ve ever received. You know you shouldn’t, but you’ve read it over and over. It was not just a note, it was a letter. A love letter, a deranged and sick love letter. But a love letter, nevertheless.

And if you were being honest with yourself, you could see yourself falling for him. You knew it was oh so wrong but that just made it oh so much more appealing. A forbidden love to your stalker who you thought may love you even more.

It had been a cold autumn day, and you were very much looking forward to cuddling up with a book under a blanket, drinking warm tea and enjoying the new season from the inside. Maybe even curl up in your grandmothers old rocking chair, that brought you so much comfort.

Entering your home, you indulged in the warmth and comfort of it. You went into the kitchen, expecting another bouquet of red roses with a note hanging from one of the stems. But nothing could have prepared you for what you actually saw.

Your kitchen had a long window that went along the whole length of it and had a beautiful view of the garden and the woods behind it, that seemed to go on forever. There were curtains, but you never used them, rather enjoying the warm sunlight and how it brightened up the room.

In this situation you weren’t sure if you were grateful for the full view of the garden. Because there was a tall figure standing in the woods, but still in a way that he knew you saw him. And he was looking directly at you.

Was that Z? Was that your stalker? Is that really the man who haunted not just your nightmares but also your wet dreams?

You couldn’t see much of him, only that he must be very tall. Probably even a foot taller than you. You had to admit, you were scared. Of course, you knew that there was a real person behind Z but seeing him was definitely something else. It wasn’t just a silly game anymore it was serious now.

You were frozen on the spot and didn’t dare move. You remained in the same spot, even when you noticed that he was now moving towards you.

Again, you didn’t move a muscle but rather concentrated on the details that came now into view. He creeped closer and closer, and you could now see that he was wearing a balaclava or a scarf that covered his nose and mouth. But his eyes told you all that you needed to know.

His eyes were beautiful, even though his right eye was adorned with a massive scar. The scar didn’t take away the beauty of him though, his eye almost white and the unscared one was a beautiful and rich blue.

He came to a stop in front of the window and looked into your eyes. For a moment you were just standing there, gazing into each others’ eyes. And in this moment, you completely forgot that you were looking at your stalker for the first time. You were so lost in the eyes of the stranger you seemed to know so well.

You’ve never felt this connection with someone, though you’ve also never been stalked. Was this a sick variant of Stockholm-Syndrome? Were you going insane? Because you definitely felt like it.

He broke the stillness of the scene and put his hand against the window, looking at you in a way that made your knees go weak. You took a hesitant step forward, planning on putting your hand to his.

He looked at you expectantly, still with his hand to the glass. You reached your hand out and covered his big hand with your smaller one. At the thought of what these hands are capable of, a shiver ran down your spine.

You both waited for the other to pull away, but both of your hands remained on the window. You looked into each others’ eyes, waiting for some truth to be revealed but it remained peacefully quiet.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and he pulled away. He took out a rose from his back pocket, attached to it one of his infamous notes. He put the rose on the windowsill on the outside of the window, sent you a wink with his blue eye and then turned around and walked away, not honouring you of another glance.

The moment he disappeared into the woods, you snapped out of it and ran into the back yard. You couldn’t see him anymore, still you ran until you felt like you were about to pass out, the adrenaline slowly leaving your system.

You went back to the house and took the rose with you, deciding that you would read the note while you were waiting for the tea water to boil. You put the kettle on the stove, a light tremor in your hand.

You put the singular rose in a glass of water before taking the note out of its envelope.

I can’t wait to see you in real life and not just through the cameras. I know you’ve installed some to catch me, but I have also placed some to catch you in my trap, little mouse. Till we see each other again Love, Z

He did WHAT now?? He placed cameras in your house?! You were conflicted. You knew you couldn’t really remove them (if you even found them) because you were sure he’d just place new ones. But in a way you also felt comforted and safe because you now knew he was always watching you and keeping you safe. Yes, you were aware of how weird that sounded but for you it felt so right.

Oh boy, what did you get yourself into?

After the window incident the letters and roses slowed down a bit. If you were being honest, you were a bit nervous. Did he lose interested now that he saw you? Did he not think you were pretty enough to be with someone as handsome as him? You didn’t know what to do. Even though the flowers and notes still came, it felt different.

‘Fuck. My. Life.’, Zade Meadows thought to himself. How was he supposed to get you out of his head now that he had seen you up close. You were the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen and now he knew he just had to have you. He didn’t care how long it took but he was going to get you and he would never let you go again. You drove him absolutely wild. The way you looked at him, the mix of fear, intrigue and slight arousal made it hard (no pun intended) for him not to break into your house and fuck you right then and there on the kitchen floor, against the counter and on a chair with you on his lap.

Unfortunately, things were not that easy. You were so young compared to him and seemed so innocent, looking at him like a dear in headlights. He had seen the worst things the world had to offer and also committed some of the worst crimes one could imagine. He didn’t want you to find out that he was such a monster. He wanted to be a good man for you, but he also knew that that was impossible due to his mission.

Yes, he wanted to rid the world from all the pigs that were walking around, and molesting kids left and right. In the beginning the reason for it was that he just wanted the world to be a better place and that no one had to go through the things he had to go through. But now he had a new reason that was way more important to him.

He wanted to make the world a better place for you. He knew that you would be a lot safer once all these horrible people have gotten what they deserved. And he also wanted the world to be a better place for your future children. Fuck, once he had you, he wanted to start a family with you. He knew how dangerous that was due to his profession but once all these assholes have been erased, no children would come to harm anymore. And if there were new ones, he would do the same thing to them. Whatever it took to keep you and your future children safe.

What was wrong with him, why was he thinking about starting a family with you? He had never felt that way about someone. Since he saw you at that book signing, he couldn’t get you out of his fucking mind. You were intelligent, clever, and witty. He read your books over and over before he decided that he needed more than your words.

After he saw you in that kitchen and knew that you saw him too, he had to take a step back. He was coming too close to the point of no return. He knew that there was a line he couldn’t cross yet, and he was literally about to step over it. He sent you less flowers and less notes, hoping that would ease his lust.

Spoiler: it didn’t.

He was completely clueless and out of control. He felt so helpless when it came to you, even though he also knew how much control he had over you. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life: staying away from you.

The only thing he wanted to do was hold you, kiss you, fuck you, and completely ruining you. He would turn his little mouse into his perfect little slut. Into his good girl. He couldn’t wait.

Thank God, a few weeks later the letters and flowers went back to normal. He didn’t tell you in his letters – you started calling them letters because they have gotten way longer in the last few weeks – why he suddenly wrote you less, but you didn’t care now that it was back to normal.

There weren’t any other occurrences with him, and you got out of your house more. You finished a new book – ironically a mafia stalker romance novel – and were now giving signings here and there, mostly at local bookstores though. You loved interacting with your fans and to see them enjoy the books you’ve written.

You were signing books at a bookstore that was a bit further away from your town. You didn’t think much of it and were just excited about being able to talk to more of your fans. The bookshop was stuffed and the line for the book signing seemed endless. The fact that you loved to talk to your fans didn’t help that either.

After saying goodbye to yet another fan you looked up to greet the next person in line. Your mouth fell open in shock at the sight presented to you. There was your stalker, still with mask but at least he was there. You almost didn’t believe your eyes.

He mustered you with curious eyes, scanning your whole body before he looked into your eyes again. He put your (!) book on the table, one of his signature red roses used as a bookmark. You gulped before you opened the book at the marked page. You almost let out a laugh at the scene. It was the scene where the male main character confessed his love to the female main character. Afterwards followed a very unholy spicy scene. Was he suggesting something?

he took the book out of your hand, his fingers brushing yours. They were cold from what you could tell, and you had to keep yourself from taking his hands in yours and warming them. He flipped to the front page where you would normally place your signature.

But instead of an empty page there was a note.

You look so pretty, sitting there and signing your books. I’m watching you, always. No matter where you are no one will ever get to have you except from me. Thank God, there are almost no male fans of yours, I’d hate to get my hands dirty. Love, Z

He looked at you while you read the note, looking as relaced as ever while you were losing your shit. You didn’t know how to react or what to say. You didn’t have to wait long though, because he did the most unexpected thing you could have imagined.

“See you next time, little mouse.”, he whispered into your ear, having leaned slightly forward so you could feel his breath on your face. It’s a good thing you were sitting down right now, because you were sure that if you were standing your feet would have given in.

You had never heard his voice before, but now that you had you were addicted. It was deep, rich and he had said these few words with a little rasp that drove you insane. You had read about such voices in romance novels before, but you would have never deemed it possible to experience it.

You knew that this was a cliché, but he smelled so manly. His intoxicating scent a mix of tobacco, wood, and musk with a hint of leather. You knew this man was going to be the death of you.

He leaned back, took the book again and left the bookstore without looking back. The rose was still laying on the desk and you quickly put it into your bag before greeting the next fan. The rest of the signing went by in a blur because all you could think about was the voice of your mysterious stalker.

How were you supposed to keep on living a normal life knowing how his eyes looked, staring into yours, how his voice sounded like and how his breath fanned against your face so delicately. How were you supposed to life when all that you could think about was his smell and how much you would like it to cling to you and your bedsheets. After the book signing it was getting quieter again and you haven’t gotten something from him in a few days. You didn’t worry too much though, knowing he was probably strong enough to defend himself.

Upon hearing a knock on the door, you enter the hallway. You did not have to open the door, to see the package your stalker left you, as it lay on your side of the door. That was weird, he had never left you anything that was not roses. You could feel a shiver running down your spine at the thought of your stalker returning to you and entering your house without you noticing it.

As you hadn’t heard from your stalker in a few days, this was a highly anticipated package. You made a few steps towards the box and noticed a note on top of it. It read:

Well, if this isn’t my new doll. I’m definitely looking forward to playing with you, bunny. Don’t even try to hop away from me, you can’t get rid of me. I’ll see you around, but you won’t see me. Anonymous

Your blood ran cold as you realised what that message meant. You went to the kitchen, forgetting about the still unopened package. You opened one of your kitchen drawers, revealing a pile of about three dozen notes. They were all signed from your stalker with the same letter. Z

Your worst fear was now confirmed. You had a new stalker. The mysterious Anonymous did write about being excited for his ‘new doll’ and called you bunny, even though you knew Z always called you his little mouse.

You panicked. Where did Z go? Is he okay? Who is your new stalker? Who even is Z? What would happen next?

Suddenly you remembered the package that was still waiting for you to open it.

You went back to the door, nervous about what could be in it. You knelt down on the floor and slowly opened it. The box was quite big, but what lay inside wasn’t. A wave of nausea rolled over you at what lay in that box.

It was a pair of eyes.

Real, human eyes. They were beautiful, dark brown with specks of green in them, but this was not the right moment to think about these things. There was till blood on them, and their optic nerve was still hanging on them. It almost felt as if they were watching you.

You wanted to close the box again but found yourself being unable to do so. You were shocked by what you saw. Whose eyes where that?

But before you could close it, you saw another message.

Now that your lame excuse of a stalker is out of town, he sent this scumbag to do the job. But no one is worthy enough to look at you except for me. Don’t worry Zade is the next one on my list. Anonymous

You froze. Z stood for Zade? Your stalker name was Zade? You were shocked that you found it out like this. It was a beautiful name though and seemed to fit him quite well if your being honest.

Anyways, at the thought of him getting hurt, your blood ran cold. You cared more for him than you liked to admit and knowing you could do nothing to protect him made you feel useless.

Zade Meadows was currently in Washington, wrapping up some business and trying to get a few high politicians behind bars. He hated leaving you alone, but he couldn’t reveal himself to you completely yet and take you with him, so you had to stay home.

He didn’t tell you he was leaving but thought you would notice the lack of notes and roses. He couldn’t leave you completely alone though, so he sent one of his best men to look over you during his absence. René Bellucci. He made it clear that if René were to even think about you being anything more than a mission, he would take care of him himself.

The way the man gulped and nodded, Zade knew there was nothing to worry about. So, he commanded René to send him a daily report of what you were doing and if anything happened to you, he was to tell Zade immediately, no matter what time it was.

After he scared and instructed René he could attend his business trip in peace. But of course, it wouldn’t go like he planned. He was able to get all the congressmen and politicians he wanted behind bars for now, but before he could enjoy his victory, he wanted to check on you.

He took out the burner phone that was specifically for these updates and turned it on. But to his surprise there were no new notifications. The update should have come about an hour ago, so a delay was out of question.

His heartbeat picked up. He immediately called René to see what was going on, but he immediately got to his voice mail.

Something was very wrong.

He took out his secret laptop to check on the cameras he (not so) secretly installed in your house. He knew it was wrong, but so was everything he did when it came to you.

He opened the laptop and typed in the password to access the camera feed. And there you were.

He let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding at seeing you safe and sound. But when he looked a bit closer, he could see how shaken you were. He immediately turned on the microphones and listened to what you were saying.

“This- This can’t be. Fuck, what am I supposed to do now? Where is he?”, he almost couldn’t hear you because you were whispering these things to yourself. His muscles were taut as he tried to find out what was wrong.

Zade currently watched you through the life feed, where he couldn’t see anything suspi- Wait, was that a package? He quickly went to the feed of your hall and zoomed in. The package was closed but it seemed like you already opened it, so he went to see what had happened in the minutes before.

He rewound the recording and saw you taking a note to the kitchen. You read it quietly to yourself, but it was still loud enough for Zade to hear it. His blood started boiling at what he heard. A new stalker? Definitely not. The celebrations for today where cancelled.

The recording kept on going and he saw you return to the package. You knelt down and opened it, revealing a pair of eyes? What the fuck? Again, he could hear your small voice reading the letter.

Oh oh.

That weren’t just any eyes. That were Renés eyes. Fuck.

How could that have happened? He should have known that such a beautiful woman wouldn’t be alone for long. Still, he always thought that he would stalk you and maybe in the long run reveal himself and claim you as his. But he wouldn’t have thought it possible that someone else was suddenly trying to take his place in such an extreme way.

Rage overcame him as he thought about this other man watching you and entering your house. He had to get to you. As fast as possible. Now.

He left his things behind, asking his assistant to pack them and take them with her when she went back the next day. He jumped in the car, roared the motor to life and drove like his life depended on it. And it did. You were his life and without you he had no reason to live.

Honestly, you were scared. You didn’t know what to do with the eyes, neither did you know what to do with the knowledge of having a new stalker.

Suddenly you heard something. It was an old house, so you often heard weird noises, but this noise didn’t come from nowhere. There was someone in your house. You were scared. You didn’t know what to do but wait for another indication of the intruder.

You heard a floorboard creaking, this time way closer to you. You took out a big kitchen knife, holding it with both hands and bracing yourself for what was to come.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your heartbeat loud in your ear. You could have fainted from the suspense. You prayed that this was Z or Zade in your house and not this new guy.

Why were you such a stalker magnet?

You didn’t know what to do. You could hear the footsteps clearer now, knowing that that meant they were coming closer. You had closed the door behind you when you re-entered the kitchen, so you couldn’t see the person behind it. But maybe that was for the better.

Suddenly the footsteps stopped behind the door. It was silent except for your heavy breaths. You could see the doorknob turning and the door being opened. You looked at the intruder in disbelief, dropping the knife in shock.

Zade had never driven this fast and reckless in his life. The only thing that mattered to him right now was that you were safe. He didn’t know what was happening right now at your house, but he would soon find out.

The fact that he didn’t know what was happening stressed him even more. He couldn’t even call René, because he was dead. He almost forgot about that. Though he was glad that the man didn’t have any family waiting for him at home. To be honest, most of the people that worked for him didn’t belong anywhere else, and he was always glad he could give them a home.

But he had to concentrate on 1) getting as fast to you as possible 2) driving carefully so he didn’t injure someone else or even himself, though he would have tried to get you even if he had been shot in the chest 3) distracting himself from the images of you getting hurt by someone other than him, that were currently going through his mind.

He was pressing down on the gas pedal as hard as he could, not caring at the people honking at him. The only thing that mattered to him right now was you.

You were still standing frozen in place in the middle of the kitchen.

You were standing face to face with a man that was definitely not Zade. He was slightly smaller, both of his eyes were dark brown, reminding you of the eyes that lay just a few meters away still in the box, but the one thing that you noticed right away was the lack of scar.

Zade had a beautiful scar that ran over his eye, giving his look a dangerous edge. But this man did not look like that at all.

And that could only mean one thing. That was your new stalker. Well, it could also be a random man who wanted to rob you, but due to the circumstances you ruled that one out.

“Well, if that isn’t my new bunny.”, the mysterious man told you, revealing a significant part of his identity. And yup, that was definitely your new stalker.

You turned around and started running. You just ran deeper into the house, but you knew it so well by now that you could find your away around it blind. After a moment you heard a second pair of footsteps echoing through the house, meaning the man was now trying to catch you.

You had dreamed of this moment before, your stalker running after you, chasing you through the halls and rooms you knew so well. But you imagined Z chasing you. You felt like you could trust Z, but you couldn’t be sure of the man currently running after you.

Your mind was going even faster than your feet, trying to find a way out of the house and into freedom, but it seemed almost impossible to achieve.

You almost didn’t hear it over the volume of your thoughts, but the second pair of feet had stopped. You did now the same, catching your breath and trying to think of your next move. You were almost at the door and if you were lucky, you could just slip out, jump in the car, and drive as fast as you could. But of course, it wasn’t that easy.

You felt a pair of hands gripping your waist pulling you back and against a hard chest. Before a scream could escape you, a hand covered your mouth.

“Gotcha, bunny!”, you could hear him whispering in your ear. You let out a scared whimper that was immediately muffled by his hand.

He grabbed your waist a bit rougher, pulling you into a small closet, that had blinds on their door, making it possible to look out of it but impossible to see inside. You had an ugly idea where this was going.

“Your little boyfriend is probably already on his way here. It feels like it didn’t take him long to figure out that I killed his little henchman.”, he told you with a grin evident in his voice, before adding, “I sent you his eyes, bunny. I hoped you liked your present. Did you like it bunny?”

You only whimpered at his question, now feeling the barrel of a gun against you instead of the hand that was gripping your waist.

The thought of Z being on his way to you and possibly saving you made your heart skip a beat. But you couldn’t trust your heart right now because it could also be out of rhythm because of the gun that was currently pointed at you.

He pulled it away for a second and kicked you in the knee. The action made you unsteady for a second but that was enough to get a hold of both of your arms and tying them together with a rope. He put his hand over your lips again before you could hear the sound of a zipper.

He pressed his hips against your ass, and you could feel something hard pressing against you that was definitely not the gun.

He leaned down to your ear again, his breath brushing unpleasantly against your skin.

“Your little boyfriend is going to come in here any moment and you’re not going to make a single noise while I rape that little pussy of yours. I’m going to pump you full of my seed, so you’ll be stuck with me forever.”, he let out a dark chuckle before pressing against you again. You could feel that he freed his dick from his pants and was now humping against your ass, that was still dressed in the jeans you wore from the day.

Like he had predicted it you could suddenly hear tires squeaking against the road and a car halting abruptly. You heard the car door opening and closing and rapid footsteps coming closer and closer.

“Be quiet for me, bunny. Let him search for you while I mark you as mine.”, he warned you before you heard banging against the door.

“Little mouse? Can you hear me? Are you alright?”, you heard a muffled voice through the door before the banging continued.

“Not a single sound.”, the man behind you reminded you.

The banging continued before it abruptly stopped. What was happening? Did he leave you now that you needed him the most? You heard him walking away and open a car door. You heard it close again and thought he would leave you alone now. Alone to fend for yourself against a man that you had no chance against.

But suddenly you heard footsteps on the front porch again. Could it be possible that he opened the trunk to get something? And really, you could hear a kind of metallic banging before the door gave in and came crashing down.

You could see someone enter and when he turned to the closet you could see his face. It was Z. He came to safe you.

Theres nothing you’d rather do than scream out and tell him where you are. He was so close, but because he could not look inside of the closet he was also so far away.

Since he came into view you had been holding your breath. You were starting to feel a little bit lightheaded, so you breathed in through your nose.

Zade stopped for a second and looked into your direction, being under the impression he heard someone breathing. He quickly turned away again, seeing nothing but the walk-in closet.

He went into the kitchen and calling out your name, but to no avail. He couldn’t find you.

You had to be home, he saw your car in the driveway and there were none of the shoes missing. He stepped on the package while he was in the hallway. Not that he was in the kitchen and saw the notes, picking them up and reading them again. He could feel the blood boiling under his skin, the urge to murder this mysterious man was growing by the second.

How fucking dare he?

He started running through the house, calling your name, frantically searching for any sign that you could be alive. He went back to the kitchen where he noticed something.

There was a knife on the floor. How did it get there. The drawer where you have taken the knife out of, was still half opened. Did the guy break into your house and you wanted to defend yourself? Now he was really fucking scared about what could have happened to you. He just hoped you were still alive. If not, his hands would be drenched with that scumbag’s blood by the end of the night.

You saw him re-enter the kitchen after he went around the house and screamed you name, sounding more desperate by the minute. Your kidnapper was still humping against you and unbeknownst to you was thinking of a way to remove your trousers without making any noise or removing his hands from you.

You were panicking, tears streaming down your face, waiting for something to happen. After Z went into the kitchen, he went quiet, which made you even more nervous. What were you supposed to do? What would happen if he would leave? What would happen if he thought you were not here anymore?

Would you get raped by a stranger and because of that maybe even get abandoned by the man you grew to love? You could feel the frustration of never really getting to know him, even though he practically knew everything about you.

You could do nothing but wait, trapped in a closet with a gun held to your body.

Suddenly you could hear a drawer being closed and steps coming closer. Zade was now standing in your hallway again, looking around. He made a tempestive step to the closet before halting abruptly. He seemed to think for a second, though his expression remained unreadable.

He made another step forward, now standing directly in front of the door. If he listened closely, he could hear your laboured breathing.

He knew you were behind that door. The only problem was that he didn’t know if you were alone. You probably weren’t but he had to think about the possible outcomes.

If you were alone, you would probably recognize him and let him take you to a safe house where you were safe until he killed that bastard that threatened him.

But if you weren’t alone, he had to get you away so he could kill that asshole. That’s unfortunately not as easy as he thought though, because he was probably not that stupid. Of course, he wasn’t intelligent either because that man messed with what’s his. You.

He had to admit, he was scared. If that man was armed, he could risk hurting you. He could of course wait until his team arrived – that he called before he drove to your house like a maniac – but that could potentially be too late.

He decided on a plan: he would open the door, if you were standing directly in front of you, he would pull you out of there, throw you to the side and attack ‘A’. If you weren’t standing directly in front of it, he would pull out the other guy, lock you into the closet and then fight ‘A’.

He took a deep breath and opened the door. What happened after, went by like a flash.

He saw that you were standing there and yanked you out by your sweater, throwing you to the side as gentle as he could. He took his knife out – he forgot he also had a gun in another pocket – and stabbed the man in front of him in the stomach.

He didn’t see that he was holding a gun, so when Zade stabbed him, a shot went lose, making you scream.

Zade pulled out the knife and his opponent collapsed to the floor.

Snapping out of it, he left the small space to look after you. He didn’t know if you screamed out of shock or if the bullet hit you.

You were standing there, white as a sheet, looking at him in horror.

“Are you alright? Did the bullet hit you?”, he asked you so fast, you almost didn’t register the question.

“No- No, it didn’t hit me.” At your words, Zade let out a sigh of relief.

He went back to the closet, taking a closer look at the man. He didn’t seem to know him, but at the sight of his small dick that was exposed he wanted to do unspeakable things to him. Did that fucking asshole really try to rape you?

Zade had to take a few deep breaths to not kill him on the spot. He was going to have his fun with him later, but now there was something more important that he had to take care of. You.

You were still standing in the hallway, shocked at what happened. You were almost raped and kidnapped, you had seen Zade without a mask for the first time because he saved you from getting raped/kidnapped. You felt like you were about to throw up and pass out.

You heard someone calling your name and saw that it was Zade who was standing in front of you, while people who you had never seen before were suddenly inside of your house.

“Let’s go to the kitchen huh, little mouse?” You could only nod, still in a kind of haze from what happened just moments before. You didn’t know how Zade could be so collected after what happened.

He sat you on the kitchen counter before telling you to stay there for a second.

“Scream if you need anything. I’m just in the next room. I’m not leaving, little mouse.”, he told you before he left you alone with your thoughts.

Zade went to his team, instructing them on what to do with the unconscious man. He was going to take care of him later. Then he told them to clean up, leave and then find out who that bastard was. He knew they wouldn’t ask questions and he had never bin this thankful for that. After they left, he went back into the kitchen.

The shock of your new stalker being dead and seeing Zade’s complete face for the first time slowly wore off. You felt a weird kind of relief at the two events, your heartbeat slowing down to somewhat normal again.

You looked into Zade’s eyes, realising that this is the first time you really saw him. Without a mask and without a filter it was just him. You could imagine him so easily, writing the letters, watching you, lusting over you. Did he even think about you that way or was it all jut a game for him? Playing this cat and mouse game with you?

You didn’t want to ask him directly though, fearing his answer. You were still sitting on the kitchen counter while he was pacing the kitchen. Neither of you said anything.

He came to a halt in front of you and stepped between your opening legs, grabbing your hands, and holding them behind your back. He was able to hold them with only one of his hands once they were behind you, so he wrapped his free hand around your throat, not pressing yet.

He just looked into your eyes for a moment, giving you the perfect opportunity to gaze into his. You saw the difference between his two eyes, but until now you never saw the mesmerizing beauty in them. His pupil was delated, and, in his eyes, you could see hunger, lust, but also the bloodlust that still lingered.

As you tried to lean forward, he tightened his hand around you neck, making it impossible for you to move. He leaned forward, almost giving you the relief, you earned for, your lips almost brushing.

“Tell me what you want, little mouse. Tell me and if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll give it to you.” You could feel every word against your lips, not even registering he waited for a reply. You direct your gaze back from his lips to his eyes.

You thought about it for a second. What did you want? Well, if was clear that you wanted him, but how? Just physically or do you want to be in a relationship with him? Both of you knew that there was a lot to talk about, but you settled on one answer for now.

“I want you to touch me. I want you to fuck me, to wreck me, to ruin me. I want you to make me yours, Zade.”, you have never said something that felt so right. At saying his name, you could feel a growl against your lips.

“Please, Zade.”, you whispered against his lips, before they finally met yours.

You’ve always imagined what it felt like to kiss him, now actually doing it felt surreal. He kissed with purpose, like he knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it. And it felt fucking amazing. You soon found the perfect rhythm. You ached to touch him, but he still held your hands.

You tried to pull your head away from him, but to no avail. He was having a tight grip on you and at feeling your resistance only gripped tighter and deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth, earning a needy moan from you.

He pulls away to breath for a moment, thinking about his next move. Meanwhile, you had time to stammer out “Please let me touch you.”

He was looking at you, thinking about it for a moment. “Say it”, he told you, “Say my name.”

“Please Zade, let me touch you, let me feel you.”, you said before trying to lean forward again. He loosened his hold on you, letting you lean forward and start kissing his neck.

He let go of your hands and pressed himself against you, pressing his growing bulge against your clothed cunt. You let your hands roam his hard muscles and over his arms while you kept on kissing his neck. You could hear his breathing getting laboured and silent moans rolling over his lips here and there.

He quickly grew impatient with your teasing and took your face into his hands, indulging you into a passionate kiss again. Your lips moved against each other like they were made for each other, falling back into rhythm almost immediately.

But Zade knew the first time with you would definitely not happen on a kitchen counter, still he was too impatient to move the two of you to the bedroom, so he improvised.

He put his hands on your hips and picked you up like you were a bag of feathers. You quickly wrapped your hand around his neck, not breaking the kiss once during the move.

He pulled out one of the chairs and took a seat, before placing you on the kitchen table. He broke the kiss, pressing your torso down and spreading your legs so he was face to face with your pussy.

You were still wearing the clothes from before, a relaces off the shoulder jumper with a pair of mom jeans which accentuated your ass very nicely. Even though in Zade’s eyes you looked good in everything, he thought you looked even better with nothing on.

He was too impatient to properly undress you, so he reached into his suit jacket and pulled out the knife from earlier.

“Remember this, little mouse?”, he asked in an almost mocking way before standing up. You gasped at the sight of the knife that had just moments ago brought a man to his knees. He leaned over you and started to cut open your clothing, grazing the cold tip of the knife against your warm skin with every slit, making goosebumps rise all over your body and wetness pooling between your thighs.

The awareness of how easy it would be for him to slice through your skin was dizzying. And he knew exactly what he was doing to you. He carefully sliced open your jumper, before moving down your body to your jeans.

He opened your fly before starting to slice down right in the middle of it, looking almost scary while doing so. You could see how he got lost in the moment. After slicing down your front, he sliced down the legs of your jeans. Your clothing was falling to the side and only your underwear remained.

He looked at you like you were the first women he ever saw in his life. You didn’t wear anything special, hell your bra and panties didn’t even match the slightest, but you still looked like the finest five course meal to him.

He just stood there for a few moments admiring you. The curve of your breasts, the valley of your stomach, the way your thighs pressed together. He knew that from this day on he was the only one who’s going to see that perfect body of yours.

He put the knife on the table for a moment to grope your breasts with both hands, giving them a good squeeze. You let out a loud moan which only seemed to spur him more on. He squeezed harder, almost crossing the line between pain and pleasure. He massaged your breasts a bit more, before putting his hands on your waist and giving your still clothed boobs a few kisses. The feeling of his hot breath against you was definitely doing something to you.

He pulled down the cups of the bra, peppering soft kisses over your now naked breasts, even leaving a few hickeys here and there. He pulled away and straightened up, taking the knife back into his hands.

He sliced open your bra before caressing your skin with the blade again. He took his time with it, waiting to see how you react to every movement of him, staying a bit longer at the places where your breath hitches or you let one of your delicious sounding moans slip. He was getting more and more aroused by the second.

After he decided he tortured enough (for now), he took the knife to your panties and sliced right through them, earning a gasp from you.

He took a seat at the table, grabbed your legs, and pulled you to the edge, before throwing them over his shoulder.

He started to kiss along your thighs, leaving the place where you needed him most untouched. He left a few hickeys along your thighs before finally coming closer to your glistening pussy. He admired you mostly in silence so far but couldn’t keep quiet anymore at the sight that you have presented him with.

“What made you so wet huh, little mouse? Was it my kisses, my caresses, my knife gliding along your skin or the sight of me killing that fucker who thought he was better than me? Tell me, be a good girl for me?”, his words aroused you even more. You couldn’t even answer him, taking too long to process his question in the haze you were in.

“Answer me when I ask you something, little mouse.”, he told you more demanding now.

“Every- Everything.”, you managed to stammer out. “Everything about you turns me on. You- fuck you make me so wet.”

“Already this dumb? I didn’t even play with that sweet little pussy yet. How are you going to react when I fuck you until you are unconscious on my cock, huh little mouse?”, he asked you in mock concern before chuckling. You could do nothing but moan at his filthy words. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, waiting to be filled by the man in front of you.

He decided to have some mercy on you and went back to your cunt. His warm breath against you let a shiver run down your spine. He placed a few wet open mouth kisses to your cunt, receiving needy moans from you.

Finally, he licked a long stripe down your pussy before caressing your clit with tight circles, making you cry out his name. His name on your lips seemed to spur him on even more, as he entered your tight hole with one of his fingers, pumping into you at a steady rhythm.

It all felt so good, almost too good. Finally having the relief, you earned for since that very first letter. He was moving against you like it was the thing he was destined to be doing. You had never felt like this with another man, and you were sure that smug bastard new that.e waHe

He slowly added another finger, making your back arch. You were coming dangerously close to the edge.

Zade could feel your pussy clenching around his fingers. He knew you needed that relief, but he wasn’t going to give it to you just yet. When he knew you were right on the edge, he pulled out his fingers and removed his head from in-between your legs. You whined at the loss, a tear rolling down your reddened cheek.

“Please, Zade. I need you. I was so close. Fuck.”, you almost sobbed out.

“You really thought I’ll just let you orgasm? I wouldn’t have thought you were that naïve, little mouse.”, he spoke to you again in a mocking voice.

You leaned up on your shaking hands to look into his eyes, when another tear rolled down your cheek. “Please.”

“Don’t worry, little mouse. You’ll get you relief and it’ll be the best orgasm you ever had.”, he assured you with a dark edge in his tone.

He gripped your waist and lifted you up, pressing your naked body against his still clothed one. You quickly wrapped your shaky legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, peppering kisses along his jawline and face.

He carried you to your bedroom. Of course, he knew exactly where it was, having placed quite a few notes there in the past. He put you on the floor, steadying your waist in case your legs wouldn’t hold you. He suddenly looked very serious. “Little mouse, do you trust me?”

He could see the hesitation in your eyes. Of course, you trusted him, especially after he almost killed someone for you. But there was still some doubt in you, especially about his feelings for you. You didn’t even realise you hadn’t answered him.

“What do you want me to do to prove to you that you can trust me? Do you want me to kneel in front of you? Because I’ll go on my fucking knees for you, if that’s what it takes, little mouse. I promise you can trust me.”

At the thought of this powerful man on his knees in front of you, you felt another flood of wetness rush between your thighs. Even though you still didn’t know how he felt about you, you felt a little more comfortable.

“Yes, Zade”, you answered him “I trust you.”

That was all it took. He removed his hands from your waist and put one of them on your shoulder, pressing you down so you were on your knees in front of him.

“Take out my cock little mouse.”, he commanded before adding, “and then put your hands behind your back.”

You immediately got to work. You opened his belt, not bothering to pull it out, letting the belt buckle hang to the side. You opened the button and then pulled down the zipper, grazing Zade’s hard dick and making him moan. You put your hand into his boxers and pulled out his rock-hard cock.

He was huge, probably about 10 inches long and thick. Your mouth watered at the thought of tasting him and feeling him inside you. That dick was definitely going to stretch you to your limits. You could see a drop of precum escaping the tip, running along his thick shaft.

You looked up at Zade who was looking at you with a hunger you had never seen at anyone.

“No need to be shy, little mouse. Be a good girl for daddy and suck my cock.”

You leaned forward, your hands behind your back, and took his tip into your mouth, gently sucking it. You could taste his sweet precum, making you moan. You swirled your tongue around his tip before slowly taking him deeper, tracing his prominent veins with your tongue.

Zade was growling above you, mesmerized by the sight of you sucking his cock. It felt so good, finally feeling you around his length after he imagined it for so long. He came so hard thinking about you in this exact position and now having you there, bobbing along his cock felt unreal.

You were going up and down on him now, struggling to take him completely. Zade thought that you had enough time to explore him now. He put his hand on the back of your head and started to fuck your face. He started off slowly but then started fucking your face like it had seriously wronged him.

You were gagging on his cock, tears streaming down your face while you could just sit there and take it. Zade’s face was twisted with please, sinful moans falling from his perfect lips. He cupped your face with his free hand, not slowing his pace. He built a steady rhythm, using your mouth and throat the way he liked.

You could feel yourself getting wetter at the sounds he was making. Knowing that you were the one bringing him so much pleasure turned you on to no end. You were moaning around his cock, making shivers run down your spine.

“You’re such a good girl for me. You take my cock so well, so pretty in front of my knees, drooling and crying. I could fuck your beautiful face forever.” His words were bringing you closer to the edge, but you resisted coming. You knew he was close to, feeling his length twitch in your mouth. You wanted to make him cum, so you started to move your head against his length, giving him everything you had.

“That’s it, little mouse. You feel so good, I’m so close. I know you want it too, want to swallow all my cum. Go on, touch that needy pussy. I want you to cum, chocking on my cock with your hands inside that cunt. Do it.”, he ordered. leaving no room for discussion. You immediately removed your hands from behind your back and started touching yourself, playing with your clit and pumping in and out of you with two fingers. It didn’t feel as good as Zade, but it was enough to send you close to the edge.

“Cum now, little mouse. Be a good girl and I’ll fill you with my cum.” His words sent you over the edge. You chocked on his cock while cumming, sending him over the edge. he spurted his cum down your throat, not halting his movements until he had stopped.

He pulled out of your mouth, admiring your face. Tears streaming down your face, smudging your mascara. Drool running down your chin, your cheeks were red. He had never seen someone who looked that beautiful. He gave you a few moments to catch your breath and waited for you to look at him again. When he saw that stunning little smile on your face, he knew he could continue.

He hoisted you up by the arms and threw you onto the bed, earning a surprised yelp from you. Your legs spread automatically for him, and he admired your glistening pussy before undressing himself. He took off his jacket, loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, pulled down his pants and stepped out of him.

Now that he was just in his boxers you had some time to admire him. He was built like a Greek god, taut muscles everywhere and his cock, now erect again, stood tall and reached his belly button without effort. He looked even better than you imagined.

Zade saw you starring and cockily flexed his muscles for you, turning around and showing you his muscular back, making you giggle. It was good that his back was turned to you, because your giggle made his face soften. He never thought he would hear you genuinely laugh because of him, but here you were.

He turned around again and rid himself of his boxers, before climbing on top of you, covering your body with his. He leaned down and kissed you with a passion that wasn’t there before. The kiss grew heated quite fast, and you could feel his hard cock against your thigh.

You pulled away. “Please fuck me, Zade. Ruin me, make me yours.”, you almost begged as you spread your legs further.

Zade gladly fulfilled your wish and put one of his hands next to your head for leverage and used the other one to guide his cock to your entrance.

He aligned his fat tip with your gaping hole and entered you in one swift motion. You screamed out at the feeling of him stretching you out. The moment he was fully inside of you, Zade’s hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing you.

He didn’t give you much time to adjust to his size but bottomed out completely before filling you up again. He started to thrust into you at a relentless paste, using you like a fuck toy.

You loved it.

Admittedly, it was a lot but it also felt so good. He fucked you hard, the hand around your neck, cutting off some of your oxygen only made it so much more pleasurable.

“Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around my cock, my good girl. I can feel you squeezing me every time I’m tightening my grip around that pretty neck. Is that what you wanted, little mouse when you told me to use you? To ruin you?”

“Y- Yes.”, you breathed out.

“Yes, what?”, he asked you with that cocky grin reappearing on his face. “Y- Yes, daddy.”, you answered him before letting out another moan at the way he talked to you.

“Good girl”, he praised you before tightening his grip and fucking you harder. He leaned down and kissed you breathless, tasting himself on your tongue.

You could feel his thrusts getting sloppy and the heat in your belly growing. You knew you were both close.

“P- Please.”, you stammered out. He loosened the grip on your neck for a moment. “Please what, little mouse?”

“Please cum in me, daddy. Please, I want to cum with you.”, you begged, more tears falling from your eyes.

“Such a good girl asking permission to cum. Cum with me, little mouse. I want to feel you milking my cock. I want to pump you full of my cum. Cum for me. Now.”

His words sent you over the edge. He tightened his grip around your throat, and you screamed out, your pussy clenching around his length. He came with a shout of your name but didn’t halt his movements.

You could feel him spurting thick ropes of cum into your pussy, fucking his cum deeper inside of you. He didn’t stop until the both of you had come down. He came to a halt inside of you, removing his hand from your neck, admiring the already forming bruise in the shape of his hand.

He reluctantly pulled out of you, watching his cum drip out of you. He pushed some of it back inside of you with his fingers, penetrating your already overstimulated pussy. He placed one last kiss on your clit before getting up from the bed and putting on his boxers again.

For a moment you feared that he would get dressed again and leave you alone. That he would maybe go back to just stalking you, but you relaxed again when he went to the bathroom. He reappeared with a damp cloth and body lotion.

He cleaned you up, being careful not to be too harsh on you. Then he took some of the lotion and started to massage your body. He started with your neck, where he applied some of the cream over your bruises and then worked along your body, relieving your stress. He looked concentrated as he worked his skilled hands over your body and made you feel the safest you ever had been.

After you slightly came back to yourself, he stopped massaging you and looked into your eyes with a feeling you couldn’t really place.

“Are you alight, little mouse?”, he asked.

“Yea- Yeah, I’m fine, more than fine actually.”, you answered with a hoarse voice, already feeling the effect of your rough fucking.

“If I am being honest with you, I imagined my first time fucking you a little bit different. And under of course under different circumstances.” His confession made you smile, though that smile faltered again after a moment. Zade looked at you concerned and was about to ask you if you were alright before you asked with a small voice.

“Are you going to leave me now?” The expression on your face made Zade’s heart break a little. His face grew cold again before he answered.

“I’m never going to leave you, little mouse. You’re mine now. Forever”

a/n: thank you for reading, i hope you liked it! please leave some notes: likes, reblogs and comments. feedback is always ver appreciated! please also consider supporting me on ao3 @ softestqueeen

taglist: @silvermagnolias @milywatermelon @BigBananaa

#haunting adeline #hunting adeline #reader #x reader #reader insert #zade meadows #dark romance #murder #stalking #booktok #ao3 #underrated book #no y/n #love #z #z x reader

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staytinyville · 7 months

Text

Stay Alive (12)

BTS poly!ot7 x Reader

Magical Creatures AU

Series Masterlist

Warnings: None

A/N NOT BETA READ (I did try the best to my ability) As normally! I love all your expressions over the whole chapter. Keep them coming! I love you guys!

Namjoon had settled you in the park area to give you space from everyone else. Your panicked state had affected some of the other patients so the large man thought it best to keep you away from everyone. However he had been called to go somewhere else, which prompted him to ask Taehyung to watch over you.

The boy looked around for you, shuffling over so as to not startle you. He tried to act the same way his brothers would with him when he was upset or uneasy. So he wanted to try his best at keeping you from getting even more upset.

“Everything okay?” He asked you softly, taking a seat next to you on the bench. He sat a few inches away, trying to avoid you. He wanted to gauge out the reaction you would have to him coddling you. Baby steps, as Hobi would tell him.

“Yeah,” You quietly told him, trying your best to give him a small smile. “I'm just worried about Jungkook.”

“He's okay.” The boy grinned. “I promise you.”

You seemed to calm down some when you turned to see Taehyung’s boxy grin. It looked so adorable on him that it made you smile just watching it. You giggled quietly. “Okay. I believe you, Tae.”

As the boy grew closer to you, wanting to place his arms around your shoulders a nurse called out to him. “Taehyung, it's time for your tests.” You both turned to face the nurse.

Your eyebrows furrowed as this was the second time another nurse had come in to ruin your time with the boys. The last one had come to take you away from Jungkook. While it left a bitter feeling in your chest to be separated from any of them at the moment, you knew the nurses were just doing their jobs.

“Already?” Taehyung frowned. “But I just did them.” His voice grew quiet as his shoulders dropped.

Your lips pulled into a frown as you felt a pang in your chest watching the boy look so crestfallen. Looking back over to the nurse, you noticed he had his arms crossed with a deep frown settled on his lips. He looked annoyed and it made you worry more for Taehyung.

“You did them a month ago.” The nurse rolled his eyes. “You know how these go. Don't make this harder.” He gave Taehyung a pointed look.

“But-”

“Taehyung, please go.” You softly spoke, turning to the boy. You didn’t want him to get hurt because he wasn’t doing what they asked. However, it did leave you anxious as you realized Taehyung did not like doing his tests. After being so worried for Jungkook, you suddenly become hyper aware of each of the boy's feelings.

“I'll find you afterwards, okay.” You gave him a small smile, hoping he would go along with what the nurse needed to. Hopefully the incentive would help him go through the tests without problem.

“Promise?” He asked, eyes wide as he waited for your answer.

“I promise.” He didn’t give you a smile back. Only nodded his head as he shuffled to get up. He followed after the nurse, head tucked down as he tried to look small.

Your heart began to ache as you thought about how down he looked. He seemed like a child going to get shots at the doctors. He knew it needed to be done but he still didn’t want them. You didn’t know what was wrong with Taehyung or what kinds of tests they ran, but you figured it must have been something he didn’t like to have looked the way he did.

There wasn’t much you could do, so you opted to get up and find something to occupy your time. You walked through the corridors, hoping to come across someone–preferably one of the boys. However, walking further along the hallways you sighed to yourself when none of them made an appearance. Maybe they had been watching over Jungkook.

As you were about to make your way towards the boy’s room, the door to the pool caught your attention. There was a sign on the door that read occupied which made you frown your eyebrows. You figured it must have been Jimin in the pool, however you didn’t really think much about the warning. You were a nurse after all, it was your job to watch over all of the patients.

You walked in without thinking, following along the locker room hallway and towards the pool entrance.

Your head peaked around the corner, hearing someone swim around in the water. “Jimin?” You called out. “You in here?”

There was no answer, so you moved closer to where you finally noticed Jimin swimming around alone. He seemed to be in his own world, hums falling from his lips.

“I'd rather be lost in the lights-lost in the lights.” You head tilted to the side when you realized he was singing to himself. As you got closer his lovely voice drifted into your ears once more.

“I'm outta my mind. Can you help me numb the pain?” His voice was like that of an angel that called everyone’s attention. Everything seemed to go numb as you shuffled your feet along the floor, getting closer to Jimin who had yet to notice you.

“Each night, you spin me up high. Emotions on ice.” Your head bobbed from side to side, as your mind went blank completely the more the man sang to himself.

Before you realized it, you felt yourself floating in an endless sea of darkness. You were no longer in the mortal world, you were drifting on your own in a dream-like state within your own mind.

“Let me have a taste. Give me a good ride. It's gon' be a good night.” Your feet touched the edge of the pool, dipping into the water as you made your way deeper. The man who was back under didn’t seem to notice the new presence.

“Forever, you and I. This will break me–This is gonna break me.” You continued to walk down the steps, the water soaking into your scrubs as your eyes seemed to be glazed over. While Jimin seemed to be under water, your head was still buzzing with his soothing voice.

“No, don't you wake me. I wanna stay in this dream, don't save me. Don't you try to save me. I need a way we–I need a way we can dream on.” By the time the boy had finished with his song, you were already shoulder deep in the water, continuing your way even deeper.

“Jimin!” Someone screamed, stopping the said boy from singing even more.

He turned to look at Jin jumping into the pool in a dive, finally noticing the presence of someone else. His eyes went wide as he saw your body fall over and under into the water.

“(Y/N).” He spoke up, quickly diving under to reach you at record speeds.

He was there before Jin even got the chance to pull you up. The boy hauled you up, dragging you to the edge to put you back on solid ground. Jin quickly pulled himself out of the pool, moving to hold you in his lap.

The older boy placed his head to your chest, sighing when he felt your heart still beating. However you were struggling to breathe as you had inhaled some water when Jimin broke his singing.

Jimin quickly took notice and stuck his hand onto your chest. His other went up to your mouth, pulling the water that had caught in your lungs out of your mouth. You began to cough it up, your hacking making the boys flinch as they worried for you.

When your breathing finally returned to normal, they let out a breath as you seemed to stay unconscious from the influence you had been under.

“What are you doing?” Seokjin scolded the younger boy. “You could've gotten in trouble. Do you remember what happened last time you killed a nurse?” He looked at him with worry.

“I had my sign up.” Jimin only sighed, looking away. He felt terrible for what had happened, however he knew it wasn’t his fault.

“How was she supposed to know?” Jin sighed, moving his hands to ring some of the water in your scrubs out.

As his hands came up between your shoulder blades, the man frowned when he felt a sudden electric sting touch his fingertips. Seokjin could feel the energy that radiated off whatever it was, causing him to frown. He was prone to feeling magic on occasions with how intune he was to nature, so feeling something like this come from you caused him to frown.

“What's this?” Jin asked, pulling you up to sit.

Your limp body moved along with movements, head pulled back as Jimin went to help his friend pull the neck of your scrubs down. Just under the cervical part of your spine, there was an upside down crescent moon shape with three raindrops under it. It looked like a birthmark, blending into your skin like nothing.

Jimin titled his head, eyes going wide as he looked up at his elder. “It's a spell marking.” The boy spoke astounded. He suddenly frowned as he looked back down at you. “You don't think Hobi-”

“No.” Jin immediately said. “He would've told us.” He shook his head, frowning as he tried to come up with an answer.

“Taehyung?” Jimin asked, his hand subconsciously rubbing at the mark.

“I don't think he knows how to do that yet.” Jin once again shot down Jimin’s thoughts.

Jimin looked at your face, watching as you seemed to be asleep completely. He was glad you weren’t out of it, hopeful that you would wake up soon. “What do we do?” He asked.

Jin pursed his lips before ultimately getting up. He easily picked you up in his arms, carrying you out the pool area. “We have to tell the others.”

Series Masterlist

@h3arteyes4mingi , @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh , @rinkud, @rln-byg , @singukieee ,

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valeskafics · 8 months

Text

Mamma Mia - Chapter Six: SOS (Aemond Targaryen x Reader, Modern AU)

A/N: comment to be added to the taglist, only one chapter left! ❤️

Summary: It's the day of Laena's party and plans are set in motion. Sara distracts Aegon, Cregan distracts Jace, Baela gets hit on by a surprise guest, and you and Aemond have a long overdue conversation. If it can be called that.

PAIRINGS: Aemond x Reader, Past Aegon x Reader, Past Jace x Reader

Word Count: 1,815

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, alcohol consumption, angst

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of the Dragon/Fire and Blood characters nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

It’s going to be simple. Sara is going to distract Aegon, Cregan is going to distract Jace, and Baela is going to distract Aemond. Your friends are going to keep your potential baby daddies away from Laena and try to piece together who her actual dad is so that you can figure out your next steps from there.

Simple enough, right?

Well, if only you knew what kind of trouble all of this was going to land you up in. You walk around the hotel, frantically decorating for Laena’s party, knowing she wanted a Spiderman theme. You’ve baked a cake from scratch, procured decorations from the mainland, even hired one of the local guys to show up dressed in a Spiderman costume to entertain the kids and take pictures with them. You want today to be absolutely perfect for your baby girl, and no one, not Aemond or Aegon or Jace, is going to ruin this for you. In fairness, you don’t think Jace would ever try to purposely ruin anything, but he’s guilty by association at this point.

However, what you don’t anticipate is your daughter, storming up to you, an angered expression on her face, “Baby? What’s wrong? Is your tummy still hurting from that cake at dinner-”

“Why have you never told me who my dad is?” Laena demands, glaring up at you, “Do you realize how shitty it’s been-”

“Hey! Language,” you scold, eyeing her wearily, “It may be your birthday but you do not get to curse at me, honey.”

“Okay, fine, but do you realize how awful it’s been growing up not knowing who my dad is?” Laena says, tears pooling in her eyes, “It’s been terrible! Every Father’s Day, every time one of my friend’s dads have had their birthday, seeing them getting picked up from school. Do you know how much it hurts me every time?”

“My love,” you say gently, your heart breaking for your little girl, and try to pull her into a hug, but she angrily stomps away, slamming the door to her room shut, no doubt locking you out.

You collapse into one of the dining table chairs, barely holding back your own tears, feeling like a complete failure of a human being and a mother. You’ve done your best to make sure that she never felt lacking when it came to being loved by her parents, trying to love her twice as much, doing everything you could for her, but it still didn’t fix that hole in her heart where her father was supposed to be. You quickly finish setting up, with a stiff upper lip, before you head to your own bedroom and cry into your pillow, feeling completely lost, unsure of how to do this.

Sara sits beside Aegon on his boat, watching him with an oddly wistful expression on her face, “I was there that summer, you know?”

Aegon looks at her, taking a sip from his beer, handing her one of her own, “Come again?”

“Eleven summers ago,” Sara pauses, “When the two of you hooked up. I remember having such a big crush on you,” she rolls her eyes, “I never told Y/N, of course. I wanted her to have a quick romp in the sack to forget about Aemond. She needed that. I guess she needed you.”

“I guess I needed her too,” Aegon says quietly, gazing out at the sea, “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you back then.”

“I don’t blame you,” Sara smiles slightly, “She’s a hell of a girl. I wouldn’t have noticed me either.”

He frowns, nudging her with his shoulder, “You’re a hell of a girl too, sweetheart. Don’t put yourself down like that. Both of you are beautiful, smart, amazing women.”

And with that, Sara leans forward and presses her lips to Aegon’s. Eleven years of pining, put into one kiss. He’s taken aback at first, but slowly relaxes into the kiss.

Sara feels guilty, wondering what you’ll think about the whole thing, but she realizes that, the type of person you are, you wouldn’t really care about something as inconsequential as this. And after she’s successfully “distracted” Aegon, and he lays in bed beside her in the cabin of his yacht, she looks at him. And she wonders if he’s Laena’s father. There’s a resemblance there, she notes. But then again, there’s a heavy resemblance to Jace and Aemond too. Sara sighs as Aegon pulls her in for another kiss, already wanting to have another round with her.

Will she regret this decision later? Perhaps. But right now? She can’t bring herself to care.

Cregan and Jace are having a fine old time having drinks on the beach while Cregan subtly tries to pump Jace for information, wondering if he’s the father of your child. He tries to subtly broach the topic of if Jace ever wanted kids. The curly-haired brunette nods dreamily.

“I’ve always wanted a little girl, you know?” he admits to Cregan, “Wanted to adopt or something. But, um, life is funny, you know? Sometimes…”

Cregan looks at him inquisitively as he trails off, wondering if he’s caught on to the fact that he may be Laena’s father. Cregan immediately grabs Jace another drink, hoping to get some more information out of him. That’s when he sees Baela. By herself.

“What the hell are you doing?” he whispers frantically, “Where’s Aemond? You’re supposed to be distracting him!”

Baela takes a long drag from her cigarette, blowing it in Cregan’s face, causing the man to begin coughing profusely, waving the smoke away as she responds, “I fucking tried, Cregan! The bitch is crafty! I tried asking all the questions we came up with and he was just like a fucking slippery snake, all he wanted to ask about was where Y/N is. I kept avoiding the question but I think he heard one of the employees mention she was at the hotel, and next thing I know? The fucker’s gone!”

“You were supposed to keep an eye on him!” Cregan panics, “Poor Y/N, now she’s going to have to deal with her ex and her kid and, and, and-” Baela cuts him off with a slap to the face, “Thank you. I needed that.”

“Now,” Baela rests her hands on his face, slapping him lightly again, “Go back to your boytoy. Enjoy until the party. Pump him for information. I’m going to sit here, drink my margarita, and pray to the Seven that Aemond doesn’t manage to find our friend and create some sort of catastrophe yet again, considering that seems to be what he’s best at.”

Cregan nods, grabbing a refill for both himself and Jace before returning to the latter, plastering a bright smile on his face. Meanwhile, Baela is approached by a rather handsome looking young man, probably a few years younger than all of you. She recognizes him as the guy you hired to put on the Spiderman costume and entertain the kids.

“Daeron,” she greets coolly, having been hit on by this kid numerous times already.

“Baela, hey gorgeous, you are looking sensational today,” he grins, “Look at that hair, those eyes-”

“Um, bartender, check this guy’s ID,” Baela drawls, gesturing at Daeron, “He looks twelve.”

His jaw drops, “I’m 22 for your information!” Daeron sighs with annoyance when the bartender insists on seeing his ID, “Fine! Here!”

He gets his beer and cracks it open, eyes on Baela all the while, who spits out another biting retort, “Does your mother know that you’re out?”

Daeron gives her a wink, “No, but you could be my Mommy, if you know what I mean-”

“Oh gods,” she groans, throwing her drink in his face and striding off.

“Was it something I said?” Daeron mumbles, confused.

When Aemond finds you, yet again, you almost take his breath away with how gorgeous you look in the early afternoon light. Just as gorgeous as the day he met you. He clears his throat awkwardly, leaning against the wall beside you. You ignore him, continuing to try and put together the Spiderman action figure you’re working on, but with little success.

“Can I try?” he asks gently, attempting to take it from your hands.

“No,” you snap angrily, “I can take care of the party favors for my child’s birthday party, thank you very fucking much.”

Aemond raises his hands in mock surrender, “But she isn’t just your child, is she, love?”

You glance up at him, pointing the action figure in his face with an annoyed glare, “Don’t call me that. And what does it matter to you who her father is?”

“You know very well why it matters to me,” he says quietly, following you into the kitchen where you start decorating her cake, “Love, please. Just talk to me. I’m right here and you’re acting like you’re a million miles away-”

“There’s nothing to talk about between us, Aemond,” you say, looking at him, setting down the tube of icing, “Nothing at all. I don’t want to talk about the past.”

“Love,” he rests a hand on your face, “I…”

“Does she,” you swallow thickly, “Does she kiss you like I used to? The girl you left me for?” Aemond isn’t able to reply to you before you push him away, “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I need to go.”

“Wait!” he calls after you, desperately, “Please, come back! I didn’t-”

He sits on the floor, burying his face in his hands. It’s just as bad as the first time he lost you. He tries to move on, he tries to salvage what’s left of his heart, but how can he? When you’re gone, it’s impossible for him to carry on without you. You have his heart. And now that he knows everything he could’ve had with you if he hadn’t been such an idiot, he can’t do anything but sit there and bear the consequences of his actions, watching your form retreating into the distance.

He loves you, he has always loved you, he will always love you. Aemond knows that now. He has never felt more alive than he does when he’s with you.

As you walk toward your room, you hear Laena’s bedroom door creak open, her head poking out. You quickly wipe your eyes and offer her a bright smile.

“Hey, birthday girl! Are you okay, my love?”

She opens the door, showing you the mess she’s made of her hair, looking at you sheepishly, “Will you help me, Mommy?”

You feel your throat go tight at her innocent little smile, the way this tiny little human calls you “Mommy” and loves you so completely. You nod, allowing her to drag you by the hand into her room, handing you her hairbrush and all of her accessories, wanting to get ready with you for her birthday party.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jace velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii #aegon ii x reader #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen #mamma mia fic #my writing

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holylulusworld · 26 days

Text

Summary: Broken hearts are hard to put back together. 8 years ago, Dean lost something he didn’t even know he had in the first place. Will he get a second chance?

Pairing: former AU!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, implied break-up, angry Sam, Mary bashing

A/N: This was an alternative idea for the first chapter of my Bucky story: Monster-in-law masterlist. I decided to use it for a story with Dean.

“Sammy, I can’t just go to her hotel and ask her to forgive me or take me back,” Dean mutters under his breath. Sam talked him into confronting Mary and to talk to you before you got the chance to fly back home.

“Dean, this is your only chance. We will talk to mother and ask her if she has anything to do with the missing note. After we clarified that our mother is the worst,” Sam snorts at Dean’s pained expression. “What? We both know our parents are the perfect example of a failed marriage and selfishness.”

“Do you honestly believe Mother had something to do with the missing note?” Dean asks. He still doesn’t want to believe his mother would do such a thing.

“Yes, I believe she is behind all of this. Mother invited Lisa, and she distracted you. Hell, she even refused to acknowledge Y/N’s presence.” Sam throws his hands up. “Wake up. Our mother is a manipulative mastermind.”

“I’m going to ask you this only once, Mother,” Sam stalks toward his mother. He straightens his back and tries to look even more intimating as he dwarfs his mother. “Did you steal the note Y/N left that night eight years ago? Yes or no.”

“Samuel, where is this coming from out of a sudden? How dare you come here to attack your own flesh and blood like that,” Mary sniffles. “I can’t believe my son talks like that to me.”

“I guess this means yes, Dean.”

“Mother, what did the note say?” Dean pleadingly looks at his mother. “I know you wanted me to get back together with Lisa, but please, I need to know if you took the note Y/N left.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she snaps at her son. “If you’d excuse me now. I got better things to do than letting my sons walk all over me.”

“Stop!” Sam blocks his mother’s path when she tries to leave the room. “You will answer Dean’s question. I know you don’t care that you ruined his relationship with Y/N and that he lost the woman he loved that night. But I will not let you ruin the one chance he got with Y/N.”

“Samuel,” she sniffs and wipes a fake tear off her cheek. “I didn’t take a note. I saw the ring, that’s all.”

“So, you admit that you entered their room that night,” Sam takes a step toward his mother and another. “Answer my question. Did you enter their room and take the note.” He gets louder with every word. “YES OR NO MOTHER!”

“YES!” She sneers. “I never liked that woman. She was no good for your brother. I invited Lisa to make him see what he was missing out. I took the note and left the ring. It was for the best.”

“What did she write?” Dean asks again. “I need to know.”

“I don’t remember,” she shrugs. “I burned the note, and that’s the end of the story. You should thank me.”

“You are dead to me,” Dean shakes his head when Mary tries to touch his arm. “You ruined the best thing ever happening to me. I can’t believe I was too blind to see that you’re a manipulative bitch.”

Dean turns on his heels and storms out of the house. He gets into his car to drive toward your hotel, forgetting about his brother and his hurt pride. He’ll try to get you back. No matter what.”

“Now that Dean is gone,” Sam’s voice is dangerously low as he leans closer. “You will tell me what she wrote. If not, I’ll make sure John will hear about your dirty little secret.” He smirks darkly when his mother whimpers. “The pool boy…”

Dean didn’t make it in time. When he arrived at your hotel, you already checked out. He drove as fast as possible, pushing his beloved car to its limit, but it was no use.

The airplane was in the air, and you were gone. Once again, he came too late…

“Mommy!” Your son runs toward you, giggling and laughing when you pick him up and twirl him around. “How was your flight? Did you get me something cool?”

“I got you something cool,” you whisper and peck his hair. “Look inside my back, baby. You’ll love it. Uncle Bobby got it for you.”

“Cool,” your son opens your bag to find another classic car model. It’s a 1967er Impala. A split-image of Dean’s car. The one your son wanted since he found an old picture of Dean and his car. “I love it, mommy.”

“I know baby,” you run your hand over his hair. You sigh but shake the sadness off. Seeing Dean after so many years hurt you more than you thought possible. “Let’s have dinner before we look for the perfect spot for the car.”

Your son was fast asleep while sleeping soundly on the couch. After dinner, and a long conversation with your son about cars, and the airplane he drew, you fell asleep on the couch.

The last days drained all the energy out of you, and you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that Dean had the guts to blame you for leaving. He even lied about the note you left.

Dean wrings his hands. He debates whether to use the number he got from Charlie or not. What if you don’t take his call? What if you don’t believe his mother stole the note you left?

He takes a deep breath and dials your number, waiting for you to pick up the phone.

Dean closes his eyes, holding his breath when you take the call.

"Hello, this is Ms. Y/L/N phone you are speaking to. I'm Michael Joseph Y/L/N, how can I help you?" Dean gasps at the other end of the line, whilst he tries to find his voice. He didn’t expect a child to answer his call.

"Hi, I'm Dean Winchester and I wanted to talk to your aunt Y/N Y/L/N..."

"That’s my mother, Sir. My aunt lives in France. I'm afraid my mother fell asleep on the couch. I'm asking you to call again in the morning."

"You're Y/N's son, huh?" Nosy Dean tries to get more information. "How old are you buddy? When is your birthday?"

"Why do you want to know?” your son asks. “Mom said not to tell strangers more about me. I don’t know you, so you are a stranger.”

“Uh-I’m an old friend of your mom. I’d like to give you something for your birthday,” Dean feels bad for lying to a child, but he can’t stop now.

“I'm seven, Sir. But I'll turn eight soon...well in a few months." Your son politely answers while Dean tries to remember how to do mathematics. His heart races and his jaw goes slack realizing he's got a child...with you. "Shall I tell my mom you called?"

"No, it's okay, buddy. I'll call her later..." Dean hastily says. The last thing he wants is for you to know that he knows about your sweet little secret.

Half an hour later Dean stands in front of Sam’s door, he harshly knocks and calls his brother’s name.

"SAM, Sammy, we got to fly to London, today,” he calls for his brother. “SAMMY! OPEN THE DOOR!

Sam opens the door. He yawns and rubs his tired eyes. “Dude, it's 2 am. Why are you at my apartment?" Sam grumbles. “Can’t this wait?”

"Sammy…I got a son,” Dean splutters and wildly gestures toward his car. “Y/N got my kid and I need to get to London...now..."

Tags in reblog.

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #spn #Designed by pain (4)

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redcoralpot · 7 months

Text

Smudged - Rodrick Heffley x FTM! Reader

Summary: Rodrick had been chasing after Heather for a year, now, even after ruining her birthday party. Chicks dig bad boys, right? However, one day, he stumbles upon a family member that even he didn't know she had, one that awakens a part of him that he didn't know existed.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3.3K

Notes: I had to fight Google Docs to finish this. AHHHHHHHHHH

The sun beat down on your arms, with rough concrete scratching your palms. Your ankles were dipped into the pool, a cool feeling enveloping them, and you used this to your advantage. A pink pool doughnut floated past, manipulated by the soft waves coming from other visitors, and you reached a foot out of the water with a splash!

“What the hell!” Heather shrieked, attempting to paddle away from you. “Don’t get your toe-water on me, freak!”

“Like I care,” you snickered, raising your foot to do it again.

“You’re going to start caring when I dump your eyeliner in the toilet!”

A pout tugged on your lips, “Hey, now, that’s going a little far, don’t you think?”

“Like I care,” she sneered, rolling her eyes.

The threat worked well enough, and you lowered your weapon, letting a hiss of air move a wisp out of your eyes. At least she wasn’t going to hide your pins inside the cookie jar… again.

You spread a sheen of water across your biceps, attempting to quell the heat that built up from the minutes spent sitting on the edge. It only provided a sense of relief for a moment before a shadow loomed over your little spot, the temperature dropping with the rays missing. A groan built up in your throat; he was here.

Rodrick Heffley. The infamous man himself; the lead singer and drummer of the one band that ruined a girl’s birthday party for the sake of courting her, a serenade full of copyright instead of romance. That girl happened to be the most popular in the school, the one that every guy was tripping over himself over. The one who, rather unfortunately, happened to be your sister.

Your neck twisted upwards, just to look at him, “What?”

“Didn’t know Heather had a brother,” he said, with a smug smile on his face.

“Huh.” You grinned, “I assumed you saw me at her party.”

The smile dropped, and was replaced with a sheepish look, “Uh, yeah, I was busy.”

“That’s a gentle way to put it.”

He cleared his throat, struggling to not take the bait, “But, hey, what grade are you in? I’ve never seen you around.”

“Same grade, different schools. We’re twins.”

“Oh, damn, really? I couldn’t tell, you two don’t look the same, at all!”

You were used to getting that comment from older generations, who hadn’t been to school in the last half-a-century, but from a late teen? Health and biology should be fresh in everyone’s minds, they all took it two years ago. Though, who were you kidding, this was Rodrick you were talking about. He probably tricked his parents into doing all the homework for him, or worse, bullied his little brother into it.

“Yeah, really. We’re fraternal twins, not identical.” You rolled your eyes.

There was no light bulb shining in his eyes, no signs that he even registered what you said, “Wait, what?”

“Two sperm, two eggs. Boom.”

“Still, it’s kinda sick that you two are complete,” he paused, “opposites.”

“Are you and Greg–”

“Me and that little nerd are not the same.”

“Then it’s the same concept.”

Rodrick kicked his sandals off before flopping on the edge beside you, cursing silently to himself when the rough ground scraped his hand. You gratefully took the chance to slide your own around your neck, cracking it out of its uncomfortable position. When you looked up again, he was watching you, his lips parted ever so slightly. He visibly swallowed, his Adam's apple betraying him.

“Where do’ya get your eyeliner from?”

“The pharmacy, duh. I won’t spend a lot on expensive eyeliner if I’m just going to smudge it in the end. By then, it all looks the same, why?”

“Just looking for some good brands to keep up my amazing makeup skills, that’s all.”

“So you don’t have to keep borrowing your mom’s?”

He squinted his eyes, peering at you, “How the hell do you know that?”

“Being Heather’s brother pays off sometimes; I hear all her calls.”

“She… talks about me?” You could hear the excitement, the hope growing in his voice.

It took only a needle to pop it, “Yeah, shit-talks. She doesn't want you, man.”

“Nah, all chicks dig bad boys! They can’t act cool about it forever.”

“You’re more of a wannabe than a bad boy. Listen, if you’re hoping to get with Heather through me, you’re out of luck.”

He backed up, eyes wide, “Woah, woah, I never said that. It’d be a cool plus, sure, but I just wanted to talk to a cool dude.”

“Sure. Well, if you ever need some more eyeliner brands, I’m your man. Can’t promise that they won’t all be dumped in the toilet by tonight, though.”

“Why would they be–”

“Hey, newsflash,” A high voice called out from across the pool, doughnut in tow, “we promised to be back at home by five!”

“Oh, Heather, I have a show coming up; I could get you and the chicks some free tickets to it.” Rodrick hopped on one foot while struggling to get his sandals back on, that smirk creeping back onto his face.

You shook your head and decided to take your feet out of the pool, padding to your lounge chair. Drying them off on your towel, you roughhoused your socks and shoes on, worn to shreds after inspiration from Joey Ramone. Your father had been lucky enough to score tickets to one of his shows back in the late 80’s, and he recalls it as one of the best nights of his life. Not simply because he got to go to a concert, no, his buddy even had to convince him to go in the first place. It was one of his favorite recollections to tell to his two, and then three, children as they grew up.

Rodrick was promptly ignored by Heather as she walked over to you, and his eyes followed her as she dumped her float and bag into your arms. Only the tips of her hair were wet, and like you, had a dry pair of clothes on already. You had to wrestle with the weight until you had a clear view of the ground in front of your shoes.

After you passed the boy on your way to the exit, you called back, “Good luck with the show, Heffley!”

The walk back to the car was a short, but humid one; even from the distance you could see a slip of folded paper stuck in between your left windshield wiper, pale against the dark interior of the car. You managed to set your sister’s bag on the hood, and with light fingers, you plucked the note out of its hiding place, unfolding it.

“Looks like we had a visitor;” You couldn’t help but chuckle while reading it, “Löded Diper.”

Heather fumed, “Are you kidding me?”

“You don’t need to go, yeah?” You shrugged, ducking into the driver’s seat.

“It’s annoying!”

“I can’t exactly say it’s harmless after the party fiasco, but just know I’ll chase him off if he tries anything like that again.”

“Ugh.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

You smiled, tucking the invitation deep into your pocket.

Dawdling with Heather’s time in the pool had earned you two missing sticks of makeup, and it was not hard to guess where they had gone the next time you took a piss. You forced yourself not to lash out at your sister, as surely that would make it worse, and just gritted your teeth as you flung the ruined containers into the trash. It truly made you wonder just how Rodrick had come to fall head over heels– literally, in some sense– for the girl. Hell, she treated him worse than you, from the things Holly had whispered to you at the dinner table.

The sun was just starting to set in the sky, light blue bleeding into orange as the pharmacy blocked the sun. You kicked a rock into the entrance, and the small clack caused the doors to slide open in front of you. It was a little late for the nightly rush; the very last of the families were finishing up their shopping, their kids squealing at the gum displayed by the cashier. He was a lean, stiff-looking guy, with sunken eyebags and a dim grin on his face.

You whistled a tune under your breath, convincing him to turn to look at you, “You’re not paid enough for this, dude.”

“You think?” His smile dropped, and he rolled his eyes, “Why the hell are you here, anyway?”

“Holly isn’t sick, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“And?”

“But someone was sick enough to sabotage my makeup,” you said, flicking his silver name tag. Daniel.

Daniel slapped your hand away, gesturing to your bare eyes, “That part was obvious. Another guy with raccoon eyes slid in here only a few minutes earlier, looking for the same brand you always get, so I kind of assumed he was here to replenish your stash.”

“What? I’m here alone.”

“Really?” He came in close. “You’re sure you aren’t on a–”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You pushed his face back, your pointer finger squishing his nose.

A couple wandered up to the counter, baby in arms, snot running down its red chin. Their basket was full to the brim, and although Daniel’s winner grin instantly grew, you knew he just wanted to clock out. Snickering, you stuck your hands into your pockets, your wrists scratching against your studded belt as you disappeared into an aisle. The makeup section was located near the back of the pharmacy, filled with flickering lights and shelves full of a few select, cheap brands or clumps of dust. Typically, the only customers that wandered that far back were pre-teens or cigarette mothers; the kind of people who don’t give a shit about what they’re buying as long as it’s cheap.

However, as you sauntered over to the first row of shelves, a head full of brown, lazily styled hair greeted you instead. Not the odor of burnt tobacco, though it still stuck to the white walls in yellowish-gray globs, but the scent of the cheap cologne that followed you around the pool. Rodrick was hanging over quite a specific section, chewing his bottom lip. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as you looked on behind him in amusement.

Leaning against the wall, you chuckled, “Took my advice, huh, Heffley?”

Rodrick jumped, and hissed under his breath. His posture shot up, his head turning to look at you; a pathetic attempt at saving face, really. No words were said for a long minute, only interrupted by the gargling screeches of a baby. What had Daniel done?

“I thought drug stores selling makeup was a lie, so I had to fact check!” He said,

holding up his hands.

“You think I’d lie to you?”

“Hey, my mom taught me stranger danger.”

“Since when do you listen to your mom?” You reached past him, snatching up a container, “You obviously have no idea what to look for.”

Rodrick shuffled out of your way, and huffed at your comment. “I totally do!”

“Okay, then, pencil, felt, or liquid? Which do you prefer?”

“I think felt’s the best.”

At that confident response, you stepped closer, getting in his face. He didn’t have too much makeup on, actually; just messily applied eyeliner and a too-light eyebrow pencil. A light pink dusted his cheeks, now that you were able to get a good look at them– his eyes widened, preventing you from doing the same for his eyes. You bit your cheek, your own eyebrows furrowing.

“Relax, dude, I’m trying to look,” you snapped, and used his chin to force him to face upwards.

Even as his shoulders relaxed and his eyelids drooped, he mumbled, “You’re taller than I remember.”

You released his face. Without someone to lean on, Rodrick stumbled, his breathing heavy, despite him never doing anything but laze around. Stepping back, you gave him a knowing grin, pleased at your find. He didn’t seem to process it, lifting a hand to feel up his own jaw. It clicked shut with a snap.

“Liar, you’re wearing pencil eyeliner,” you snickered.

“How the hell could you tell?”

You reached for another container, “Unless you have shit coordination, it’s less precise than liquid is. Creamier, too.”

“That’s sick, man.”

Tapping the pencil into his hand, you kicked his foot, urging him to take it, “I recommend this brand if you’re a fan of that. It’s cheap, so you can stop using up all of your mom’s.”

“Ow!”

He pulled his foot up with one, gripping the eyeliner with the other. Hopping back, he seemed like a really pissed, wounded puppy as he glared at your boots, “Why’d you kick me with those monsters?”

“Monsters? These are Doc Martens, ‘1460’. How do you expect to impress Heather if you can’t even handle a tap to the heel?”

“Excuse me, I let it get run over by a car for her! Barely reacted.”

“So I heard.” You shook your head.

A voice shouted from the intercom, “Are you two done back there? The store’s closing in five, you’re the only ones left, and I’ll lock you in here if you make me work a minute overtime!”

The two of you rushed to the front, pushing and shoving each other into the aisles in order to get to the counter first. Rodrick, out of shape, lost after he landed back-first into packages of gauze. Daniel, the man himself, was even more unimpressed at the scene than he sounded over the intercom, and looked in back and forth between you. He cracked his knuckles, getting to work on scanning the two tiny pencils; he did not even bother to put them in a plastic bag. He scratched his chin, squinting at the screen.

“That’ll be $2.48.”

You pulled out a five dollar bill out of your wallet, “I’ll pay.”

“Shit, I’m okay with that.” Rodrick shrugged.

Daniel stared him down as he snatched the bill out of your hand, “Aren’t you Rodrick Heffley? Greg’s older brother?”

“Duh, the one and only!” Rodrick said, and Daniel turned to you.

“Since when were you buddy-buddy with him? Heather hates his guts.”

“We aren’t buddy-buddy,” you scoffed, and an affronted noise came from beside you. “I only officially met him yesterday, when he was harassing her again. Pretty sure he only talked to me to find out more about Heather.”

The register finished its business with a ding. The cashier handed you your change, taking the opportunity to slide his uniform vest off of his body. You pocketed it along with your stick of eyeliner, almost throwing Rodrick’s at him. Meanwhile, Daniel had disappeared behind a door locked to customers, a clear message to get out of the store while he still allowed it. Your shoes hit the tiled floor with heavy thumps; Rodrick’s steps were silent compared to yours. Your own footsteps quieted as soon as you exited the store, muted by the asphalt ground of the parking lot.

Rodrick had pulled in with his van, clearly not the smartest move if he had wanted to be inconspicuous. It had a cheap, white paint job that was stained with words spray painted in black, uncentered and tilted. Your car, on the other hand, was a tiny thing that belonged to your mother, who would absolutely murder you if you even got a dent in it from a passing stick. The sun had long dipped under the horizon, causing the deep red color to read as crimson. However, before you could get in, one hand on the door, Rodrick called out to you.

“Thanks for… stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “That’s the first time I think anybody has ever witnessed you say thanks.”

You slammed your car door shut with you inside, watching Rodrick scramble for safety inside his van. The car’s windshield was dark with the fresh evening sky, and you could finally relax in privacy. Turning the key to start the engine, you then flicked on the radio, one arm occupied by resting near the window. An unfamiliar tune, a new release, started playing, as you backed out of your spot; speeding off. If someone asked you about it later, you would have sworn that you saw the boy staring at your fleeting vehicle.

Truth be told, your family lived in a rich neighborhood that was too well put together for something so close to a highway. Your house wasn’t the biggest in the residency, but it was decent enough to see the golden lights shining through the treetops. Living near a long line of stores was an advantage, you supposed, if a zombie apocalypse happened; but that wouldn’t. At least while you were still alive or young enough to fight some off. Otherwise, it was noisy, and you had to drown out the sounds of motorcycles, cars, and fights breaking out to focus on anything after school.

Your driveway was smooth; any rocks had been smoothed out by the machines rolling over them daily. A few flower bushes lined it– your mother had been insistent about it– and their thorns occasionally caught on your pants when you walked past. Everyone seemed to still be awake as you slipped through the door, keys jingling, since Holly jumped down the stairs to greet you.

She whispered, “Where’d you go?”

“The pharmacy, why are we whispering?” You grinned, matching her energy.

“I didn’t know if mom and dad knew,” she responded, louder, “You got grounded for a month last time you snuck out.”

“Okay, okay, shh, back to whispering.”

You climbed up the stairs, not bothering to let Heather know you had returned. Her voice carried throughout the walls, as she was complaining on call about projects, about boys, about Rodrick. Every time she talked with her friends, she complained about the ‘tough guy’ who deluded himself into thinking she was secretly into him, every time he acted up. All the girls seemed to have formed a hate club for the drummer, and if Holly had anything to say about it, it was that some of the teachers joined it as well.

As soon as you shut your bedroom door, you bent down to untie your Doc’s purple ties, tugging the boots off and throwing them in your closet. You slipped your pants off, then your boxers, leaving only your secondary underwear to hold your pad inside. Before you could throw both garments in your hamper, you paused, feeling a crinkle underneath your hand. You reached down into the pocket, pulling out a wrinkled, ripped piece of paper. Thoughtfully, you smoothed it out, pinning it on your cork board as you tossed your clothes into the pile.

Two free tickets to their upcoming show, meant for Heather. It would take a lot in order to drag Daniel to the event with you, as a plus one, but you were sure you were capable. As you settled into bed, you thought back to all the things your twin had said about the band, and the party. That celebration had been the only time you had heard their music, and it wasn’t even their song, more so a cover.

You gently placed the pencil on your bedside, only able to see the outline of it in the moonlight. If he was only being nice to you for Heather’s approval, why had he taken your advice? That mystery should bother you, should keep you up, like it did last night. But truly?

You could not find it in yourself to care.

#x male reader #male reader #lgbtq #gay #transgender #male y/n #ftm reader #diary of a wimpy kid #rodrick heffley #diary of a wimpy kid rodrick #Bi Rodrick Heffley #gay awakening

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hwknshellfire · 2 years

Text

midnight visitor - billy hargrove x harrington!reader

pairing: billy x harrington!reader

summary: billy climbs in your window after an episode with his dad and you try to hide your relationship from your big bro steve

length: 1.9k (i got carried away with soft!billy)

warnings: mainly fluff, soft!billy, mentions of sex, mentions of abuse (billy's dad)

a.n: set around s2/3 ish? there are no volume 2 spoilers in this post!

It was late on a Tuesday night and as usual, you were doing homework, books sprawled out on your bed. You’d been at it for hours and your eyes stung but there was a huge test coming up that you couldn't fail. It would ruin your whole Harrington reputation and since your older brother, Steve, graduated, it was up to you to continue the family legacy.

The problem was, you didn’t care much. It’s not that you didn’t care about your education, because you did and you were grateful. But your parents (when they were around) would put immense amounts of pressure on you and you hated it. Steve managed to break away from it a bit and a part of you hated him a little for it, but you couldn’t blame him. If you could, you would forget about an Ivy League school and stay in Hawkins with your friends, get a job and have the life you actually wanted. And it was thanks to a certain someone who helped you realise what you actually wanted, not your parents - Billy Hargrove.

You’d met on his first day of school when he’d waltzed in late to your math class and his entire persona dripped of Bad Boy. And yet, there was a certain nervousness to him as he sat beside you, fingers drumming on the desk repetitively. After a while, it got on your nerves enough for you to place your hand on top of it to stop the incessant noise. He had blinked and looked at you - and that was it. You had fallen head over heels for him.

No one could know, at first. If your friends (and Steve) found out that you were dating the school’s, hell, Hawkins’, biggest bad boy then you would be murdered on sight. It didn’t take Billy long to replace your brother’s ‘King Steve’ place and even though you were fairly popular too, you still couldn’t tell anyone that Y/N Harrington was in love with Billy Hargrove. But, steadily, people found out. Max and Lucas were first after they caught you and Billy in the middle of things after school one day and you swore them to secrecy. But of course, Lucas told Dustin, Mike, and Will. And if the boys knew, it was only a matter of time before your brother found out.

Somehow, it had been a month and Steve hadn’t said a word to you. You picked up your history textbook as you thought about it. Did Steve know? Had the boys finally told him and he just hadn’t addressed it yet or did he truly not know?

A tap on your window rouses you from your thoughts. You frowned. Did you imagine it? The clock on your bedside table told you it was near midnight. You’d been studying since seven and had barely stopped to breathe. Maybe you were just tired. But then it came again and you definitely hadn’t imagined that.

You rose from your bed, papers and books shifting at the disturbance. Your bedroom overlooked the pool and the floodlights outside barely illuminated a figure at the bottom of your window, but this was a familiar enough routine that you knew who it was. You unlatched your window and pushed it all the way up, leaning out. The night air made your bare arms break out in goosebumps and you shivered.

“Billy?” you whispered, hoping that Steve was asleep in the room next door. Your parents were away for the week so you didn’t have to worry about them, but Steve was like a watchdog.

Normally, Billy would be leaning against the wall with a smirk on his mouth and a quip ready on his lips that would always wind up with the pair of you tangled in your bedsheets and out of breath. But sometimes…sometimes he was quiet. Sad. Beaten.

Tonight was one of these times.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice almost broken. You wondered how bad it was this time.

“Come on,” you said simply. He always waited for permission before entering your bedroom and you found that sweet, even in the state he was in. Slowly, you watched him climb up the side of your house, using the windows and pipes and the sheer strength of his muscles to pull himself into your window. You helped him in and pulled the window back down as quietly as you could but you stumbled and it landed with a clatter. You tensed and both you and Billy waited for sounds of Steve. Sure enough, his footsteps sounded down the hall and there was a knock on your day.l “Y/N? Everything alright in there?” Steve voice came from outside your bedroom door.

“Yep, all good!” you called back, hoping you were convincing. “My window got stuck again.”

“Oh, okay. Well, night!” Steve replied and you listened to him leave, only relaxing when you heard his bedroom door close again.

When you turned around, you gasped. Billy’s eye was almost swollen shut and there was a lovely, vicious bruise forming along his jaw. His top lip was also split, slightly swollen and dried blood painted it. Your heart sank to the floor. “Oh, Billy,” you sighed.

He finally met your eyes, shining with tears. “’S not that bad,” he brushed it off. “But I can’t clean it up.” You picked up on what he was asking without words, as always. He was asking for help.

You swallowed thickly and nodded. “Of course. Come here.” You led him to your bed as always and he perched on the edge, careful to move your books to the side.

As you went to your desk to retrieve your supplies for these situations, Billy glanced around your room. On his usual visits, he never really paid any attention to it. He was otherwise occupied. But whenever he showed up like this, he studied every inch of it as if by examining the walls, he was examining the inside of your brain. And, you supposed, he was.

He looked at which record you had listened to most recently (Queen’s The Works) and what books you were reading (a lot of Jane Austen, looking at your bookcase). He loved learning little details about your life that you didn’t realise he cared about. He’d also never admit it out loud but he loved listening to you talk for hours about what you loved, thinking that he had no idea what you were talking about when really he knew exactly what you were saying.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. Your back was turned but you frowned at him as you turned around, first aid kit in your hand.

“Sorry?” you repeated. “For what?”

He waved around your room. “For interrupting so late. Didn’t mean to.”

You came over and knelt on the floor between his legs. There was nothing remotely sexual about it this time and you took his hands gently in yours and made him look at you. “Billy, it’s fine. I’d rather you be here than there.” He knew where you meant. At home, with his asshole father that did this to him. You wondered what Billy had done this time that had caused his father to flip. You never asked explicitly. If Billy wanted to tell you, he would. He usually didn’t and you never pressed. But you knew it was usually about Max and how he should be more responsible for her. Which, you thought, was rather unfair. Max was her own person and god knows she had a mind of her own. Billy didn’t want to look after his step sister all the time and you understood that. But his father didn’t.

You took a deep breath as he nodded. Letting go of his hands, you unzipped the first aid kit and got to work. “This is going to hurt,” you said like always, even though he knew. This had happened enough times that he knew exactly what would happen when you pressed a cloth with alcohol to his lip to clean the wound. He hissed and you used your other hand to grip his leg to keep him still. He placed his hands on your shoulders to keep himself steady as you worked to clean up the mess his father had left.

You tried to fill the silence with distractions. “So Steve hasn’t said anything yet.”

Billy’s eyebrow on his good eye lifted in surprise. “No? Interesting.” He mumbled. “Reckon he knows I’m banging the better looking Harrington?” You gave him a look and smacked him arm very lightly, but a smile tugged at your lips. There was Billy’s humour returning. He grinned at you. “What?” he said innocently. “I’m being honest. You really are better looking than him.”

“Oh, shut up,” you scolded but your tone was entirely un-serious. “To answer your question properly, no I don’t think he knows yet. There’s no way in hell he’d be quiet if he found out what you were doing to his baby sister.”

Billy smirked. “Maybe we should tell him. I could do with a good laugh right about now.”

You set down your supplies as you finished and tossed the blood-stained cloths in the bin. “Absolutely not,” you shook your head before standing up and looking down at him. You pressed a soft kiss to his temple. “All done and all handsome again.”

He brought you closer to him and wrapped his arms around your middle. His head rested on your stomach and you gently played with his hair for a moment. “Thank you,” he mumbled into your top.

“Always,” you told him sincerely.

He sighed and pulled away. “I suppose I should get back. I’ve disturbed your study session enough.” He made to stand up but you shook your head.

“Uh-uh. There’s no way you’re going back home tonight. You know the drill, Hargrove.” He blinked at your sudden dominance and bowed his head, relenting.

“Yes, sir,” he huffed a laugh and looked at your bed, head cocked. “I would offer to put this shit away but we both know I’d mess with your system.”

“Quite right,” you nodded before gathering your study materials and quietly placing them on your desk. Then you got ready for bed as usual, turning off the main light and putting on your night light that Billy had teased you about for weeks the first time he’d visited your room. You tossed Billy one of his spare t-shirts that you kept in the bottom drawer of your dresser and the pair of you dressed for bed, removing your jeans and climbing into bed beside each other.

You laid with your head on his chest, listening to his breathing, glad he was okay. Nights like this always humbled you, grateful for the family you had even though you had your own problems. At least your parents never hurt you the way Billy’s dad did to him.

“Goodnight, princess,” Billy said quietly, pressing a kiss to your head.

“Night, Billy.” He snuggled in closer and turned the pair of you until your back was pressed against his chest. But as you moved, something shifted in the bed and fell out, landing with a hard slam on the floor.

“Shit!” you hissed, the pair of you sitting up to see a stray textbook on the floor. You’d missed one.

“Y/N?” Steve was outside the door again and you barely had time to stop him before he opened the door. As Steve’s eyes landed on you, his baby sister, and Billy Hargrove in bed together, he screamed.

“Shit,” you repeated.

As Steve began to lecture you, Billy pressed a kiss to your shoulder and muttered, “Well, I guess your brother knows.”

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star1117-archives · 2 years

Text

𝐀𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬

➵ Pairing : OT8 x Fem!Y/N

➵ Genre : Fluff + Suggestive

➵ W.C : 2369

➵ Warnings : Insinuated sex, Swearing, Sexual tension, Jealousy, Kissing, Dirty talk.

➵ Network : @cacaokpop-fics

𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐰𝐚 - His Jewellery

“Y/N?! Where’s my chain?!”

Seonghwa was rifling through his jewellery box in a hectic frenzy, trying to find his favourite chain. It was a gift from the boys, all of them pooling their money together to get him an expensive one he’d been ogling once on a shopping trip. It was a thin chain with dog tags, the small metal plates reading ATEEZ and their debut date. It was definitely valuable to him, so the thought that he might’ve misplaced it, or even lost it, shook him to his core.

“Right here, Hwa!”

Sighing in relief, Seonghwa went into the living room, guessing that’s where you were. It was there he was met with a jaw-dropping sight, finding his chain nestled between your breasts, only exposed due to your low-cut top. His eyes almost seemed to bulge out of his skull, while you looked away in embarrassment. He seemed pretty mad at you.

“I didn’t take it, I swear! I-I found it between the couch cushions and wanted to t-try it on..”

You didn’t dare to look Seonghwa in the eye, your feet suddenly very interesting as he approached you. When his fingers toyed with the dog tags however, you looked up at him in confusion. This was how you missed Seonghwa looping the chain around his finger before he pulled you forward, a smirk decorating his lips.

“It suits you, you should wear it more often.”

And with that, he let you go, turning away with a small chuckle while you stayed frozen in place. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, and you knew that even a cold shower might not extinguish the flames.

“Fuck, I should take his shit more often.”

𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠 - His Jacket

It was date night, and as usual you had not come prepared. Your revealing outfit had been fine in the restaurant, but while on a walk Hongjoong had suggested to digest your food, you cursed at your past self for ditching a jacket since it would ‘ruin the fit’. All you wanted right now however was your big ugly puffer jacket, fuck the fit. It was cold, and it was windy, and every man you passed practically craned his neck to look at you, most likely since your nipples felt painfully erect. It was fucking horrible. Your thoughts were soon interrupted by Hongjoong’s laugh however, scowling at him as you fought the urge to shiver and chatter your teeth. The last thing you wanted to hear right now was ‘I told you so’.

“The fuck’s so funny?”

Rolling his eyes, Hongjoong shrugged his blazer off, offering it to you. When you sullenly turned your head the other way, he scoffed before draping it over your shoulders, wrapping his arm around you afterwards so you could share body heat. You begrudgingly cuddled closer into him, goosebumps still evident on your skin as Hongjoong triumphantly smirked at you.

“Oh fuck off, I didn’t ask for this.”

Hongjoong just pressed a kiss to your temple, rubbing his hand on your outer arm to create friction.

“I never said anything.”

Your voice turned whiny as you replied, burying your face into Hongjoong.

“You’re doing your ‘I told you so’ eyes!”

Stopping abruptly, Hongjoong turned to you, something in his expression changing to an emotion much darker.

“Really? I thought I was giving you my ‘You wear this dress in public again and I’m gonna fuck you in it’ eyes.”

𝐘𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐨 - His Shirt

When Yunho woke up to an empty bed, he sleepily groped your side of it, confused as to why he was alone. It was a little annoying, especially since all he wanted right now was to snuggle you in the secure warmth of the bedsheets, but nevertheless he dragged himself out in search of you. He trudged through the rented apartment, eventually perking up however when he found you cooking breakfast in his shirt from last night.

You hadn’t noticed his presence yet, back turned to him as the delicious aroma of your food attacked Yunho’s senses. His stomach rumbled, but all he could think about was you. He quickly closed the gap between the two of you, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your exposed shoulder when you jumped.

“Sorry baby, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Humming, you continued what you were doing, albeit a little slower now that you had Yunho clinging to you. His face nuzzled your neck, breath tickling your baby hairs as he pressed kissed all over your neck and shoulders. When you had to move however, you pulled his face away by his chin and pressed a kiss to his lips before pulling away. You plated up the food while Yunho poured the two of you some drinks before sitting down. He had a dopey smile on his face as he watched you garnish the food before bringing it to him and sitting down too.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking…”

You let out a little ‘mhm’ as you ate a spoonful of food, your full concentration on Yunho. He squirmed a bit under your gaze, ears and cheeks tinting as he struggled to articulate himself.

“And y’know, we’ve been together a while now… Seeing Seonghwa get married just… it really got me thinking.”

You couldn’t help the beaming smile that overtook your expression, eyes watering.

“You-… You wanna…?”

“Y/F/N, I wanna wake up next to you every day for the rest of my life. I wanna go to sleep holding you in my arms. So I’m gonna work my ass off to get you the most beautiful ring I can find, and then I’m gonna marry your ass.”

𝐘𝐞𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠 - His Jeans

He found it adorable when you strutted out of your room with his jeans from last week, the waist belted with a stylish belt with a heart buckle. His lips curled up into a smile, standing up and adjusting the semi-formal shirt he was wearing, holding out a hand to you.

“Give us a twirl, baby.”

Nodding with a giggle, you spun around on the spot before taking his hand, a warm smile on your face. You let him pull you closer, his hand now resting on the small of your back as his forehead connected with yours.

“You like it?“

Yeosang pressed a quick kiss to your lips, his hands now falling to your waist as he left fleeting kisses up to your ear. His breath tickled your baby hairs as he spoke, the smirk on his face evident in his tone.

“I fucking love it, baby.”

You fought the urge to shiver from the sultry sound of his voice, your mouth drying as he squeezed your sides. He then turned you around, resting you against the sofa he’d been leaning on as his hands ventured dangerously high. When he let himself rest against you, closing the distance between your bodies, you felt a hard reminder of the reason you and Yeosang usually got to the party a little too late to be fashionable.

“I’m sure the others won’t mind if we get… stuck in traffic again.”

𝐒𝐚𝐧 - His Lip balm

Sitting next to you on the sofa, San had an arm wrapped around your shoulders, his finger drawing small circles on your arm. The movie you were watching wasn’t necessarily bad, but his concentration on it was fleeting at best. He just wanted an excuse to hold you in all honesty, not that he needed one. When you noticed his attention was elsewhere, you turned to him with mild concern. Usually San would be engrossed in films like these.

“You okay?”

San turned to you in surprise, nodding with a smile. His gaze strayed from your eyes to your lips.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Stroking a hair out of your face, San let his hand fall to the side of your neck, supporting it as if he wanted you to anticipate his next move.

“Have I reminded you today that you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever met?”

You shook your head with a smile, your arms wrapping around San’s neck as you edged closer.

“No you didn’t, it hurt me a little bit..”

Fake pouting at San, he chuckled quietly and pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear, whispering into it.

“Why don’t I show you just how beautiful you are then, Hm?”

Crashing his lips onto yours, San smiled into the embrace when his tongue traced your bottom lip, the remnants igniting his taste buds. Strawberry cheesecake, his favourite lip balm. Almost as if he was egged on by this revelation, San’s hands traversed your body, the kiss becoming disorganised and needy, your teeth clashing. He sank his teeth into your lower lip, hungrily pulling at them while you gasped into his mouth. Smirking, San pulled away, panting as he spoke.

“Your lips taste so nice, almost as nice as how swollen they look, baby.”

Before you could even retort, he had laid you down onto the sofa, his hands pulling at your waistband.

“Fuck, I just can’t help myself. You’re addictive, Y/N.”

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢 - His Cologne

It was a pleasant surprise when Mingi breathed in the scent of his cologne as he entered your shared bedroom. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, smiling before approaching you. His hands snaked around your waist before he pressed a kiss to your cheek, nuzzling your neck while whispering onto your perfumed skin. Your gazes connected in the mirror.

“You smell good. What, you want everyone to know you’re mine?”

Chuckling, you stroked his head as he left little butterfly kisses over your neck and exposed shoulder. Your free hand fell to his ones situated on your midriff, interlocking fingers with him.

“Perhaps, or maybe I just wanted to drive you crazy.”

Chuckling, Mingi turned you around and pressed a few kisses to your lips, thumb stroking your cheek. He couldn’t help but take another deep breath before he replied, his hands toying at your clothing.

“Well, mission accomplished. I gotta go call Hongjoong.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at this, the question on the tip of your tongue when Mingi answered it for you with a mischievous smirk.

“Forget the club, tonight’s about you n’ me. Let’s open some wine and have a little… body party, hm?”

𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 - His Boxers

Wrapping a towel around your body, you chuckled when you caught Wooyoung blatantly staring, a pervy smile on his face. However, when your eyes connected, he simply looked away with a huff before you could call him out, getting his own towel and drying off. You left him in the bathroom to grab your underwear, picking up your bra only to notice that your panties were ripped. A hot fire struck your cheeks as you remembered how Wooyoung had gotten a little too impatient with the flimsy material, opting to rip it off of your lower half instead.

“Woo! You fucked up my underwear!”

Wooyoung instantly hit back, tone teasing as he called out to you.

“Wear none then, I definitely won’t mind!”

Rolling your eyes, you hunted for Wooyoung’s underwear drawer, cursing yourself for forgetting to bring a change of clothes. Eventually you found it, slipping on a pair of black Calvin Klein boxers, about to clip your bra into place. It was then Wooyoung came out, a smirk overtaking his features as he shamelessly looked you up and down.

“Need help?”

You shook your head and turned away, unintentionally giving Wooyoung a clear view of the curve of your ass. His eyes didn’t stray from your body for one second.

“Nah thanks, I wanna put my clothes on, not off.”

When you turned your head and saw that Wooyoung was still staring, your voice lost some of its teasing tone.

“You don’t mind that I’m using your boxers, right? It’ll only be this once, I promise I’ll bring a change of clothes next time.”

Coming up behind you, Wooyoung held your hair out of the way, pressing a chaste kiss to your neck before clipping your bra into place for you. It surprised you, such softness out of character for him. His next sentence however reassured you that there was nothing wrong with your boyfriend, and that moment was just a one-off.

“Don’t, my clothes suit you better. Only problem is, I’ll constantly wanna rip them off you.”

𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨 - His Hoodie

When you nervously came out of Jongho’s bathroom in his jumper, he swore his heart melted. It looked good on you, the colour suited you well. He smiled warmly at you when you sat on the edge of the bed, cheeks heated as you avoided eye contact. The distance between the two of you confused him a little bit, but nonetheless he spoke up.

“You look really pretty in that. It’s like that jumper is made for you.”

All you could manage was a small ‘thank you’, now toying with your fingertips and concentrating on them. Jongho noticed how you gulped however, about to question the awkward atmosphere when you finally spoke.

“I know you want to take things slow, Jjong… and I know three months is a bit early..”

When you paused and finally looked up at him, Jongho’s gaze was reassuring as he gave you a slight nod, showing you that he was paying full attention. He scooted closer to you, grabbing your hand as he rubbed his thumb soothingly on the back of it just like you liked it. This small action was all it took for you to open up, eyes wide as you looked up at him.

“I.. would really like it… if you moved in with me.”

Jongho couldn’t help the chuckle that fell from his lips, pressing a kiss to your lips before you could negatively interpret his laughter. His hand cupped your cheek, the other falling to your waist, toying with the material before pulling away, his face mere centimetres from yours.

“I’d really like to, on one condition.”

You hummed inquisitively, waiting for Jongho’s answer as he smiled sheepishly, cheeks tinting slightly.

“You gotta steal my stuff every once in a while, my clothes suit you better than me.”

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