#||x A CURIOUS IDEA [ musings ] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

joelhoney · 7 months

Text

#1 girl

pairing: dbf joel miller x afab/sorority sister reader

kenny here... tumblr Blipped me u guys. but i loved this too much to let it waste into nothingness. so here we go again take two using an ancient blog i never even used (from 2016 mind u...) enjoy!

You're too wrapped up in sorority duties to remember somebody's supposed to pick you up and drive you home tonight. One pissed-off Joel, curious conversation, and cowboy hat later, your evening takes an unexpected turn.

warnings: no outbreak au, dbf!joel, self gratuitous age gap (21/51), shy reader w/ some bursts of confidence, blowjob (m receiving), handjob (f receiving), dirty talk, praise, degradation too..., overuse of pet names... must b all

Of all the ways you imagined spending your fifth day of spring break, the last was in your dad’s best friend’s pickup truck with lame rock playing dryly through the console radio. In fact, last is generous—the idea itself had never even been conjured in your head.

The reason why is because you and your dad’s best friend—Mr. Miller—don’t typically interact beyond the confines of dinners, mandatory laughter, and the occasional one-on-one about something like boys in college, or classes in college, or the drive to college. Nothing much had changed when you moved the brief drive away to UT Austin, and between you everything’s remained the same, even now in your senior year.

For instance, a break—summer, spring, winter—would begin with your parents picking you up and shuttling off to the house, and end with an affair of the similar sort. Quickly into your first year, though, you learned to always insist you either leave school late or leave home early for spring break to take advantage of campus parties, especially because your senior year had cemented your shiny new position as President of Alpha Phi.

Any officer position in a sorority already came with a good deal of responsibility, let alone the presidency; and in addition to having recently turned twenty-one, the role required you to exhaust every drop of social battery, every ounce of skill you had at party hosting and alcohol obtaining without the use of a flimsy fake.

The eliminated nerves of using fakes made you much less nervous during parties, which often led to you letting more loose than usual. This party you’re in was thrown by some frat on campus, but this house is your last place of four; first two pregames, then a bar, then here. At some point at the bar your sisters had surprised you with a fun gift for the night, so you’re also wearing a pink sash, onto which rhinestones spelling out #1 Girl have been glued with precision.

Already you’re dizzy, wiping clammy fingers on the stiff cotton of your tight tank top, the curve of your tits spilling over the Alpha Phi logo. It’s small on you, the hem high above your navel and higher above the loose, low hem of your denim shorts. If they fell low enough on your hips, the high arch of your pink thong would’ve shown itself—maybe it did at some point, you’re too loopy to care.

“Oh, no,” you’re saying, but you can barely hear yourself over the rap song playing and everyone singing along, “no, I hate Jäger.” You’re shaking your head at your best friend and Vice President, Lia, who raises two handfuls of the opaque liquid. She shakes her head, sets them down on the table you’re leaning against.

“Lighten up, duuude. We’re taking them to celebrate your first and last spring break as President.”

“Aw, fine,” you muse loudly, giving in. “Only this once.” Out of obligation and genuine gratitude, you allow yourself to stomach your least favorite drink—then another, and another, a bit of each shot dribbling down the column of your throat and stickily onto your chest.

Lia snaps at the red bra strap that peeks out of your tank strap, laughing. “Settle down, Prez.” A partygoer, rowdy as they come, roughly deposits a sweaty cowboy hat onto your head and you yelp in surprise, steadying it. Whoever gave this, I’m keeping it! you holler, laughing as you feed yourself a shot of something your tongue enjoys more.

Absolut crowds the inside of your mouth when you take it back, interrupted only when a hand comes to shake at your shoulder. In your rush to turn, you nearly hit them with your hat.

It’s Cole, a good friend and member of the frat whose house you’re currently getting tipsy in. His eyes are rimmed and the whole air of him smells like weed. He offers one greeting: “Yo.” His eyes slide down to your chest, where your tugged-down tank has exposed a few inches of your red bra’s lacy cups.

“Hey,” you say, the syllable sounding sticky. “Up here, you ass. Jägerbomb?” You offer a smile.

“‘M a’ight. Listen, some…” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to place what he’s here to tell you. Then he nods, having remembered—“Right. Some old guy’s out front asking for you.”

“Asking for me? Old… guy?” Your eyebrows scrunch together, mind foggy. “My dad?” Shit. You’d completely forgotten they’d be picking you up today or tomorrow. Maybe they’d been waiting for hours—it’s one-thirty, the clock on the living room mantel reads.

“Nah, man, not your dad, this guy’s… he’s got a red pickup truck, um, he’s, like, he’s old looking.” He raises a hand above his own head. “Tall.” His voice is drawly with the weed high, but as soon as he said red pickup, you knew exactly who he was talking about. One look at your phone confirms it—five missed calls and a message, 11PM, sent by your dad: Joel’s in the area for work. He’s going out with buddies but can swing by the house to pick you up. I’m giving him your #.

“Fuck.” You blink. “Fuck! I gotta go.”

You never usually have to pack shit to go home, considering the drive isn’t too far. Briefly you consider making a detour to collect things from your sorority house, but you decide to sacrifice the laptop and the few important chargers. So, armed with only your phone, you wrench your way out of the crowd, a few goodbyes thrown in your direction and back.

The front door is open so the partygoers spill onto the front yard, intermittent conversation littering the area. Along the pavement, frat guys’ Civics and and Priuses are parked beside an old looking red pickup truck; leaned against it is—

“Mr. Miller,” you blurt out when you’re closer to him, voice steady (your mind is just as well, shocked back to lucidity from his presence). “I’m sorry. I had no idea you’d be picking me up today—tonight—” You heave a sigh, apologetic, refusing to meet his eyes. “Sorry.”

His arms are crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up to his elbows. Even from a few feet away you can make out the shape, the lines of muscle on his forearms. He looks tired, moody—more than usual—and your heart pangs with guilt at the idea that you could be the reason behind it. But despite your best—really, your best—efforts, your stomach still swoops the same way it did when you were seventeen and naive, enough to find next-door-neighbor Mr. Miller extremely handsome. Hell, extremely hot.

It didn’t make sense. You’d suspected your little crush would be that—an adolescent, childish thing, evaporating more and more into thin air with every drive made to campus. But he never stopped being handsome, never stopped his corny jokes and the pet names that got you warm every time you visited over break. You had plenty of eye candy on campus, athletes and gamers alike, and yes you’d been picky, but had managed to sleep with a select few—despite all of it, only the remnants of your fantasies of Mr. Miller satiated you when your hand creeps into the apex of your thighs late at night, lust wrangling shame into silence for a few minutes.

You blink and the train of thought is over—the real thing is here, eyebrows set low, mouth frowning.

“Kiddo,” he starts, his voice thin with exhaustion, “look, I’ve done my share of… drinkin’, and that. I get it. But you gotta…” He clicks his tongue, eyes looking your outfit up and down. “You gotta let me know, let your parents know, where you are, and if you’re okay. ‘Cause I really did not want to spend tonight drivin’ from house to bar, to bar to house, feelin’ like I was lookin’ all over Austin for you.”

“I know,” you supply quickly, nodding. Your hands, fidgety, find purchase on the fibres of the silk sash strung along your figure. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Miller. I didn’t check my phone the entire evening, and—”

“It’s okay.” He says, nonchalant, lifting himself off the side of the car to walk to the drivers’ side. Gruffly, he adds, “Car.”

You’re quick to tug the door open, settling yourself on the passenger seat and breathing nervously. Your legs are littered with body glitter, your chest with the tack of Jäger. You spot him outside, his walk slow. He’s annoyed—rightfully so—stopping just shy of the door to pinch at the bridge of his nose, his lips miming a slow exhale. When he finally wrangles himself to sit, it’s quiet for a minute, then another.

“Y’have fun?” He starts the car, thrumming it to life. You nod, then offer a verbal answer—yeah. He nods, wiping a palm over his face. “What were you up to?”

“I, um… I organized a pregame for my sorority.” You toy with the rogue strands of denim of your shorts. “We went to a bar, after… then another… then, well.” You gulp. “Here.” The last question escapes you in a shaky, breathy squeak. “And you?”

“Hah, sure, kid. Had some contractor thing, half an hour from here. Then drinks with a coupl’a buddies from work. Could’ve been home by eleven-thirty,” he says roughly, driving through the still-vibrant streets of campus, “but it’s nearin’ two and I’m on a college campus.” The urge to apologize bubbles at your lips, high in your stomach, but you remain quiet. After a few stretches of dry silence, he asks again. “That party must’ve been real fun for you to leave your old man—and me—on radio silence, wun’nit?”

“Sure,” you manage, stammering. “We were celebrating my sorority presidency.” The dark scenery of Austin blurs past.

“Oh, sorority presidency,” he repeats, both teasing and genuinely curious. “I did hear your dad mention you were in Alpha Phi, s’that right?” You nod. “What’s that, then? Do presidents get cowboy hats?”

Your face grows hot, hands reaching up to clutch at the rim of the hat atop your head. “No, this—somebody put it—it was a joke, Mr. Miller.” A huffy laugh escapes you. “Sorry.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, and you wrench the reminder he’s 51 he’s 51 he’s 51 through your head while he pauses, “‘m drivin’ you around Austin late at night, and I’ve known you for your whole life. How ‘bout we drop the Mr. Miller act, alright?”

“Oh. Okay,” you say. His hands grip the steering wheel firmly, and your eyes wander to his arms, to how he’s basically stuffed into the shirt he’s wearing, big and broad and bulky. His eyes remain focused ahead, so you let yourself indulge a tad bit more—lower, to the material of his jeans. It’s dark in the truck, so you can’t see much, just the flex of his thighs. “Joel.”

“Attagirl.” You chew at the inside of your cheek, already feeling arousal simmering in you, low and dirty. You’re going to soak through this godforsaken thong. “Mind if I make a pit stop?” You shake your head profusely, watch as he pulls into a gas station parking lot. “Want anythin’, girl?”

“N—” your lips form, but you scrap your original answer. “Gum, if they have it.”

“Be damned if they don’t.” He slams the door shut and you watch him enter the store, watch him through the glass panels. He’s so broad. You’d nearly completely forgotten how stupidly you liked him, and now it’s coming, throttling back full-force, especially with the thrilling aspect of it possibly coming to fruition. You are, after all, an adult. And so is he, paying for his shit with a tight-lipped expression, arms crossed again, arms big and—Jesus.

You squeeze your thighs together, willing yourself to get your shit in place when he pulls the door open again, his eyes scanning your seated figure. He tosses you the packet of gum, and you respond with a sweet thank you, Mr. M—Joel, and you fiddle with the packaging as he starts the car again, driving until scenery grows more and more familiar, closer to home.

“By the way,” he says, voice husky with the unuse of not talking for a while. “Think it’s best you spend the night at my house tonight, kid. It’s late. Later than late.” 2:44, the console digital clock reads in blinky red text. “Your parents don't want the door rattlin’ open at this hour, so I’ll let you in the guest room.”

“Oh,” you say. “Sure.”

“D’you have a change of clothes?” He asks, even if he knows you climbed into the seat with nothing but your phone and a cowboy hat. You shake your head and he tsks. “You’re barely covered, sweetheart. Best be careful walkin’ around when the night’s this chilly.”

Barely covered. You think of every possible response, but what leaves your glossed lips is the riskiest: “What do you mean, barely covered?”

You figure if he starts saying shit like what are you insinuatin’, kiddo? You better sleep at yours tonight instead, it’s an easy out—you’re turning the corner onto your street now, and your stomach is boiling with nerves, sticky and anticipatory. “I jus’ mean… it shows a lotta skin.”

“It’s sorority merch, Joel,” you reply, half-amused and half-defensive.

“No, I”—he sighs, like he wants to backtrack what he’s just said—“I know, but… always worth somethin’ to be careful. Might catch a cold with all that leg… all that—you—showin’.” He parks in front of his house, this sizey, homey thing, and your heart flips knowing how familiar this place has been to you your entire life.

“I’m not going to wear winter gear to a spring break frat party.” You’re bolder, suddenly, but even if the statement is, your voice is level, meek, even. Joel nods, as if admitting defeat, and gets out of the car first; you follow, sneakers crunching against the asphalt as you follow him into the house.

“I hope,” he starts when you’re stationed beside him at the door, “I didn’t… offend you. I was jus’ concerned, is all.” Then he’s stoic again, slipping inside, straight to the kitchen to pour you a glass of water. He flicks a yellow light on and you squint when you get there, rubbing at your eyes to prevent them from aching.

You’re still rubbing at them when his gaze drops from your fussed-up hair and askew hat down to the shiny surface of your chest. Your goddamn top leaves him nothing to the imagination, your tits spilling out of it scandalously. The low cut even lets your bra peek through, red and bright and hey, you show up from college wearing these large university shirts and sweatpants—not this, never this. And your shorts, the way they’re really just a fucking belt, starting low on your hips and cut off high above your thighs.

Alpha Phi, the pink text on your white top reads on the left chest area. Right where your tits curve into the top, the slogan is printed: Union hand in hand. God, sororities and their fucking… quotable bullshit. And don’t get him started on the sash, this cutesy, frilly thing he wants to loop around your wrists so he can fuck you over the counter. He knows he can’t—it’s so wrong, so wrong. He’s known your dad for ages.

But you… you're so tempting, a little minx, chirping Mr. Miller all sweet and apologetic, chest out on full display. He blinks when he hears your voice filter through the fog in his head. “—off?”

“What was that, sweetheart?” His eyes meet yours again and he feels a twinge of embarrassment at the way your bashfulness has somewhat melted to give way to the clear amusement on your face. You must’ve spotted the way he ogled you; he wasn’t exactly trying his hardest to be subtle, unfortunately.

“D’you have something I can use to wipe myself off?” You gesture to your sticky collarbone area. “I got Jäger all over myself. Can’t handle the stuff.” You grimace at the memory, and he goes to grab a wet wipe; while waiting, you hoist yourself up onto the counter, bare legs swinging.

Joel turns to toss you the packet of wipes, but his throat dries before he can even call your name out. Your back is to him, and clearly you’re waiting for his return—you’ve busied yourself by sitting on his counter and letting the hot pink lace of your thong rise above the waistline of your shorts. Lord have mercy, he thinks to himself, adjusting his jeans as he walks back over to you.

“Wipes,” he says roughly, not anything else.

You accept the packet and smile shyly. “Can you…” you pause, the implication hovering over both of you, heavy. “Wait for me?” He nods, inviting. Warm. And he watches, inviting but not very warm anymore, the way you wipe over the expanse of your chest, over the curve of your tits, every other part of you dusted in glitter.

“So,” you say again. “Since we’re on first name basis now, Joel, I, um—I hope it’s okay to ask questions.”

“Sounds reasonable. Go for it,” he accepts.

“When’s the last time you went to a party?” Your smile is mischievous.

He chuckles, a huff of air. “...Long, long ago, kid. Back in my day, partyin’ meant beer, maybe a little weed… not that I'm complaining there, you understand.” He nods resolutely. “These days, a quiet home-cooked meal with just the people I really care about… is a party.”

“Wow, what an old guy answer,” you giggle. “Back in youuuur day.” Your raspy, honeyed voice wraps around the your with a teasing lilt.

“Oh, I’m old now, am I?” His stoic demeanor chips away when he laughs. “That makes you what, sweetheart? You’re barely a pup.”

At his words—at the utterance of pup—you roll your eyes and try to shift your seating so your thong doesn’t stick to your folds. “Okay, fine, next.” You’re not even wiping anymore, the material wrung into your fingers, which lay in a fist by your side. “When’s the last time you got shitfaced?”

He gives a grimace of a smile. “Aw… boy, it's been a while.” He comes closer, going from leaning on the opposite drawers to right beside you on the counter. You’re sitting and he’s leaning but still he’s taller, just a bit level. “But there was that one time back in my more adventurous days, when I was younger. A bachelor party wh… well, the details don't really bear talkin’ ‘bout in polite conversation.” He raises his eyebrows. “Why ya askin’ all this? What’s will all the last times?”

“I’m curious, is all.” You smile, leaning back; if his eyes drop just a bit, he’ll see right through your top, maybe even underneath the cup of your bra. “Okay, fine one last… last time.” You giggle, breathy. “When’s the last time you… had sex?”

The air shifts, and Joel clears his throat before chuckling. “S’none of your business, young lady. A gentleman is not raised to kiss and tell.”

“Oh, but he gets shitfaced n’ tells?” You test, pouting and leaning closer toward him so you can quiet your voice. “Come on. I won’t tell anyone I even asked.”

He sighs, contemplating. “Well… it’s been a while.” He gets his fair share of lays, when he goes out to bars with friends or the rare date, but nothing too drastic. It has been a few months. “But you didn’t hear that from me, understood? Now, let’s drop it.”

But you don’t drop it, you brat. “You’re like the born again 40-year-old virgin,” you tease smoothly.

“Try 51, honey,” he grunts out, depositing your dry wipes at the disposal across you. He turns back around, restrained.

“And what, you don’t wanna change that?” No, he thinks—what he wants is to take you over the counter ’til you’re sobbing and sore.

“Hey now, don’t think I don’t think about it sometimes. But I jus’—I don't wanna get involved with no one, even though... Hell, if I met the right person, I might just change my mind. Ain’t that the way it goes?”

“That’s such an antiquated view of sex,” you quip boldly, pressing your arms to your sides. “What happened to just having one good fuck?”

His eyes flicker down then up. “Well, hey. Slow down with the cursin’, sweetheart. And what in the hell makes you think I don’t do that?” He crosses his arms, offering a raised eyebrow and an insufferably smug smile.

“You didn’t necessarily object when I called you a twice-over virgin.”

He chuckles. “There’s more than one way to let it all out, my girl. You don’t have to just go all in to hit the spot.” The thought of him using his own—or some girl’s, actually, hand, throat… to get off, gets you all hot. You want to be that girl. His girl.

“Like how?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Old man like myself probably can’t offer tricks you’ll find… useful.” He grunts, prepares to go upstairs. He reaches over you for the packet of wipes and your proximity urges him to stop, savor the closeness before the rational part of him reminds him you’re his best mate’s daughter.

“Okay, fine,” you say sweetly, voice much quieter—reserved just for the space between you two. “One last, then.”

Mmm, he huffs affirmatively, greenlighting your request. Impatient.

“Since when did old men do that?” You ask, inquisitive, placing emphasis on his self-proclaimed old man title.

“What? Entertain l’il minxes like yourself?” He responds, intending to break your newly-built façade of smugness.

“No,” you respond coolly. “Pack nine inches.” Then you’re clambering off the counter and walking to the stairs. He inhales sharply at the sudden vulgarity of your words, watches every move, every little bounce of your pert ass under the tiny shorts, the wave of your hair, every flex of the ridden-up lace thong against your back.

You turn briefly. “Coming or what?” And then you slip upstairs.

He hears the pad of your footsteps grow quiet and shuts his eyes, letting his composure waver in your absence.

Had he known Harold’s little girl would turn out to be the world’s biggest fucking tease—Jesus Christ. “Lord,” he rasps under his breath, repeating a mantra, holding back the urge to palm himself through his jeans. “Lord, have mercy.” Then he follows you, already spotting something different—the open door at the end of the hall.

His open door. It’s the one that directly mirrors your parents’, a revelation they all had a good laugh at. Sometimes if a matter was so pressing, a well-aimed pebble to the glass window would get Joel’s attention well enough. The lights are flicked on, cool-warm, in his bedroom. You’re in his bedroom.

Or you’re not. He walks in to find no trace of you, save for the scuffed white sneakers by the doorframe. He toes off his own boots and spots the walk-in closet light’s also been flicked on.

“Christ, you’re quick. You’re s’posed to be in the guest room.” He gestures vaguely to the one on the left side of the hall, even if you can’t see him.

“I had to pee. And I needed something to sleep in,” you say politely from inside. He grunts softly to himself at the thought of you undressing in there, the thought of you pulling on something of his.

“Get out of there,” he orders. “I’ll get you somethin’.” Under his breath he mutters, “S’my goddamn closet.”

You chirp okay but he adds anyway: “Hurry, out.”

So you do follow him, even follow the order to hurry, because you’re hasty in your exit, clutching the cowboy hat to your chest. “Sit.” He points to the bed, watches you set the hat next to yourself gingerly. And one last time he asks the Lord for mercy, quietly and in his head, before shutting off every other rational thought that had stopped him tonight.

You follow suit, hat still clutched to your torso, and he slowly comes to stand just in front of you, your face level with the buckle of his leather belt. When you shift he catches sight of the side of your bra, the lace of it. Eyes cast to your bare thighs, you pipe up.

“By the way, Mr. Miller—Joel, I didn’t mean to say any of—I mean, I thought we could talk comfortably about it… that… stuff, but I took it too f—”

“You’re damn fuckin’ right you took it too far.”

He spits it out roughly, harshly. Like he’s scolding you. A zip of shock goes through you—you hadn’t heard him swear so loud before. Maybe he is. “I give you a free ride home at half past one, give you water, give you a place to sleep for the night knowin’ damn well your momma n’ dad would both have killed ya if you stepped foot in that house wearin’ next to nothing. What do I get in return?” He looks down at you, two rough fingers jerking your chin to look up at him.

“I—” you squeak, your voice and confidence betraying you. You’ve soaked through your panties at his sudden switch in behavior. Like you’d broken a dam.

“I get a brat… whorin’ herself out to me like I’m not over twice her age.” He tuts, like he really is disappointed, and your heart almost drops. “I get all these damn questions about sex, like you think I’ll break and fuck you on my kitchen counter.” He was considering it. “All the teasin’, all the skirtin’ around in a thong and a fuckin’…” He shakes your chin. “S’there even anythin’ in that head of yours, honey?”

Your mouth’d been open. You shut it and lick over your lips. “Yeah,” you defend weakly. His hand lowers to stroke at the column of your throat, then to hook under the tight strap of your bra, peeking out under the white of your top. He sidles it back and forth.

“S’this why you asked me all those dumb questions downstairs, huh, sweetheart? ‘Cause you wanted me to pull your top open and fawn over this”—he yanks the hat away, revealing your torso underneath—“little show o’yours?” Your cleavage is sinful, downright—perfect, perky, inviting him to mouth at your tits. Your sash sits prettily above them and he can’t help but pull at it, too, jolting you toward him.

“N—” you inhale sharply, letting him pull and push you around as he pleases. He observes the blinding glittery writing on the pink material and lets out a humorless, self-satisfied huff of laughter.

“Number… one… girl.” His rough thumb grazes over the divots of the rhinestones. “That’s jus’ about right, ain’t it?”

“Yes,” you reply, voice small.

“I’m not sure I agree, baby girl,” he drawls. His touch is precise—he knows exactly where to go, what he’s doing—but rough, dirty, almost, and the huge size of his hands don’t help to support otherwise. He tugs down your tank top so it’s tucked underneath your bra, and you yelp, making a move to cover yourself. He laughs again—“Sure, go all shy on me like you haven’t been showin’ yourself off to me all night. Knees.”

You get off quick, so quick you’re dizzy when you steady yourself on two knees. Two lithe hands make their way to his belt but he steps backward, revels in your evident confusion, clumsiness, the flush high on your cheekbones. “Buckle down, sweetheart.”

“But—”

“No goddamn buts. Listen to me.” He ends up being the one to make work of his belt, and while he talks you have to bite your lip to keep from going slack-jawed at the sight of him. You’d been kidding about the nine inches thing, but Christ he’s huge, strained against the tight denim. He’s thick even under the layers of clothing, and all you want to do is choke on him. “You’re gonna let me use that mouth t’get off, first thing,” he grunts, like this is all some chore to him, “because I am not goin’ to put my cock in my best mate’s daughter.”

“How about,” you croak lightly, “your fingers, then?”

“Jesu—we’ll see.” He tugs his cock out then, and he’s fucking huge, he really is, his tip angry and flushed and being rubbed along your lips, sticking them up with his precum. He sighs contentedly, humming low, the vibration sent straight to your half-open mouth. You suck on the tip of him, watch a slow smile form on his face. “That sash oughta say somethin’ else.”

Your silence grants elaboration. “Number one slut, maybe.” You shift on your thighs, trying to hide how aroused you are at his mean behavior. But he can tell, he can watch the way your blinking slows, the way your eyes glazed over, glassy and teary from trying to take more of him. He doesn’t tell you to slow down, or go faster; he just watches, eyebrows knitted, focused. “Budge up.”

A hand, big and calloused, threads through your hair and gives a tug, goading your mouth open so more of his cock slips past. Your jaw aches from the attempt alone, so you pull off before you start choking too much, tonguing at the parts of him you can’t reach—lower, until you’re laving at his balls. He grunts, pleasured, simmered down. Attagirl. Then you’re back, bobbing up and down, trying despite yourself to take all of him, until your eyes are watery and you’re spluttering, choked.

“Now this is…” He says, and it comes out in a contented little sigh, “a number one throat. Keep those pretty lips open, honey, ‘m gonna fuck them.”

You do, your achy jaw slacked as he begins bucking into your mouth, the sounds of your choking only spurring him on. He’s dominant, taking and taking, and you’re humiliated to find how wet you are, soaked through the lace of your thong and darkening the denim of your shorts. The tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat only gets him to thrust even faster, watching tears fall from your eyes, streaky with mascara. His best friend’s daughter, taking dick like a fucking champ.

He thrusts harder, each sound emitting a nasty, incoherent noise out of you, choked little gasps that have him harder each time. Gonna fuck this throat raw, he mutters. Since that’s what you wan’ed, ain’t it? You reach up, light fingers massaging his balls, and then his hips stutter, and with barely any warning, you feel his hot seed shoot into your throat, little satisfied groans leaving the man above you.

You swallow what you can, limited by his dick still in your mouth. When he pulls out you lap at the cum left behind, circle your tongue around your lips, make a whole show of it. You speak again, your voice raspy and spent: “Please, my turn?”

He lifts you up and smirks at the way you yelp in surprise, tossing you onto the bed and pulling you back onto your knees, your back to his chest. He wrangles your shorts off, gives your ass a smack as he pulls them down, enough to expose what’s underneath. The stiff material gathers just above your bent knees, restraining you from moving much.

“D’you know what,” he says, still sounding angry—like he’s lecturing you, stern, “I could’ve been in bed, wakin’ up at six to work… instead I gotta teach this little brat a fuckin’ lesson. Your old man not teach y’enough manners?” He tugs your bra down, thumbs roughly at your pebbled nipples, wrenching a moan out of you. He’s hard again, dick poking into your ass, and fuck you want him in you.

“He didn’t,” you sniffle, pitiful. “Y’gotta teach me, Daddy.”

“Oh, she likes that, don’t she?” He grumbles, like the title is annoying, juvenile. The way his cock twitches tells you otherwise. “Shut up, baby honey. I got this.” He reaches up your thighs and the ticklish, pleasurable sensation gets you hot.

Joel, you whimper, seizing in on yourself. He grabs your other arm, pulls it back toward him so you remain open and pliant. Please, wait.

“No time for waitin’, not when you spend hours prancin’ around like a little whore, sweetheart.” Without preamble, he’s running his fingers up your thighs again, not stopping this time until his fingers are pressing into your clit, rubbing over the thin, soaked fabric of your panties. “And you’re so fucking wet for me. My number one girl, ain’t you?”

“Yea,” you babble dumbly. “Your number one girl.”

“Thaaat’s right. My girl needs her needy cunt filled up, don’t she? By Daddy’s fat fingers.” You nod along, drawn in by the vulgarity of his words, the way he spits them out. You’ve spent several nights fantasizing how his big, rough hands would feel on you—and you’ve been outproven. He’s so fast, so skilled with his fingers; they feel delicious in you. And you can’t stop thinking about all of those girls he implied he’s slept with, the way they probably got to this first. Lucky bitches.

He’s gotten you so wet the entire night, even moreso now, that your pussy is making obscene squelching noises with each pump of his fingers, these nastily loud noises that humiliate you, that turn you on even more, that make you drip all onto Joel’s linen sheets. Fuck, you whimper. He swats at your ass. No swearing, he’s saying.

“Look up for me, honey. Up at the window.” Outside, the sun’s beginning to crawl over Austin, just the faint blues and yellows of early morning. You realize you know this because his curtain’s been pulled open—by him, earlier, before any of this even started, you assume. And the only other thing you can see other than the sky and the sliver of the neighborhood is your parents’ window.

“No,” you plead, looking down. He doesn’t let you, tugs you back up to look by your hair. He knows your parents won’t be up ’til seven-thirty latest. But you don’t know that, and for now, you don’t have to.

“What then, huh, sweetheart? When they go to check on the weather n’ they see their best friend poundin’ their young daughter? What’d they think?” You jerk away, overcome with pleasure and embarrassment at the imaginary situation. You feel his fingers pump in and out of you, filling you up. They’re probably thick and hot, glistening each time they come out. You’re tightening up; you’ll cum soon, make a mess on his hand, which already drips with slick. “So you better hurry. Better make a mess on me soon.”

“I am, I’m—I’m gonna,” you moan. You’re wrapped up in the way his fingers play you just the right way. You’re so close to the surface, and you’ve been wanting this for way too long, so you nod, let yourself get carried away by his words, let yourself give in, spreading your legs as wide as they can go as he fingerfucks you, working out the tension that’s been building up for forever.

“That’s my number one girl,” he grins into your neck, and you’re convulsing release onto his hand, wetting it even further. He wraps a hand around your waist, keeps you close to his figure, his erection at the small of your back. “That’s it, honey. Did so well for me.”

“I want it,” you say meekly. “Even if they see.”

He groans. “Sweetheart, you must think real low of me to believe I’d put my cock anywhere near Harold’s daughter’s pussy.”

You tug your panties fully down, just enough so they fall off on their own the rest of the way, and guide his slick hand behind yourself, pressing his finger first into your folds again, sensitive, and then up toward your tighter hole.

You feel his breath tighten behind you when you say: “How ‘bout there?”

#dbf!joel #joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller tlou #the last of us #tlou x reader #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel x reader #pedro pascal x reader #tlou smut

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nervoussagittarius · 2 months

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DATING CHRIS STURNIOLO HEADCANNONS

chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: suggestive and fluffy

☼ chris is always filling you in on new ideas he has. whether its for fresh love or it’s for anything he does with his brother. he’s scared to admit it but your easily his muse and he loves being able to tell you how you inspired a project or video

☼ chris’s love language is physical touch. he always has to be touching you in some way shape or from. although he loves being near you, he understands if you need to have your personal space for a little bit, so he always asks if he can touch you after these times. but it’s hard to get him to stop after he starts

☼ chris loves having physical touch given to him as well. he will never turn down any form of touch. like stated above, he understands when you need your space but that doesn’t stop him from craving your affection in these moments

☼chris likes to stay on top of everything going on in your life. he wants the vlogs and texts about what you’re up to. he doesn’t do it in a controlling way. he’s genuinely just curious and loves supporting and congratulating the little things. his responses usually look like “i’m so happy your food turned out good baby. thanks for vlogging the process for me”

☼ chris loves making you laugh. he’s such an unserious man. any chance he has to see your smile is what he lives for. nothing will stop him from cracking a joke even in the most inappropriate times

★ chris loves pda. he wants to kiss you and hug you when he’s out and about. he’s not afraid to slap your ass or grab your neck a little out in public so people know you’re his

☼ chris wants to go everywhere with you. doesn’t matter. it could be the littlest errand but he’s passenger princessing his way there

☼ chris might not have his license, but if you do, he refuses to ask you for rides. unless y’all have plans to go somewhere or he goes with you when you have to go out, he’s not asking you to drive him anywhere. he doesn’t ever want to be a burden because he knows sometimes you really just don’t want to drive. so he’ll ask matt even if you’re right next to him and it annoys you because you’re always willing to take him out.

☼ chris is a huge follower of the sidewalk rule. he loves going on walks with you when the weathers nice but he blocks you from the road at all times. doesn’t matter if there’s something you want to see or if you’re trying to cross the street, he’s holding you hand and pushing you away from being anywhere near the road.

☼ chris isn’t big on cheesy dates. he doesn’t really want to go sit at a restaurant or do any of the basic stuff seen in romcoms. he wants to go have adventures and have have spontaneous fun. he’s never one to plan dates he likes to turn random day to day activities into big events

☼ chris loves being a little spoon and he loves being held. he often just crawls into you when your sitting or laying down. he’ll take your arms and wrap them around him so you have no choice but to hold him. bonus points if you play with his hair or rub his back

★ chris hates sleeping alone. he doesn’t care where you are, if he wants to sleep he’s finding you so you can lay with him. especially after sex he just wants to be next to you so he knows you’re okay

☼ chris makes sure he has your favorite drinks stocked for when you come over. he knows how sad he feels when he runs out of pepsi so he doesn’t want you to have to experience that

☼ chris gets hangry really easily. once he’s hungry he needs to eat immediately or he can’t control his words or actions. he’s known to do stuff he doesn’t mean when he’s hungry so you know not to take it to heart

★ chris will always apologize first. it might take him a few minutes to get his head out of his ass, but it doesn’t matter the situation or the argument or which one of you was in the right or wrong, he’s saying sorry. the last thing he wants is to prolong something that can be easily fixed with an apology. he’s a firm believer of never going to bed angry and he loves make up sex to really prove he feels bad

☼ chris is never letting you listen to your music, but he will incorporate your songs into his playlists. he loves being on aux and he thinks he’s the king of it. always has some good tunes playing

an: i don’t know what happened here but the words just kept coming ig

#matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt x reader #sturniolo fanfic

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starflirts · 4 months

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OUR SECRET MOMENTS IN A CROWDED ROOM

as mrs swift once said: "romance is not dead if you keep it just yours" luke castellan x fem! reader, wc: 614, warning: none, note: here's a little something i queued before classes took over my life… enjoy! (still working on other stuff though don’t worry!)

“They have no idea about me and you” he whispers softly in the space between your neck and your collarbones, soothing breaths tickling your skin.

The lake is quiet at this time of day, campers from all cabins too busy with their own activities to pester Luke. The setting sun casts its golden rays on the water and you can hear the faint giggles of dryads in the woods.

You stand with your back against the trunk of a tree, a bright smile on your face as you card a hand through his hair. “You have to thank me and our secret spot for that.” you muse, slightly pulling on his curls to get him to look at you.

Luke grins, hands resting on your waist, thumbs tracing small circles on the skin hidden by your shirt. “And you,” he tilts his head to the side, “should be thankful Chris accepted to take over my camp counselor duties without asking any questions !”

Curling your hands around his neck, you let out a laugh and Luke swears you’ve stolen the last remnants of sunlight. “If you keep disappearing like that he might become a little too curious and find out. And I really don’t want him complaining about you not telling him about us. He’d beg to be your best man.” you tease him, fingers toying with the curls at the back of Luke’s head.

Your boyfriend can’t help but smile at the implication. He shrugs, hands still on your waist. “Whatever. I’d like to see his face when we tell him.”

Pretending to pout, you cross your arms over your chest. “No more secret rendezvous then ? Such a shame, I love having you all to myself.” you answer with a grin, tone dripping with amusement.

Luke can feel warmth creeping up his ears. His hands crawl up your sides until they're resting on your cheeks. He’s so close to you now you can almost feel his lips hovering over yours and the tip of his nose brushes against yours. “Pretty lady, I am yours all the time. Always have, always will.”

He’s about to lean in when voices suddenly call your names. Whipping your head towards the source of the sound, you push yourself away from the tree but the distance between you and Luke remains minimal.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Annabeth is the first one to appear in your line of vision, Percy in tow. “The Apollo cabin is setting up the bonfire. You guys should come now otherwise Percy’s going to eat all the s’mores.” she adds, ignoring Percy’s complaints.

When the four of you make your way back to the heart of the camp, Annabeth looks back at you once. If she notices the way Luke’s hand brushes against yours she doesn’t say a thing.

Bonfire nights are Luke’s favorites by far. With your hand safely secured in his underneath a blanket you both share, he enjoys the proximity; whispering sweet nothings into your ear when no one notices, grinning when only he can see your bashful smile.

“You’re so obvious Castellan” you giggle, shaking your head.

He only chuckles at that. “Can’t help myself pretty. I just love you too much.”

His words make you shy away from his gaze, turning towards the crowd of campers by your side.

As you face the fire, you can feel Annabeth’s eyes on you from across the flames, a smirk on her face. Her gaze shifts from you to Luke, intently observing his lovesick gaze and your giddy countenance. Raising your eyebrows as if to ask her what she was thinking about, she only mouths back: “I knew it !”

#percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo imagine #pjo x reader #pjo fluff #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan fic #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine

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alphabetboyluvr · 26 days

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HUSH | MYG - TWO

pairing: rockstar!yoongi x female reader | mutual disdain - lovers (but also strangers - lovers? kinda?)

premise: in which you work for your brothers band by day and accidentally anonymously sext his bandmate on the regular by night! whoops !!

wc: 10k

for more details, pls see the master list (x)

note from holly: if you've read hush over on wattpad, then you've already seen this! sorry!! but this is everything that was on wattpad--the next upload will be 100% fresh hehe

warnings: alcohol, foul language, creepy men in bars, sexting (minimal!! very brief!), yoongi is both an asshole and a good guy, oc and yoongi are dumb!! and argumentative!! we learn a teeny tiny bit more lore for the night that never was!!

the app (x) | the band (x) | part one (x)

minors dni!!!

GOLDEN CLOSET STUDIO Big Hit Ent, Yongsan-gu

"Back again so soon?" Jungkook grins when you traipse into his studio the next morning.

Slumping down onto the sofa with a groan, you get comfortable like it's a second home to you. Only just gone midday, you're exhausted. You'll tell anyone who asks that you went out for a morning run, but you'll be lying through your teeth.

See, what made you tired may have given flushed cheeks, but sadly no cardio was involved. Just some pixels. Words. Another goddamn video call of a bedroom you know so damn well but have never stepped foot within. From his belly button down, you'd recognise your Damocles boys in a heartbeat. Wonder if you'd be able to tell if you saw him in the wild, fully clothed.

You doubt it.

No, what's made you so tired isn't the things that get you up in the morning, but rather the things that keep you up all night.

Or just 'thing'.

A singular.

You're not sure you want to classify him as a person, because currently he's just pixels on a screen - but the images those pixels so often make? The dirty words that form in negative spaces just for you to see?

Yeah. You think that he's too good to be true. Can't be a real man.

"Meeting," you mumble into the cushion of the chair. "You know how many logistics are involved in taking you guys on tour? It's mad."

"Logistics?" He snorts, knowing your job has nothing to do with that side of the business.

"I'm shadowing," you reply. "Jinyu sweet-talked someone she knows in that department. Following one of the planners around for the week."

"Really tryna work your way up, huh?" Jungkook asks, before quietly musing, "Hope Jinyu'll sweet-talk me some time."

He's not wrong. About working your way up, that is. Jinyu will never sweet-talk him.

Big Hit is a great stepping stone - an industry outlier, built from the ground up - but you don't want to be in your brother's shadow for too long.

You fear it'll look like you're complacent; as if you want an easy life that you don't have to work hard for. Get some experience, get a good reference, and get out; that's the plan. Maybe work somewhere overseas, away from the confines of your family name.

You don't entertain Jungkook's musings, instead opting to shuffle a little further into his sofa. It's leather and still smells brand new - not because it is, but because Jungkook is meticulous in his cleaning regimes. Will probably wipe it down after you leave. Is perhaps the neatest rockstar you've ever known - not that you know all that many.

And that's exactly your issue; even if you want to get out of Seokjin's shadow, you've no idea where to turn to. Bright light saturates everything else. Here, you're hidden. Safe. Comfortable.

Well, comfortable except for one particular thorn in your side.

"Get your song sorted with Yoongi last night?" You ask, genuinely curious about it. You're also incredibly nosey, and Yoongi is a dick. What you'd like to hear is that he's annoyed and frustrated, because that's how he makes you feel.

It's selfish to think that way. The album cycle is well and truly underway, and the boys are cramming every spare moment into perfecting it. You aren't too aware of the process, you just know that Yoongi speaks to you even less now that the stress is mounting.

They're made for the stage. Would spend all day every day performing, if it was sustainable. Don't enjoy the downtime - but you think it's because the slowness of it all interferes with their live fast, die young bullshit.

Jungkook shakes his head. "It's missing something. Can't figure out what. We're gonna leave it until after the Europe dates. Hopefully will have found some inspiration over there."

You accept his answer without a response. Know that any advice you could give would be redundant. You don't know the first thing about music production, and think it would be a waste of energy to float ideas for a song you've not even heard.

"Think Yoongi needs to rest," Jungkook muses a little mindlessly. "Was here till stupid o'clock last night."

You mumble a response, and Jungkook takes it as an indication to continue.

"Last email he sent was at like, what? Three in the morning? How his brain could've still been working, I've no idea."

"He's a night owl," you hum, as if it's a new discovery. "Works better that way. It's like you work best after a good sleep. He works best a little sleep-deprived."

"Yeah but how?!"

"I dunno. Brain science. Ask Yoongi. He probably knows. Psychology n shit."

Jungkook just rolls his eyes. He won't be asking Yoongi.

Just like he also won't be asking Yoongi if he wants to join you all for drinks later that evening.

That job? Yeah, that's up to you.

Neither you, Jimin, nor Jungkook wanna ask Yoongi, mainly because you all know he'll just say 'no.' What's the point?

A fierce battle of rock-paper-scissors had been fought earlier that evening, and you'd been the poor sod declared as the loser.

Already half a bottle down, they're drinking in Jungkook's studio (even if Hoseok strictly forbode it the last time they got legless at work (as if his orders have ever stopped them from doing anything they wanted)) when you finally meet them again.

They're getting a headstart on the evening's festivities.

It's nothing special. Just a chance for them all to hang out properly after the Seoul shows.

They rarely ever 'hang out', 'cause work often feels like that anyway. It's only when they take a break that they realise how much they enjoy each other's company. A few days rest from one another is always welcome - but exceed three days, and they start to get withdrawal symptoms.

"Ready to go?" You ask, but are met with curt shakes of their heads.

Jimin passes you the bottle of beer he's been nursing on. As you take a swig, he reminds you, "You've not asked Yoongi yet."

Lips pressed to the rim of the bottle, you roll your eyes. Have half a mind to backwash in retaliation, but you don't fancy bickering this early on in the night.

Shaking your head, you swallow down the froth. "He'll say no."

"Buuuuut," Jungkook sings, as if he thinks he can serenade you into asking Yoongi. "What if he says yes?"

"Well, one of you can ask!" You whine. Yoongi's studio is the last place you want to go to - especially after the messages he sent you last night, warning you about your relationship with Jungkook. "Give him your doe eyes, Kook. It'll work."

A game of rock, paper, scissors is legally binding, though. Jungkook tells you so. Says if you don't go and ask Yoongi, he'll be forced to take you to court.

"I've got Big Hit lawyers," he reminds you.

"Is this a threat?!"

"Yep. Now go ask Yoongi!"

You argue a little longer. Jimin takes two shots during that time. Jungkook interpretive dances whenever you make a compelling statement as to why you shouldn't be the one asking. You frown whenever he does the robot.

And so, mainly to get away from any more of Jungkook's bizarre hip-gyrations, you traipse down to the end of the corridor, where Yoongi's so-called Genius Lab resides.

The wait at his door is awkward. You question yourself, what you'll say, how you should stand. First impressions are everything, and if he's greeted with shitty energy, he'll give it back in return. You know him well enough to know this for a fact.

After a lifetime of waiting (27 seconds, to be exact), there's a mechanical whir of the lock coming undone.

"Hey," you offer a smile as you're greeted with his typical face of thunder. "Been sent to retrieve you. We're going out tonight. All of us."

He knows the plans. Is in the group chat. Ignored the messages for a reason.

His stare is a little frosty but not unkind. Just uninterested. "Can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both?"

You might be deluding yourself, but you think he smiles slightly when he says that.

"Ah, but you can and you will go to the ball, Cinders," you joke, giving him a small curtsy. "All work no play makes Yoongi a dull boy."

You're joking, but you believe it. He's been miserable the last few months. Keeps himself hauled up in his studio when they're not on the road, and avoids social interaction like the plague. It maddens you. How is he gonna write songs about life and the importance of living one, if he won't let himself do the same?

He's hard to read as he sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Shakes his head, then opens his door a little wider. Encourages you into his space.

A candle burns on his desk, faintly vanilla in its scent, making it feel far cosier than actually is. The room is sullen; dark greys and little else. In fact, it surprises you he's gone for such a pretty cream candle. LED lights that are hidden in the walls glow a deep blue, and it's no wonder he's so miserable. There's no passion in his little pit. No life. Just him, some screens, and the whir of computer fans.

"Will you give something a listen?" He asks, quite clearly seeing you as a last resort - but when you hit rock bottom, the only direction you can go in is up. He knows you're not musical, not like Jin, but perhaps he needs the ear of a consumer, not a creator. "Been wracking my brain trying to think of what this needs. Have listened to it so many times that nothing sounds right anymore. I just- Could you?" He pauses. Looks quite uncomfortable when he adds, "Please?"

You assume the file up on the central screen is the song he's been working on with Jungkook, so you oblige. Kick your shoes off and leave them by the mat. It's been a while since you've been given the luxury of access to the Genius Lab. You used to know the code.

Things with Yoongi used to be different, though.

Not much has changed within his four dark walls since then. He's gained a new painted canvas in the corner of the room, stacked behind the existing ones. It's deep navy blue. Sort of like him, you think. The blue continues. Illuminates his work area. No wonder he never sleeps. The mood lighting is cold. Alert. Is bound to fuck with his brain.

There are more speakers than you can fathom, and switchboards you can't even begin to understand. The programs that Yoongi's running on his computers are familiar, though. You've seen them enough times to get a rough idea of the composition. Can see tabs labelled for Jin's vocals.

Yoongi turns his chair as the door clicks shut, automatic lock whirring into place. There was a time when that sound would have excited you. Not for any lewd, scandalous reason - just for the fact there used to be a time, many moons ago, when you thought Min Yoongi was the hottest man to have ever graced the earth.

And can you blame yourself?

His midnight hair gracefully frames his face, perfectly waved, dark eyes stark against his pale complexion. His skin is dewy, cheeks a little puffy from his lack of sleep and the fact all he has in his system is an iced americano and blue Powerade - yet still, his features are sharp. A white shirt hangs off his broad shoulders, dainty bracelets sitting on his pretty wrists.

Every bit the heartthrob, he's only gotten better with age - but you've grown up, too. Are wiser now. Understand that devastatingly handsome men will always inevitably devastate you, too.

It's for that reason Min Yoongi doesn't bother you in the same ways that he used to. That, and the night that never was.

As you said, devastatingly handsome men will only ever devastate you, too. He's proven that point already.

He points to his chair. "Sit."

The way he's so demanding with his tone annoys you. You shake your head. Choose to stand. "It's cool. Just play the song."

You don't mean to be so sharp. So curt. You're just thinking about how unbearable he's been recently - especially last night. He'd left you on read. Obviously wasn't happy with your response, not that you care.

"Please don't be difficult," he says softly. "Just sit so you can listen properly."

Why your stature could possibly impact your ears and their ability to listen, you'll never know - but you don't argue. As much as Yoongi's contempt for you these days annoys you, you don't want to make it any worse than it already is.

The leather of his chair is warm from his perch. Kind of nice how despite his cool demeanour, he's always a little toasty. He brings the heat of Daegu with him wherever he goes.

"I'm all ears," you tell him, and watch as he presses down on the play button.

"It's not the full song," he says over the melody of an upbeat track. "You'll know the bit I mean though. It's like, not bad, but-"

"Yoongi, shush," you smile, making sure you catch his eye as you do so. Don't want him to think you're snapping. You just wanna hear the sections he's uncertain about in context with the rest of the song.

Quiet as the track begins to echo out, there's an uncharacteristically quaint piano faintly guiding the track. You know he plays, but it's rare for it to be a focal part of the songs he creates.

You understand immediately which section Yoongi's having trouble with - not because it sounds bad, just because the drop before the final chorus doesn't hit quite right. It builds and builds but the arrival at the final chorus is underwhelming.

"Rewind it a bit," you say, wanting to hear it again. Confirm that it's the right part.

Yoongi does as you ask, leaning over you slightly, and says, "Somethings off, right?"

Nodding, you listen for a third time. "Take away the guitar," you say.

He does. It's better, but still not right.

"Maybe you've overcomplicated it?" you muse, thinking that he needs to strip it back entirely, but not wanting to offend him.

"Hmm," he hums. "You think?"

He mutes a few more layers on the track. Plays it again. It's getting there.

"Better, right?" you ask.

He nods as he stands up straight, listening to it over again. Frowns. "Still not quite there."

"I think it might benefit from some distance," you suggest. "Come out with us tonight. Get your mind off this track. Might even get some inspiration."

Shaking his head, he watches as you stand and head towards the door. He's not been out with you since the night that never was. Doesn't enjoy the prospect of risking it all after a couple of drinks inevitably turns into a couple of bottles again - of which he knows it will. If you and Jimin are together, it will be messy. Just how it goes. Throw Jungkook and Tae into the mix? Disaster waiting to happen.

"Look," you sigh. "I know it's not really your thing - but the rest of the boys are game. They all want you there. Just think about it, okay?"

He purses his lips together. Smiles, and turns to face his computer screen once more. "Thanks for your help."

And just like that, you're dismissed. Considering the way he'd messaged you about Jungkook the day before, it went pretty well, you think. Try not to dwell on the fact he couldn't be less interested even if he tried.

It's funny, 'cause as Yoongi stews in his chair, rocking ever so gently, he sighs. Shakes his head. Grumbles to himself quietly: "'they all want you there'... but do you want me there?"

The boys aren't so disappointed when you return with no Yoongi behind you. They all knew what his answer would be, and only sent you so they didn't have to deal with his rejection.

"Took your time," Jimin notes.

You shrug. Deadpan. "Yeah, sorry, got distracted. Too busy shagging him."

"Really?!"

"No, of course not," you laugh, as if it's the funniest suggestion in the world. You sort of think it is. "Nah, he just wouldn't be convinced."

And so it comes as a surprise to everyone when Yoongi shows up at Jimin's place a couple of hours later with a bottle of whisky in hand.

"Shut the fuck up," is all he says as he walks into an absolute commotion, practically everyone in the room elated by his decision to join in. He hides his smile poorly, occasionally letting his teeth show despite his protests.

From the sofa, you catch his eye. Nod. He bunches up his face a little. Nods back - but is quickly distracted by Jimin holding up a clear shot glass filled with fuck knows what. You, too, find yourself distracted by chatter with the rest of the boys and a couple of the girls from the artist liaison team.

In the corner of the room, your phone is plugged into a charger. It's been there since you arrived. You've no need to check it - but you can never leave it too long.

You smile, butterflies kissing your tummy and making their way through your body when you eventually check it.

D4m0cl3s: got a work thing tonight, so probably won't be able to message much gonna be thinkin' about u tho don't miss me too much, clemmie x

The smile is hard to hide. You blame it on the alcohol.

Kind of like how Yoongi smiles half an hour later when he checks his own phone.

Cl3m3ntin3: been a busy bee today, sorry :( all work, no play? :( it'll make you dull, damocles boy x

But then he watches you as you laugh with Jungkook about something trivial. Reads over his messages again. Shakes his head.

Remembers you trying to convince him to join for the evening. How you'd called him Cinders. Told him that all work and no play made him dull.

His heart thuds in his chest. He swallows harshly. Pours a whisky. Swallows that, too.

Breathes a sigh of relief as he taps through a message - 'it's a play thing for work. promise i'll behave x' - and watches your phone after it's marked as 'delivered' in his chat feed.

Your phone is screen-up on the kitchen counter, just within his line of vision. It doesn't light up. Doesn't vibrate. Receives no message.

"Thank fuck," he mumbles, the sinking feeling in his chest lifting as he grabs a fresh whisky.

He quickly walks away from the scene of a crime that never was. Sort of like the night that never was. Is so pleased, in fact, that he's happy to sit beside you on the sofa as Jungkook sets up a drinking game with Jin.

Silly, really, how a few drinks seem to make him forget the concept of 'do not disturb' mode.

"Hey," you smile and he comes to sit down. "Glad you made it."

"Me too," he nods, lips thin, chin dimpling as a shy smile graces his face. He's a little whisky tipsy. Doesn't feel the need to keep such a strict distance from you, now.

"To a good night," you raise your glass to him, and he reciprocates. Clinks them together.

"To a good night."

STAIRWAY BAR Itaewon-ro, Yongsan-Gu

♪ // You First (Re: Remi Wolf)- Paramore

"You're never gonna be this young and this hot again," Jimin slurs after a few too many lemon drops. It's his third time making this point, because it's the third time you've shooed away a guy trying to make a move on you.

They've all been perfectly fine. Nice enough guys, you're sure, but you aren't interested in random hookups. The night really isn't about that. All you want to do is let your hair down with the boys you've known for most of your life.

As Jimin whines about the fact no one is ready to move onto a club yet, bored of the bar, part of you considers the novel idea that one of the men in your rejection pile could have been your Damocles boy. A funny thing to think about, really. He did say he was busy tonight. Said it was for work, but everyone knows how rowdy work dinners can get after the boss leaves.

He could be here. Could have his tail between his legs. Could be looking at you right now, without a clue.

The reality of that wouldn't please you, for it would mean he's out there searching for other women.

While he'd be well within his right to, you selfishly find that that you don't want him to. In fact, all you wanna do is send him a message. Let him know you're thinking of him. That you wish you were at home right now, alone in your sheets with nothing but an internet connection and that damn app to keep you company.

You're with friends, though. Can't open the app without fear of endless ridicule - and not to mention the fact your brother is with you. Not worth it.

As you come to join them, a fresh drink in your hand, you're easily distracted. Are brought back to reality by your favourite people. Neon lights on the ceiling, and relics of time spent in the bar pinned to the walls. Photobooth pictures, foreign currency. Life is embedded into the seams of this place, and it's reassuring, in a way. Makes your dependency on your Damocles boy a lot less intense. You can forget him. Live life. Neglect to check your phone.

"Objection!" Jungkook chimes, following you and Jimin to the corner booth of the bar where the rest of your friends sit. "Older women are, like, so hot. So damn hot. Damn." And then he's thinking to himself. Brows furrowed, pouty lips whistling out a hearty sigh as he shakes his head. Thinks about Jinyu. A couple of the older women at the record company. About Jimin's mother. Laughs. Nods. "Yeah, older women are where it's at."

Both of you look at him with an air of confusion, and yet neither of you question it.

"What did I miss?" Jin beams when he rejoins you, as a member of the bar staff follows him with a bottle of Ciroc resting in an ice bucket. Another staff member will soon bring you cans of drink to use as mixers, but you know damn well these boys will be shotting it down straight.

The bottle won't be on the house, but you know Jin will have charged it back to the company. Will get a bollocking from Hoseok the next time he's in the office. Doesn't care, cause he knows the band makes the record company more money than anyone else on the roster at the moment. The way he sees it, it's their money anyway.

"Jungkook's just declared his love for older ladies," Taehyung deadpans from the sofa opposite yours. "Nothing new."

"Better older than younger," Jin asserts, playfully pushing against your forehead as he walks past you and back to his seat.

As much as you're your own person, you're still his little sister, and the rest of his unruly group of friends will do well to remember that.

Jungkook snorts. Throws a smirk in your direction. "I can make exceptions."

"And I can get away with murder, Kook," Jin assures him - and he's probably right. As much as they like to play into the rock and roll lifestyle, they've got power. Fame. Something that hides them just as much as it projects them. "Don't even think about it."

There's laughter and chatter amongst everyone at such a declaration, but you can't help but wonder if a certain pair of eyes glanced your way upon hearing that.

It's not like Yoongi doesn't know Jin harbours such feelings. Told you the exact same thing, once: that Jin'd murder Jungkook if anything ever happened between the pair of you.

But you also remember what came next.

Even if it's never been spoken about since, you know that remembers, too. The way he refused to reply to your last text is testament to it.

See, he's been avoiding you since long before you got your little job with the company. Would turn down plans if you were in attendance. Declined invites to dinner, and bailed on drinks. Once you started working in such close proximity, it was harder to keep his distance, and so he built up walls.

They're steep, and they're topped with barbed wire. Impenetrable, or so it would seem.

Climbing has never been a strong point of yours, and scaling walls doesn't feel like a pastime you'd enjoy very much, so Yoongi's safe distance from you is kept. He's feline, in that way; how he'll stalk up trees and sit in amongst the branches, peering down at you. Out of reach, holding all the cards.

Flicking your eyes across to him, you find him embroiled in conversation with Namjoon. He's laughing, which admittedly does make you smile. It's been so long since you've been afforded the luxury of witnessing such a thing.

But you're torn from your thoughts by a sudden, sharp tug on your wrist, and don't even realise Jimin is dragging you out of your seat until you're already stumbling behind him. With a shrill yelp and soft giggle, you let him pull you to the stairs that lead up from the basement bar to the earthly realm above.

"C'mon," Jimin calls behind himself, as if you have any choice in the matter. He's got a death grip on you. You're coming along whether you like it or not. "The rest of them are being boring. I wanna dance."

"Maybe I was enjoying being boring!" You argue just for the sake of it, tapping at your pockets to make sure you've still got your phone with you. Not for any particular reason. Just to be safe. Totally not because you fear losing your only contact with your virtual lover. Nothing like that at all.

"Tough," Jimin asserts, not caring where you both end up just as long as there is a dancefloor and a dark corner.

It isn't for any sinister reason, but just because he isn't looking to be the life and soul of the party. His face isn't recognised in the same way that the other boys are, but it doesn't matter. He attracts attention regardless. Goes with the territory of having a face like his. Irresistible to men and women alike. You're yet to meet anyone who doesn't think he's the most beautiful man alive - though Jin certainly does take issue with such a title being awarded to anyone else but him.

But just like Jin, there's a magnetism about Jimin. Moths to a flame, the rest of the boys follow suit and head up towards the street. The entire area code is a cluster of bars and hole-in-the-wall food joints. It's made for this time of the night, when the clouds are shielding the eyes of the moon from all sorts of sin, just a few stray stars guiding the way.

Light pollution bleeds upwards and out. Even if you know the stars are there, you can't see them - and it's not like you get the chance to check either way, for Jimin's already pulling you down the stairs to another basement bar.

This one is larger - two stories. Quieter on the first floor, it's the second level where he wants to be.

A planner in both professional and personal life, even though he seems erratic and all out of order, Jimin has everything under control. Knows the managers of most (if not all) of the bars on this street. Called a favour in this afternoon for one of the downstairs booths, just adjacent to the dancefloor, to be roped off & reserved. Knew that some of the boys would, in his mind, be 'boring', but still wanted everyone together. It's the best of both worlds. He can dance, and they can talk, or whatever they wanna do.

♪ // Desert Eagle - Silica Gel

Min Yoongi doesn't dance. He drinks. He observes. He watches the debauchery unfold from a safe distance, much like he does with you. Sometimes - not always - he thinks. Ponders. Wonders if maybe he's wasting his time by not indulging in the same way other people do. If he's missing out. Considers perhaps his friends are right to revel in such mindless frivolities.

He doesn't debate his choices often, but as he gets comfortable in this new place, he can't help it. Thinks word must have gotten out about their planned attendance, 'cause he notices far more eyes on them than normal. Far more women vying for their attention. Men, too. Whether it be sex or status, their intrigue is always fuelled by something.

The rest of the boys revel in it.

Yoongi doesn't care for it - but there's a reputation to uphold. A brand image that being spotted in clubs and getting up to no good only helps. Seals them as the real deal. Gets them out of the bracket of 'posers' or manufactured, not that it really fuckin' matters.

There are two girls to each of them. Supply and demand. There aren't enough of The Scouts to go around, but people will share. Will take all they can get. Sharp eyeliner, pretty hair, the girls all have their wits about them, and it's potentially the worst part of it all - they're making the conscious, informed choice to lower themselves to a standard well beneath their worth.

The club stinks of sticky liquor and smoke, but beneath the veil they're all wearing the same perfume. Whatever's currently being marketed as 'irresistible' to men. Was vanilla a few years ago. Yoongi is certain it's something muskier now, but isn't sure what. Makes no difference to him.

There's only one perfume he knows he really likes, and has trained himself to despise it by association.

It's a shame that he hasn't trained himself to stop looking in your direction whenever he thinks of you. Is part of the reason he doesn't like drinking around you. Makes such stupid mistakes. His malevolent mask fails to hide him. The facade slips.

Tongue resting in the corner of his mouth, he doesn't realise he's staring. Eyes dark as they watch you with Jimin, Yoongi wonders if you've always had that tattoo just above your elbow. It's small, and dainty. Hard to make out from where he is, but when your arms are in the air, he's fixated on it. Thinks it must be new.

But then your arms drop to rest on Jimin's shoulders, and he's reminded of what you look like when you're all hot and bothered. Reminded of that night. The one that never was. Haunted by the rivulet of sweat that had trickled down your skin in a sauna that neither of you had any business being inside; just you and him in a silent descent into sin, and the smirk on your lips as his eyes had followed the droplet down your body.

His attention is yanked from you when an ice cube lands in his lap. Glacing across to the direction it came from as he pushes it to the floor, Yoongi scowls at Jungkook. "The fuck was that for?"

"Remember the rules," Jungkook smirks. "Look, but don't touch."

"Wasn't fuckin' looking," Yoongi sneers, completely ignorant of the women vying for his attention. "Was just thinking Jimin needs to to sober up. Man's a state. And unlike you, I wouldn't touch her if humanity depended on it."

"I'm a man of the people," Jungkook teases. "If repopulating the earth was my duty, I'd do it. Can't believe you wouldn't."

"She's got where she is today through sheer nepotism and audacity alone," Yoongi counters. "Doesn't have the kinda genes you'd wanna repopulate the earth with."

"Foul," Taehyung laughs. He's the only one of the boys without women hanging off him. Is stern and authoritative in his rejection of their advances; not yet married but wears a ring around his finger to let them know he's deadly serious. Landed himself in hot water a few months back after photos of him talking to a girl outside a bar - no matter how innocently - circulated online. A bad angle and misrepresentation of events had almost decimated the one thing he cares about more than the band: his relationship. Refuses to ever let it happen again. "Absolutely foul, Yoongi. You know you don't mean that."

"He just needs to get laid," Jungkook chimes in. "Has been celibate for so long he's forgotten how good sex is. Used to be a time he'd fuck anything willing with a pulse-"

It's not untrue. He was reckless in his youth - but aren't we all?

"Yeah, and then I grew up, Kook," Yoongi says with little to no emotion, getting to his feet. Taps his pocket to check for his phone, and then taps the other for his wallet. All there. "Should try it."

When Yoongi looks back up to the crowd, you're gone. He rolls his eyes. Shakes his head. Is almost mentally berating you, as if you've done something wrong - but you haven't, and he damn well knows it.

Perhaps that's the most frustrating part of it all: everything falls back on him. The awkwardness. The cold shoulders. The night that never was. If he would have just made more sensible choices back then, things could be easier now.

It's not that things are hard, as such - just that they aren't how they used to be. Rose-tinted glasses, and all that.

Over by the bar, there's a haze around you: clouded judgement, misted intentions.

The smallest things put a smile on your face, thanks to the alcohol in your veins. Could be the song that's already been played three times coming on yet again. Could be witnessing some random guy get pied by every single girl he approaches. Could be the way your vodka orange takes like juice. Anything and everything feels light. Airy. Breezy.

"What's so funny?" Some guy asks, leaning in a little closer to you - and just like that, your mood is soured. You're not here to make friends, but rather spend time with your pre-existing ones, and judging by the look on his face, he's hoping for a little more than friendship.

"Oh, nothing," you smile politely, crossing your arms over your chest as you angle your body away from his. Hope that he'll get the message.

He does. Just doesn't like it very much.

"No need to be a bitch," he sneers under his breath just loud enough for you to hear.

Normally, you'd leave it. Let him have his little tantrum. Be a big baby.

But you were in such a good mood, and you're annoyed that he's ruined it.

Wanna ruin his, too.

Snapping back to face him, you're about to launch into a tirade, but you come face-to-face with a chest that looks far too good in a simple T-shirt and find yourself faltering, instead.

Yoongi looks down at you, eyes dark, scowl ever-present. Says nothing. Just nods. You think he's asking if you're okay - so you nod back. Won't get into a debate over the fact you were perfectly fine, and have no issue asserting your boundaries with strangers.

Shoulders broad, the guy who had been bothering you is entirely eclipsed by Yoongi.

Glancing across to the bar staff, Yoongi nods. "Hibiki." Glances down at you. Checks the colour of your glass. It's obscured by the bar lights, but he knows it isn't dark enough to be coke, and remembers your order from before things got complicated. Figures some things haven't changed. Looks back towards the server. "Vodka Orange." Passes over his card. Says nothing to you. Just keeps his eyes on yours.

There's a subtle blush dusting his cheeks. The heat, you think. It's unnoticeable for the most part, but sometimes the lights hit him just right, and you're reminded of how warm he can be. How inviting.

He's always been impressive. Taller in sheer presence than he is in stature. Even back in high school, his nature was domineering. Respected. Lips gently parted, you're unable to move. Suddenly, nothing is funny anymore. It's heavy. Thick. Suffocating. You're deaf to the bass of the music that thumps through your body. Ignorant of the people moving around you.

But then Yoongi's being offered his card back, and Jimin bounds on into you like a lost puppy finally finding its owner.

"For me?!" Jimin exclaims as the drinks are slid across the bar, passing the vodka orange to you and picking up Yoongi's whisky for himself.

Shaking yourself from the shackles of Yoongi's stare, you look down. Realign your mind. Glance back over and nod a silent thank you - but then you turn and leave the drink by the bar. Head for the bathrooms. Refuse to look back, so utterly perplexed by what on earth just happened.

In a frank, factual recount of the events, Yoongi just stood beside you and ordered a drink.

In your hysterical, deluded mind, Yoongi just stood beside you and opened the skies; let a flood of water torrent down. Drowned everyone in the process save for you - except you're the one gasping now as you stare yourself out in the bathroom mirror.

Phone still on don't disturb, you pull it from your pocket and check just in case he's thinking of you.

Not Yoongi, no. You push him out of your mind. Think of your Damocles boy. He's the one you wished had joined you at the bar. The one you've been yearning for all night.

And sure enough, he has been thinking of you, too.

D4m0cl3s: there are some weirdos out and about tonight, clem keep yourself safe for me, okay?

It's strange, how guilt needlessly creeps in so silently that you don't even realise it's there until an invisible hand is over your mouth. You're suffocating again, or so it would seem. Drowning, maybe. Perhaps Yoongi wasn't saving you at all; he was dragging you down instead.

You wish you were at home. Wish you weren't so drunk. Wish you could think straight. Wish your balance was a little better - but it's not, and as you try and think of a response that goes beyond 'i miss you' or a 'you should be here', you stumble a little. Lose your footing. Grab onto the sink to stop yourself from falling over entirely, only to send your phone crashing to the floor.

"Fuck," you curse, scrambling down to get it, only to be greeted with a fracture splintering right over the top of your front camera. Pulling up the app, it's very quickly clear that the camera absolutely ruined - but for the most part, your screen is okay. "Fuck."

You think it's a sign: go home.

Even if you're drunk, and you're in the business to make some bad decisions, you know that your Damocles boy is right. There are some weirdos about tonight, and as fucked up as it all seems, 'safe' feels a lot like a message thread with a man you've never met.

Instead of replying to him, you open up your thread with Jimin. Let him know you're going home. Make your way up the stairs and out of the bar without looking back. It's rare for you to cry when you drink, but it kind of feels like you will now, and for no good reason. Just had a little too much, that's all.

The light around fades from the invasive red of the club into the murky blue hues of the streets.

And yet, there's a lovely little red flag waiting by the top of the stairs, unaware of your decision to head home, too.

"You leaving already?" You chirp in surprise upon realising who it is.

The sound of your voice, and the fact it's addressing him, seems to take Yoongi by surprise when he turns to face you.

"I, uh," he pauses. Looks down. Seems to be a little flustered. You wonder what's going inside that head of his, but when his eyes meet yours again, you decide you're better off not knowing. "Can't be home too late. I'm sorta seeing someone. Gotta get back for them."

"Oh," you say quietly.

I'm seeing someone.

"Yeah."

It's not like it matters, it's just that you never expected to hear him say those words. He's married to his music. Always has been. Spends his nights in the studio, not sleeping next to someone else.

Or perhaps he doesn't anymore. Just goes to show how little you know of his life these days.

"That's nice," you chirp, swallowing down your surprise. "Yeah. That's really nice, actually. I'm pleased for you."

In a way, it makes sense. Perhaps his strangeness lately has been less to do with you and more to do with himself and the fact he genuinely doesn't care about the past anymore. Thoughts of the night that never was are genuinely reserved for your brain, and your brain alone. Have no place in his. His warning about Jungkook was due to lessons learned by him.

"And you?" He asks, noticing the slight discomfort in your tone. He wouldn't normally entertain such frivolous conversations with you, but he's only human. Alcohol still gets him a little loose-lipped, too. "What's new in your love life?"

You laugh, now. Good fuckin' question. Genuinely don't know how to describe your Damocles boy, or if you even want to.

"Nothing new."

"No?"

"No," you smile in such a way that Yoongi knows you're not telling the whole truth - but who is he to pry?

"Well," he says, then coughs to clear his throat. Look out to the street ahead of you both. It's full of drunk revellers, and you're certain at least half of them will have The Scouts in their playlists. Yoongi's position in the band means he's never front and centre, so no one notices him like this. If they do, they're being incredibly discreet about it. "I'm sure you'll meet someone soon."

"Maybe," you shrug, knocking your shoulder against his arm. "Be easier if you didn't stand in front of every guy who shows an interest in me."

"It was one guy," he laughs, knowing not to take you too seriously. "And you know he was a creep. Was just standing in for your brother."

"Yeah," you nod, not caring to counter him, or to remind him how fucked up it is to refer to himself like that. Folding your arms over your chest, you're regretting the lack of a coat. Had left it back at pre-drinks, because a little bit of liquor and you suddenly think you're a child of the sun. "You're right. Thanks for that."

"No worries," Yoongi shrugs. Is about to offer you his jacket, when a taxi rolls up. "This yours?"

"Yeah," you nod, recognising the number plate from the taxi you'd ordered via an app when you'd been in the bathroom. "Want a lift?"

He shakes his head. "Gotta head to the studio first."

"Yoongi, you're drunk," you laugh. "What did I tell you about all work?"

"Yeah, yeah, dull boy," he laughs too - but it's not you he's thinking of as he recites it. It's the girl he's heading home for that enters his mind, and how she'd said something similar. Shaking his head, he's confused at how easily thoughts of her intertwine with how easy it can be to joke with you. Puts it down to the alcohol. His head's a mess. "Inspiration doesn't wait. Let Jimin or someone know when you're home."

"Get in the cab," you insist at his need to be difficult. "I'll route it past the studio. Inspiration doesn't wait," you imitate a little childishly, which does get him smiling. "Better to get to it quickly, no?"

He looks around. Looks a little uncomfortable. You don't take it personally. He looks like this a lot of the time around you. Even before it all got weird.

Eventually, he sighs. Relents.

"Route it to yours," he says. "I'll carry on to the studio."

"Studio is closer," you tell him, knocking your head to the side, pulling open the door. "C'mon. The driver will leave if you don't hurry up."

"And Jin'll kill me if you get stolen," he reminds you, as if that would be likely to happen. Even if the taxi driver was a creep, there are cameras everywhere in places like this. You're as safe as can be. "You first. Non-negotiable."

"You're a tough bargainer," you hum with narrowed eyes. He is at least here, and not walking in the cold. Would have to cross the river to get to the studio, and the thought of any of them drunkenly walking along it alone scares you. "Fine. But you better not get stolen, either. Twitter would have a meltdown- no, Twitter would kill me if you get stolen."

"Shut up," he laughs. Knows The Scouts have a fanbase that could scare even political leaders into submission, if they really wanted to. "They don't even know who you are."

But Yoongi is forgetting who your brother is. Forgetting that there's a good reason why Jungkook has 'look but don't touch' etched into his brain. Forgetting that there are Twitter accounts dedicated to posting updates from your socials, just for a glimpse of The Scouts.

And as you let silence simmer into the taxi, not caring to keep up a conversation, you're none the wiser that those exact fan accounts are currently screaming into the void.

The Yoongi-dedicated update accounts, too.

In fact, the entire app is on fire - and it's not gonna be an easy one to put out.

03:31AM

D4m0cl3s: you still out, clem?

Cl3m3ntin3: why? miss me?

D4m0cl3s: never

Cl3m3ntin3: hmmm well in that case, yes i am x

D4m0cl3s: i think you're lying you answered far too quickly

Cl3m3ntin3: i think you should just admit that you miss me and u just caught me at a good time :/

D4m0cl3s: but i don't? and ur nose must be soooooo big pinocchio

Cl3m3ntin3: yeah you do you've missed me sooooo much tonight, havent you? bet you've been all mopey just thinking about me aaaaaaall night me & my proportionally sized nose x

D4m0cl3s: dunno what you mean

Cl3m3ntin3: well, are you home?

D4m0cl3s: almost

Cl3m3ntin3: not even home yet and already texting me... but you don't miss me? you're lucky you've got such a nice cock i wouldn't let your lies slide so easily if you didn't

D4m0cl3s: so you're only with me for my cock?

Cl3m3ntin3: i'm not with you

D4m0cl3s: ouch noted

Cl3m3ntin3: you're the one who refuses to have me, remember?

D4m0cl3s: you know it's not like that, clem

Cl3m3ntin3: i know, babe i'm just fucking with you figuratively (sadly) i'm with friends though - i'll let you know when i'm alone, alright?

D4m0cl3s: don't worry about me enjoy your night trouble message me in the morning, yeah?

Cl3m3ntin3: if this is a ploy to make me message you first, it wont work

D4m0cl3s: finei 'll message you

Cl3m3ntin3: keen

D4m0cl3s: you love it

Cl3m3ntin3: suuuure i do

D4m0cl3s: stay safe, babe drink water before bed

Cl3m3ntin3: you wanna drink some clementine juice before bed?

D4m0cl3s: i dont think they make clementine juice and no you know the rules sleep off the alcohol first then send me pictures of that gorgeous cunt in the morning, yeah?

Cl3m3ntin3: and what will i get in return?

D4m0cl3s: the video i've just taken of myself stroking my big hard cock just for you

Cl3m3ntin3: fuck send it now? pls x

D4m0cl3s: keen and no x

Cl3m3ntin3: c'monnnn :(

D4m0cl3s: in the morning, baby just know that i'm a little drunk but so fuckin' hard

Cl3m3ntin3: no whiskey dick? i'm impressed

D4m0cl3s: i'm thinking about you nothing will ever stop me from getting hard when im thinking about you

Cl3m3ntin3: watcha thinkin about? gimmie specifics x i wanna touch myself

D4m0cl3s: that pretty cunt of yours how fuckin' wet you get god i wanna fuck you nice and slow NO FUCK STOP TEMPTING ME YOU SIREN

Cl3m3ntin3: 🙁

D4m0cl3s: in the morning

Cl3m3ntin3: you promise?

D4m0cl3s: i promise, baby go spend time with your friends message me if you need anything

Cl3m3ntin3: your dick?

D4m0cl3s: anything other than that you'll get it in the morning, clemmie promise x

D4m0cl3s is offline

GENIUS LAB Big Hit Ent, Yongsan-gu

"All good?" Yoongi hums as the door to his studio clicks shut.

He'd left the door on the latch so you could get back in when you went to the bathroom. Could have just given you the code, but he didn't want you to think he'd be making a habit of this. It's a limited-time offer. Not one that can be redeemed whenever you like. It's now, and now only.

"Yeah, yeah," you nod, pulling on the back of the spare desk chair Yoongi had rolled up beside his. You don't look at him, just at the screens as you tell a little white lie. "Just let Jimin know I was okay."

Yoongi grunts some sort of agreement, but doesn't vocalise a response as such.

It's not like a complete subversion of the truth. A text has been sent to your group chat. The one with just Jungkook and Jimin. No one else needs to know your business, as far as you're concerned.

It's just that a few more texts have been sent to your Damocles boy—but that's none of Yoongi's business. You're sure he wouldn't care to know.

You're also sure he's regretting the request for help bestowed upon you on the ride back. He'd mentioned the song he was going to work on, and you'd offered to lend an ear again.

It's not an unheard-of thing. There are a couple of tracks on the last album that have been tweaked as a result of your ear, including their biggest single. You're not listed in the credits, but you never asked to be. Was just helping out a friend—even if said friend then decided to become an asshole when they started making a name for themselves.

You're tipsy, and so is Yoongi. It's easier to forget how fraught things have become when you're like this. You wouldn't be here right now if you hadn't had a few too many drinks.

You also probably wouldn't be trending all over twitter, but you're still blissfully unaware of this.

"Same track as before, right?" You ask, kicking your shoes off to get a little more comfortable on the chair.

Again, words fail Yoongi. You're forced to decipher his small noises, 'cause it's all he tends to offer you. It's not like it's a uniquely you issue—the boys have learned to speak in Yoongi-code, too.

"Okay, play it from the start," you tell him. "Show me what we're working with."

There's a cautious nature to the way Yoongi works. So preoccupied with creating perfection, he hates letting people hear his work before it's reached his self-imposed arbitrary standards. There's only a very small circle who gets the privilege of seeing how his brain works.

Despite his ever-present disdain for you, it seems like you're one of the lucky few. He'll never acknowledge this. Never admit that he favours your opinions, because he genuinely doesn't think he does.

You're frank with him. Will tell him how it is. Don't sugarcoat it. Aren't seeking his approval, so don't care to lick his ass just to keep him happy—not that he ever wants you to lick his ass. Could think of nothing worse. Not because he isn't into it, but because the thought of being with you repulses him in a way he can't quite describe. Even thinking about it makes him shudder.

But maybe that's the issue. Maybe the shudder is indicative of something else entirely.

"Yoongi?" You ask, drawing him from his thoughts. The song has finished, but he doesn't even really recall listening to it at all.

"Hm?" He hums. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"The lyrics," you say. "What's the song about? 'Cause at the moment, musically, it sounds like a heartbreak song and love song all at the same time, and I think that's what's confusing about it. It can't decide what it wants to be."

Yoongi frowns.

"It's not really either," he supposes.

In the dim lighting of his studio, Yoongi is at his very best. Focused, he's shrewd in his astute calculations. Can put together different sounds and construct melodies you wouldn't even be able to dream of. For all of his issues, there is one undeniable truth: the man is a musical genius.

It's why this is all so perplexing to him. He hates not knowing how to make things right. This is his job. It's what he excels at—and yet he's failing.

"Well, what's it about?" You softly ask, turning to look at him. "Do you have the lyrics?"

Guard clearly up, the way Yoongi looks at you is puzzling. Whatever he's written isn't something that he wants to share.

"What?" you laugh, trying to not make a big deal of things. You know how quickly he closes up, and can already sense it happening. "You told me you're seeing someone, remember? God forbid you accidentally expose the fact you're a human being with real feelings."

You half think he might smile.

He doesn't.

Instead, he reaches across his desk for a small black notebook. A little weathered, it's clearly seen a lot of thoughts in the past. The leather of the cover is tarnished, and there's a faded sticker from some instrument brand wrapping around the spine.

"Just don't ask any fuckin' questions," he grumbles.

Rolling your eyes, you gladly accept the book. Tuck your thumb between the pages where a natural divide occurs. It's testament to how long Yoongi has spent agonising over the same words.

His handwriting never changes much. Always messy. Always hard to decipher.

Or at least, it's hard for other people. You've never found it to be too taxing.

What's curious this time are the little doodles on the page. Blossoms and small fruits.

"Cherries?" You ask, chirping with a little curiosity. It's hard to work out exactly what they are, but cherries seem like the most likely thing.

Yoongi just grunts.

Getting anything from him is like getting blood from a stone.

"How the fuck do you have a functioning relationship?" You mutter, casting your eyes back down to his words. The way he refuses to converse with you is infuriating.

"I said no questions," he curtly reminds you.

The way you roll your eyes this time is far less kind. Tossing the book back down on the desk, you reach for your shoes and get to your feet without a word.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," you tell him, as your hand reaches for the door handle. "You asked me for help, Yoongi—but I can't do jack shit if you won't let me."

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask for critique on my relationship, did I?" He snaps back. Feels his skin get all hot. Clammy. Relationship. That's not how he'd define what he's got going on. He doesn't know why he did call it that. Doesn't know why he didn't just ignore you, when you're clearly trying to wind him up.

"You're impossible," you tell him, patience thin. The alcohol made it easier to be friendly with him, but it also makes it easier to fight, too.

"And you're unbearable!"

"Me?!" You say with such offense it almost surprises Yoongi. Turning around to fully face him, you let go of the the door handle. Let it whisper shut, the lock softly clicking into place. You're willingly trapped in the confines of his studio. Could just leave. Instead, you choose to fight. "Oh, you have some fucking nerve—"

"I thought you were going?" He cuts you off, responding to your change in position by getting to his feet too. He's not one for confrontation, but there's something about you that just gets under his skin. Makes him wanna fight right back. "So why don't you just fuckin' go?"

"I am," you assure him. You should have known that this would end in disaster. "But maybe if you channelled some of this pent-up frustration into your music, maybe you'd actually get somewhere."

"I don't need you telling me how to do my job," he sneers. "If you hadn't noticed, I'm doing perfectly fine without your unsolicited advice."

Unbelievable. Was he not the one who asked for your help? Repeatedly?

"Holy shit," you scornfully laugh. "Listen to yourself, you deluded prick! You asked—"

"Yeah, well if you didn't insist on sticking your big fuckin' Pinnochio nose into everything—"

"My big nose?! Oh, you are such an asshole."

"You're no fuckin' daisy, either," he snaps. Doesn't even really know why he's being so rude. Just knows he doesn't want to back down. Doesn't wanna let you win. "Just do us all a favour and quit before the tour. No one wants you there."

It's never been a secret that Yoongi harbours contempt for the way in which you got your jobs, but you know damn well that you've proven your worth. If it was anyone else saying these words, you'd probably be offended.

Instead, you just shake your head. Laugh. Walk a little closer just to piss him off. Encroach upon his personal space.

"Tell me, Yoongi," you say quietly, picking off a little dust from his shirt just to see how he reacts. To your surprise, he lets you. Just looks down at you. Watches to see what you'll do next. Eyes flicking up to his, the air between you is frightfully thin. "If I quit, how would you explain it to Jin? Hmm? Would you tell him the way you speak to me?"

"I've got nothing to hide," Yoongi replies just as quietly. There's an intimacy to be found somewhere hidden between your mutual disdain and heated anger. The kind of coldness that can only come from someone you once knew to be warm. "He knows you're a piece of work."

This does make you laugh. "Nothing to hide, huh?"

"Nothing," he says. His jaw is tense, and his eyes are even more so. "Nothing happened that night."

"Yoongi, I didn't even mention that night," you remind him with a smirk, pleased at your ability to get under his skin.

That night has lingered with you both: the scent of damp cedar wood and the sensation of sweltering heat against your clammy skin. It's not the kind of thing you forget, even if you never speak of it. Not with Jimin, not with Jungkook, and especially not with Yoongi.

"Just get out of my studio," he growls, eyes centred on yours. He's unwavering in the way that he stares you out; unashamed and uncompromising.

"Gladly," you say as you pull away from him.

You're not gonna beg him to be cordial with you. This atmosphere is a product of his own creation, and as miserable as it is, he's gonna have to be the one to fix it. Both as stubborn as one another, you know damn well it's gonna stay like for a while.

The door slams shut. No amount of soundproofing can obscure the way Yoongi curses into the void left by you.

But right on time, as you reach the door that leads out onto the street, your phone vibrates in your pocket. It's a little longer than the vibration of your other apps, so you know exactly what it is. Who it is. Solace is found in the form of notifications from him. Satisfaction, too.

D4m0cl3s: fuck it i need you, now, clem

D4m0cl3s added new media to the chat!

end of part two

#yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #rockstar!yoongi #yoongi fluff #bangtan ff #bts x reader #yoongi masterlist #yoongi x reader #yoongi ff #rockstar!bts #dappleddaisies #byholly #dating app au #rockstar au #myg x reader #bts fanfic #bts smut

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betty-gb · 5 months

Text

My Muse | Luke Castellan

Request: So I’ve have this in the back of my head for a while- so hear me out, Luke x Artist reader(they could be the child of Hephaestus since he’s also the god of art and creativity) reader is sketching next to the lake and Luke sorta stumbles across them drawing 👀

Warnings: none I think, unedited

AN: thank you so much for requesting I hope you like it!! This is sorta a pre-dating thing, crushing on each other. It’s second person, unlike my last one so ig I’ll see which I like better. I’m 99% sure it’s gender-neutral reader and reader is a child of Hephaestus. Oh also I’m so sorry I know nothing about drawing faces I tried my best 😭😭

The breeze was soft, slightly ruffling the worn pages of your sketchbook. Today you had strayed from your usual inspiration, drawing the horizon as opposed to your default muse. Oh to be loved by an artist. All someone would have to do is flip one page to uncover the many portraits of Luke Castellan that lay in the book, to be quite honest you were surprised no one had noticed yet. Well, other than your sister Nyssa, who had sworn to secrecy. As you sketched the fleeting clouds, ink from your hand staining the paper, you felt a presence approaching.

“Hey Luke,” you smiled, not bothering to look up.

“What are you drawing this time?”

“Just the sky,” you looked up at him, “but it’s pretty much done.”

“Draw me next,” his tone was teasing but you could see sincerity in his eyes.

“Draw you?” A small laugh escaped your mouth, if only he knew, “I’m afraid I only draw pretty things.”

Both of you erupted into a fit of giggles when he lightly hit your arm in annoyance.

“But seriously,” he continued, “draw me.”

After a small quirk of your eyebrow, “Alright.”

You began with an outline of his jaw, scolding him to stop moving every few minutes. Most of the times you had drawn him had been from a distance, a memory, or sometimes a picture, so you found ease in drawing the boy when he was seated in front of you. You took this time to admire his features unquestioned. Were his eyes always that pretty? Did his hair always falling in such perfect curls? You felt a slight heat in your cheeks and mentally scolded yourself.

Luke soon grew impatient, the ADHD of all demigods taking over and he began to spew random conversation and fiddle with the nature that lay below him. In due time you had finished a basic sketch of the boy, holding it out for his curious eyes.

He hummed in approval, eyebrows raising slightly, “That’s really good.”

“Thanks,” the blush reappeared.

“You must have a lot of practice drawing me.”

You could tell he was dangling the information in front of you, the glint in his eyes revealing a familiar mischief. Your secret muse was not so secret anymore.

“Nyssa?”

“Ya,” he nodded. A silence fell, not quite comfortable yet not one of discomfort. You sat in contemplation, heart beating at the mere idea of your next words.

“Well, beautiful things deserve to be appreciated.”

There was a beat of silence before the boy’s response came, “l would draw you but I’m not sure I have the talent to do your beauty justice.”

This time the silence was comfortable, both of you blushed with tiny smiles curling your lips.

The moment was broken by a shout of your name. Nyssa, the backstabber. But that was a conversation for another day. She spouted some nonsense about your younger brother needing help with his project before rushing off again.

“Duty calls,” you sighed, lifting yourself from the ground and collecting your book.

“Draw me again sometime?” He smiled from the ground.

“I would have anyway.”

“I know.”

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #pjo tv show #pjo series #pjo

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neteyamsyawntu · 5 months

Text

Kinkmas Day 12

K u r u P l a y

Teylan x Human!Reader

Warnings: 🔞MINORS DNI🔞, Slight corruption, hypersensitivity, Teylan being a little subby baby, dom!reader, grinding, interspecies relationship, size difference,

‼️Potential spoilers for Avatar:Frontiers of Pandora‼️

You had only recently escaped the RDA, having been a botanist on the western frontier at one of the drilling sites. You were mortified with what the RDA was doing to Pandora and its effect on its inhabitants. Luckily enough you were out in the field researching when the site was attacked by the resistance.

It wasn’t long before you found your way to the resistance with that of a guiding hand from one of the long lost Sarentu warriors, and while most of the members of the resistance welcomed you in, a particular member of the remaining Sarentu was almost as curious about you as you were about him, even offering to show you around HQ. He had so many questions about you and your work, especially the technology you used that he found himself getting side tracked with the tour.

“S-sorry I’m getting carried away aren’t I?” Teylan said in a soft voice, fiddling with a broken radio that was strapped to his chest, bowing his head slightly, clear embarrassment in his features. “Haha, it’s alright, Teylan. Really I don’t mind the questions.” You muse enthusiastically, instinctively grasping his free hand to grab his attention, which you achieved much faster than you had thought. His tail quickly rose to attention then began swaying back and forth wildly, eyes wide as his shocked expression turns into a tooth grin. “Really? Well if you’re sure do you mind if we sit? I have so many more questions to ask.”.

You can’t help, but smile wider as he gently takes your hand, guiding you to sit on one of the soft pillows in the living quarters, sitting beside you with large and eager eyes, “Sure, but under the condition that I can ask you some questions as well.”. He almost reminded you of a puppy with how passionate and excited he got when you began to explain about the tablet you used to scan, log, and store information on the plants you studied. He was so cute, so eager to learn. It seemed very evident that Teylan was the odd one compared to the other members of his small clan, wearing more human apparel and taking interest in their tech, while the others focused on finding themselves and their past culture, yet even as you spoke to him, you couldn’t help, but trace his beautiful stripes with your eyes.

He wasn’t treating you like the little human you knew you were, he was just interested to know of your studies, yet you couldn’t wipe away the idea that he was still nearly 10ft tall.

“Do you mind if I see your hand again?” You ask a little timidly holding out your much smaller one for him to place his into. Again his ears perk and eyes go wide as his eyes study your hand for a brief moment, the smile that had been on his face the entire time twitching a little bit, “My hand? Sure.”. As Teylan places his hand into yours, palm up, you immediately feel the weight of it, unconsciously bringing your other hand to support it. Your eyes light up as he feel the texture of his hands, “They’re so soft.” You whisper under your breath, giving his hand a gentle squeeze in your own, of what you could fit, making a mental note that it was probably due to living in a classroom all his life, not having to fight for survival and overuse them, You hadn’t even realized you had spoken aloud until Teylan chimed in with a, “Oh- uh thank you, yours are soft too.”.

You are suddenly brought out of your thoughts by the voice, now kicking yourself for being so careless as color rises to your cheeks. “Sorry I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” You laugh a bit nervously, now avoiding eye contact with the na’vi, “It is alright.. I don’t mind if that was your concern.” He reassures you, his tail tapping happily against the pillows beside him. You can’t help, but smile at his body language, releasing a soft giggle as you continue to examine his body, your hand and eyes trialing up his arms, admiring the striped pattern of his skin, not failing to notice the shiver that runs through his body as you run a finger along one of the stripes of his bicep, a small muffled noise coming from his throat.

“Are you alright, Teylan?” You ask looking up at him with a mix of concern and intrigue, “Yes… just a tickle.. that’s all.” He responds is a quick mumbling of words. You simply nod and go back to your thoughts. Of course there were parts of the na’vi that were similar to humans, but the parts that weren’t were so fascinating. The part you feel you envied most was his neural queue. To have the ability to connect with any living organism around the world was almost mind boggling. “Do you mind if I ask a bit of a personal question?” You ask lowering his hand a bit to rest it against your thigh as you continue to hold it in your grasp, “Not at all, ask away!”, “Your neural queue… what is it like? Having one I mean, like being able to connect with everything?”.

Teylan’s brows crease a bit as he contemplates this for a moment and then shrugs, “It is odd… a little scary if I’m being honest, I’ve only ever really connected to Eywa through the Tarsyu, but I don’t do it very often.” You silently nod in understanding as your thumb absentmindedly caresses over the palm of his hand, sending another tingle through his body, “Erm.. would you like to look at it?” He asks perking his ears up, his enthusiasm being more than contagious, agreeing to him without an argument. You can’t help but notice the small blush on his face as he pull the long and thick braid over his shoulder, holding it gently in his hand, presenting it to you.

Immediately Teylan has your full attention as he flips the end of his braid up to reveal the pinkish-purple tendrils that swirl and tangle on themselves in the air, waiting for something to grasp onto. “Woah…” you hums in fascination, slowly leaning closer to get a better look at them. “So… what do you think? Is it… weird to see up close?” Teylan asks somewhat hesitantly, coaxing you to instantly switch your gaze to his, offering him a soft smile, “Not at all! I think it’s incredible. It’s actually kind of pretty.”

Again the color on Teylan’s cheeks seem to darken as you move slightly closer, “Do you mind if I touch it? Just the braid, I promise I won’t touch the tendrils.”. You can hear Teylan audibly gulp with a nod and adjust his position slightly to hold his kuru out a tad closer to you. Time seems to still as you extend your petite hand up toward his braid, you wanted to be as delicate as possible with such an intimate part of his body. Your heart was pounding in your chest as your fingers extend to delicately caress the thick braid of his kuru. The moment your fingertips brush the dark hairs, a slightly broken gasp forced you to retract your fingers, looking up at Teylan’s flushed face with concern, “I- I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you.”, “No! No it… it didn’t hurt. I was just a little surprised, no one has ever touched it before, but me.”.

A warm smile crossed your features as you nod, placing your other hand in his own, “Here you can squeeze my hand if it becomes too much… just don’t break it ok?” You chuckle a little awkwardly, but it seems to put his mind at ease as she allows you to continue with a second attempt. Again his body stiffens as your fingers make contact with the braid, a shaky exhale leaving his body, closing his eyes as a means to concentrate on something. You watch his body language closely adding his mannerisms and reactions to a place in your brain to write down and analyze later. Of course your specialty was in plant-life, but the na’vi were such fascinating beings.

“I’m going to move my hand downward, ok?” You state, wanting to make sure you didn't catch him off guard or do anything to make him uncomfortable. With a slightly breathy “O-ok.” You take your granted permission as gently drag your hand down the length of his kuru. Teylan’s ears immediately flatten against his head, his non-existent brows rising and lips parting to allow a faint whimper to escape him. The sound of his tail batting against the pillows more roughly catches your attention as you shift your hand further. You hadn’t expected his kuru to be this sensitive, originally assuming that the tendrils would’ve been the area to coax this much of a reaction out of him, and perhaps to some extent they still would, yet you would never venture to investigate, wanting to respect his boundaries. However that wouldn’t stop your curious nature from experimenting further with the rest of his kuru.

You weren’t even sure why you did it, maybe just caught up in the moment of analyzing his body’s reactions, but before you know it, your eyes had drifted to the tent pitching in his loincloth. The heat in your face rises at an alarming rate as you avert your eyes before he has a chance to notice. Now the gears in your head had shifted to a slightly different approach, however inappropriate the best or worst form of the sense. Cautiously, your palm begins to wrap around Teylan’s kuru, now holding it gently in your hand. Teylan subtly squirms in his seat, releasing another broken sigh, his eyes flutter closed yet again, to which you take the opportunity to let your gaze wander down between his thighs again, just in time to see his cock twitch beneath his garment.

Your mind now raced as you slowly shifted your body closer to his, positioning yourself between his thighs. Sensing your presence and feeling your body heat, Teylan opened his eyes, watching you with his lips parted, his breath catches in his throat as your hand begins to travel up his kuru, toward his skull. “Y/N… wha- what are you doing?”, “I just want to see if it’s more sensitive at the base of your skull…” you explain calmly, locking eyes with him. A heated look between each of you is exchanged. While your expression was one of allure and confidence, Teylan’s was that of lust and full of trust. A clear submission playing behind his eyes, that he would let you continue with your venture. With the silent exchange giving you further permission, your hand glides up his braid, toward the base of his kuru at the back of his head. His body instantly begins to rock and squirm, his breath hitching with a heavy gasp and a waning whimper escaping him before he can fully hide it by biting his bottom lip.

The moment your hand tightens its grasp on the base of his kuru, even with it being ever so slightly, Teylan’s large hand suddenly encompasses your back, pulling you flush against his body, his face burying into your shoulder as a muffled whine echoes in your ear. Your eyes widen, heart now rapping violently in your chest as you fear you may have overstepped, your hands quickly moving to push back against his chest “T-Teylan I’m sorry I-.”, yet you are met with resistance as his hand on your back effortlessly keeps you exactly where he wants you, “-No. No, don't stop… please.”. Now breathless yourself, you look up at Teylan and watch as the previous look in his eyes shift to one of aching need, with your pelvis now pressed against his bulge.

He wanted this and you couldn’t deny that part of you, the part that wasn’t a scientist, that part that truly compelled you to the na’vi, wanted this too. Pressing your lower abdomen assertively against his throbbing boner, you snake your hand back around his head, and gripping his kuru with the same cautiousness you had before, taking joy in how easy it was to get him hot and bothered as he rested his cheek against the side of your head, letting another whimper slip from his lips, gently grinding his cock against your body. It was scandalous and outrageously unprofessional, but you couldn’t care less when his lips eagerly met your neck, the bill of his hat bumping against your head as he begins to leave soft, wet kisses along your skin. How long would it be until you were caught? You weren’t particularly in a private area. At any moment someone could walk in and witness a human and a na’vi engaging in such an intimate act… and this fact excited you as you leaned your head back, allowing him further access to your neck, your hand gripping his kuru slightly tighter than before, fueling the fire that was brewing inside of Teylan.

Tag list: @itchaboi-itchyboy @pandoraslxna @oakbuggy @plooto @xylianasblog @etherial-moon-blog @hikari-michiko @neteyamssyulang @blue-slxt @c-townes @loaksxhoe @xstarsdiary @neteyamswillow @akoyaxs @neteyxmsgirl @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @zafrinaxyz @neteyams-wh0re @neteyamyawne @kiri-tuk @beauitful-brown-skin-05 @akoyaxs @neteyamsstuff @puddleswimmingnerd-blog @ntymavtr @luvv4j4ybe11

#avatar12daysofkinkmas #avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar frontiers of pandora #frontiers of pandora #teylan #Teylan smut #frontiers of Pandora smut #Teylan x reader #Teylan x human!reader #afop

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atinylittlepain · 1 year

Text

Apothecary - A Joel Miller Story

joel miller x witchy!reader

Series masterlist

joel becomes curious about the woman running the medicine shop in Jackson, and the strange rumors swirling around her.

warnings | 18+ angst, fluff, spooky ooky stuff

a/n | this was born out of me getting high and rewatching practical magic. i intend to make this a lil universe in and of itself bc i love the idea :)

.............................

Joel stops outside the storefront down the main drag of Jackson. Old license plates have been cut up to create a hodge-podged sign hanging over the door. Apothecary. When he enters, wind chimes tinkling above the door, he thinks that it looks more like a greenhouse than a medicine shop, potted plants clearly tended to with care all over the place.

“Hello?” Though the sign says the store is open, he doesn’t see anyone around, sidling up to the checkout counter and eyeing the collection of rocks lined up next to the old, rusted-out cash register. He doesn’t have long to muse to himself about how strange the shop is when something brushes quick against his legs all of a sudden, making him let out a hard curse as he whips around in time to see a sleek black cat padding toward the back of the store.

“Sorry about her, Stevie thinks she owns the place.” He’s startled again by a voice, nearly jumping out of his boots when he turns around to find a woman has appeared behind the counter. She’s certainly a sight, old bracelets trailing up both her wrists, and dangling earrings that look to be made out of scraps of stained glass. She’s pretty, if not a little wild looking. He has to clear his throat before speaking.

“Um, I’m sorry. The sign said you’re open.” She smiles, tilting her head slightly as she looks at him.

“Oh, we are! I was just working in the back. What can I help you with?”

“Maria sent me? She said you’d be able to help– my kid’s got a pretty bad case of poison ivy and, um, yeah. I’m Joel– by the way.” Her smile broadens, warm and bright as she steps out from behind the counter, Joel stuttering into motion as she nods for him to follow her.

“I know who you are, Joel. Everyone can’t stop talking about the Jackson newcomers– welcome– by the way.” He’s a little distracted from listening to her words by the backroom she leads him into, lined with shelves stacked with glass jars full of all sorts of dried plants and thick books. There’s a wide gas range in the back of the room, large bubbling pots on most of the hobs. She glances at him over her shoulder as she flits by to stir the simmering pots.

“This used to be a bakery, way before, if you can believe it. I thought Maria was crazy when she offered me the space. But we’ve made it work.” His brow furrows.

“We?” Just then, that damn cat brushes past his legs again, making him stumble over his feet. The cat leaps up onto one of the shelves, and she chuckles as she strokes its head, smiling at Joel before turning back to the stove.

Seemingly satisfied with the state of whatever she’s got brewing, she claps her hands together before turning back around to Joel.

“Now then, poison ivy is no fun, huh? Probably get someone in here every couple of days asking for my help with it in the summer. Lucky for you, I’ve got just the stuff to calm it down.” When she passes by him, he gets a deep whiff of something heady, like that incense stuff Sarah liked to burn. Her hands flicker over glass jars, muttering to herself as she grabs a few items. He can’t help the way his eyes graze down her bare legs in her cut-off overalls, smiling when he sees she’s wearing two different colored sneakers. Arms full, she lays out her haul on what looks like once was a butcher's block, her eyes darting up to his as she coaxes him further into the room with a crook of her finger.

“This is witch hazel– it’ll be your kid’s first line of defense to help some of the redness and swelling calm down.” She passes him a small glass bottle full of murky liquid before holding up a little tin.

“Salve made with beeswax from the hives in town and calendula– she can slather this on to help with the itching.” She’s speaking so fast he doesn’t have time to question how she knows that his kid is a she, already holding up something else, a cloth sachet.

“Oatmeal, Sarah can run a bath and soak with this in it– should soothe the itching and calm down the rash in general. I’ll give you a couple of those, you can use them a few times, but fresh is always better.” He didn’t hear the last bit, a ringing starting in his ears at the mention of that name.

“You said Sarah– w-where’d you hear that name?” Her face falls.

“Oh, I, um–” He swallows hard, cutting her off.

“I had a daughter named Sarah– she— passed— when everything– well, when everything fell apart. How did you– how did you know that name?” She sighs, offering him a nervous smile.

“It was just a slip, a lucky guess– or unlucky, I suppose. I’m really sorry, Joel. I didn’t mean to–”

“No, no. It’s, um, it’s fine. Just caught me by surprise is all. Ellie– that’s the name of my kid that’s probably itching herself into a frenzy right now.” Her smile widens just slightly at that, her shoulders coming unwound. He reckons that if it had been anyone else saying Sarah’s name, he would’ve knocked their lights out. But all he feels hearing her say it is an almost soothing sadness.

“Well, in that case, I hope Ellie starts feeling better soon. Oh! I have one more thing for you!” Before he can protest, his hands already full of the little bits she gave him, she slips over to one of the shelves to grab another small tin before coming back over to him.

“Spearmint and lavender– these mountains are crawling with it– mixed up in a balm. Good for back pain.” His jaw slackens.

“How did you–”

“Lucky guess. Lemme know if it helps.” The way she grins at him almost distracts him, almost, but he huffs, shaking his head.

“I can’t take all this for free– it’s– it’s too much.” She laughs.

“Well who said anything about free? I was hoping you’d trade me some of your time for all that.” He squints at her, not sure what she means, and she chuckles at his questioning look.

“From what I hear, you’re pretty good on patrol. Would you be willing to come with me up into the mountains a time or two? It’s peak harvesting time for all these goodies and I could use an extra pair of eyes.” She waves her arm, motioning toward the shelves stocked with plants.

“That’s all? Doesn’t sound like a–” She cuts him off with another wave of her arm, her bracelets clinking wildly with the motion.

“I know I drive a hard deal, but that’s the best I can do.” By the crinkling around her eyes, he can tell that there will be no arguing with her, even though it’s obviously not a fair trade with the way she’s loaded him up with stuff. He sighs, finally nodding.

“Um, alright then. You just tell me when and I’m your man– I mean– not your– I’m–” while he’s mortified by the way he just put his foot in his mouth, she seems perfectly amused by it, letting out a light laugh that cuts off his floundering.

“Sounds like we have a deal. I’d shake your hand if both of them weren’t full– oh! I haven’t even told you my name, have I?” He shakes his head and she sighs at herself, telling him her name. He rolls it over in his mind a few times as she apologizes for her lack of manners, walking with him back out to the front of the shop.

“If Ellie’s still itching in a week, come back and tell me. I might have something a little stronger that can help.” He nods as she opens the door for him, but before he can step out, the cat is twining between his boots, purring like an engine. He’s never liked cats much.

“Hmm, Stevie likes you. That’s rare, y’know. Very high compliment from little miss.” She grins at him, all warmth and sweetness. Maybe he can make an exception for one cat. She scoops up the cat, nuzzling her chin over the top of the purring feline’s head. He leans against the doorframe, suddenly not too worried about getting home to Ellie who’s probably scratching her skin off right now.

“Is that Stevie, um, as in Stevie Nicks?” That earns him her brightest smile yet. It didn’t take a genius to make that guess, seeing as she’s dressed like she just stepped out of a hippie commune, though Joel supposes that Jackson could fit that description.

“Mmhmm, you a Fleetwood Mac fan?” Truthfully, he isn’t. Not now, and not before. But for some reason, he’s inclined to nod.

“Aren’t you a little young to be listening to them?” She scoffs. He’s honestly not sure how old she is, definitely younger than him, but that’s as far as he can guess.

“They were my mom’s favorite band, and then they were mine– are mine. I managed to snatch an old vinyl of theirs a while ago but I wore it out I played it so much.” She lets out a light laugh, Stevie squirming in her arms. Joel makes a mental note to keep his eyes peeled for records on his patrol shifts, only getting snapped out of his thoughts when she lets out a sigh.

“I should let you get back to Ellie, she’s probably itching up a storm by now. Let me know how that stuff works for her.” He nods, taking one more look at the cat who he swears has been staring at him, before stepping out.

“I will– thank you– really, I appreciate it. And you’ll let me know when you need my help?” She offers him a crooked smile as she nods.

“I sure will. It was nice to meet you, Joel. I’ll see you soon.”

It must have been his eyes playing tricks on him. At least that’s what he tells himself the whole walk home. Cats can’t wink, right?

…

With summer in full swing, the weekly market in town has moved from the community center outside to the main drag of Jackson, makeshift booths heavy with abundant produce, fresh breads, and other wares.

Ellie had dragged Joel out with her, poison ivy all but cleared now, and promptly abandoned him to run off with her new friends. He finds himself leaning up against one of the storefronts, quietly watching the comings and goings, always surprised by just how many folks there are in this town. His interest is piqued, however, when he sees a familiar black cat slinking through the crowd. He cranes his neck, watching as the cat stops between a pair of mismatched sneakers. His eyes trail up, seeing her in those same overalls, dangly earrings glinting in the mid-day sun as she looks over a table of produce.

“You’re gonna catch flies looking like that, brother.” Tommy’s voice startles him, his focus reluctantly pulling away from her to his brother who has sidled up next to him, a smug grin on his face. Joel clears his throat, trying to hide the fact that his jaw really had been hanging on its hinges. Tommy chuckles.

“Who are you making eyes at anyways?”

“I’m not making eyes at anyone. I was looking for Ellie– I lost track of her in this damn crowd.” Tommy shakes his head, his eyes trailing to where Joel had just been looking. By the way his grin widens, he seems to know exactly who Joel had been looking at.

“Maria told me she sent you to the apothecary the other day. That lady’s something else, huh?” Joel glances back over to her, seeing that she’s started wandering along the booths, cat trailing along behind her.

“What’s her– how– what do you know about her?” Tommy sighs, glancing back at Joel.

“Well, the old Jackson rumor mill will tell you one thing. But all she’s been is a service to the community, really. Was the biggest help to Maria when she was pregnant– helped her through the birth and everything.” Joel squints at his brother.

“And what does the “old Jackson rumor mill” have to say about her?” Tommy lets out another sigh, scratching at the scruff along his jaw.

“It’s silly, honestly. Just a story made up by people with small minds.”

“So what is it? Just tell me, Tommy.”

“Some folks around town– they’ve got it in their heads that– well, that she’s a witch.” Joel feels his face go slack at that. Tommy just shakes his head.

“I told you it’s stupid. People just– they think she’s a bit strange, I guess. Though if you ask me, that rumor has more to do with all the wives of Jackson not liking the way their men look at her.” Joel glances away at his brother, finding her in the crowd. But this time, he notices all the people around her, mostly the women, and the nasty way they seem to size her up as she walks by. Joel huffs.

“That’s gotta be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. A couple of ladies get jealous so they start calling her a witch? Seriously?” Tommy shrugs.

“Hey, stranger things have happened. It’s not so hard to believe, not since people started growing mushrooms out of their skulls.” Tommy’s got him there, but Joel still has to shake his head at what his brother has told him.

“I thought you said it’s just a silly rumor.” His brother’s silence tells him more than words ever could, and Joel has to laugh.

“You’re kidding. You actually think that we’ve got a– a witch in town?” Tommy grumbles at that.

“Look, Joel, I’m not gonna lie to you. There’s been some freaky shit with her– healing people, knowing things that she shouldn’t know, hell, even that damn cat of hers is–”

“What do you mean– knowing things she shouldn’t know?” Tommy huffs at Joel’s interruption.

“She calls them lucky guesses. All I’ll say is it sure seems like that woman has a lot of luck.” Joel’s breath catches listening to Tommy’s explanation, his mind immediately going back to that day he met her, how she had known Sarah’s name.

“Listen, the bottom line is, she’s done nothing but good for Jackson with that shop of hers. Whatever she is, she’s a good one. But, brother, I wouldn’t go calling after her.” Joel’s brow furrows, head tilting at his brother.

“I wasn’t– even if I was– why shouldn’t I?” Tommy smirks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Because while the women of Jackson call her a witch, the men of Jackson just call her a heartbreaker.”

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel miller au #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou

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serverusslaype · 7 months

Text

Shameless, pt. 14

Severus Snape x professor!reader fic

Masterpost & other things!

hello.... this is a shorter chapter than usual, but i thought i'd use it to sort of flesh out the idea of what is currently going through their minds! pls forgive me </3

the majority of this chapter is smutty. i will say that. so i do apologise to the readers who don't enjoy reading such things :(. i will mark it with the usual big red *.

i hope you guys are happy and healthy because that's what we love to see!! did you have a good halloween? i dressed up as sexy Snape lmfao.

warnings: smut, slight degradation?, tiny bit of bdsm idk? help, (like it's so so minor, trust me) MINORS DNI!!, angst at the end so pls prepare yourselves im sorry

"Again." Severus demanded, his voice strict and firm as he watched you from his desk, practicing the Patronus charm with a heaving chest. You were growing immensely tired at this point, however, Severus was not yielding. He was determined for you to learn this charm whether you could handle it or not. Your safety was his priority.

Beads of sweat trickled down your temple as a deep sigh left your parted lips. "I'm trying, Severus," You whined, wincing a tad as your muscles began to ache. You'd been at this for almost two hours straight now, and your body was beginning to pay for it. "I don't know why it's not working, this memory worked with Lupin!" A frustrated cry slipped from you as you huffed.

"Perhaps that memory is not your happiest anymore," Severus mused, folding his arms against his chest as he leant against the edge of his desk, observing your tired body. "Has anything happened recently that rivals your previous chosen memory?" He asked with a curious tone, quirking a brow. You glanced at him and swallowed as your cheeks flushed an embarrassingly deep shade of red. The only thing that could have possibly changed was your recent encounter with Severus in his office. In that moment, you'd never felt happier. You'd never felt such a strong, powerful feeling towards another person before - you'd almost confessed your true feelings to him. ...Twice.

"Erm," you coughed, looking away from him, "maybe, I don't know." You said quietly as you stood up straight, brushing your hair behind your ear. A deep chuckle reached your ears as you looked up at Severus with burning cheeks. A devious smirk was painted across his face, and instantly you knew that he knew exactly what had changed.

"Ah," he hummed, unable to contain his proud smile, "of course."

You rolled your eyes at him, groaning slightly. "Took you long enough." Another sigh left your lips again, though this time it was softer. With your eyes glued to him, you took a moment to appreciate how Severus looked currently - the way he leant against the edge of his desk accentuated his lean figure; the black coat that was tugged tightly against his torso complemented his thick, strong body perfectly. You even felt yourself becoming a little... distracted.

"May I ask what your... previous memory was?" Severus asked, standing up from his desk and stalking towards you in a slow manner, tucking his hands behind his back. Your breath hitched a tad as he got closer and closer, his signature scent filling your nostrils as he stopped just a foot in front of you. The pounding of your heart grew louder in your ears as he stared down at you with a curious sparkle in his black eyes.

"It was the, erm, you know when we danced... together?" Your voice was as soft as velvet as you spoke, entrancing Severus as his eyes remained glued to yours. He raised a hand to your cheek and gently brushed the back of his knuckles against it, sending a shiver down your spine. You smiled up at him and brought your hand up to hold it against his.

"That was the happiest moment you could think of?" Severus asked, his brows furrowing together as he frowned at you, evidently confused. Surely, for a sweet, kind person such as you, you'd have a plentiful amount of happy memories to choose from - he was in disbelief that such a small, almost insignificant moment between the two of you brought you so much happiness.

"Yeah," You laughed quietly, pursing your smiling lips as he slowly pulled his hand away from your cheek but kept a hold of your own hand. He absentmindedly played with your fingers, glancing between them and your eyes. "That was a special moment to me."

Severus didn't speak, he kept quiet for the time being, instead savouring the soft moment between the two of you. The corners of his lips gradually tugged upwards into a small smile as he stared at you, quite obviously in awe. You blinked up at him, smiling back, your heart almost bursting at the sweet sight.

As many times as he smiled at you, you didn't think you'd ever get used to it - it was so surreal to see Severus with a smile on his face, and every time you did, you'd melt.

"Alright," Severus sighed gently as he kept his voice quiet. "One more time." He said, bringing your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles tenderly. Your smile widened at his action. "Speak it clearly."

You nodded and watched as he released your hand, stepping backwards to give you some space. Taking a slow and deep breath, you focused yourself, pointing your wand in front of you as you envisioned the memory of you and Severus intertwined together on his desk. "Expecto Patronum!" You exclaimed, eyes widening in shock as a spark of blue-white light sprouted from the tip of your wand. It only lasted a few moments, but as you glanced at Severus, you couldn't help but grin at the proud expression painted across his features. "I've almost got it."

"Almost, yes." Severus agreed as his dark eyes flicked to yours, softening. "Well done." He said, a small smile gracing his lips. Your grin brightened, and you stepped towards him, sheathing your wand in your dress pocket.

"It's quite incredible what a good teacher can do." You muttered with a smirk as you folded your arms against your chest, tilting your head as you gazed up at Severus. He arched a brow at you, clocking your rather flirtatious tone.

"I believe your previous words were 'it helps a lot when you have a teacher you like'." Severus said flatly. You were a little astounded at how he remembered something you said to him so long ago.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, "Yes, well, you were rather unlikeable back in the day." You had to fight back a giggle as Severus rolled his eyes at your reply.

"You know, you and your classmates were just as unlikeable." Severus said and took a step towards you, narrowing his eyes. Your breath hitched once more as he was inches away from you. "Burning my cauldrons, destroying my equipment," He drawled with a sharp tongue, cocking his head as he stared down at you; an intimidating flicker in his black eyes. You almost shivered under his heavy glower, your chest tightening and your legs tingling. "Disrupting my lessons." Severus added, tutting. Suddenly, you felt like you were back at school as you stood in front of him, speechless and nervous. He could turn you into a sputtering mess so easily - even with just one look you were like putty in his hands.

"I... you..." You stuttered over your words with fluttering eyes as Severus leaned down into your face, his hot breath tickling your flushing cheeks. Your chest rose and fell in short bursts as your breaths became ragged and wanting, your body instinctively succumbing to him. As you held his gaze, you felt like you couldn't breathe - it was almost like your whole body was being squeezed in a deathgrip, and your mind was slowly becoming clouded with rather distasteful thoughts involving you and him.

"Hmm," Severus hummed deeply, raising a hand to tilt your chin up with his index finger, "speechless, for once." The corners of his lips curled up to form a devious smirk, evidently pleased with how easily he had turned you into a stammering mess. "Suddenly, I remember what peace and quiet means." He added sarcastically, and you turned your attention to the right, attempting to regain your composure.

"Shut up." You scoffed, turning your head back to stare at him, offering a look of disbelief.

"Feeling brave, are we, Miss L/N?" Severus took another step towards you with a wicked smirk, his chest brushing against yours, sending your body into a shivering mess. "That attitude of yours needs to go, don't you think?" His voice was quiet now, yet it still harnessed an authoritative twinge to it, and that only spurred you on more.

"Definitely not." You shot back, testing him. He was clearly playing a game with you, and you wanted to see just how far he would go.

Severus quirked a brow shortly before using his cold hand to grab your jaw gently, but with just enough force to ensure you knew he was the one in charge. You gasped as his cold skin met with your hot skin, shooting a delicious shiver down his spine. An excited tingle rushed through your burning hot body as he squeezed your jaw a tad; brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. Severus's other hand flew to grab at your hip, pulling you taut against him. A short yet sweet moan slipped from your lips at the body-to-body contact, and suddenly, you felt every last bit of self-respect vanish from you as you melted into his addicting touch.

"So disrespectful," Severus murmured, pushing his face towards yours, "perhaps a reminder is in order." He shifted his hand from your waist to your wrists and grabbed them, his lips teasingly brushing against yours. You leant forwards, about to kiss him, and he pulled away, drawing a wanting whine from your parted lips. Even through the dark dimness of his office, he selfishly drank in the beautiful sight of you, gazing at your pretty lips and your flushed, rosy cheeks.

"Sev-," You whined, voice breathless and desperate.

"Quiet." Severus ordered with a stern tone. Instantly, with wide, dark eyes, you shut your mouth. Usually you wouldn't fall so easily to his commands, however, he currently had you following them like a lovesick puppy.

Severus released your jaw from the grip of his hand and cooly retrieved his wand from his sleeve. Your curious eyes fell to his slender and pale fingers as they curled around the obsidian wand, watching on as he teasingly traced the tip of it up the side of your waist and over your ribs, pulling a breathy gasp from your mouth. His eyes flicked up to yours at the sound, his mouth quirking upwards. Your body jerked at the ticklish sensation; goosebumps littering your skin.

Reaching your neck, he pressed it a little harder, trailing it up towards your jaw and leaving a long, pink line behind upon your skin. His other hand, that held your wrists captive, lifted them above your head, and he aimed the tip of his wand at them.

"Fulgari." Severus whispered, and suddenly you felt a rope tighten around your wrists, binding them. You inhaled sharply at the sensation and you glanced up to see that he'd bound your wrists together. As you looked back down, his eyes glittered wickedly, and you couldn't help but feel a bolt of excitement shoot through you. He placed his wand back up his black sleeve.

Before you could say another word, a cold hand had snaked underneath the skirt of your dress and his fingertips inched slowly up your legs, finding your luscious thighs. You let out a quiet cry of pleasure as Severus kneaded your flesh; his thumb dancing dangerously close to your panties. Despite his hand holding your bound wrists, your arms began to ache from holding them above your head - he may have been holding your wrists, but he wasn't holding them up. Severus was merely clutching them in a show of dominance. He shifted the hand underneath your skirt up towards your panties, his index finger curling around the soaked gusset.

"So wet for me already," he groaned, brushing his thumb against the wet material, "little slut." A flash of hunger flickered across his hardened eyes. Severus tugged the material to the side, his knuckles brushing against your wetness, drawing another sweet cry of pleasure from your quivering lips. Severus nearly lost control of himself right then and there, and so he paused for a moment to gather himself.

"Not so brave now, are you, Y/N?" Severus muttered, a devilish smirk crossing his features as he pressed his lips against your ear; teeth nipping at the lobe of it. The way his breathless voice uttered your name almost sent you into orbit, and you had to squeeze your eyes shut to bring yourself back down to Earth.

Severus pressed a cold digit against your clit, a sharp cry falling from your lips as he began to circle it at a teasingly slow pace; your eyebrows shooting together in a show of utter pleasure. Your body trembled as he placed his whole hand underneath your wet panties, pressing his palm against your pussy, an uncontrollable shiver shuddering through your body as the contrast of his cold hand against your burning hot core shocked you like an electric volt.

A breathless moan flew out of you at the contact, your throat beginning to burn from how heavily you'd been breathing. "Fuck!" You hissed, your hips instinctively rocking against his hand; desperate to find some sort of friction. Severus let out an almost evil chuckle and your eyes shot open at the noise. Before you could cuss him out, he dipped two fingers inside of you, curling them swiftly, another tingle of pleasure making you quiver. You cried out at the sensation as he began to pump his fingers inside of you, an unruly amount of moans beginning to slip from your trembling lips. Severus threw his mouth against yours without a second thought, swallowing your moans greedily, diving his tongue into your mouth as if to silence you. You kissed him back harshly, pulling your bound wrists free from his grasp and looping them around his neck.

Desperately, you pulled Severus closer to you with your tied wrists, your knees beginning to buckle as you neared your high. "Hnngh, Sev-," You whined through sloppy kisses, saliva coating both of your lips as you pulled away with a wet smooch, unable to focus on him as he brought you closer and closer to your climax. You felt that familiar feeling build up inside of you like a branch about to snap from immense pressure.

Immediately, Severus's free hand flew to your waist to hold you up as he felt you slipping from his grip, his fingers inside of you picking up quite a quick pace. Your head fell backwards from the overwhelming sensation growing within your belly, and you used your bound wrists in a vain attempt to hold yourself up as they hung around his neck; your spasming fingers digging into his upper back. "Fuck-fuck-fuck!" You cried out as he latched his lips onto your neck, biting and sucking at it like a crazed animal. "Sev, I'm gonna- I'm..." Your thighs squeezed around his hand and your toes curled as you felt that branch cracking, splitting and finally snapping. Your orgasm blew through you like an explosive bomb; your pulsing walls clenching around his fingers as you came. Severus shifted his attention from your neck to your earlobe, using the tip of his tongue to lick at it; his heavy, panting breaths and the rush of your blood being the only two things you could hear.

"Always such a good girl for me," Severus murmured into your ear, and you rocked your hips against his hand again, whimpering at his praise. Gods, it drove you fucking crazy when he called you that. "Gorgeous." He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the spot of skin just below your ear.

As you let your head fall forwards, you nudged your nose against his cheek, prompting him to move his head back to gaze at you. His hungry, black eyes were blown and wide, like a predator hunting its prey. With heavy-lidded eyes, you smiled lazily and leaned in to press a messy kiss upon Severus's wet, swollen lips. As he pulled his fingers out from you, you whined a bit, mourning the loss of his touch. He indulged your kisses, and kissed you back forcefully, his tongue delving past your lips and into your mouth again.

With greedy hands, Severus quickly slipped them underneath your thighs and hitched you upwards, guiding them to wrap around his waist. Your bound wrists still hung around his neck as he leaned forwards slightly, aiming his torso at a forty-five degree angle. You tightened your legs around his waist as his hands left your sweating body to find his trousers; deft and long fingers swiftly unbuckling them and letting them fall lazily around his hips. He quickly tugged down his boxers and lined himself up against your dripping slit, pushing his cock inside of you without another word. You cried out at the fullness and clenched around him, drawing a deep, guttural groan from Severus as his hands found your bum, holding you up as he began to guide you up and down. Strings of needy whimpers and moans left your lips as you tugged him closer with your arms locked around his neck, directing his face to yours. You leaned forwards and crashed your lips against his again, kissing him with such passion and raw need that he almost lost his footing.

You gasped as Severus let you fall down completely onto him. "Jesus-!" You exclaimed and squeezed your eyes shut, your mouth flying open. A wild, strangled moan fell out of it afterwards as your hands tried to clutch onto the material of his jacket upon his back but to no avail.

You weren't exactly sure how you two always found yourselves tangled up with one another each time you were in this very room, however, in this current sticky, hot moment, you couldn't care less. Severus was fucking you like a deranged animal, panting heavily in your ears, your legs burning and aching as they were clamped around his waist. You felt that hotness begin to pool in your belly once more.

Severus pulled away from your lips with a throaty moan as you buried your nails into his scalp, fisting the long locks of his black hair. "D'you know- fuck," he growled as he throttled into you, his voice raspy, "how many times I've fantasised about this? How many times I've touched myself thinking about this moment?" He finished, glistening eyes burning into yours as he stared at you with parted lips. Your lungs felt empty as his words drilled into you, a helpless whimper being the only thing you could respond with. "You're mine." Severus hissed as your brain melted; his cock buried so deep within you that you thought you'd pass out from the immense amount of pleasure that was seeping into your bones; rendering your body senseless.

The way he deemed you his had truly ruined you. You were his. Nobody else's. You knew it from the first moment he had you trapped against that wall a year ago - the second his invigorating and intoxicating scent surrounded you, the way he'd glared down at you with those beautiful yet haunting black eyes, you knew you were fucked. You were never Ben's. He was merely a distraction, perhaps an interlude, if you will. You and Severus were always bound to be together.

And now, you just needed to rid yourself of the parasite named Ben.

"I'm yours," You whispered, lifting your head up to gaze at Severus with glossy, heavy-lidded eyes; a hazy look lingering within them. "Yours." You repeated breathlessly, inducing another deep growl from the man that held you captive with his powerful hands.

Severus's lips curled at the edges as he stared at you, "Smart girl." He muttered, kissing you with a smirk, nipping your lips with his teeth. You squealed as his pace became sloppy and careless, sheathing his whole length inside of you with every thrust. Gods, he was ruining you.

And you loved every second of it.

"Severus," You panted with a sweet moan, tears beginning to burn your eyes as the soul-shattering pleasure was slowly becoming too much to bear. His eyes fluttered as you moaned his name. "I can't-" You sobbed, your toes curling as they tingled, turning numb.

"Yes, you can, you can take it, my love," Severus whispered, kissing your cheek in a tender fashion, silently encouraging you. "You can take me." He added, pressing his cheek against your own flushed one. You felt sweat trickle down your temple as Severus fucked into you ruthlessly, the ever-tightening coil buried in your belly at it's breaking point.

With his gentle words of encouragement, you forced yourself to hold out a little longer for Severus, your throbbing legs tightening like an anaconda around his waist. You were certain that they'd cramp up at any second now. Severus stumbled forwards and one hand left your body to catch himself, his palm landing on his desk. Gently but quickly, he let your bum rest against the flat surface as he continued thrusting into you messily, evidently nearing his climax.

"You're doing so well," Severus muttered against your lips, a hand coming to squeeze your waist, pulling a delightful moan from your quivering mouth. "Doing so good, my sweet girl."

Merlin's beard, you almost lost it right there. Hearing him call you that almost had you tumbling over the edge without a second thought. You felt like you were dreaming at this point - your mind was so hazy and jaded with orgasmic pleasure that you couldn't tell the difference between reality and fantasy.

Was this real?

Gods, you hoped so.

The slaps of your flesh filled the room and you couldn't hold back any longer. You couldn't even form a sentence, let alone mumble a thing as your second orgasm rocked through you, your body jerking as Severus continued to slam into you carelessly, his thrusts quickly becoming abrupt and sloppy. You cried out a strangled string of moans as he filled you up with his thick cock. Severus's spent body leaned over you as he came; the tips of his raven-black locks tickling your flushed, red and sweaty cheeks.

The pair of you remained still, despite your heaving chests and trembling bodies. A toothy, opened mouth grin broke out on your face as you stared up at Severus who was still recovering from the Earth-shattering orgasm that had just rattled through his body. You laughed softly, going to move your hands to cup his cheeks, though you quickly realised that they were still bound together from Severus's spell earlier.

"My wrists," You mumbled, tugging at his neck with a small smile. "Would you mind?"

"Ah," Severus hummed, moving a hand to lift your tied wrists from his neck. He held them in front of him, hesitating for a moment. "I seem to prefer you like this." He joked, eyes flicking up playfully to look at you.

"Don't push it." You laughed, watching as he retrieved his black wand from his sleeve.

A sly smirk tickled his lips as he glanced down at your wrists, pointing his wand at the binds. "Emancipare." He muttered, a content hum slipping from your mouth as you rubbed the sore area of skin.

"Thank you." You smiled up at Severus, finally shifting your hands to cup his flushed cheeks. He looked away from you bashfully; long black eyelashes hiding his eyes like he was too shy to look at you.

Severus cleared his throat, "...You're welcome."

You pulled his face down towards you and kissed him softly, your legs still around his waist, though this time they were resting gently around it. Severus kissed you back, slowly moving a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb sweetly brushing it like it was the most delicate thing in the world. You'd almost forgotten that he was still inside of you, and so as he moved, you gasped; a cheeky smirk reaching his lips at your reaction.

Severus moved his hips again, the hot warmth and sense of comfort that your pussy brought him was addicting - as were the noises that he drew from you. Your brows shot upwards, accompanied with a soft moan as he pulled almost all of himself out of you, before slowly thrusting back into you.

You had to take a moment to breathe before you spoke. "Can't help yourself, can you?" You grinned, pressing another kiss to his lips as he kept a slow pace in you.

"No," Severus muttered against your soft lips, "not when it's you." He whispered, making your heart flutter.

"Not when it's me?" You pulled away from the comforting touch of his kisses, looking up at him with big eyes. He nudged the tip of your nose with his own.

Severus sighed, gazing at you with soft eyes, "You know what I mean."

Before you could say another word, he silenced you with another sweet kiss, and you melted into his touch, any other thought of what you were going to say to him vanishing. Severus resumed his slow, gentle thrusts, plucking another handful of quiet moans from your lips. With every deep thrust, your legs twitched; your body rather overly sensitive from before. Severus noticed your jerks, and he slowed his pace even further, not wanting to push you too far. He adored watching how your body reacted to him, but he knew when you couldn't take anymore.

As the two of you continued to gently kiss each other, your mind was clouding again as you felt his hands caress your figure, thumbs brushing over you. You found lost yourself in the transcendental feeling once more. You gasped as you felt his cool hands slip to the underneath of your thighs, tickling your hot skin; erupting goosebumps.

Severus pulled away for a moment, marvelling at you from above, a comfortable silence encapsulating the both of you as you made love. Your eyes followed him, glazed over his angular face, quietly admiring how gorgeous he truly was. The sheen of sweat that sat upon his skin made him look like a marble statue, and you couldn't help but wonder how you'd gotten so lucky.

I love you, you wanted to say.

I adore you, your mind was begging you to whisper to him.

You opened your mouth a tad, as if to say what you wanted, however, you decided against it. You weren't exactly sure if this was the right time to say something so big, and you certainly didn't want to disrupt this perfect moment. As much as you wanted to praise Severus, just to tell him how much you truly adored him, you couldn't bring yourself to do so. A small, yet sharp burst of pain struck your heart as you remembered how he shut himself off from you when you'd danced together right in this very room, and you feared what he might do if you revealed your true feelings for him. You were almost certain he'd run away. You couldn't exactly imagine him reacting well to it. He... didn't seem like the type.

Little did you know, Severus was also umming and erring on the same idea. It was torture for him. He wanted you to say it first. Could you imagine the chaos if he told you he'd fallen in love with you? Gods, it seemed like the two of you were nothing but fuck-buddies at this point - you were still with Ben, regretfully, and so what could Severus do but simmer in his raging jealousy and bitterness? Sure, he got the good parts of you, but Ben got to call you his. For now. And that's what Severus truly desired. He wanted the honour of calling you his. The two of you might've said it earlier, but you were so lost in the utter raw madness of that animalistic sex that the thought of it being a heat-of-the-moment thing began to plague his racing mind. Why wouldn't you say you were 'his' when his cock was buried so deep inside of you? It'd be fucking awkward if you didn't.

Did you feel the same way about him as he did you? Or was this some sort of lustful fantasy for you? He remembered that you were still with Ben - surely if you felt so strongly about him, you would have ended it with Bluewater as soon as possible. But you hadn't. Maybe this was some sort of fantasy for you. He winced at the thought. Why on Earth did he believe that you'd want to be with some old, grumpy and ugly man like him? He felt like a complete dunderhead.

Severus had fallen in love with you, and now realising it, he suddenly wished that he'd spoken to you about this shit before the two of you fell into such a deep, messy and fucked up rabbit-hole. His love for you was incredibly strong, and ultimately it scared him. In all honesty, he didn't believe he was deserving of having someone care for him, let alone love him. Severus was known to be cruel, unfeeling and rude - so why should he deserve someone as sweet as you? He'd been nothing but horrible all his life, he had even been a Death Eater, for Merlin's sake. And no Death Eater deserved a happy ending. They were known to be awful, heinous people.

As Severus's mind continued to race, he began to doubt if he'd survive another heartbreak. He'd just about managed it with Lily, much less walking in on her lifeless, dead body. That had truly broken him. He dreaded to think about what losing you would do to him.

And suddenly, he felt himself pulled towards the idea of pushing you away, just to save himself the pain.

And you.

Gods, you didn't deserve any of this. Severus was selfish to have even pursued you. But he couldn't help himself - something about you had just drawn him in like a moth to a flame.

"Hey," Your soft voice pulled Severus from his hellish thoughts, and his distracted eyes darted down to your worried ones. "What are you thinking about?" You asked, careful to keep your voice quiet and gentle.

"Nothing, Y/N," Severus muttered, forcing a smile onto his lips as he leant down to press a tender kiss to your forehead. "I think I'm just... tired." He added quietly, and slowly pulled himself out of you. A worried frown took hold of your features as you watched him reach for a cloth to clean himself.

"Oh," You swallowed, trying to fight back the lump that was beginning to form in your throat. Was he running again? You weren't sure, but you were going to find out. You couldn't deal with that heartbreak again, especially not when you were so deep in with him now. "Are you sure, Sev?" You asked hesitantly, suddenly feeling rather nervous. Was it something you did or said?

"Positive." Severus nodded, his cloth-less hand moving forwards to lift up your skirt so he could wipe away any mess that had accumulated between your thighs. You remained silent as he cleaned you, and you noticed that a solemn look had gathered on his face. This wasn't looking good, but what could you do? He wasn't willing to talk about it, clearly, and you didn't want to push him any further than he wanted.

"I enjoyed tonight." You said softly, though it was more as of a way to see what he thought. You kept your eyes on his hands.

"As did I." Severus replied, his eyes avoiding yours, though you caught the end of a small, sad smile upon his lips. Everything he was doing wasn't pointing to something good.

"I suppose I should head back," you forced a smile onto your face, "it's getting late." You hummed, glancing at the clock on his wall. Almost quarter to eleven o'clock at night. That smile soon fell as you watched Severus stand up straight, his face blank. You adjusted your dress and slipped off of his desk to stand in front of him.

"Yes." Was all he said, though his eyes said something entirely different. They looked... sad.

"...Okay." An awkward smile slipped onto your face as you nodded. Your head was currently spinning. What did you do for him to act like this? You sped through the memories of this evening, from the moment you walked through the door to the exact moment he'd suddenly flipped. Nothing was sticking out, and that worried you. Was it just you? Was it how you looked that randomly turned him off? You suddenly felt very self-conscious.

An uncomfortable silence engulfed the two of you.

A few quiet moments passed before Severus's deep, serious voice pierced through it. "I won't be able to see you tomorrow evening for Patronus lessons. I have a few students in detention."

"Right." You sighed softly, pursing your lips. Your hunch was right - he was distancing himself again. Maybe he just needed some time to himself, and he'd come right. He'd realise that he was being ridiculous, surely.

Severus hummed, silently analysing your stiff body. "I'll send you an owl to let you know when I next have a free evening." You frowned at him, confused and a little hurt.

"An owl? Can't you just come and see me?"

"I have a lot of work to catch up on." Severus said, and noticed how his usual soft tone had vanished, a stern one taking its place. He sighed through his nose as he stared at you, and it suddenly felt as if you were a nuisance to him.

"Have I done something wrong?" You asked softly, not willing to leave without an answer as to why he was acting so off towards you.

"No, you have not," Severus's eyes flicked to the right as he turned away from you, stepping to his desk chair. "Like I said, I'm just tired."

You sucked in your bottom lip, frustrated. "Why are you acting like this?" You questioned him and stepped forwards so you were stood in front of his desk as he sat in his chair. Severus closed his eyes and raised two fingers to massage his temples - a sign you'd come to realise that he was either getting a headache, or becoming overly irritated.

"Acting like what?" He groaned, and your brows knitted together at his behaviour, twisting your features into a sour expression. Severus opened his eyes again, though this time you did notice how red the whites of them were - perhaps he truly was tired. Regardless of whether he was tired or not, he didn't have a right to treat you like some cumbersome student, especially after what had just happened. It felt as if he was tossing you aside like some dirty laundry.

"Sev-," you scoffed and threw your hands against your face, sighing deeply, "how can you be so blind to this?" You asked as you brought your hands down and folded them against your chest. "You're acting like we didn't just fuck on your desk, I mean- you're acting like I just came in here to ask for some sort of tedious favour."

"Save your breath, Y/N," Severus shut his eyes again, obviously not willing to continue this conversation. As he spoke your name, a pang shot through his chest, and he almost winced at the pain. It only reminded him of what ran through his head only moments ago. "We can talk about this another time. For now, I have work to do." As he opened his eyes once more, he kept them glued to the surface of his desk; reaching a hand out to pull an unmarked assignment towards him. All he wanted to do was bury himself in his work.

He doesn't feel the same, your mind suddenly echoed, and your felt your throat tighten as you stared at him. You fell in love with him, but he didn't fall in love with you, and that was that. You'd just become his fucktoy, an outlet for his stress-relief after a hard day at work. A fool, that's what you were. All of those sweet, soft moments between the two of you were nothing but a fantasy, a fake sense of reality, and you'd fallen for it. The pet names, the tender touches... you'd read him so wrong - to you, right now, you believed that Severus only wanted you for your body, and not your heart. You meant nothing to him, but he meant everything to you.

But what about that time when you'd made love? Did he not feel anything towards you then? Was that just some sort of pathetic attempt of him feeling some sort of affection?

With disbelieving eyes, you watched as he proceeded to dip his quill in the ink-pot. "You're kidding, right?" You guffawed at him, blinking as if he'd just told a terrible joke. His jaw clenched.

"Please, just leave me be." Severus's voice was strict, and you could tell that he was very much serious about this. There was no way you could change his mind, and that only hurt you further. Your eyes burned, and your throat suddenly possessed a lump at the back of it.

"Fine." You whispered and inhaled sharply, attempting to swallow the sobs that were so desperately fighting to slip out of your mouth. But you refused to let Severus see your tears. Without another wasted second, you spun around and stormed towards his door, reaching out a shaking hand to grab the handle. You waited for a moment before opening it, as if half expecting Severus to take back his words, and admit how wrong he was.

But, nothing came. No words, no hand grabbing yours, nothing. The only thing you heard was the metal tip of his quill scratching against the parchment on his desk. A raging surge of anger throttled through you like a wild, frenzied animal, and you turned around, opening your mouth as if to berate him. But you couldn't. As much as you despised him in this current moment, you couldn't hurt him. Not with your words at least. Severus didn't even shift a limb to look up at you, he kept his head down, continuing to scrawl away, pretending like he didn't just tell you to get lost after fucking you.

And so you turned back around with a burning throat, wrenching his door open and slamming it behind you with tears in your eyes. It felt like you couldn't breathe as you stomped down the halls of the dungeons, making your way back to your quarters. What the fuck was your problem with going for such deranged, awful men? Did you hate yourself? Is that why you put yourself in these situations?

You couldn't deal with Severus's back-and-forth shit anymore, he'd hurt you more than enough times. Even if you were in love with him, and he wasn't with you, you were just going to have to deal with it. You got yourself into this fucked up mess, and you were going to get yourself out of it.

let me know what you thought, if you hate me im sorry. ITS FOR THE PLOT!!

apologies for the long, long delay of an update, i was just taking a loong break. <3 i hope you guys are doing okay!!

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cherryflavoured7777 · 7 months

Text

Do you miss me, dear? [h.c]

Summary: Stuck at a graduation party, surrounded by memories of your past relationship and your own loneliness, your night takes an unexpected turn when you find yourself dialing the number of the one person you vowed you wouldn't contact.

Pairing: College!Hazel x College!Fem!Reader

Contains: smut 18+ only, explicit language, drinking, smoking, mutual pining, slightly toxic reader I think, fingering (r! receiving), oral(r! receiving), break-up/make-up sex, idiots in love, this one gets straight-up MUSHY I’m not gonna lie

Word count: 4.1k

a/n: I just need to say I am deeply obsessed with all of you who interacted with either of my last two fics. reading your comments/ replies seriously makes me SO happy you have no idea. Got me giggling and shit fr! I don’t know why my writing always ends up including partying and drinking but maybe it’s because I just graduated college and am having an existential post-grad crisis. Anyway 💀I hope you enjoy and thank you again for reading!!!

Also, this is inspired by this song by one of my favourite bands:

“I don’t know what I’m still doing here.” You say out loud to yourself, standing up from the musty green couch you were sitting on. An empty beer bottle falls from the cushion onto the ground, shattering into pieces beside your foot.

This party sucked. Pushing your way through the crowded, stuffy kitchen, you couldn't shake off the feeling of suffocation. Tipsy couples entangled in each other's arms seemed to be everywhere, a painful reminder of what you once had and lost. The memories of being that annoying person in love at a party flooded back, amplifying the ache of your loneliness.

The thumping music in your ears only made your head pound harder. Desperate for a breath of fresh air, you stumbled toward the door, ignoring the intoxicated laughter and clinking glasses that filled the air. As you stepped outside, the cool night breeze hit your face, offering a momentary rescue from the overwhelming atmosphere inside.

The darkness of the night sky above seemed to swallow you whole, but it felt strangely comforting. Leaning against the porch railing, you closed your eyes, trying to regain your composure. In the silence outside, you could hear distant laughter and the faint sound of music, muffled by the walls of the house.

You settled into a seat around a glass table, next to a guy you recognized from one of your classes. You exchanged a quick nod of acknowledgment before reaching into your purse, retrieving a box of cigarettes. Smoking was not a regular habit for you, but you reserved it for moments like these—after a few drinks and a growing sense of irritation.

You lit the end of the cigarette, watching it crackle, and took a long drag. As you exhaled the smoke, you tilted your head back, noticing the full moon glowing brightly above.

"Full moon tonight," the boy beside you remarked, his voice carrying a note of intrigue. "They say some crazy shit can happen on full moons."

You chuckled bitterly. "Yeah, well, that could explain why I'm stuck at this party right now."

He leaned back, studying you intently.

“I wish I could be an astronaut and get the fuck out of here.” You mused, gaze fixed on the bright glow of the moon. "I only came to this party because she said she would be here." Another drag of the cigarette punctuated your words.

"Who's she?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"My ex," you replied, trying to seem nonchalant. His gaze was fixed on you, "Hazel."

Until today, you hadn't spoken to Hazel in over three months, choosing to cut off all contact in an attempt to speed up the process of moving on. You're both surprised that you managed to endure the silence for so long, and disappointed that she hasn't made any effort to reach out, not even once.

That was until about six hours ago when you were sitting at a coffee shop on campus with your roommate, Brittany, studying for your upcoming statistics exam.

"Don't look now, but Hazel just walked in," she whispers, her tone hushed, and her eyes widening. "And she's with another girl."

Your heart plummeted into your stomach. You were seated with your back to the door, and you watched as they both approached the corner, heading in your direction.

"Brittany!" the blonde girl accompanying Hazel exclaims, leaving the three of you momentarily stunned.

Hazel follows a few steps behind, clearly taken aback by the encounter. She looked annoyingly hot, her disheveled brown hair, baggy white t-shirt and black jeans, adorned with her signature silver chains and rings. It takes all your strength not to stare.

"Hey, Amanda," Brittany replied, forcing a polite smile. "Hazel."

Hazel offers a nod in greeting to Brittany and then to you. You feel like a middle-schooler again, awkward and unsure of how to act around your crush.

"Did you manage to finish that paper for Professor Sharpe's class?" the girl asked.

As Brittany carries on the conversation with Amanda, you can feel Hazel's gaze on you, catching her eyes occasionally.

You never anticipated the aftermath of your breakup with Hazel to be this awkward. All those nights spent tangled up together, where you both believed you could read each other's minds, now reduced to this.

"So, Hazel, are you going to Emma’s graduation party tonight? All of us are going," Brittany chimed in, attempting to steer the conversation away from the obvious tension.

Hazel smiled sheepishly, replying, "Yeah, I’m going."

"Cool," Brittany replied, her smile masking the underlying awkwardness in the air.

A beat of uncomfortable silence hung between you all.

"Will you be there?" Hazel asked breaking the silence, turning toward you, her voice almost hesitant.

"Yeah, I'll be there," you said, mustering a small smile. "Wouldn’t want to miss it."

Hazel smiled, "Cool," she said, her voice soft, "I'll see you there then."

Just as the atmosphere began to ease, Amanda abruptly intervened, her grip firm on Hazel's hand. "Hazel, let’s go, I forgot something in my car," Amanda said, her tone strangely possessive, and she dragged Hazel away before you could utter another word.

This breadcrumb of information has led you here. You spent the first fifteen minutes at the party searching for her like a lost puppy. When you couldn't find her, you contemplated leaving but opted to drown your thoughts with tequila shots instead. Now, you're clinging to any scrap of attention you can find, desperately trying to purge her from your mind.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the male voice beside you. "D’you have a light?" he asked, his cigarette aimed in your direction. You stare at him for a moment, deadpan, still frozen in your thoughts from the events that unfolded earlier today.

"Fuck it," you muttered under your breath, reaching for your phone. You’re calling her.

“You’re soaked,” Hazel says as you climb into the front seat of her car, her tone a mix of concern and annoyance. “Seriously, you’re getting mud all over the floor of my car.” While you were waiting for Hazel to pick you up from the party, It started raining, you thought enduring it outside would be better than being stuffed in that small house full of people you didn't even really know.

“You lied.” You retort back.

“What?”

“You said you were coming to the party.”

“Yeah well, my plans changed. Put your seatbelt on.” As she shifted the car into reverse, she placed her hand on your seat to steady herself. With a quick glance over your shoulder, she backed out of the driveway in one brisk movement.

You attempted to keep your composure, trying not to make it entirely obvious that you were basically drooling over how hot she looked doing that.

“I can tell that there’s someone else,” You say after a few moments of silence, trying to disguise your jealousy with innocent curiosity. “Come on, tell me,” You finally click your seatbelt into place. “I can take it well.”

"Oh, I know you can," she replied, shooting you a smug look, trying to divert this conversation from getting too deep right now.

“Hazel.” You groan at her dumb attempt at an innuendo, throwing your head backward and hitting the headrest. “Just be honest. Is it the girl from the coffee shop earlier? Or what about the girl Isabel saw you with last week at the library? Or both? Who am I kidding, there’s probably even more than that.”

“Do you have like, personal spies assigned to watch over me?”

You don’t respond right away, deciding to avoid her questions like she’s avoiding yours. You crank the window open and throw your head out. The spring wind cool on your face.

“God, you’re so annoying sometimes.”

She’s quiet for a moment.

Look, I know I wasn't where I said I'd be, but I was busy, doing stuff," she replied defensively.

"Yeah," you scoffed, your words tinged with a hint of anger. "I'm sure you were."

You sit the next few minutes in silence, wondering if this whole thing was a bad idea. You couldn't pinpoint why you had called her in the first place. The intensity of seeing her earlier mixed with the disappointment of the lackluster party had left you missing her, even though you weren't entirely sure why.

"So, where am I taking you?" Hazel asked, her gaze shifting from the road to you. Strands of her brown hair were tousled by the wind.

Your buzz had faded, and with it, your initial courage waned. Swallowing hard, you hesitated before speaking. "Can I sleep at yours? Not— not like that," you hurriedly clarified, feeling a sudden need to explain. "It's just that Brittany has her new boyfriend over, and I could go back there, but I don’t really want to."

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

After a moment, Hazel hesitantly rested her hand on your thigh, both of you aware of the significance of the touch, even if neither acknowledged it. Her fingers gave a gentle squeeze, the subtle pressure made your tummy flip. Beneath the surface, an unspoken understanding lingered, hinting that this night might entail more than just a ride home.

Hazel's apartment is full of brown moving boxes, an aching reminder of why you broke up in the first place.

“Wow, this place is pretty much all packed up.” You say, slowly walking through the place, eventually landing at the doorway into her bedroom.

She nods in response, her face reflecting a mixture of anticipation and sadness, settling down at the end of her bed.

"So, when do you leave?" The question weighed heavily on your heart as you voiced it. You wished you didn't have to ask these questions, yearning for a time when you were part of her plans, not just a spectator.

“Two weeks. My Aunt is gonna meet me at JFK and help me move into my new place.”

You sighed, feeling brave, "I wish I had the date circled on my calendar, helping you move, or going with you." You say the last part quiet, mostly to yourself.

The conversation lingered in the air, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.

You walked over to her dresser, where a mirror was propped up, decorated with photos of you two from a photobooth, still clinging to the glass. Your heart swelled with mixed emotions.

Hazel says your name, breaking you from your trance.

“Come here,” she says.

You walk over slowly, standing between her legs. Your hands rest on her shoulders and you take a deep breath.

With both of your gazes locked, her hands came up behind your thighs, gently grabbing them and pulling them on either side of her one by one so you’re straddling her. Her hand comes up to brush a piece of hair from your face.

“You’re so beautiful, baby” Her voice is barely a whisper as she stares up at you, her eyes practically shimmering with your reflection, Her hands settle on your waist, the warmth of her touch sending a pang of guilt through you. This breakup was unlike any you'd experienced before, and the raw emotions lingered, making you hesitate for a moment.

Your hands move up to cradle her face, your thumb dragging on her bottom lip. Still maintaining intense eye contact, you slowly slip your finger into her mouth, watching her with a mix of awe and longing.

The silence as you stare at each other is anything but awkward. It was charged with the weight of shared mourning, each of you navigating the complexity of a relationship's end.

You removed your finger, and in response, she grabbed your head gently, guiding it down towards her face, her eyes locked onto yours. Your lips barely grazed each other, and you wouldn’t be surprised if she could hear your rapid heartbeat. Hazel kissed you slowly at first, the touch of her lips sending a rush through your entire body. It quickly escalated, and there was a certain neediness to the way you both kissed, scared it could be the last time.

"Missed you," She whispered against your lips. Your mouths slid together, tongues pressing and exploring. The intensity of the kiss speaks volumes, like you were making up for lost time. Her lips found their way to your neck, leaving a trail of hot, lingering kisses, setting your body on fire.

“Fuck, Hazel.” It was almost embarrassing how quickly you melted beneath her touch. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” You say, your voice strained, a soft moan escaping your lips. You very much wanted to be doing this, you just thought you should at least try to seem like you had stronger breakup morals than you did. Her hands found the curve of your ass, and you instinctively started to rock your hips slowly back and forth, seeking some much-needed friction.

"Do you want me to stop? Say the word, and I'll stop, pretty girl," she murmured against your neck, her open-mouthed kisses and gentle suction on your pulse point sending shivers down your spine. You didn't reply with words, but your fingers found her hair, silently urging her to continue. "I need an answer, babygirl,"

"Don't stop," you breathed, your voice catching in your throat. "Please, don't stop." Your hips still lazily moving on her. Her mouth was back on yours, deepening the kiss as she guided you both down, her hands roaming over the back of your legs and your ass. She tugged at the hem of your shirt, helping you out of it and leaving you in your black lace bra.

"So fucking perfect. Missed you so fucking much," she confessed,

"I missed you too, Haze, every day," you whined,

"You ever think about me? she asked, breathless. "About this?" she continued

You nodded, your breath hitching as you confessed, "All the time. Couldn't stop thinking about you, your hands, your mouth."

Her eyes darken as you sit up and effortlessly unhook your bra, leaning back down, your lips finding their way to her collarbone, marking a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along her skin. Your hands slowly creep their way up under her shirt, seeking permission. She nods, a silent affirmation, and you gently peel her shirt off over her head. Your stomach flips as you feel her arms effortlessly turn both of you over, trading places, landing on your back as she hovers over you. Her silver chain dangling above your face. It felt like your first time all over again, you felt a sense of shyness creeping over you under her gaze. Anticipation and excitement blooming in your chest.

“Fuck, look at you.” She says. The way she’s studying you makes you feel like the most beautiful thing to ever exist, as if every curve of your body is a masterpiece deserving of praise. Unable to contain your impatience, you pull her head down to meet your lips, your hips instinctively bucking up, frustration showing in the heated moment. Her fingers start to trail downwards under your skirt, meeting your clothed cunt. “You want me to fuck you? Hm?” She whispers in your ear, “Is that what you want baby?” She taunts, her fingers slowly grazing over your underwear.

You nod vigorously, your enthusiasm evident. She responds by sucking on your neck again, sending shivers down your spine, your face flushed with heat. Your hands instinctively tug at her hair.

“Yes, Haze, please, fuck.” You arch your neck, pressing it firmly into the softness of the pillow beneath, a small gasp escaping your lips as you surrender to the moment. “Want your fingers inside of me.”

She makes a noise of desperation, her warm breath fanning over your face. “Gonna make you feel so good baby” She moves your underwear to the side, running her fingers through your slick folds. You gasp and she groans. “Wanna make it up to you.”

She tugs at the waistband of your skirt. You lift your hips as she guides it down along with your underwear. Hazel curses under her breath, “You’re so wet, it’s so fucking hot.” She plants kisses all over your chest, each one feeling like it could set you on fire.

She slowly fucks you with her middle finger, the touch leaving you reeling. She adds her ring finger, her free hand snaking under your neck. Her fingers gently grab the side of your face while she fucks you, slightly tugging and grazing them against your parted lips. It's an intimate gesture, conveying both tenderness and desire.

Your hips buck up to meet her fingers. “Holy fuck” you groan as she pumps them faster into you. “Like that,” your voice is completely shot. Your entire body fizzed from the contact. You gently bite down on her fingers near your mouth while she places kisses all over your cheeks and your lips. Your head spun with thoughts of her - her mouth, her hair, her scent, Hazel was everywhere, all-encompassing.

“Fuck, you’re so good” She half slurs, her voice wrecked, pupils blown and her lips parted. “So good for me.” She whispers, keeping her pace, dragging her digits through the wetness at your core.

Her mouth makes its way down your body, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses until she’s on her stomach between your thighs. Pumping faster, her lips suck at your clit. Her other hand presses down on your abdomen, holding you in place. You cup your aching tits, feeling them move with every motion she makes.

“Hazel,” you whine, “Haze, I-” Her fingers pick up the pace, curling inside of you. You tread your fingers through her hair, tugging slightly, the coil in your tummy growing tighter and tighter.

“I know, honey, I know,” She says in response to your moans. “You sound so pretty baby, missed those sounds so much.” She keeps babbling, telling you how good you are and how pretty you look for her.

“Fuck, don’t stop” you moan as she continues fucking you with her mouth and fingers, her pace alternating between teasing and fast, pushing you toward the edge. The contrast in her movements intensifies the pleasure, almost giving you want you want but flaking at the last moment, it’s torture.

“Shit, you’re almost there sweetheart” Hazel swears under her breath, voice laced with her own arousal. Her words drive you closer to the edge. You swear you can see stars as the overwhelming feeling shocks through your body. Your heart rate picks up immensley, pounding in your chest.

“Gonna come for me baby, yeah?” “Want you to come all over these fingers.”

And you did. Your body clenches around her fingers, trembling, moans and curses spilling from your lips. Your eyes form with tears from the overstimulation. Her face landed in the crook of your neck, planting sloppy kisses and whispering reassurances as she guides you through the climax.

“Good girl, that’s it, honey. That’s it,” she murmurs.

Her fingers still slowly pumping in and out of you, riding out your high.

“Holy shit," you say once you've caught your breath. "Haze, c'mere." She lifts her head back up and you yank her face down to yours, tasting yourself on her lips as she lets out a soft moan. When you eventually pull away, both breathless, you lock eyes before bursting into disbelieving laughter.

“I can’t believe that just happened.” You whisper.

"I can," she says smugly. You playfully shove her before she collapses beside you. Both of you lie face to face, studying each other's features, committing them to memory, afraid you might forget what they look like. Her hand rests on your waist, mindlessly grazing up and down.

"What's the real reason you didn't come to the party? You ask. Were you with someone else?" Hazel shakes her head.

She pauses before speaking, "I thought if there was any chance of you being there, that I was gonna walk in and maybe see you with someone else. There was no way I could've handled that. I've been distracting myself with other girls, yeah, but..." Her voice trails off. "You have no idea how in love with you I still am." Her voice cracking with emotion. You can see a tear forming in Hazel’s eye, glimmering in the low light of the room.

“Hazel..” Your own voice slightly breaking. You reach out and drag your thumb delicately against her cheek, wiping the stray tear away. Your heart is breaking with a mixture of guilt and longing for the girl lying beside you.

“I still play pretend, in my head.” She whispers.

You smile, your hand resting on her neck, giving it a gentle squeeze, a signal of encouragement for her to keep going.

“I picture us, living together in our apartment in the city.”

Hazel was moving to New York City to work for her aunt after graduation. The reason you broke up, neither of you wanting to do long distance.

“Waking up next to you everyday, cooking you breakfast, fucking you on the countertop for hours” You both laugh at that. “Ever since I met you, I’ve always pictured you just being there. And these past few months…”

“Absolute hell.” You finish for her.

“Absolute hell.” She agrees.

You take her hand and squeeze it, a silent form of reassurance.

She shifts slightly and hovers over you again, brushing your damp hair off your forehead with her hand, and scans your face. “I don’t want this to end” she whispers.

You wish you could capture this moment, tuck it away, and replay it whenever you wanted. You’ve been waiting for her to say these exact words for the past three months, you just never thought it would happen. The reason for your break-up still heavily taunts the back of your mind.

“I love you” you reply, your voice barely a whisper. Taking her face in your hand and capturing her in another kiss. She kisses you sweetly and desperately.

You pull away, gently coaxing her back towards you, and cuddle her into your chest, assuming the role of the big spoon.

She nestles into your arms, finding comfort in the warmth of your body. With a soft sigh, she murmurs, "I wish we had more time.”

You tighten your hold around her, "We'll figure something out, I promise," you whisper, though you aren’t even sure of the reality of your own words. You choose to let go of the uncertainties, preferring to revel in the present moment. She looks back at you, and you kiss her forehead, a silent promise to cherish what you have, even if time feels fleeting.

“God damn full moon.” You mutter to yourself, remembering your earlier conversation at the party.

“What?” She asks.

“Nothing.” You say. “Don’t worry about it.” You kiss her shoulder, settling into the softness of the moment.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

tagging @astroph1les @vster0769

#hazel callahan #bottoms 2023 #hazel callahan imagine #hazel callahan x reader #bottoms movie #hazel bottoms #hazel callahan fanfic #ruby cruz #wlw #sapphic #Spotify

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wooahaes · 10 days

Text

party hats & kitty cats

pairing: non-idol!lee know x fem!reader

genre: fluff. established relationship au.

warnings: food. one-off line about having kids in the future. discussion of expanding the family via adopting a new cat.

word count: 1.3k~

daisy's notes: oh to adopt a cat w lino....

Minho shifted next to you, causing you to lift your head off of his shoulder. “Hold on,” he said, voice soft as could be so as to not disturb you (or, more likely, the cats asleep around you). “Keep your head held up.”

Which was what prompted you to open your eyes right as a string fell snugly against the underside of your chin. Minho pushed it back so it would sit more comfortably, continuing to manipulate the party hat on your head until it looked right. That was when you realized he was wearing one, too.

“What?”

You’d been drifting off a little too much despite the carnage going on the screen (the powers of a bad horror movie, for sure), halfway to dreamland when he moved. The first time, you hadn’t had to move too much—assuming that Minho had just been reaching for his drink. The second time, you thought he’d been putting it back. And now he was just watching you with this playful look in his eyes, proud at his own silly little joke.

“Pretty,” he mused aloud. Then he leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss against your lips before getting up for real this time. The action earned a curious ‘mrrp?’ from Doongie, who had been sleeping at your feet until now, and Minho looked at him. “Doong-doong-ah, just stay there.”

Doongie promptly hopped down off of the couch to follow him instead, cat DNA requiring that he not follow orders from anyone but himself. You just relaxed against the couch, reaching a hand up to pet Soonie where he’d curled up to sleep. He raised his head lazily, purring once you began to scratch underneath his chin. Dori had popped his head up from where he’d been batting around a little mouse toy, watching Minho carefully as he moved about the kitchen with Doongie at his heels. You just found yourself smiling at the scene. Sometimes you joked that Minho fell in love with you once you met his cats and began to adore them almost as much as he does, but sometimes you truly think this relationship wouldn’t have lasted this long if you weren’t all-in on moving in with him and the three cats. You turned your attention back to Soonie for barely a second before you heard the click of a lighter.

And then a minute later, Minho began to sing to you. He made his way over, holding a small cake that was enough for the two of you. Doongie followed after him as he came back to you, all too curious and needing to know exactly what was going on in his home without him knowing ahead of time. Minho carefully lowered himself onto the couch next to you, holding up the cake for you.

“Did you make this?” You asked once he stopped singing.

He shook his head. “I was going to,” he said. “But I decided to focus on cooking dinner instead.”

Good, you thought to yourself. The dinner Minho had cooked for you was a little elaborate. The idea of him making you a cake and dinner, especially when the cake was decorated a little extravagantly, would have been too much. He’d pouted at you when you went the extra mile on his birthday considering how much you’d been working lately, gently chastising you when you were left exhausted after everything.

“I don’t need anything that special,” he’d told you while the two of you were laying in bed, his arms wrapped around you. “Your health is more important to me.”

You turned a little to look at him over your shoulder. “You didn’t like it…?”

“I loved it,” he kissed the side of your shoulder. “I always love the things you do for me. But…” His fingers grazed against the skin, exposed from where your shirt has ridden up. “I don’t want you to sacrifice your wellbeing for me. Okay?”

You had made him promise to do the same, something he’d easily done and sealed with a soft kiss before snuggling in for the night. Now he sat before you, the candlelight illuminating his face more than the television screen did.

“Make a wish already,” he’d lightly teased. “You can stare at me later.”

With a roll of your eyes, you turned your attention to the lit candles. For a moment, you debated on what to wish for before settling on something achievable, hopefully. You shut your eyes, blowing out the candles before the smell of smoke immediately greeted you. When you opened your eyes, Minho had reached for one of the forks he’d casually left on the coffee table earlier. You’d assumed at the time that he simply brought too many and would return it to its drawer later, but of course he was a step ahead of you.

“So?” He pushed the fork into the cake, apparently intent on feeding you the first bite before he’d pass the fork to you. He held it up. “What did you wish for?”

“I thought telling you meant it wouldn’t come true?” You teased before closing your lips around the fork, sweet vanilla buttercream bursting over your taste buds as you enjoyed the first bite of your cake. This had to be the same bakery you ordered his birthday cake from last year. Their vanilla buttercream had a certain quality to it that you could never put your finger on (Felix would know, though: he’d complimented it at Minho’s party).

“Is it something I can do?” He asked. When you played up your debate before nodding, he rolled his eyes, scooping up another bite of cake for you. “Then tell me.”

“I was thinking…” You went to take the fork, only for Minho to pull it away from you. A hostage situation, apparently. Unfair. “We could maybe expand the family a little?”

He gave you the most confused look in response. “You said you didn’t want to have kids until later on—”

“Not kids,” you said. “Maybe… We could get another kitten?”

Minho nodded along to the question, thinking it over. He pushed the fork back toward you, purposefully not letting go. You decided to oblige once more as you ate the bite of cake. “We’d have to see about fostering first,” he said, already figuring out the reality of adopting a new kitten when you already had three rambunctious cats around. “Find a space that the others can’t get to while we introduce them to each other…”

Finally victorious in stealing the fork from him, you pushed it through the cake and held out a bite to him. The two of you had shared enough at this point anyway. “So we’ll look into it?”

He nodded. “I think we could. It’ll mean more work looking after them, but I think we could handle it.” He looked at Soonie, reaching up to scratch him between the ears. “Although if the cats don’t respond well, I don’t know if we could go through with it…” He hummed to himself for a moment, thinking harder about it. “Maybe a girl? It doesn’t matter either way, but maybe it’d be nice to have a girl cat around. We’d have to find one spayed or get her spayed when she’s older—”

“Minho.”

He immediately turned back to look at you, realizing how lost he’d grown in kitten adoption thoughts. His gaze flickered back to the fork in front of him, and he smiled at you for a minute before leaning forward to accept the bite. “Thank you,” he said after swallowing. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you giggled. “It’s cute that you care so much.”

He lowered the cake he’d been balancing on one hand, carefully leaning over it so that he could kiss you. When he drew back, his eyes were all twinkly, so obviously giddy over the prospect of a new cat. Or maybe that was just the way Minho looked when he looked at you. His friends told you once that Minho adored you completely, and it was evident when they saw the way he looked at you.

“Happy birthday,” he said for the final time that night. “I love you so much.”

taglist: @twancingyunhao @weird-bookworm @bangchansbae @jinnie-ret @cheesemonky

#wooahaes.fic #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagine #skz imagine #stray kids x you #skz x you #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know x y/n #lee know fluff #lee minho x y/n #lee minho x you #lee minho fluff #lee minho x reader #wooahaes.24

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vmp3ater · 2 months

Note

Furina is love- Furina is lifeee

what if…after the fontain quest- since furina’s “transformed” into a human and isn’t a puppet/doll anymore, reader fulfills their dream to fuck and fill her SILLYYYY 😋😋

go wild bae- just want sum more sub furina crumbs 🥴🙏🙏🙏

furina x gn! reader

warnings. dom! reader, sub! furina, fingering, dumbification, 4.2 aq spoilers, reader is implied to have a cock/strap. written by a minor.

notes. holy shit anon the ideas i got for that prompt…

if you said that you never dreamt about the former hydro archon whining and squirming under you, then you’d be lying. but she, as your partner, doesn’t mind the things you’re doing to her. she enjoys it.

you have furina lying on her back, thighs trembling like a leaf as you move your index and middle fingers in and out of her cunt. you feel your cheeks heat up when you feel her cunt flutter around you, squirming and arching her back off of the mattress as her short white hair sprawls all over the pillow. she truly deserved this—especially after what happened back in court.

“such a pretty girl you are, hm?” you whispered down to her, running your free hand along her waist as she grinds back down onto you. furina only lets whimpers dribble out of her slightly parted lips at your words, and you didn’t make things any better when your fingers sped up inside her, grazing her sweet spot and making her moans louder

“aww, did i fuck you dumb already?” you mused, but furina didn’t answer you. if the way she was grinding down against your hand and moaning out your name with every drag of your fingers, it was that you had done so. a smirk paints across your face as your dirty words fill her ears. “don’t get too tired yet, i’ve got something better to fuck you with.”

furina winces out at your words in pure excitement, and it’ll only make her adrenaline rush more, she squirms and chants out your name like a prayer as her orgasm approaches her, and you let your thumb graze her clit to stimulate her further, and it only made her sounds shift in pitch.

when she cums, her thighs tremble and she arches off of the bed as she releases all over you. you can't help that smirk that paints across your face at her current state; her knuckles turning white when she grips at the pillow, her head turned to the side as she trembles under you… it was all a sight to behold.

when you ride her out of her orgasm, her pretty, raspy pants are all you can hear, and you smirk above her. your low, teasing voice fills her ears as she gets snapped back into reality, curious about what you’ll do to her next.

“don’t get tired yet, princess. we have the whole night to ourselves.”

#vmp’s drabbles.#as u can tell i got kinda carried away…#genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #sub genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin x reader #sub genshin #furina #furina smut #furina x reader #sub furina #dom reader #gn reader

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katareyoudrilling · 4 months

Text

Seen (Javier Peña One-shot)

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Summary: You’re the last person Javi wants to ask for a favor, but not for the reason you think.

Word count: ~2.2k

Rating: Mature (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: Alternating POV, reader is a few years older than Javi (Javi could be a variety of ages) and has hair that could be worn up or down, wrinkles and laugh lines, a touch of angst, non-graphic sex

A/N: This isn’t quite what I expected it to be when I started working on it many many months ago. The idea was inspired by @famouslyanonymous musing that there didn’t seem to be any fics featuring a Pedro boy with a slightly older reader. I wanted to say a lot of things with this fic and I’m not sure I said any of them, but I hope you enjoy!

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

Masterlist

Taglist link in bio (or ask me to add you!)

“Fine.”

Fuck.

Javi slams down the phone and pinches the bridge of nose.

He needs a favor. Why does it have to be from you?

He can flirt his way through the department secretaries easily, but you, with your intelligent, assessing gaze… he swears you can see right through him.

The two of you have been crossing into each other’s orbits for a long time now. He can tell that you know… You know he’s not some DEA hero. You can see right through to the failure of a man he actually is.

He takes a long drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out and pushing away from his desk. “Fuck it.”

He pulls at the back of his neck as he makes his way to your department. He can already feel the tension headache beginning. If you won’t do this for him… he’d rather not think about it.

He approaches your desk nervously. “I need a favor.”

“Is that right?” you reply, continuing your work.

“I would really appreciate it.” If he can’t flirt, he can at least try to be polite.

“You aren’t going to compliment my nail polish or tell me how pretty my dress is?”

“Uh… I… what?” Javi stammers.

“I see what you do around here. Flirting with all the pretty young things to get your way. Not me though, probably because I’ve got 20 years on most of them and a few on you.”

“What? No! Fuck, you’re the most beautiful woman here.”

“Right,” you scoff. “It’s too late for the charm, Javier.”

He leans over your desk, gripping the edge. Moving himself into the halo of your perfume. “I’m telling you the truth,” he growls.

You lift your eyes to his and his knees go a little weak.

Who is he kidding? A class-act like you is never going to bend the rules for a man like him.

“Never mind,” he pushes off your desk and walks away.

When he returns to his desk later that afternoon, he’s surprised to find the file he needs sitting on his chair.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You lean back against the elevator wall and sigh. It has been a long day and all that has kept you going is the thought of getting out of your heels and pantyhose and onto your couch.

The elevator pings as the doors open on the garage level. You step out into the cool, echoey space. That’s when you see him.

He’s standing by your car, exhaling a plume of smoke, somehow not looking green and sickly under the florescent lights. He must hear the click of your heels on the concrete because he turns and puts out his cigarette as you approach.

“What are you doing here, Peña? Need another favor?”

“Thank you for the file. You didn’t have to do that.” He shifts his weight and looks down at his feet.

“Yeah, well, lord knows you get enough roadblocks thrown in your way. I don’t need to be one of them.”

Javier chuckles ruefully, “You have no idea.”

“If that’s all, I need to get going.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” Javier looks up at you, “To say thanks?”

Your feet and back are screaming at you not to get taken in by those puppy dog eyes, but there’s something simmering beneath the surface of his gaze. Something that makes you curious. His outburst earlier hasn’t left your mind. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little interested in where an evening with Javier Peña might take you.

“Counteroffer. How about you come over to my place in an hour. Bring the booze with you.”

Javier’s eyes light up in surprise.

“Don’t get any ideas, Peña. It’s been a long day and I don’t feel like going to a bar.”

“I didn’t have any ideas.”

You scoff and make your way to the driver’s side door, “See you later?”

He nods.

Javier stands aside as you pull out of your parking space and out of the garage. You can see him in your rearview mirror smoothing down his mustache, hand on one cocked hip. It should be an interesting evening.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You open the door to your apartment and Javi is momentarily stunned speechless. You’re wearing flowy, satin pants and a cardigan belted around your waist. You’ve removed your make-up and your jewelry. You’ve let down your hair.

You’ve never looked more beautiful.

You’re always stunning at work. Elegant, put-together, gorgeous. But here, now, you look so soft and relaxed. It’s as though you’ve taken off the armor you wear to the office.

Like he’s getting a glimpse of the real you.

He always tries to hide the real him. That façade might not work tonight… a frightening thought.

You step aside and motion him into the apartment. Javi swallows deeply and forces his feet to step inside.

“I brought whiskey, hope that’s ok.” He holds out the bottle to you.

“Definitely ok, I had a feeling.” You lead him to your couch. Two tumblers already sit on the coffee table. You uncork the bottle and pour two fingers in each glass.

You hand him his glass before swirling the amber liquid in your own.

He watches, mesmerized, as you breathe in the heady aroma and your eyes drift closed. You take a sip and sigh. His cock twitches.

“That’s good whiskey, Javier.”

“Call me Javi.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You didn’t expect it to be so easy to talk to him.

Somehow you’ve gravitated towards each other. Your knee now rests against his thigh. His arm stretches behind you on the couch. Whiskey glasses sit forgotten on the table. You only needed a few sips to relax before the conversation and laughter flowed.

Swapping stories of co-workers and old mutual friends. You realize you’ve never seen him smile before tonight.

It’s a shame.

His smile lights up the room.

Javi arches back against the couch and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s getting late.”

You make a non-committal noise in reply because your gaze has been captured by the expanse of his chest you can see through his gaping shirt.

Has his shirt been unbuttoned this much the whole time? Four buttons undone? Really? Why bother buttoning it at all?

Not that you’re complaining as you take in the view of his smooth, golden skin. You watch, hypnotized, as his chest rises and falls with each breath.

Your gaze travels upward, catching on the divot of his clavicle. The perfect place to breathe his scent.

His Adam’s apple snags your gaze next as it bobs in his throat. You have to swallow yourself, saliva pooling in your mouth at the thought of licking your way up his gorgeous neck.

His jawline comes into view. Strong and angular. Beautiful. Especially in contrast to his soft, plush lips.

They part slightly, revealing the most perfect crease in his lower lip.

Then there’s his nose. Noses shouldn’t be so arousing. It’s absurd. But there it is in all it’s aquiline glory. Like a goddamn sculpture.

You continue your journey up to his eyes and find that he’s staring at you, pupils blown.

Your mouth is suddenly dry as Javi slowly closes the distance between you, never breaking eye contact, giving you time to protest, until his lips meet yours.

A fire ignites in your body with the first touch of his lips. It burns from your head to your toes waking you up from your slow syrupy thoughts.

You climb onto his lap, knees on either side of his slim hips. His hands grip your waist. His heat bleeding through the thin fabric covering your center.

You break away from the kiss, breathless. Javi continues kissing down your throat, tugging at your cardigan. You sit back and reach between you, untying the belt and letting it fall off your shoulders.

Javi groans as he takes in the thin camisole you are wearing underneath. Your bra had come off along with the pantyhouse and heels. Your hard nipples poke against the silky fabric. They squeeze even tighter as Javi licks his lips.

“Fuck, bonita, you’re gorgeous,” he rasps. The sound goes straight to your core.

- - - - - - - - -

He didn’t come here for this.

Maybe he hoped initially. But it didn’t seem to be what you had in mind.

He wasn’t lying when he said you were the most beautiful woman at work. His eyes rove over your body of their own volition every time your paths cross. His ears tune into the sound of your laughter and even more to your witty and sarcastic remarks.

But he didn’t expect this… this connection.

You’ve set him at ease. Pulling stories from his memory that he thought were long forgotten. The urge to pour out his heart to you nearly chokes him.

You’re too good for him. Too smart, too strong, too confident. And oh, are you beautiful.

And now you’re above him, rocking into his cock, making the most heavenly sounds as you lick into his mouth. He can do sex and do it well. He can make up for everything he lacks with a good fucking.

Maybe fucking is all he’s good for.

“Take me to bed, Javi.”

He pauses. He expected your words, but somehow, they have caught him off guard. It wouldn’t be just a fuck with you. You’ve gotten under his skin. You’ve glimpsed his soul.

The words bubble up before he can’t stop them.

“I’m scared.”

- - - - - - - - - - -

His admission catches you off guard and you sit back. “Scared? Of what? I know I’m older than you, but it’s not like I’m some dried-out husk and bats are going to fly out of my vagina.” You push against his chest to get off his lap, annoyed and frustrated.

Javi growls and grabs your ass, pulling you back to him, holding you still while he finds his words. “Fuck, that’s not what I meant.” He huffs as he continues, “I’m scared because you… see me.”

The anger burns away as quickly as it came.

“I’m not the man most people think I am.” His big brown eyes that only moments ago held laughter and lust, fill with pain and doubt.

“Who are you, then?”

“Just a man. Trying. Failing.”

“I know.”

“You don’t want me.”

“What if I do?”

You’re surprised by your own admission. It’s the truth. You do want him. And not because he’s a ‘hero’ but in spite of it. You want the man you met tonight.

You watch his feelings war across his face. His body wants you, that is abundantly clear. You’re pretty sure his mind and heart do too, if he could only trust them.

“Have you been real with me tonight, Javi?” you ask, brushing the pads of your thumbs over his gorgeous cheekbones.

“Yes.”

“I won’t beg.” You’ve lived enough life to know a man that doesn’t want you isn’t worth your time. “But know that I do see you and I want you. The real you.”

His fingers dig into your hips and he swallows hard. “I’ve never done this.”

“I find that hard to believe.” That earns you a smirk, some sparkle returning to his eyes.

“You know what I mean. Real… I’ve never done real. At least not for a long fucking time.”

“I’m as real as they come, Javi. Wrinkles and all. Can you handle it?”

He brushes his fingers over the creases at the corners of your eyes and you melt. “You’re beautiful.”

You bring your lips back to his, gently testing. He wraps his arms around you, surging up into the kiss. Heat quickly builds between your bodies as your hands roam freely across his broad shoulders and up into his hair.

He groans against your mouth.

“Take me to bed, querida.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Your body is perfect.

Not in the way of youth – firm, angular, unblemished – but well-loved. Each part of you telling the story of a life well-lived.

He worships each curve of you. Reveling in what pleasure feels like with someone when he opens himself up. He kisses your softness, traces each wrinkle with his calloused fingers, delights in the sounds you make as he explores your body.

When you welcome him into your wet heat with a contented sigh, it nearly breaks him in two. You feel so right around him, moving with him, coming with him.

Sated and drowsy, he lays with you on your bed. You brush his hair off his forehead and trace your fingers over his laugh lines and the crease between his eyebrows. He’s lived some life too.

“Still scared?” you ask, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Yeah,” he rasps quietly, looking up at your soft smile, “but I think it might be worth it.”

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Masterlist

Taglist in reblog

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal

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