#if I can find it in me between tying to get the next part of destruction done… and vault hunters hermitcraft… and decked out.. and school…
Text
best kept secret
pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader
words: 6.7k
summary: In an attempt to keep your relationship secret, Joel agrees to a blind date set up by his best friend / your father. You don't take it well.
warnings: 18+ minors dni, pre-outbreak, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel is 36), secret relationship, angst, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, semi-public sex, car sex, creampie, some fluff; lmk if I missed anything!
a/n: so sorry it took me almost a month to post something new ffs - life got busy and my inspiration simultaneously disappeared. but we're back, baby! anyway, dbf!joel owns my ass, so here's my rendition of him. as always, ty to my baby @javisashtray for reading this over for me and helping me through the creative process <3
Joel’s bedroom window offers a perfect view of the sunrise; of shy, pink light creeping over treetops and the roof of your dad’s house across the street.
It’s gorgeous — breathtaking, even — maybe because you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve actually seen the crest of morning. You’re far more privy to late nights and sleeping in as long as you can push it, never been one to be up with the lark, so to speak.
You don’t mind the early wakeup call, though, not when it’s this: Joel’s head tucked between your thighs, his tongue rolling lazily over your clit, your eyes still adjusting to the light as he spreads you open for him.
He’s humming against you, his coarse beard tickling soft skin, thumbs dug into muscle to hold you in place as your back bows reflexively off the mattress. He looks so sweet like this, so eager to please, staring up at you with blown pupils.
“C’mon baby,” he purrs. “Just gimme one before you go.”
They’re the first words he’s said all morning, the first thought that’s necessitated utterance. His voice is hoarse and deep and drips honey-sweet at your core.
Even so, despite how badly you want to — because you always want Joel’s mouth on you — you’re not sure you can.
Because you need to get home before Denise next door leaves for her early shift. Before Susan a few houses down takes her dog out for a walk.
Before the neighborhood wakes and somebody sees you leaving Joel Miller’s house. Or worse, before your dad catches you slipping into the house in yesterday’s clothes, your car in the driveway still cold.
But with another experimental flick of Joel’s tongue, you forget all that, a content little sigh slipping past your parted lips, betraying you.
Just one, you tell yourself, and then you’ll head out.
“Fuck, okay — yeah,” you breathe, twisting your fingers into the roots of his curls.
With your permission, he buries his nose in your mound. Licks at you again — with more purpose, this time. One long, drawn out lap followed by another.
He’s so gentle with you, so careful, caressing your folds with his tongue like they’re made of paper. It’s a dizzying juxtaposition to the way he laid you down last night and fucked you, teeth scraping your neck and cock bruising your cervix.
You’re still sore, your walls tender where he stretched them, but your pussy is drooling nonetheless, surely making a mess of the bedsheets underneath you.
Because you’re insatiable when it comes to Joel.
For the past few weeks, since the first time you’d found yourself in his bed, you’ve craved him. Regardless of how sated he’s left you each and every time, you’ve needed more.
It’s dangerous and stupid and undeniably wrong, having a fling with your dad’s best-friend. But you’re finding it difficult to consider the morality of it all when just his tongue makes you come harder than any other man’s cock ever has.
That tongue, now dipping into your apex, drawing more slick out of you as his thumb finds your swollen clit — It’s overwhelming how good it feels, how good he is at this.
He’s bringing you to the edge languidly, savoring the taste of you, the feel of your silky flesh. It’s like he doesn’t want this to be over, needs to stretch the moment as far as it’ll go, milk every last second before you slip from his grasp.
But it’s going to end soon; it’s inevitable with the way he’s laving your pussy, the crushed velvet of his tongue gliding through your folds so wet and warm. Your orgasm is building, and you’re powerless to stave it off any longer.
“Joel,” you warn, his name a high-pitched whine.
“Shh, I know babygirl; it’s okay.”
Two of his fingers hook at your entrance and push in, pacifying you as his thumb continues working your clit. “I got you. Let go for me, sweetheart.”
The soothe of his voice floods your senses like nitrous; renders your body loose and your head foggy. You come apart with a string of shattered breaths, eyes rolled back and fingers twisted into the duvet.
Joel talks you through it: that’s it, pretty girl; so good for me; always so good for me, and though he sounds so far away, his words are the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.
The world comes back into view slowly. Air settles in your lungs. And you can’t help but laugh at how fucked-out you feel when you peer down at Joel, his gaze already locked on you, expectantly.
“Okay?” he asks, rubbing at your inner thigh.
“Yeah,” you exhale, corners of your lips pulling taut. “More than okay.”
He smiles back at you. Props himself up with hands planted either side of you on the mattress and hovers over your feeble form.
“Good,” he whispers, dipping his head down to kiss your forehead, your nose, your mouth. He licks into you, letting you taste yourself on him — a little sweet, a little bitter — and his lips are so soft that you nearly melt. “Did so good, angel.”
You want nothing more than to spend all day in this bed with him. Return the favor a few times over. Learn what he looks like in the afternoon sun against the backdrop of navy blue sheets. What he tastes like after his coffee rather than before.
“I don’t want to leave,” you admit against his mouth and he frowns, taking one of your hands in his. He presses a kiss to each of your knuckles, one by one, his eyes never straying from yours.
“I don’t want you to either, darlin’. But you can come back tonight, yeah?”
Tonight. Hours away. A whole day between now and then. But it’ll have to do.
“Tonight,” you repeat. Solidify it.
You slink home just as the street lights dim.
The house is quiet when you enter, apart from the incessant ticking of the grandmother clock in the living room. It sets off a throbbing in your head, a dull pang right at the front of your skull that you massage with two fingers as you ascend the stairs.
You move cautiously up each step, wincing at every creak of old wood. It must take minutes to reach the second-floor landing, and then you’re tiptoeing past your father’s room, listening for signs of sleep behind the seal of his door. Sure enough, you catch it, a single, drawn-out snore, loud enough that you let your feet fall, shuffling the rest of the way to the bathroom across the hall.
You immediately crank the shower on, climbing in as soon as you see steam. Lathering your skin with citrus-scented body wash, the smell of sex washes off your body and down the drain.
The warm water soothes your sore muscles; bittersweet relief. You stand there until the stream grows icy, stepping out and toweling yourself off just as you hear the familiar blare of your dad’s alarm on the other side of the wall.
By the time you’ve dressed and made your way downstairs, he’s already in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with his back to you.
Sink empty, counters borderline sparkling, a coaster tucked under his warm mug — your father is a neat man. He does not take kindly to mess.
God forbid, anybody disrupt the sacred balance of his home; move something and forget to put it back, break something of his that should be kept intact.
“Hey.”
“Hey, kiddo,” he yawns. Turns to face you. “You were up early. Heard the shower going.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” you lie.
“Something on your mind?”
Heat blooms across your chest and up your neck. There’s no way he knows — you’ve been far too careful. Still, you’re on edge, and the question lodges itself between your ribs uncomfortably as you frantically search for an answer.
“Uh, n-no,” you stutter. “Just work stuff, I guess.”
He seems to buy it, reaching for the percolator and re-filling his mug with a sigh, “Just gotta give it time. You only just started. Plus, it’s your first job out of school. They don’t expect you to know it all right away.”
It’s good advice, if not misguided. You nod as if you’re absorbing it, taking it straight to heart. As if your mind isn’t preoccupied.
You grab a mug from the cabinet. Fill it with coffee and creamer. Perch yourself at the breakfast table and take a slow, steadying sip.
The caffeine has just about seeped into your bloodstream when-
-there’s a knock at the door.
Your dad shoots you a puzzled look, one which you immediately return. Who could that be, so early on a Wednesday morning?
And when he pushes open the door to reveal none other than Joel, you just about fall out of your chair. Your nails absentmindedly dig into the wood of the table in an attempt to brace yourself.
“Oh, buddy — hey! Come on in,” your dad says, patting him on the back as he steps over the threshold. “Wasn’t expecting you.”
You grasp the handle of your mug like a lifeline. For a fleeting moment, you worry the ceramic will shatter in your hands.
Joel is dressed — blue cotton t-shirt covering his broad back and the deep, red scratches you left there when you dug your nails into skin, your legs hiked over his hips and your face tucked into his chest.
The pair of boxers peeking over the waistband of his jeans are different from the ones you pulled off of him last night, the ones he shimmied back into before you slept cradled in his arms.
He’s a different Joel here, now — your father’s friend, your neighbor — not the man who breaks you down with his tongue or the one who calls you his good girl while you take his entire, throbbing length.
No, this Joel, standing in your kitchen in the presence of your father, has never betrayed him. Hasn’t tasted his friend’s daughter or felt the tight embrace of her wet, warm cunt around his cock. This Joel is reliable, honest, not one to do harm.
You do not desire this Joel, cannot. You must look at him with apathetic eyes. Must keep the boat of your longing at bay.
Easier said than done. It’s as if your desire for him is a feral beast, fed by his touch and left starving in its wake. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon, sweat beading at your collar as you not-so-subtly follow the subconscious flex of his hands, the bunching of fabric over his biceps.
His voice bounces off the backsplash, and your fingers tighten around the handle of your mug.
“Yeah, I uh — I went to make myself coffee and realized I was out. Was hopin’ you might have some to spare?”
He can’t be serious. He came over for coffee? He couldn’t get some on the road?
“I’m afraid she took the last of it,” your dad’s eyes point to you, and you ignore the burn of Joel’s gaze when his follow.
“Ahh,” he says. “‘ts okay. I’ll grab some on my way in.”
His fingers taptaptap on the edge of the countertop, bottom lip tucked between his teeth like there’s something else. Another reason he came here.
And then you spot it — your wallet, dark red leather, poking out the top of Joel’s back pocket.
You must’ve left it in his room before you hurried home. Somewhere amongst the mess of trinkets and trash on his dresser. You half-remember dropping it there last night as he’d kneeled in front of you and peppered kisses up the length of your leg.
Thankfully, your dad is oblivious as ever, giving Joel the perfect opportunity to inconspicuously slip you your wallet when he turns around and crosses the kitchen, placing his empty mug in the sink.
Joel sidesteps once, twice, extending his arm and snapping it back as soon as you have the wallet in your grasp.
Your father clears his throat. Spins to find Joel exactly where he was. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, wrestling a slice of bread out of the bag and dropping it into the toaster, “I gotta set you up with this co-worker of mine, Deb.”
Joel freezes. You watch as the color drains from his face and his large hand anxiously cards through dark curls. You’re pretty sure you freeze too, breath caught somewhere in your throat until your dad turns to you and you remember to exhale.
“You know Deb, right, honey?” he asks. You mentally flick through the rolodex of your dad’s coworkers.
There’s Leanne, tall redhead, hosted a potluck a few months back at which you tasted the worst mac & cheese you’ve ever had. And Barbara from accounting, who he got into a heated argument with over who makes the best BBQ in the city. You only remember her name because he hadn’t shut up about how wrong her opinion was for a full week.
This woman actually thinks the Smoke Shop has got better ribs than Lou’s. I said to her, Barbara, your taste buds must be absolutely torched.
But Deb? You don’t recall a Deb. Still, you’re pretty sure you hate her, just in hearing her name in this context.
You shake your head, no.
“Well, I guess you haven’t seen her in a while. She was there that day I brought you into the office.”
“When I was ten?” you retort.
“Yeah, I guess it was that long ago, huh?”
You shrug. He returns his attention to Joel. “Anyway, Deb – she’s around your age, just got divorced about a year back, and she’s a real nice woman. I think you two would really hit it off.”
“Is that so?” Joel replies. You swear his voice wavers. If your dad notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“You’ll like her Joel, I promise. I mean, when’s the last time you went out with a nice lady? Not since – what was her name — Jean? And if things were going well with her, I’d hope you’d tell your old friend.” The toaster pops, and he retrieves his slice of toast. Grabs a butter knife from the utensil drawer.
“No, I ain’t seeing Jean,” Joel sighs. Flashes you an apologetic glance as your dad slathers his toast in artificial purple jam, blissfully unaware.
“Well, you gotta get back out there!”
Joel’s gaze rolls to the ceiling. “I don’t know – I’m just not real interested in datin’ right now.”
You exhale, then — a quiet declaration of relief that seems to go unnoticed — unperturbed even when your dad continues his pitch.
I’ve known this woman for years Joel, I’m telling you, the two of you’d be the perfect match; she’s a looker too, real pretty.
Ew. Tuning him out, you check the clock, find that you only have a few minutes before you need to get going. You stand from the table and make your way toward the sink with your now-empty coffee mug in hand.
Would I ever lead you astray? your dad is asking just as you brush past Joel. His hand, idle by his side, catches the fabric of your blouse and you have to fight to ignore the pinprick of electricity it ignites under your skin.
“No, I know,” Joel grumbles. “I trust your judgment ‘n all, ‘ts just-”
“Will you just give her a chance?”
“Jesus; fine.”
The mug slips from your grip, falls into the sink with a clang.
Your dad glares at you, expression softening only when you gesture to the still-intact ceramic lying on its side in the basin.
He’s quickly distracted, then, jotting a series of numbers down onto a scrap of notebook paper, the blue ink pressed in so hard that it’s beginning to bleed through.
“Atta boy,” he drawls, sliding it across the counter. Joel pinches it between two fingers, folds the paper without looking at it and stuffs it into his front pocket.
“Promise you’ll give her a call tonight? I may or may not have already talked you up, and I need to know you’re not gonna make me look bad here.”
Joel has to see you staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He must. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under already. But he’s refusing to meet your gaze, eyes glued to the cabinet directly in front of him as he nods. “Yeah, I’ll call her tonight,” he says, a small, unconvincing smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
He’s actually agreeing to this?
You need to get out of here before you say something rash.
The anger bubbles in you slowly, then all at once, threatening to boil over as you slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder.
Marching toward the door, you offer a half-hearted bye, not bothering to look back before you leave.
The office is already milling with people by the time you stroll in, ten minutes late.
The conversation between Joel and your dad is still running laps in your head as you sneak past your boss’s door.
It sticks there through the morning and well into the afternoon, your dad’s words an incessant earworm: I think you two would really hit it off.
The thing is — you can’t blame Joel for saying yes to the setup. Not really. Your situation is complicated, messy, bound to end badly.
Maybe he’d be happier with Deb.
They could take walks together, stroll through the grocery store or down the street hand-in-hand. Throw dinner parties and shamelessly gush about their relationship to their friends. All without fear of being caught doing something wrong.
Because that’s what this is, you and Joel — it’s wrong. Not like you weren’t already well aware of that. Leave it to some woman you’ve never met to rub it in.
The day passes infuriatingly slow.
The pile of emails in your inbox only grows larger by the time you’re due to clock out, stack of reports on your desk barely touched. You wince when your boss stops by your cubicle on her way out, eager for an update.
“Sorry, Linda; a couple of these were more time-consuming than I’d hoped,” you lie. But you can tell she doesn’t buy it, not one bit, her expression souring as you shuffle through papers.
“I need these done by the end of the week, no matter what.”
“Of course,” you mutter, face heating with embarrassment. “I’ll get them done and on your desk by Friday.”
“Thanks.” Her heels are already clacking on tile when you open your mouth to apologize again, your sorry lost to the ether.
You gather your things and scramble to your feet as soon as she’s out of view, not sticking around to watch your computer power down. By the time you get to your car, Joel’s number is already dialed on your phone.
He picks up after two rings.
“Darlin’ — are you okay?”
It’s admittedly uncharacteristic for you to call him so early. You usually wait until after dark, when you’ve both retreated to your respective bedrooms, away from listening ears.
But this can’t wait. It’s been eating at you all day, digging into your work. If you don’t talk to him about it, you’re going to end up unemployed. You don’t bother to ask if he’s still on the job site, around other people. “You’re going on this date.” It’s not a question. More of an accusation.
“Baby,” he sighs. You try your best to ignore his molasses drawl and the way it seeps into your chest.
“Why didn’t you say no?”
“How could I?” he groans. “There’s your dad, askin’ me if I’m seein’ someone, sayin’ he’s already told this lady about me – what am I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know.” Your voice comes out a whine. “Make something up. Tell him you’ve taken a vow of celibacy.”
He laughs, low and breathy on the other end. “Yeah, baby. Think he’d believe that one, f’sure.”
“Fuck,” you huff. “I just— I don’t-“
You want to tell him not to go. To cancel. Fake his own death. Do whatever it takes to get out of this. But you have no right, not really. The two of you aren’t dating. You don’t have any control over what he does or who he sees. And you don’t want that, no. You just want him to choose you.
“I don’t wanna go, darlin’. I really don’t. But if I do this, I think it’ll get him off my back for a while. He won’t have a reason to suspect that I’m foolin’ around with his daughter.”
Fooling around. His phrasing is a metaphorical punch in the gut.
It’s not exactly a lie. You haven’t put a label on this thing, whatever it is. It’s been purely physical: lips slotted to lips, tongues pressed together, swapped sweat and saliva. But hearing it reduced to two words, words with such a casual connotation — as if you haven’t been driven by overwhelming desire — makes your stomach churn.
Joel doesn’t seem to clock it when you go quiet, a cocktail of rage and sorrow sloshing around your insides. “It’s for the best,” he adds, a shot of hard, burning liquor.
“Yeah,” you say defeatedly. Choke back the pathetic tears that creep up your throat. “For the best.”
He ends the call with the excuse of bad cell reception. Promises to talk to you later. You’re not sure that you believe him.
The phrase fooling around curls up in your head, a wet dog, its fur dripping into the crevices of your rattled brain the entire drive home.
You dodge Joel’s calls for the remainder of the week.
There’s no use in talking to him when you have nothing to say, when you know any words you attempt will be overtaken by tears.
Even so, it doesn’t stop him from trying. His number lights up the screen of your phone at least twice a day.
He leaves voicemails that you do not listen to. You can’t. The last thing you need is his syruppy drawl in your ear. You’ll break; you know you will.
So instead, you delete them. Rid yourself of temptation.
But you still ache for him — a devastating truth. You lumber through the days, bones heavy with hurt. Find yourself kept up at night by thoughts of Joel and the infuriatingly soothing timbre of his voice, the intoxicating callous of his fingertips against your soft skin.
It’s a lonely thing, yearning for Joel Miller.
On Friday, your father beams at the dinner table. He’s grinning like a child as he stuffs a forkful of rice into his mouth.
“Joel and Deb’s date is tomorrow,” he says. “Think they’ll really hit it off, don’t you?”
You’re dumbfounded for a long moment — can’t believe that this is your life now: being asked about your thoughts on Joel and the ever-elusive Deb as a couple. When it takes too long for you to answer, your father’s fork stills pointedly on his plate, and you sputter.
“Oh! I mean, I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t remember Deb.” You can’t help your condescending tone. Your dad doesn’t seem to catch it anyway.
“Well,” he says, “I think they’ll be a match. Hoping so, anyway. The man has been such a hermit lately — maybe if he has a lady, he’ll get out more!”
“You sound real excited,” you grumble. Stab four peas on the prongs of your fork.
“It is exciting. I’ve never set anyone up before. And the best part is, the place they’re going to — the Tavern — it’s got rooms you can rent out for wedding receptions. Just imagine if down the line, they got mar-“
“Dad,” you stop him. You think you’ll be physically sick if you let him finish that sentence. “Sorry, I just — I’m really tired, all of a sudden. I think I’m going to head to bed early.”
It’s not a complete lie. You’re emotionally exhausted as a result of the past couple days. Sleep sounds like a much-needed, blissful escape right now.
Your dad doesn’t question you. He just nods. Swipes your plate from in front of you and brings it to the sink along with his.
Of course, you find it impossible to actually drift off that night. Tossing and turning, you battle the glaring urge to get up, slink into the home-office and look up directions to the Tavern.
Not that you’re planning to go there anytime soon — you’re just curious. That’s all.
Around midnight, you give up, pad down the hallway and into the room parallel yours. The computer dials up slowly, and you chew your bottom lip as you wait.
You snatch a piece of paper from the printer and a pen from the #1 Dad mug that sits next to the monitor. Click on the internet icon and type the words into the search bar.
This is definitely a bad idea. Maybe the worst you’ve had in a while.
You jot the address down anyway.
Downtown Austin is buzzing with life.
Patrons spilling out of bars, tourists striding down the street in their brand new Stetsons – it almost distracts you from the task at hand.
At just past seven, you’d told your dad you were going out, meeting a friend for drinks. He’d been a bit taken aback, seeing as you’re not very social these days, but he’d seemed happy. Relieved.
That’s not what you’re doing, of course.
No – in reality, you’re turning into the parking lot attached to the Tavern. It’s packed to the brim with cars, but you still manage to find Joel’s truck, its license plate number burned into the back of your mind after countless mornings of absently reading it as you snuck past.
It’s idle and empty when you inch by, and even though you knew he’d be here, on this date, your heart still sinks. Because maybe a tiny part of you had hoped he’d stand Deb up.
You should leave. It was stupid to come here in the first place. What are you going to do — storm inside and demand that he leave with you?
You consider it for half a second, groaning when you realize how pitiful you are. Defeated, you swing your car into a spot at the back, facing the building, and shift it into park. You hug the steering wheel dejectedly.
From here, you have a straight-shot view of the restaurant’s entrance, a set of double doors at the side of the building. Groups spill out every so often, every pair that emerges causing your back to arch reflexively.
Joel and Deb are probably discussing their interests right now, bonding over a shared connection with your dad. You can vividly picture the smile likely plastered across his face — the same one you’ve elicited with sweet filth whispered in his ear.
And you’re here, sitting in your running car, watching the door. Your pulse thumps obnoxiously loud in your ears.
Minutes pass like molasses, slow and thick. You watch the clock on the car radio obsessively, betting with yourself on what time they’ll leave. After thirty minutes of nothing, you’re convinced that they’re going to close the place out.
But then the door opens again, and you straighten up, immediately met with the sight of Joel and Deb.
She’s talking animatedly, eyes widening every few words, blonde hair wafting around her narrow face. It’s undeniable that she’s stunning, even from far away; possesses the kind of beauty you see on magazine covers in line at the grocery store. The jealousy that pools in your gut burns like acetone in an open wound.
She takes his arm as they walk toward the parking lot, and he lets her, despite the rest of his body appearing strangely rigid.
You wonder if he’ll take her home. Lead her to his truck, help her up the step to the passenger seat and sneak a look at her ass under her dress before shutting the door. If they’ll leave her car in the lot for the night, come back to retrieve it in the morning once he’s helped her forget about her loser ex-husband; let the scent of her perfume seep into the bed sheets to cover up yours.
But he doesn’t lead her to his truck. You watch as they unexpectedly turn down a row of cars, disappearing from your view completely, his arm still locked with hers.
He could still kiss her. Press her against the car. Promise her that he’ll call — and he will, first thing tomorrow. He’s probably just being a real gentleman. Treating her like a woman he might want to marry someday.
Maybe he knows, after just one date, that she’s his soulmate. He’ll buy the ring in a couple weeks. They’ll be engaged in a month’s time, and he’ll say he just couldn’t wait any longer.
She’s the one thing I’ve been missing.
You stew in the agonizing unknown for what feels like hours before Joel materializes once again, backside illuminated by headlights as he strides toward his truck.
And then — he stops. You see the exact moment he notices your car in the parking lot, his eyebrows threading together and his hands splaying over his hips.
He’s staring directly through the windshield. At you.
Fuck.
He takes a few slow steps. Stops in front of the hood. Narrows his eyes and flexes his jaw.
With a deep breath, you unlock the doors. Gesture for him to get in the passenger side.
He immediately rounds the car, prying the door open and climbing inside just as a SUV pulls out the row he and Deb had walked down.
The door slams when he yanks it closed. The sound echoes through the cab of the car.
“You wanna fuckin’ explain what you’re doin’ here?” he snaps. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, embarrassment and now, anger, spooling hot behind your ears.
You know you’re in the wrong. You shouldn’t have followed him. But does he have to be so hostile?
When your gaze finally meets his, he looks — distraught — jaw clenched and lips set in a straight line. His fingers absently dig into denim-covered thighs.
“I don’t know,” you mumble, “I just wanted to see how you were with her.” And it’s the truth; not one you want to be admitting right now, to him, but it’s the truth nonetheless.
“Doesn’t give you the right to spy on me.”
“So what was I supposed to do? Sit at home and mope while the guy I was seeing is on a date with someone else? Oh no, I’m sorry,” you throw your hands up, form air quotes with your fingers, “the guy I was fooling around with.”
This seems to strike a nerve. His jaw twitches, and his fingers still on his lap.
“It wasn’t like that,” he grits
“No? Isn’t that all this was to you: fooling around?”
There’s a beat. Joel sighs.
“No — fuck, no. Of course not.”
His expression softens. A crack in solid stone. “I tried callin’ you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.
“I know,” you admit.
He nods. Another beat.
“Did you kiss her?” you ask.
“No.” He says it with intent, with promise, eyes firmly locked on yours now.
Your mouth goes dry.
“No?”
“No,” he repeats. “I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t want to.”
“You don’t want her?”
“No,” he says flatly, his pupils bulging in the lamplight, black bleeding into the brown of his irises. “I don’t want her.”
“Why not?”
He leans forward. His weight presses into the center console and his breath fans your face — warm, tinged with the scent of cheap beer.
“I don’t want her,” he says, voice an octave lower, “because I want you. I thought you knew that?”
The radio drones between the two of you, some classic rock song you think you recognize flitting through the speaker. Your pulse beats staccato in your throat, off tempo.
“You want me?” you ask, a little breathless, and the next words you say are beyond dumb, beyond reckless, but you say them anyway. “Prove it.”
Joel doesn’t hesitate. He closes the slight distance between you and kisses you, hard, his tongue frantically sliding against yours through parted lips.
It’s sloppy, and desperate, and you feel drunk on the taste of him, on longing laced with carnal need. He’s groaning into your mouth, grabbing your head with both hands, burying his fingers in your hair — as if he can’t get close enough, as if he’ll only be satisfied once he’s swallowed you whole. You’re pretty sure you want him to.
Your hands move frantically to his t-shirt, then, bunch into the fabric and pull. You need to feel the skin underneath, need to rove your hands along his bare chest. He accommodates, tugging the shirt by the back of the collar, lips separating from yours ever-so-briefly to bring it over his head and toss it onto the backseat.
And then he’s back on you, licking into your mouth again, eliciting a whimper from you when his hand wraps around the side of your throat, just under your jaw.
Your palms splay across his torso, wander over warm, golden skin. You’ve missed this, god, you’ve missed this — but it’s still not enough. You need to feel more of him. In your mouth, in your hand, in your cunt — you’re not picky. Just need him in whatever way he’ll provide.
“Joel,” you whimper into his mouth, fingers winding around his bicep.
He pulls back. Peers at you through hooded eyes. “What is it, baby?” he asks through labored breaths.
“Need you — please.”
He immediately unbuckles your seatbelt. Lowers his seat back and manhandles you onto his lap. You go easily; slot yourself to him with legs folded on either side of his thighs.
Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, you grind down into his lap. His cock strains against denim underneath you. He groans when you swivel your hips and brush the heft of it again with your clothed heat.
“You gonna let me fuck you?” he asks into your mouth, his forehead pressed to yours.
Your breath catches.
You know what he’s really asking: are you going to let him fuck you here, in the parking lot of a public establishment, where anybody could see?
But you don’t care. In fact, you’re way past caring, the emptiness of your cunt too painful to ignore any longer. Let them watch him take what’s his.
You nod frantically. “Yes,” you pant. “Please.”
Joel nods too, as if he’s accepting his fate. He’s going to fuck his friend’s daughter in the passenger seat of her car. There’s no way around it — not when you’re begging for it. He’s going to give you what you need.
“Okay,” he soothes, “I got you baby.”
He helps you out of your pants, then; clumsily maneuvers them down and off your legs along with your panties and tosses them aimlessly into the back.
He doesn’t bother to take his jeans off. Lets you unzip them and pop the button open, your nimble fingers making quick work of it. And then you’re pulling his cock out of his boxers, stiff and leaking in your grasp.
You steady yourself with hands on his shoulders just as he begins to pepper placating kisses along your neck. “Go ahead baby,” he whispers into your ear. “Take it; it’s yours.”
His head falls back against the seat as you stroke him a few times and line his cock up with your dripping entrance, his hands clasped around your waist.
You sink down slowly, savoring every inch of him as he burrows in deeper. He’s so thick, stretching you like it’s the first time again, your walls fluttering as they relax around his cock.
“Fuck,” Joel slurs, fingers digging into your skin impatiently when you still, fully seated on him.
“Gotta move baby — please move.”
He’s so fucking deep, though, his cockhead bumping your cervix, and your entire body feels gelatinous atop him. A cloying sort of heat hangs around your head. You swivel your hips weakly, your forehead falling to rest on his with a heavy sigh.
Joel is happy to take control, bucking up into you so hard you see stars. You can’t suppress the string of moans that spill from your mouth, and Joel doesn’t seem to mind. He’s just as loud, anyway, his broken sounds bleeding into yours, bouncing off glass and leather.
Neither of you can muster an actual word, though, not with him rutting up into you, sheathing himself in your pussy over and over again. He’s relentlessly hitting that spot — the one that has you practically clinging to him for dear life.
It’s approaching too quickly; he’s going to make you come.
One of your hands flies to the roof of the car in an attempt to brace yourself, flat palm pressing into it so hard you worry it’ll pop.
Joel takes the opportunity to drag you down in his lap, spearing you on his cock, and the sudden change in angle makes you cry out.
“Oh f— ahh, oh my—“
“That’s it,” he coos, “you got it, babygirl.”
His words tip you over the edge, your entire body locking up as you gush around him. You’re wetting his lap, slick splattering his thighs, and he loves it, his fervid moan telling you so.
His movements begin to falter then, hips stuttering underneath you as he chases his own high.
“Cmon, baby,” you goad, “please fill me up.”
He grunts when he spills inside, his face nestling in your chest, heaving as he works through it and begins to come down. You don’t move, not that Joel would let you, still holding you on his lap like he’s afraid to let you go.
You nuzzle into his embrace as his cock softens inside you.
You stay like that for a while, probably too long given that anybody could easily look into the car and see you straddling him. You don’t have the energy to care.
Eventually, you lift your head from its spot on Joel’s chest. Look up at him with bleary eyes.
“Joel,” you say.
He meets your gaze, face shiny with sweat and his hair a mess. He looks gorgeous like this, you think. The way only you get to see him.
“Yeah?” He grazes along your arm with featherlight fingers. His touch raises goosebumps on your skin.
“Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?”
“About wanting me.” In truth, you’re not sure you want the answer. But you need to know, definitively, if Joel is yours. You’re done sharing him.
“Oh, baby,” he drawls. “Of course I do. You’re all I want. Do you want me?”
And it’s a stupid question. He has to know that. You’re nodding before he can even finish it. “Yes,” you breathe. “I want you, Joel”
“Then it’s settled. It’s me and you. No more…interlopers.”
You giggle. Reluctantly separate yourself from his body and re-dress. You settle back into the driver’s seat with achy legs.
You’ve never felt more content than you do in this moment.
Still, you’ll have to hide — won’t be able to share the news of your new relationship with friends or coworkers, your dad — and neither will Joel.
You don’t care much, not as long as he’s yours, but you need to be sure he feels the same.
“Joel,” you stop him as he opens the passenger-side door to get out. He stills with one leg swung out the door.
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“Are you sure you don’t mind…being a secret? Don’t mind keeping me a secret?”
He looks at you like you have two heads.
He pulls his leg back into the car. Shuts the door and leans over the console again.
Taking your chin between his fingers, he forces your gaze. Makes sure you’re listening.
“I want you — doesn’t matter who knows or doesn’t know. Long as you’re mine.”
Your chest tightens, and your heart squeezes inside your ribcage.
“I’m yours?”
He smiles. Presses a chaste kiss between your eyes, on the tip of your nose, on your lips. The same way he did the other morning.
It all feels somehow sweeter, now.
“Yeah, angel. You’re mine. My girl.”
end notes: tysm for reading! please consider commenting and/or reblogging if you enjoyed! I've been toying with the idea of turning this into a series so lmk if that's something you'd be interested in hehe.
Also, I hopped on the bandwagon and made a sideblog for notifs! I'll be doing away with a taglist from here on out, so follow @joelscurlsupdates & turn on notifications if you wanna be notified when I post a new fic :-)
tag list: @janaispunk @amanitacowboy @fhatbhabie @frannyzooey @lola8888673
#joel x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#dbf!joel#joel miller x reader#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal fanfiction#tlou fic#the last of us fanfiction
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You are my favorite
Pairing: Lee Know x afab!reader
Part 2 of Can I be your favorite?(Recommended to read the first part for context)
Genre: smut, fluff, angst(the tiniest bit)
Summary: you let your insecurities come in between your new relationship with Minho, luckily for you though, he's not gonna let you run away so easily.
Words count: 3,076
THIS CONTENT IS +18, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Warnings: oral(f. receiving), unprotected piv(wrap it before you tap it ffs), creampie, marking, hickeys, dirty talk(barely), Minho is possessive asf(is it even my fic if he's not possessive?), reader is insecure
You were sore when you woke up the next morning — or should you say, afternoon? It was already 2pm when you opened your eyes, finding Minho's place empty by your side.
You look around the room, now there's enough light coming from the windows for you to be able to see the room. You don't know how to explain it but it fits Minho perfectly, the decoration is discreet but not basic and it shows a lot of his personality, more than you're aware of.
You get up, not really sure what you're supposed to do. So you collect your things and start getting dressed, tying your hair in a ponytail to try and conceal the mess.
When you open the door, you look around before getting out, not sure if you're going to find someone and a bit embarrassed to be going away at this hour. You get down the stairs, walking past the kitchen at a quick pace but before you can turn the knob, you hear a voice behind you.
“Minho, your girl is trying to escape”, he yells, making you spin on your heels quickly looking at the telltale just to find a boy, who you're sure is Jeongin, the youngest of the frat house.
“Never thought you would be the type to smash and dash”, your crush says, popping out of the kitchen.
“I'm not!” You defend yourself, crossing your arms.
“That's not what it looks like to me”, he shrugs.
“I was just looking for you”, you lie and he scoffs, walking towards you.
“You shouldn't lie, princess”, he leans closer to you, making you gulp. “I don't like liars”, he whispers. Smirking when he sees your breath quickening and the way you lick your lips nervously. “Anyways, you can go if you want. I'll pick you up at 8”
“F-for what?” You ask, trying to recompose yourself.
“I told you I was going to take you out for dinner, didn't I?”
"I can't believe you're really going on a date with Minho”, Jihyo says, clapping excitedly while she searches for something in your wardrobe.
“I don't why he wants to go on a date with me”
“‘cause you're hot?” Your best friend says, as if it's obvious.
“He has a hundred other hot girls to take on dates”, you scoff, making Jihyo throw a pillow at you.
“Stop with the self depreciation, he doesn't want the other girls, he wants you. So get your ass over here so I can help you with your makeup”
You were hopeful but didn't think Minho would actually do as he promised. At exactly 8pm, you heard a knock on the door and Jihyo squealed, giving you a thumbs up and sending you to your date.
Minho was looking exceptionally handsome in all black, hands tucked in the pockets of his pants. He stares at you up and down with a grin on his lips.
“You look good”, he tells you, enjoying seeing your cheeks turning a dark shade of red.
“Y-you look nice too”, you say, stepping outside and closing the door behind you.
You are seated in front of him, not really sure what to do next, you two ordered your food and some expensive wine that you never heard about. The ride to the restaurant was a bit awkward, you felt the need to say something but didn't know what to say so you talked about the weather not realizing that he liked seeing you trying, nervous like a bunny being hunted by a predator, him.
“So, what's your major?” He asks, taking you out of your thoughts. He's resting his face on his hand while watching you fidget on your seat.
“Engineering”, you answer, sipping on the glass of water the waiter poured to you.
“That's interesting”, he smiles. “I'm a dance major”, he tells you.
“I know”, you say without thinking, covering your mouth immediately. “I mean, everyone knows”, you smile sheepishly.
“Ah, yes. You like me, right?” He smirks, proudly, making your face turn as red as a tomato.
“Please, stop saying that, it's embarrassing”, you hide your face in your hands.
“It's embarrassing that you like me?” He chuckles, tilting his head.
“You were not supposed to know that”, you clarify, “it's pathetic that I have feelings for someone who didn't even know I existed until last night”, you sigh.
“I clearly knew you existed, since I knew that you like me”, he teases. “I don't think it's pathetic, the heart wants what it wants”
“Is that why you dated all those girls?” You ask, naively, making his eyes grow wide. He didn't think you'd be that straightforward.
“No, I'm not one to rejected a nice looking girl”, he shrugs, “they just didn't manage to be more than that to me, but I'm sure they can be something more for someone else”
“Ah”, you nod, feeling awkward.
“Do you want to date me?” He asks nonchalantly like he's asking how was your day, making you choke on the water you just drank.
“What?” You ask, shocked.
“I think I was very clear”, he answers, scowling.
“Why would you want to date me?”
“I guess you heard me well”, he teases, “you're my type”, Minho clarifies.
“I don't think I'm, though”, you oppose.
“I think I know better than you who is or is not my type”
“I mean, I'm not pretty like your other girlfriends”, you push.
“Firstly: why would I want someone just like the people I broke up with? Second: I think you're pretty”
You feel your whole face hot, covering your mouth instantly so he doesn't see the stupid smile you have on your lips.
“Also, I like fucking you”, he ruins the moment, smirking, “I wanna keep doing that”
“What a gentleman”, you roll your eyes, ignoring the heat growing on your lower stomach. He doesn't need to know that you'd give anything for him to fuck you right now on the restroom of the restaurant.
“I can be one”, he stretches his arm, grabbing your hand, caressing it. “Or I can be the opposite of that, it's your call”, he shrugs.
That's precisely how you ended up fucking on the restaurant’s restroom. He pulled you inside the confined space, bending you on the sink and before you could prepare yourself his cock was inside of you.
“Fuck, kitten”, he groans, covering your mouth, not slowing down his thrusts. “You have to be quiet if you don't wanna get caught”, you nod, crying out, seeing his smirk through the reflection of the mirror.
You ended up dating him. It's not like it's a sacrifice for you or anything but you couldn't wrap your head around the reason that the Lee Minho would want to date you of all people. People's reaction was different from the one you expected too, they didn't really care, thinking he was going to dump you in a week.
However, to their surprise and especially yours, he didn't. Minho never even brought up the idea of breaking up and when you realized, two months had already passed.
After two months you still couldn't believe you were dating him and how hot he is, you always thought he was the most handsome man you ever saw but dating him hits differently. Now you can see him after a shower, coming out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his hip, his muscular chest bare for you to drool over. He cooks for you, making your favorite foods or some you never ate before. He brings you snacks and makes side dishes for you to eat at home. Minho picks you up before class and takes you back home after or he invites you to sleep over at the frat. You're already acquainted with all his friends, they even come looking for you to show you things when you're in the house. It makes you wonder if they acted like that with all of his girlfriends. Two months of the sweetest romance and the best sex you've ever had.
At least it was. You're not going to deny it, you're insecure. Minho is someone you never thought you could reach, so to be his girlfriend? It's something you never imagined. As he told you before, he has a great number of options, so the possibility that he'll replace you anytime, scares you.
You try forgetting about that, try not to overthink, until you find him at the library with a girl all over him. She's beautiful, perfect skin and shiny hair, she's hanging too close to him, touching his arm and throwing her head back in an exaggerated laugh. She's actually touching him at any chance she gets and you're there paralyzed like an idiot, watching it.
You feel the tears brimming in your eyes and you turn around and walk to the opposite side. You are his girlfriend, you should definitely step in, but in all honesty, you are too scared. Scared he'll look at you like you are nothing, that he's finally going to look at you with cold eyes like you have been waiting for it to happen.
You don't talk to him for days, avoiding meeting with him and ignoring his calls. You know it's childish to just ignore someone like that but you just needed to prepare yourself for the dreadful conversation you were about to have. It's going to be for the best if you two break up, he can go back to the way he lived before and you can stop worrying about when he's going to get tired of you.
It's not a surprise when Minho shows up at your door, you expected that to happen but wasn't expecting his appearance. He has his hair disheveled, deep eye bags under his eyes and he looks furious.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He asks, angrily, not even greeting you and storming inside your apartment like a hurricane. “Why did you disappear?”
“I needed to think”, you murmur, closing the door behind you.
“Think about what? You should at least have answered my texts”, he huffs, taking his jacket off and throwing it on the couch.
“About us”, you answer him, making his face soften a bit.
“What about us?” He asks, tilting his head in confusion.
“I think it's best if we break up”, you tell him at once, not really capable of dragging this conversation for too long, it was already so hard to say that sentence, you are about to cry at any minute.
“What are you on about?” He frowns, taking a step closer to you, but you take a step back.
“I'm trying to make the right decision for the both of us”, you sigh, “it's not like this is going to last anyways, you should go find someone who's on your level”
He scoffs, breathing a laugh. You expected any other reaction of him, but that one was not included.
“So that is what this is about”, he starts walking towards you and you start stepping back, until you bump into the kitchen table with nowhere else to run. Minho gets closer to you, looking down on you as he cages you between the table and his body.
“My kitten is insecure, is that it?” He asks, making you blush with the pet name. Minho never gets tired of making you flustered.
“I'm not”, you lie, avoiding his gaze.
“You know I don't like liars”, he tells you, “but I guess it's on me, if I did a better job as your boyfriend you wouldn't be feeling like this’, he pouts.
“You are a great boyfriend”, you murmur, trying not to look into his eyes, he's too close.
“Hm? I am?” He teases. “Then what's it, kitten, did you find someone more interesting than me?” He smiles, it was supposed to be a joke but the way your eyes widened with that simple suggestion makes him a bit mad. “Is that it?” He asks, narrowing his eyes to stare at you.
“No, there's no one like that”, you tell him.
“Then why did you hesitate?”, he raises his brows in questioning. You were just too shocked to answer right away but he doesn't let you tell him that. “Nice way to make me angry”, he scoffs. “I told you I can be a fucking gentleman so why do you always make me be the opposite of that?” He asks, taking a step closer to you and pressing his body against yours. His hands slide around your waist, caging you even more in his hold.
“Minho, I-”, you try to speak but he tsks, interrupting you.
“You need to learn a lesson”, he tells you, leaning closer and brushing his lips on your cheek, trailing it down to your jaw and then your neck. “You are mine”, he whispers before attaching his mouth to your neck, biting on your skin so hard you whine with the pain.
His hands slide down to your ass, squeezing it and pulling you up, to sit on the table. You were on your pjs already ready to sleep and that makes his access to your body easier, the thin fabric of your clothes can barely block the warmth coming from his body to yours.
Minho pops open his dress shirt, letting it slide and fall on the floor, watching your reaction to him. You bite on your bottom lip, staring at his muscular chest. He always looks so good, you feel like moaning just by looking at him.
“Min…”, you murmur, spreading your legs wide for him. It's not like you can resist him anyways.
“There you are”, he smiles, unbuckling his pants and letting it fall down at his feet, “my needy girl”
You avoid his eyes, pulling your shirt off to reveal your bare chest to him.
“You look so hot, all spread for me like this”, he smiles, getting on his knees. Minho pulls the waistband of your shorts and panties down, watching your glistening cunt in excitement. “Is this because of me or are you thinking about someone else?” He pushes, finally seeing you look at him, shaking your head frantically.
“It's all you, the only one I think about is you”, you confess, feeling your cheeks hot.
Minho grins, putting your legs over his shoulders and kissing your inner thighs. He licks your pussy slightly, just teasing you, making you put your hands on his head to force him against your core.
You can feel him smile, licking a long strip between your folds, attaching his lips to your clit next. Minho slides his hand between your legs, inserting two fingers inside of you, going in and out while he sucks your aching core, grunting and groaning with you pulling on his hair and he watches as you become undone in his mouth.
You can feel your orgasm coming, your toes curl immediately and you buck your hips against his mouth desperately, chasing your high and when the knot on your lower stomach finally explodes, you moan loudly, trembling in his embrace.
Minho stands up, cleaning around his mouth with his fingers and then licking on them.
“Still my favorite taste”, he smirks. You look stunning with your soft lips parted and hair disheveled, your chest rises and falls in a fast rhythm.
“This is going to be the last time I'll let you have your way”, you try looking the least bit believable while stating that, but that only makes him chuckle, stroking his cock a few times before he comes closer to you.
“And that only proves that you still haven't understood the situation you're in”, he tells you, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock while he waits for you to stop him but you don't, you want to feel him inside you so fucking much that it seems like you're going crazy. He pushes in, feeling your cunt squeezing him deliciously. “Fuck”, Minho murmurs. Your arms wrap around his waist, burying your nails in his skin, the snap of his hips against yours making you breathless.
He kisses you, feeling your sweet lips against his only adds to the building up of his orgasm, you look so pretty, you're perfect for him, your pussy is perfect for him, he won't let you end things with him that easily.
He pulls away from you for a moment, your mouth is parted and your eyes are glossy, he wants to hold you forever.
“I'm in love with you”, he confesses, thrusts faltering a bit. Your eyes grow wide to his sudden revelation. “You won't get rid of me that easily, kitten”, he groans, pressing his lips against yours one more time.
That's enough for you to cum, squirming and trembling in his embrace, while you watch him breathlessly thrust inside of you, eyes locked with yours.
“Do it inside”, you cry out, overstimulated after your second orgasm. Minho groans, bending towards you and kissing you, spilling his hot cum inside you while he bites on your lips.
He rests his head on your shoulder, breathless, trying to recompose himself.
“Don't ever talk about breaking up, ever again”, he pulls away to look at you, finding your eyes brimming with tears.
“But I saw that girl hitting on you the other day at the library”, you pout, making him sigh, cupping your face with both of his hands.
“Yes, she was hitting on me but I told her I have a really smart, hot girlfriend and that I was not interested”, he tells you, making you feel like the greatest idiot in the world.
“I'm sorry, I should have checked with you first”, you say, “I just love you so much, I'm scared you're going to dump me”, you confess, making him chuckle. His heart beating like crazy, it's the first time you openly say you love him.
“Y/n, you're stuck with me for a long time”, he gives you a peck on the lips, “I won't ever do anything to hurt you, okay?”
You nod, feeling warmth spreading all over your chest.
“Now, you better prepare yourself, ‘cause you need to receive some punishment for disappearing and making me worry”, he tells you, showing you that devilish smirk of his and before you can run to save yourself, Minho is picking you up and dragging you to your room.
#stray kids#skz imagines#skz#skz x reader#stray kids imagines#stray kids scenarios#skz x y/n#skz x you#lee know imagines#lee know x reader#lee know stray kids#lee know x y/n#lee know x you#skz smut#stray kids smut#lee know smut#skz scenarios#k labels#stray kids x y/n#stray kids x you#stray kids x reader#stray kids fanfic
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Your ghostsoap x preg!reader!!??? I'm in love I need more of this. You have more thoughts for that universe? I just fell in love with your writing.
Let me camp in this corner of your blog, I'm friendly and don't bite (~￣³￣)~
they're all i've been able to think about all day. of course i have more to say <3 if you're curious, anon is referring to this, which should be read before this part.
tags: DARK FIC. manipulation. vehicle tampering. planned abduction. pregnant fem!reader. established ghostsoap – who are not the fathers but would definitely like to be. mentions of somnophilia
Delusional as they might be, it's hard to justify something as egregious as blunt-force kidnapping. Though it briefly occurs to Simon – to pluck you from the parking lot and drive off the hour after they decide to keep you – the logistics don't iron out. Of chief concern, you're six months pregnant. What they'd typically use for POW's thus become's inconsiderable for you; Johnny's the wiz, but even he knows the effects chloroform can have on a foetus. The alternative isn't any better, either – his partner just balks at the idea of tying you up and throwing you in the trunk. (She'll never git ower it, Si. Dae ye want her tae hate us?)
So, things unfold in a far subtler manner.
They go home that night they first meet you. Can't coordinate without resting on it, they rationalise, without scoping their place to assure it's suitable for their soon-to-be-mother. They tuck away the knives laying on random countertops, air out the quilts gifted to them by Johnny's ma in an attempt to make their room cozier. And when they sleep, they dream of you tucked in between them, knocked out, sex-drunk. Dressed in nothing but a shirt, cunt bared for either of them to toy with throughout the night.
Hours upon hours later, well into noon the next day, Simon wakes to find his boy rutting into his thigh, still somewhat comatose, and sneaks a rough hand into his boxers to tug the tension out of the poor thing. They only get up as the fissures of dusk begin to spread across the sky, loading their car with a toolbox and making the drive back to The Dahlia, staking out in the parking lot as they wait for you to arrive for your shift.
(Johnny had deployed the old charm as you brought out their food in two baggies last night, disguising the trap with a lilting laugh as he audibly wondered why you picked up such a late shift.
You’d only shrugged and said you preferred to work nights.)
Sure enough, you pull up in a beat-up Kia at 2200, fussing with your bag as you stumble to the back entrance of the roadhouse.
"Forgot to lock it." He mutters, following your form until it disappears from view. Johnny only frowns, tightening his fingers over his thumb. A little nervous tick.
"Should we be doin' this?"
"And what is this?" Simon turns to appraise the scotsman, larger hand enveloping his, calloused fingertips smoothing over scarred knuckles. "Y'think they'd be kinder to 'er? The type of scum we know grace this earth? It's a wonder she made i' this far, Johnny."
He isn't convinced.
"Look a' me." Blue eyes widen to meet his, dark as their owner battles intuitions that have always been straighter than the Ghosts'. "Wanna give 'er a good life, yeah?"
"Aye. The best."
"Would she be so convinced?" But he knows the answer. They both saw the way you withdrew after being hit on, losing the effusiveness you initially greeted them with. Avoidant. Classic case of hyper-competency, perhaps the very reason you put up with such shitty circumstances to begin with. A stubborn knot they'll have to undo themselves.
And Johnny likes the challenge.
"Lass's got something tae prove." Moments pass in silence. Then: "Ah’ll get th' wire."
"Atta' boy."
They only enter the establishment an hour before the end of your shift. It’s 0600 and space is sleepy. At a point that had escaped their notice, someone had made the choice to shut the overhead fluorescents, and so all that functions to illuminate the dinette is the pale dawn outside. Johnny finds he prefers it like this, grumbling a tired endorsement, before branching off in search of the bathroom, hand rubbing the sore column of his throat.
The softening mass in his pants jumps once Simon catches sight of you, balancing two trays in one hand as you wipe down the serving hatch. He doesn’t need to say anything. You catch the dark blur of him in the corner of your eye, shuffling into a booth, where he occupies an entire side with the mere spread of his legs.
“Hello again. Just you today?” You’re twirling your pen, cradling your belly, and he notes the perpetual shadow cast under your eyes. Poor pet.
He shakes his head, then cocks it toward the loo. “Think he’ll have a go at the toastie today.”
“Good choice. Hard to fuck up.” You give him a tired smile. “And for you?”
“M’good.”
“You sure? Look like you’ve been on the road again, and-" You pause, the water of your eyes rippling as you appraise his mask. Something seems to click just then, because you nod and tuck your notepad away. “I’ll ask again at the end. Maybe you’ll want something to-go.”
In the end, they do take something to go.
Not as greasy as the toastie Johnny spends the hour tearing into, glossing the pads of his fingers with oil. Nor as sour as the coffee he sipped on last night, burnt and way past freshness, just like you’d warned them about. But a much, much sweeter keepsake. Something that’ll sate them for much longer.
You’ve already clocked out once they leave The Dahlia, faces grim but as innocent as they can possibly muster. Sure enough, you’re out standing by your car, wiping tears with the back of your hand. They’re close enough that they can catch snippets of your conversation on the phone (No, I don’t– and It is old but never–).
They wait until you grow desperate, hiccuping – Don’t have that kind of money. Please – before intervening.
“Hey. What’s the matter, hen?” Johnny approaches first, concern no faux thing, smoothing a hand down your arm. What Simon said earlier comes back around (Wanna give 'er a good life?) and his chest tightens at the sheer despair he sees etched across your face. You shouldn’t be this stressed about anything this far along, should have someone taking care of you.
He, they, can be that for you. Could give you everything you ask for and more.
“M-my car. I-I don’t– I don’t know what’s wr-wrong with it, and–”
“Shhh, issalright. Not starting, eh?”
“No. And I have to- to get home before… before–”
Simon steps in, crowding you against the side of your car. You don’t have it in you to look for the red flags; the glances they throw one another, the subtle crinkle in the masked one’s eyes as he smiles. No, you don’t– can’t consider it dangerous. Not when these two wonderfully kind men, who tipped you 100% of their bill both times they came in, are one of your only means of getting help.
“Where do you live? We’ll drive ya if it’s on our way.” A lie. They’ll drive you regardless, and you won’t be taken home.
“Oh- no. That’s okay, really. I’ll just a-ask my boss if I can get a sub on my pay, and–”
Johnny smooths a finger across your cheek.
“Nonsense, hen. It’ll be a skoosh.”
next part
#༄dee answers#ive got a massive headache this is probably the worst thing ive ever written#simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader x Johnny ‘soap’ mactavish#johnny ‘soap’ mactavish#simon ‘ghost’ riley#ghostsoap#ghoap#x reader#ghost#soap#cod#call of duty#simon riley#john mactavish#x female reader
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Satisfaction [Part 1]
Lewis Hamilton x reader
Summary: Four times you tried to befriend Lewis, and one time you didn't.
Word count: 2.1k
Tags: female!reader, asshole!Lewis (he will get better), physiotherapist!reader, no romance yet, Lewis is being rude, reader is trying, cursing, a bit angsty, not beta read
Note: Lewis is being kind of an asshole, but I promise he will grovel a lot. This is a two part story. Gentle reminder that english is not my first language (so please bear any mistake), I'm also taking requests for F1 drabbles and oneshots (at this moment I'm writing for Lewis, Fernando, Max and Toto Wolff).
Find me on Twitter!
I.
You drank the rest of your iced tea in one gulp, pushing the nervousness away. It wasn't exactly anxiety, but more first-day jitters at a new job. Adjusting your ponytail, you stood up as one of the team approached.
“Y/N? It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Ellie from the HR team, we spoke on the phone. Lewis is around, so we thought we’d introduce you two now, okay?”
“Of course, of course, it’s nice to meet you, Ellie.”
Ellie showed you around, giving you a tour of the entire motorhome. You were aware that it was difficult to join a team after the season had already started, especially to take the place of a person who was very loved by everyone and who had been there for several years, but you were willing to do your best to get along with everyone.
Finally, Ellie took you to a training room, where Lewis was inside. He was sitting in an armchair, drinking water from a bottle when Ellie introduced the two of you. You smiled and offered your hand for a shake, but he just ignored his hand with a blank stare.
“Lewis, this is Y/N Y/L/N, your new physical therapist, you'll be seeing each other every other day” Ellie introduced them, not seeming to notice the cold way Lewis greeted you.
“Nice to meet you,” you murmured, trying to ignore the awkwardness between the two of you. Lewis just nodded his head briefly and turned to pay attention to his own cell phone.
Ellie then went over your entire routine for the next few weeks, as well as giving you a short guide to Lewis's physiotherapy sessions over the past two years, and required exercises from fitness to pre-race and post-race.
Your official working day began the following Tuesday at seven in the morning at one of the Mercedes workstations in Brackley, where the entire team was gathered. You needed to be there to look after Lewis' fitness as he had team meetings, and you needed to follow him wherever he went to be able to do your job. Honestly, it wasn't a big problem since you used to work with the Real Madrid football team, so you were used to the traveling routine.
As soon as you entered the building's small gym, Lewis was already inside, tying the laces on his shoes.
"Good morning!" You walked in with a smile, setting your bag aside and holding the two glasses of iced tea you had purchased on the way, “the weather is kind of warm today, huh? I bought iced tea for both of us.”
“No thanks,” Lewis said, standing up, “can we get started?”
The sharp tone left you speechless for a moment, but you soon recovered, tying your hair into a ponytail. You had hoped that the mood on the day you met Lewis was just because he was stressed or had some problem on that specific day. But it seems that today he also wasn’t very interested in being polite to you.
You took a deep breath pulling your iPad out of the bag where you had prepared the day's entire session. Okay, you were patient, you could win him over with time and maybe you could even become friends, or at the very least, on friendly terms.
“Alright, let’s start today’s session with some intense stretching to prepare your body for the intensity of the next few days’ sessions,” you murmured, pointing to the mat on the floor.
“Angela didn't use an iPad during our sessions,” he commented casually.
“Because Angela had been with you for years and had already memorized her exercises. Can we start?"
II.
“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late,” you said, entering the gym, plopping your bag on a nearby table.
“You could have a little more respect for other people’s time,” Lewis said, suddenly. You froze in place, your eyes fleeting to the watch high on the wall, that showed you were barely ten minutes late for the session.
“Yes, I’m sorry,” you repeated, pulling your iPad open.
You were a few weeks into your new job, and acquaintanceship with Lewis had not gone better in the slightest. If anything, it had gone even worse. Lewis was adamant in not opening up to you, not even in the professional sense of your work relationship. Every time you tried small talk, or even professional talk, he had shut you out barely politely. He was constantly annoyed by your presence, and didn’t engage in anything other than the exercises you were helping him with. You noticed his performance was going bad in the season, and you attributed his bad mood solely to that. That’s why you usually brushed off his rude remarks and his questioning of the quality of your work.
“We’ll do core strength today, Lewis.”
You spent the next two hours walking him through every exercise you had for the day. Sometime during your session, you tried to help him fix his posture by pressing a hand on his shoulder, but he brushed you off, only saying he was able to do it himself.
By the end of your session, he was visibly tired, and you reached in your purse to your small stock of protein bars. You grabbed two and tossed one to Lewis. He caught it in the air, staring at it with a frown.
“It’s a protein bar. It is healthy, vegan, and doesn’t taste like cardboard, for once,” you giggled, trying to strike up conversation, “honestly, I found this small brand from Hungary out of sheer luck and my life hasn’t been the same ever since, now I just order like this crazy-”
“Are we done?” He cut you off, you stopped smiling.
“What?” you said, staring at him going to his bag.
“Is our session done?” he insisted.
“Yes,” you said, deflated. Lewis walked away, and on his way to the door, he dropped the little protein bar you gave him in the trash.
You felt a lump in your throat, defeated. You had never had a client so difficult to deal with. Most of them were usually standoffish in the beginning, but they became friends with time, some of them you had a great relationship even now, years later.
Lewis just- he just hated you for apparently no reason, and it was making your professional life pure hell. It was hard not bonding with someone you work so physically close with. And honestly, you had tried everything in the book to help him acclimate to you, but he was just- immune. He didn’t like you, you had no idea if he even liked your job because he refused to give you any feedback whatsoever.
You refused to go to HR because it would make you look like a kid throwing a tantrum because the other kid doesn’t like you. What would HR do? Force Lewis to tolerate you? He would probably hate you more if that happened.
You just sighed, swallowing the tears as you left.
III.
“I was considering adding pilates sessions once a week, we can do reformer and clinical pilates alternating” you told Lewis as he did the final stretching of the session.
“I don’t like sudden changes in my exercise routine,” he said, getting up.
“Well, I believe it would do you good. And we can start slowly for you to adapt better. Does every other week work for you?” You taped your schedule on the iPad.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he muttered, visibly annoyed now.
“I can forward you a few articles I have been reading to show you, why I think it-”
“No, I don’t want that,” he shut you off completely, “can I go now?”
You sighed, enough was enough. You were pissed at him, being difficult, being annoying, fucking up your routine by being rude and being a fucking asshole.
“No, you can’t,” you said, voice firm, which kind of surprised him, since it was the first time you ever used that tone with him, “what is your fucking problem?”
“What are you talking about?” He folded his arms.
“What is your problem with me? Is it something I did? Or maybe something I said?” You pressed, walking towards him, the closest you have ever been to him.
“I have no problem with you,” he said and you scoffed, “we are not friends, you’re just my physiotherapist, nothing more, nothing less.”
You felt grateful he left as soon as he said that, otherwise he would have seen the tears filling your eyes.
IV.
“I went back to therapy, because I’m feeling like a failure,” you told Angela over the phone.
“Is he being so difficult?” She asked, sounding worried.
“You have no idea…” you whispered, pressing your temples.
“You want me to talk to him?” Angela said, concerned. You stared at your own reflection in the mirror inside the gym, seeing the dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep. The last encounter with Lewis was enough to take a toll on your mental health and trigger a bit of insomnia.
“No, I think it would make it worse, but I appreciate the offer,” you sighed, exhausted, “I’ll work around these difficulties, and if it gets any worse, I’ll call you so you can talk to him. Deal?”
“Deal. Just- Don’t burn yourself out, ok? I know how he can be hard to deal with. Let me know if you need anything.” Angela offered, and you wanted to cry with the kindness in her voice.
“Yes, of course. Thank you very much for letting me vent, yeah? Talk to you later” You said, and noticed how Lewis entered the gym, seemingly surprised that you even were there.
That would make two of you.
This time you went through your training session in complete silence, only talking about his physicality and the exercises. You didn’t joke with him, nor did you make commentaries on the session. You just did your job silently, staring at him with a blank face.
As you finished, you packed your bag and left without a word, going straight to HR to put in your resignation letter you had written during your day off.
V.
Lewis noticed your absence as soon as he entered the gym for your session. You hadn’t been late ever since that time he called you out the first and only time you were late. Since then, you were always there when he arrived. But you weren’t there and he felt something was off. Maybe you had a cold or something and HR forgot to tell him.
He walked up to Ellie’s office, knocking lightly before entering.
“Hey there, Lewis! Can I help you?” She asked, putting away a few papers.
“Hey. Where is Y/N?” He asked, sitting down.
“Oh, I thought she had told you… She resigned two days ago.” With Ellie’s words, Lewis felt his stomach drop, but Ellie just continued talking, “she said she didn’t adapt very well to the routine, which is sad considering she is such a big fan of Mercedes and Formula 1. And, you know, since she was a recommendation from Angela Cullen, I really thought she would fit perfectly with the team.”
Lewis felt his mouth go dry. He didn’t know any of this. He didn’t know you were a fan of the team, as he didn’t know Angela had put you in her own position after leaving. He felt so, so bad, he was suddenly nauseous.
“Did she say exactly why she was leaving?” Lewis asked, heart beating in his ears.
“She said she wasn’t adapting to the traveling routine and it took a toll on her. She also apologized profusely, but I told her it was alright, it happens more often than she thinks.”
Lewis knew exactly the reason you left. He had made you go through living hell by being a stubborn asshole. You tried to befriend him, to be nice, to start small talk, to be kind and his only response to your attempts were flat out rudeness.
“Well, these things happen, right?” Ellie shrugged, sympathizing with you more than Lewis ever did. “So, while we find someone to fill her position, you’ll do your pre-race and post-race with George and his physiotherapist.”
Lewis didn’t hear any of the other stuff Ellie said, guilt eating up at him with such force he was out of breath. He didn’t even think before treating you that way, his brain just turned to that everytime he remembered he was alone now, that he had lost his best friend and confidante. Stress of the season had also caught up to him making him more irritable than ever.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered as he left Ellie’s office, he needed to do something.
He called your phone, but you had blocked him already.
“Fuck, I need to fix this.”
[Part 2]
#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#lewis hamilton x you#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton#formula 1#formula one
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i’m so happy you’re in a mauraders mood bc so am i and your content is fulfilling all of my needs ty ty!!!
with that, thoughts on james getting hurt at quidditch and reader comes in to check on him? drugged up jamie confesses love to reader?? something?! idk this is is why you’re the writer and not me lol
thank you for requesting!🖤
.
It was a nasty fall.
You knew quidditch could be quite a rough sport and you knew every player got hurt at some point. Thankfully, most of the injuries that came out of the games could be easily healed and the players would be back in class the next day, resting up before their next game. It was very rare for anything worse than some bedrest and easy days to be prescribed to an injured quidditch player.
But that didn’t settle the pit of worry in your stomach when you watched James fall. Between the speed and angle he fell at, and the fact the game had to halt for thirty minutes before they could move him off the pitch, it didn’t help that none of you were allowed to see him until a whole two hours after his accident.
However, the second you received permission from McGonagall, you had quickly joined the others in rushing down to the infirmary wing to see how James was doing. What you weren’t expecting was to find a very loopy James in place of the boy you knew.
“HEY, IT’S MY FRIENDS!”
A slightly irritated Madam Pomfrey tried hushing the boy but it was useless as he tried to sit up in his bed by himself—an act that was difficult with the sling confining his right arm—as you all surrounded the bed he was situated in.
“How you feeling, mate? You took quite the tumble out there,” Sirius asked, watching with some amusement as the bespectacled boy grinned lazily at the group.
“I feel fine—great, even!” James insisted, letting out a giggle. “I feel fucking fantastic, Pads! You should try some of this stuff!”
Sirius snorted. “Maybe next time.”
“You too, Moony,” James continued as his eyes searched over the group. “And you, Evans. And don’t think you can hide from me, Mary! And—oh.”
His loud and eccentric movements came to a halt as his eyes fell on you, his lips parting. The only sign you had that he was still alive was the slow blinks as he stared at you, his cheeks flushed and your concern peaked at the idea of him suddenly gaining a fever.
“James?” you called out, your brows furrowed together when he didn’t answer. “Are you feeling okay? Do we need to get Madam Pomfrey again?”
“Moony,” James finally whispered, still staring at you like he was lost in a daze.
“Yeah, bud?” Remus was soon by his side, frowning a little in concern as the boy reached out to grip his arm.
“I can see an angel,” James whispered and Sirius had to cover his mouth to muffle his laughs. “Can you see her?”
“Uh, what?” Remus muttered in confusion.
“An angel!” he insisted as he pointed in your direction. “Look at her! She is gorgeous, Moony! One of the prettiest fucking girls I’ve ever seen!”
Your cheeks burned as you pressed your lips together to try and contain your grin.
“That’s not an angel, Prongs,” Remus told him, now quite amused as he gently patted his friend on the back. “She’s your friend.”
James whirled his head around. “I’m friends with an angel?”
“I—” Remus sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah, buddy, you are.”
“Woah,” James murmured as he turned to look back at you. “You make my chest feel funny.”
You frowned a little. “Funny? Maybe we should—”
“Like my heart is going boom-da-boom really fast,” James continued, nodding his head. “I like that it does that for you.”
“Oh,” was all you could say.
“Who would have thought it would take a bunch of painkillers for Prongs to finally admit how he feels?” Sirius commented from the other side of his bed, grinning widely as his friend stared lovingly at you.
“Shut up, Sirius,” you murmured, slightly shy.
“He’s in love with you, sweetheart,” Sirius told you in a know-it-all voice.
“No, he doesn’t, he just—”
“Yes, I am,” James interrupted, nodding his head in confirmation. “Like, love love. The good kinda love. The one where I get to kiss you and stuff.”
You tried to tamper down the butterflies in your stomach. “Kiss me and stuff?”
“All the stuff,” James murmured, yawning slightly as the painkillers started to really kick in.
“How about you tell me this when you’re not high and we will see where we go,” you muttered, smiling softly as you watched him try to fight the strong urge to sleep.
“Promise you’ll be here when I wake up?” James murmured, reaching his hand out to you.
You took his hand and intertwined your fingers. “Promise. Goodnight, James.”
“Goodnight, Angel.”
.
#james potter#marauders#harry potter#hp#james potter x reader#james potter x you#james potter x y/n#james potter fic#james potter oneshot#marauders x reader#marauders x you#marauders x y/n#marauders fic#marauders oneshot#harry potter x reader#harry potter x you#harry potter x y/n#harry potter fic#harry potter oneshot#hp x reader#hp x you#hp x y/n#hp fic#hp oneshot
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🪐 things bf!minho does:
a small blurt about lino!
note: I offer this as a piece offering since I didn't finish my promised work!! I'm trying to get it done, but it's tough with my college and my extra class lining up 😭 not do add that I have a major writing block rn😺 🔫
genre: fluff, boyfriend!minho, a little idol!reader au.
wc: not many, idk.
song choice: flower - johnny stimson
🪐: having the urge to tie anything around your finger
a piece of tissue, a string of grass, a flower's tulip, a stray string... literally anything he can find it's good material to wife you up. this was started by you, actually, getting bored in the waiting room. fidgeting with the tissue wasn't cutting it anymore, and when a long part ripped, you called over to minho, asking him to show you his hand. oh, that bubbling, sparkly, warm pink feeling that erupted inside him when he saw the small knot around his pinky made the tip of his ears turn red. since then, he wants to return the favor to you, tying your finger with anything he has around.
🪐: passing you little notes when no one is looking
being an idol steals a lot from you, a big part being privacy. with eyes on you at all times, even inside your own company, your bf never really gets to compliment you. so, he sticks to cute little notes. he gives you one under your water bottle that you somehow forgot in his practice room, "you're getting better at dance than me." another one when he randomly, very randomly, bumps into you on the hall "you were so cute on your livestream." and one more when you're sitting in the cafeteria with your members, "i can't wait to get home and kiss you." minho being minho, he's gonna jureumify every single note, and as a good gf you are, you pass notes back to him, folding it in shapes of hearts.
🪐: bringing you breakfast in bed
he actually made it a thing to bring you breakfast in bed every Saturday. usually, he makes you coffee, eggs, cuts some of your favorite fruits and brings you yogurt. that's why you're a bit surprised when you see him struggling to open the door with his elbow, a big, long wooden charcuterie board, full of light snacks, occupying his whole arms. you were sitting cozily tangled between the sheets when he sat next to you. "min, when I asked for breakfast in bed, I was expecting some eggs and potentially a coffee, not a whole ass five star boufet." you giggle, "really? because I can take it back if-" "don't you dare."
🪐: biting as a form of love.
you're doing your makeup in the mirror? well, minho will come behind you and pretend to back hug you. when you fall into his illusion of affection, his teeth will sink into your shoulder blade. and hard. hard enough to leave a mark, "min, what the fuck?" or when you're too cute for his liking, he just has to scrape the tip of his teeth against you. that, or you're just sitting together, boredom filling the air, minho just picks up your arm and bites, holding your flesh in his mouth as if he's some type of feline showing its prey. if you do it back to him, he'll short circuit, his ears burning hot.
🪐: communicating through blinks
it always intrigued you how minho's body reacts before his mind can. especially when something unexpected happens, his eyes close rapidly and repeatedly, as you finish telling him the latest gossip from work. or when he comes home and looks a bit more tired then usual, minho blinks two times at you. that's how you found out about the gone-wrong practice. and when you're in a room full of people and somehow, your bright smile and cheerful laugh erupts from the other corner of the room, your boyfriend turns his head in a second, in a search of you. your eyes immediately find his. you looked so ethereal, shining so much, that he couldn't help but slow blink at you, a silly smile on his face. that one means I love you. and you return it in no time.
© httpseiki, all rights reserved. ☕
back to surfing!
#pls forgive me#seiki's blurts🪐#skz x reader#skz scenarios#stray kids x reader#skz fluff#stray kids fluff#skz imagines#stray kids imagines#lee know x reader#lee minho x reader#lee know fluff#lee minho fluff#lee know scenarios#lee minho scenarios#lee know imagines#lee minho imagines#lee know soft hours#lee know soft thoughts
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The Thought of You Leaves Me Weak 🎰
Chapter 2 of That's What You Get
Prev Chapter || Next Chapter
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader
Genre: Fluff, suggestive.
Word count: 4.8k
Summary: Pushing through your hangovers, you and Spencer retrace your steps from the night before to see if your shotgun Vegas marriage is legal - and find out some extra personal things along the way.
Warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex, author has a pronounced disinterest in the reality of getting an annulment for a Vegas wedding.
A/N: We're here! Part two! We're still stuck in Vegas for now, but they'll be back to their new normal soon, and now they have a time limit~ Thanks to everyone who liked, reblogged, commented on and signed up for the series taglist from my first post, I hope you all enjoy part two just as much!! Let me know what you think in the comments or over an ask, I'll be replying all weekend :) Here's the taglist link for anyone else who wants to sign up!
Requests are open as well, and you can find some more of my work in my masterlist.
After the initial shock wore off, and the hangover was left to permeate a bit, you and Spencer remembered you were actually FBI agents and had the ability to do something about your predicament.
“I should probably head off to my own room now,” you said pulling yourself out of Spencer’s arms. “Freshen up a bit before we head out to see what’s going on.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” He nodded, then continued. “You know our first stop should probably be the Marriage License Bureau of Las Vegas. If we are legally married, we’d have had to have obtained a marriage licence between 8am and 12am yesterday, they don’t open later than that.”
“Sounds like a plan.” You nodded to him, “Would they even have served us the marriage licence if we were as intoxicated as I think we were?”
“This is Vegas, Y/N. All we’d need is a valid form of ID and to be willing, and we’d have to have been carrying the ID to get into the bars.” You raked a hand through your hair. Of course you had to get married in a shotgun ceremony in the only state where it probably didn’t matter what your alcohol intake had been.
“Well, we were obviously both willing.” You say, gesturing to the bed, and then curse yourself inwardly as you see the downturned look on Reid’s face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“No, it’s okay. You’re right, I wouldn’t have handcuffed you without at least verbal consent.” He replied, pulling a shirt on finally.
“Right,” you let that revelation sit between the two of you, as he turns his back, continuing to get himself ready for the rest of the day. If you were honest with yourself, you’d have admitted to always having an attraction to your coworker, but nothing you’d solidly act on. Yeah, he was beautiful, and you’d enjoyed joining in the teasing everytime Morgan had called him a pretty boy, because he was. But you’d never let your thoughts drift to what he might be like in bed, and now you were regretting that because you had nothing to base your theories of the last night on except that you’d woken up in handcuffs.
Really, if someone had asked you the question about what you could possibly expect from Spencer Reid in the bedroom, the furthest you’d be able to imagine was some incredibly professional, missionary sex. If you thought a little harder, you’d remember that the man had once highlighted his distinct lack of “alpha-male” qualities on a case once, so, really, if anyone was going to be locked up in handcuffs, surely it would’ve been him.
You try to shake that mental picture from your head, but doing so just aggravates your headache, so you have to sit with the image of Spencer Reid tying you up and making you beg.
“You okay, Y/N? You look a bit pale,” he looks a little bit concerned for you when he finally turns back, and you can only imagine the look on your face if you’re eliciting that much concern.
“Yeah, yeah, totally fine, nothing’s wrong. Why are you asking?” you stutter out.
“Because you said you were going to shower five minutes ago, and you haven’t really moved all that much in that time.” You curse yourself again, and you force yourself out of your head.
“Oh! Yeah!” you move off towards the door, grabbing everything you’ve left in a trail to the door, retracing your steps from the night before. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in like twenty minutes?” You didn’t even wait for his reply before pushing the door open and sprinting to your room, not even caring that you hadn’t put your shoes on.
–X–
If you couldn’t be trusted to make simple choices when drunk, such as the choice to not be married to your coworker, you probably also couldn’t be trusted to make simple choices when hungover, such as a place to meet your now husband where the rest of your friends wouldn’t see you in your post-sex haze from the night before.
Which is how you found yourself cowering behind a plant in the lobby desperate to avoid being spotted by Agents Rossi and Hotchner who apparently were up and in suits for some godforsaken reason. You tried to get Reid on the phone, but he wasn’t picking up, and you had a flash of him asking you how to put his phone on silent mode from the night before hit you like a tonne of bricks.
“Shit, shit.” Nothing else useful came out of you though, so behind the plant you were waiting for them to approach the elevators so you could continue as planned. While you were in the bathroom, you’d finally noticed the blooming bruises running up the length of your neck, and you found yourself slightly impressed by Reid once again.
He’d managed to tie you up but still pay that much attention to you, and you were equal parts cursing him and desperately hoping the memories would come back to see just what other secrets he was hiding behind that unassuming frame. With the lack of contraception, you really couldn’t be sure that the two of you had had sex in the traditional sense, but you certainly seemed to have had some fun last night, and not being able to remember drove you insane.
Thankfully, the two agents made their way to the elevator without noticing you, and you let out a breath of relief as soon as the elevator dinged, ready to take them as far away from you as you needed. Unfortunately, once again, anytime fate dealt you one good hand, it followed it up with the worst ever, and as the elevator doors opened, there was Reid. You made a mental note to check your bank balance after this, sure that if you had ended up gambling with Reid, you’d most likely bankrupted yourself with this luck.
“Reid, good morning,” Hotch greeted him, and even from your unconventional perch, you could hear the panic in the younger man's voice as he began struggling for excuses to answer questions that hadn’t even been asked yet.
“Hotchner, Rossi, what are you doing here? Well I know what you’re doing here, you’re waiting for an elevator, and I know what you’re doing in the hotel because we’re all here in the hotel, but I mean what are you doing? In general?” It was almost as if he were asking himself that question at the end, trying to work out why the words were even leaving his mouth.
You couldn’t swoop in and save him without the others seeing your new necklace of hickeys and handprints, so you just had to watch him combust adorably in front of the two seasoned FBI Agents.
“Calm down, kid, don’t pull a muscle in that brain of yours, it’s a highly valuable FBI asset.” Rossi joked with him as they switched places, Rossi and Hotch going into the elevator and Reid slinking out.
“Dave and I just finished breakfast. I’m afraid you may have just missed it, Spencer, but there’s a buffet on the third floor that’s supposedly open all day.” Hotch said.
“Actually, I think food isn’t a great idea for me right now.”
“Oh, wild night, kid? No, wait, let me guess, you tracked down a Star Wars convention?”
“I’m more of a fan of Star Trek myself, you know the technology they appeared to have on screen in the show is really fascinating in that it’s-”
“Oh, how unfortunate, door’s closing. See you later, kid.” You breathed a sigh of relief as you watched the elevator climb up to the higher floors of the accommodation and left your perching spot.
“Spencer, over here.” You waved to him a little, and he turned to the sound of your voice, visually relaxing the moment he set his eyes on you.
“You don’t think they noticed I’m acting weird, right?”
“Reid, everytime you mention anything remotely pop-culture-y to Rossi he does his best to erase the conversation from his brain, okay? And Hotch looks like he hasn't slept in a decade. I’m sure they didn’t notice anything.”
“What? I thought Rossi loved our talks, he always says that I’m a riveting conversationalist.”
You just nodded along with him and patted his arm pitifully, leading him out of the lobby and into the waiting streets of Las Vegas, Nevada.
–X–
Twenty minutes later, you were sitting outside of the Marriage License Bureau, waiting to see if your fate was sealed.
“Okay, so what’s our strategy?” you asked, removing your seatbelt and moved to open your door, jumping out of the SUV you’d commandeered from the parking garage.
“Strategy? Why do we need a strategy?” Reid joined you quickly, exiting from the passenger side, satchel in hand.
“Well, I mean, what are we going to ask them, what are we going to do when we’ve found out if this is real or a hoax or not.”
“Y/N, I think you’re overthinking this. This is Nevada, I’m sure they’re used to any questions we might have.” You took a deep breath looking at the doors of the building and tried to rationalise your thoughts. You were going to be fine, it’s just a marriage, nothing too big.
Pushing the doors open, you were floored by the sheer amount of couples on the premises.
“Shit.” You’d cursed more in the last four hours than you had in the last year, almost beginning to worry that it was becoming a habit.
“Please take a number and wait for your turn to be called, our current waiting time is three and a half hours. If you leave the premises at any point, your place will be forfeited,” a bored looking worker with a small microphone called over the crowd as you entered.
“Hi, sorry, is there a help desk of some kind?” you approached and asked her, a sinking feeling growing in your gut. “We just need to see if our wedding licence is valid.”
“Then please take a ticket, and we’ll see you soon.” The other woman replied, frustratingly monotone.
“No, you don’t understand, we’re leaving the state in three hours, we can’t just sit around, we need answers now, legal advice, something.”
“I’m sorry ma’am, but if you continue to speak to our staff members in that aggressive way, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises,” another member of staff now joined the first.
“Aggressive? I am not aggressive,” you said but you could hear the agitation in your own voice, and the tightness in your shoulders.
“What she means to say,” said Reid from behind you, dropping a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Is that we are FBI agents, leaving town on another case soon, and we would really appreciate your cooperation? I have our marriage licence here. If you could just look over it, it’d only take a few seconds of your time.” The tension rolled off of you in waves, and you melted into his touch as he gladly stepped up to continue your communication.
“Okay, yeah, that definitely seems like a legit licence. You FBI agents, you say?” the first woman questions you, and not trusting yourself not to reply passive aggressively and ruin her cooperative mood, you bite your tongue and just nod.
“My coworker who worked the graveyard shift yesterday mentioned we had a few of you come through. Congratulations on your marriage.” She handed the licence back to you and the pit in the bottom of your stomach grew.
“Is your colleague still here? We just had a few questions about some logistics. We’re out of state, you know?” Reid smiled and you were so thankful for him, for the comforting hand he’d trailed down your shoulder and rested at the small of your back as you stood fidgeting next to him. It took you a minute to realise you were playing with your new wedding ring, already so used to it being there on your finger that you hardly noticed its presence.
“Her next shift starts at 12, but if you’re as desperate for information as I think you are, I’ll have her come see you when she comes in. She’s usually five minutes early anyways.” Reid thanked the woman, and fifteen minutes later, a younger woman with a bright smile was greeting you in the lobby and leading you to a private room in the back.
“Doctor and Mrs. Reid, welcome back! Sandy said you had some follow up questions after yesterday?” she greeted you, and your head started pounding again.
“You remember us?” Reid asked, the confusion knitting his brow as he walked ahead of you.
“I don’t tend to forget husbands as handsome and romantic as you, Doctor.” Something flared in your gut then, anger or protectiveness, but it felt green and red, and you pulled Reid’s hand into your own as she guided you to sit at the table at the far side of the room.
“We’re looking to fill in some gaps in our memory from last night,” you spoke, now not caring to hold back any annoyance in your voice. This woman had written out your marriage licence and yet here she was flirting with your husband. With your Reid. With Reid. Again, the curses jumped to your tongue.
“Ah, I see. One of those.” She shot a smile at Reid, and you shot a look at him as well, but he looked oblivious at her interest and you caught yourself letting out a sigh of relief before turning back to the woman.
“You didn’t realise we were drunk?” you asked her.
“Oh no, we realised. We just assumed you were finally taking the plunge after everything you said. And everything you did, too.”
“Everything we did?” you pushed out, your voice ten times higher than usual. You coughed to make it seem like your throat was just dry, not also housing your entire heart.
“You don’t remember? You two looked so in love. You were all over each other, kissing, touching, whispering and giggling. Honestly, it was just nice to have a couple in love here at 11pm that weren’t trying to have sex in the waiting area.” The blush crept up your neck, and you tried your best to force it back down. Obviously, it didn’t work.
You were about to ask another question, probably about how you would go about getting an annulment, when she finally continued.
“And then when you got the licence you were so happy and you called your friends to come and celebrate with you. You asked for the nearest chapel and we have all that information out in the hall and you said your friends were going to come meet you, so you took off.” She shrugged a little, taking a swig from her coffee. You couldn’t help but feel that even after all of that, she was still eyeing up Spencer, so you squeezed his hand a little bit harder at that, your other hand gravitating to his bicep too, your entire body leaning into his.
“Friends?” Spencer was the first one to wake up to that statement, and your agitation reached its peak.
“Yeah, the two teammates you mentioned. You told everyone they were meeting you at the chapel, that you’d all been here working a case and they were the two that responded to your calls that night.”
“Did we mention any names?” you asked.
“No, just that they were FBI Agents. Is there something wrong?”
–X–
You threw the doors of the building open as you gasped for air, the panic fully setting in now.
“Y/N, wait,” Spencer yelled after you, following you onto the pavement. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes as you tugged on your hair, mindlessly fretting with it, unconscious to the pain. He finally reached you and pulled your hands into his, forcing you to look up into his eyes.
“Y/N, it’s fine. We’re going to be fine.” He soothed you quickly, and you hiccuped through the small sobs you were now letting out.
“Spencer, two of our friends know that we got married last night, and we don’t know who or how much they know, and now we know that our marriage is legal and you’re stuck with me and I got us into all this mess because I’m an adult who doesn’t want to tell her mom to back off.” By the end of your speech he was cradling your head in his hands, as your tears flowed down your face in messy trails.
“Hey, look at me. You told me this morning that this was not my fault, and I’m telling you now that that doesn't mean it's yours. We’re in this together, okay?” he waited for you to nod before continuing. “Besides, no matter who it was, our team mates love us. They’ll understand.”
“What if we get reassigned? This is a conflict of interests, right, me and you working together like this?” You’d worked so hard to be accepted into the BAU, you didn’t want to let this be your exit, and you sure as hell weren’t letting them fire Spencer for it.
“We’ll talk to Hotch and Rossi, they don't want to lose either of us, and if we get this dealt with quick enough, maybe we won't even have to report it. We could keep it quiet for a while, right?” You knew all of his words made sense, they were the best course of action for the two of you. He’d probably run all of the scenarios through his head while you showered this morning, which is why he was so level-headed. But there was a discomfort that you just couldn’t shake.
“You mean we could get this…annulled?” you asked cautiously, looking into his eyes to gauge his reaction.
“If you want, we can walk right back in there and have it done soon, I’m sure that employee would help us, she seemed friendly-”
“No.” You practically shouted, not wanting to come face to face with that woman again, and watch her flirt with Reid as he signed the annulment paperwork. “I mean, there’s no time, right? We should probably head to the chapel to figure out who our witnesses are and then we’re heading back to Quantico.” You did to rationalise your decision, praying that the jealousy (jealousy?) that you felt didn’t show in your voice or face.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Well, we have 21 days from now to file, before the annulment period passes and we’re looking at divorce, which is not favourable for either of us, but we can file from out of state.” You nodded along with his words, glad for the lack of questioning, and that he didn’t clock the hopeful glint to your eye.
“Okay, great. Yeah.” You had calmed down enough now for your proximity to become awkward, and Reid noticed as soon as you did, pulling his hands away from you and taking a step back. Maybe it was the hangover, or just the overwhelming series of emotions you’d been through successively, but it felt wrong suddenly having him so far from you. Shaking it off, you grabbed your keys out of your pocket.
“She said we picked up the information about the chapel from the lobby, right? Can we narrow down which one it is with the photo?” You suggested, suddenly not able to meet his eyes.
“Oh, right, yeah. We’d have had to have been able to get there on foot, too. I’ll go and ask them if they recognise which one it is,” he made to move back in, but you shouted a resounding ‘no’ before he could take another step.
“I’ll do it! I should probably apologise for earlier anyway, right?” you chuckled awkwardly, pushing the doors open and leaving him behind with that confused look set against his skin once again.
–X–
“I’m telling you, we delete the footage from the previous day at noon, I can’t help you.” You’d tracked down the chapel pretty quickly despite all of your options, and now found yourself arguing with a pretty lackluster Elvis impersonator, desperate to figure out any more details about the night before.
“What about staff members that could verify? We just need a vague description.”
“Everyone’s a part-timer here, lady. The people on shift today won't be back for another two days or so. Come back then, okay?” He showed you to the door then, and if you hadn’t gotten drunk and married in Vegas the night before, this would certainly have been your lowest moment.
“Nothing?” Reid asked from his perch on the car.
“They delete the security footage.” You signed in frustration, and he showed a sympathetic smile on his face.
“How do you want to play it, then?” he asked. “Two of them are already going to know, should we just come clean to the entire team, see if they could help?”
“No, god no. As much as it’s my current reality, I don’t really want to have to respond to Mrs. Reid until Morgan gets new material, and no one’s going to be this easy of a target any time soon.”
“Technically speaking, you’d have to apply for a legal name change to become Mrs. Reid, usually couples do it a few days either side of the wedding and start the process of updating all their legal IDs so they can travel internationally for honeymoons without anyone asking questions.”
“Not the point, Reid.”
“And I knew that. Sorry.” It was hard to stay annoyed at him with that small smile stretched across his lips, and you suddenly found yourself wondering just exactly how he'd felt against you.
You’d kissed at the chapel, at the wedding licence office, in his hotel room, and you couldn’t for the life of you remember if you’d been the one to lean in first, or if it’d been him, or if it’d been both of you and what that meant. Did he like you, did you subconsciously want him in this way? Did this even mean anything? And what had those handcuffs been about?
He couldn’t answer most of those questions, and honestly, you weren’t sure you wanted the answers, but it’d been a day of awkward conversations, so you thought you might as well let your curiosity rule you for a few more minutes.
“Spencer, would you mind me asking a personal question?”
“Sure, we are married now. Don’t they say that the number one thing to remember in marriage is communication?” He tried to joke, but you couldn’t laugh as you got ready to spit some of the most horrific words you’d ever strung together out.
“Spencer, do you…do you often use handcuffs? In bed, I mean?” you were bright red, stood outside a 24 hour wedding chapel in the heart of Vegas and you couldn’t believe this was your life.
“Oh.” He was the same shade of red as you, and he stuttered through his next few incoherent words before you found his reply.
“I’ve not done it with the handcuffs before, but I guess I’ve…thought about it? It’s definitely in line with my… Do we have to do this here?”
“Would you rather talk about this on the jet?”
“Do we have to do this at all?” He groaned, shutting his eyes and you could feel the horror at his own actions spreading through his body.
“We are married now. Communication is key, remember?” He sighed and acquiesced, running a hand through his hair before turning back to you and forcing the words out.
“I know you probably didn’t think this about me before, but I am pretty controlling in bed. I don’t like feeling… hopeless, and it just manifests as dominance, okay? It’s been a while since I had a partner though, so the handcuffs were new to me, but I’ve tied girls up before. Now can we stop this conversation here before someone on this very public street hears us?”
“Okay, yeah sure. That actually makes a lot of sense really.” You said, nodding and moving to get into the car. You tried to keep your thoughts to yourself, knowing that the knowledge of his preferences was going to plague your dreams for the next few nights.
“You don’t have to lie, Y/N, I know I don’t seem like the type.” He got into the passenger side next to you, and you ignored looking at him in the mirrors desperately as you started the engine and made your way back to the hotel.
“No, I mean it makes sense that it happened to us. I don’t think we would’ve ended up in bed together if we weren’t so… compatible.” You let the silence sit between you as you let him take in your words, driving to the orchestra of midday strip traffic.
“Oh.” He said. “Oooh.” He finally caught on, and you felt your head turning in his direction, but you forced it back towards the road, convincing yourself that you really didn’t need to see his reaction, to study his expressions.
“Well, at least we know that we both enjoyed it then.” You weren’t sure if he was just oblivious, or trying to get a reaction from you, but nonetheless, your heart clenched at that, excitement rising in your stomach.
You convinced yourself that it was probably just the alcohol, and drove in silence back to the hotel, ready for your departure.
--X--
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Batting Practice Part 20 | Rooster x Reader
Summary: When you call and ask him for help, Bradley is more than willing to jump into action. But when he picks up Everett and confronts Danny, he is shocked by what he finds. And while you know you can trust Bradley now, you also realize there are some battles you need to fight for yourself.
Warnings: Angst, fluff, swearing, mentions of marijuana use
Length: 4800 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader
Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.
Bradley was sitting out on his tiny balcony, about to crack open a beer when Molly called him. She had been sending him pictures for the past hour of the two of you at some wine event, and you were both definitely looking a bit tipsy.
"Hey, Molly. You two having fun?"
"Bradley!" It was you. And he could tell immediately that something had you upset.
"Kitten? What's wrong?"
The sound of you sobbing softly met his ear, and he was out of his chair and heading inside immediately. "I need your help."
"What do you need, baby?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm, but now he was worried. He could hear Molly talking calmly in the background while he waited for you to respond.
"I hate to ask you to do this, but Molly and I are kind of drunk. Can you go pick Everett up for me?"
Bradley was grabbing his shoes and tying the laces before the full sentence was out of your mouth. "From Danny's?" he asked, and he had such a bad feeling. It was still a couple hours before you and Molly were supposed to even be back in the city, but you sounded distraught.
"Yeah," you said softly. "He's at Danny's."
"I'll go get him now," he said, grabbing his key ring and spotting your house key there. "Text me his address."
"Oh my god, thank you so much," you gushed. "I'll owe you dinner-"
"Baby," he said, propping his phone between his ear and his shoulder. "You don't owe me anything. I'm happy to do it."
But you still whispered a soft, "Thank you."
"Do you want me to bring him back to my apartment? Or take him to your house?"
"Either one," you replied. "I'll try to reach Danny and let him know you're going to pick Ev up."
"Sounds good," Bradley replied, and you ended the call as he was starting the Bronco. And then he began to feel like everything wasn't adding up. You wanted him to pick Everett up, but Danny didn't know about it?
You texted the address, and he entered it into his GPS without giving it much more thought. If you wanted him to pick up Everett, he would do it. His eyes settled on the booster seat in the back as he pulled out of his parking space, and he got on the highway to Mission Beach.
Danny lived on a very nice street which surprised Bradley, because you had told him Everett's dad claimed he couldn't afford to pay any child support. "Fucking asshole," he muttered, putting the Bronco in park outside of the address you had sent to him. At least he probably wouldn't have to chat with Danny too much. He could just get Everett and get out.
Bradley adjusted his backward Phillies cap and squared his shoulders before he knocked on the door. And to his surprise, Everett threw the door wide open a second later, looking thoroughly upset.
"Coach!" And then Everett had his arms wrapped around Bradley's waist, and he was immediately hit with the smell of marijuana. Bradley wrapped a protective arm around Everett and rubbed his back. "Can you take me home?"
"Yeah," Bradley grunted, pushing the door open all the way and looking inside. "Where's your dad, Kiddo?" he managed to ask in a very calm voice, when really he just wanted to rip the door off the hinges.
"In his room with Tori. I tried to knock, but they didn't hear me."
Bradley saw an ipad on the couch next to Everett's baseball backpack and some snack bags. "Okay. Yeah. Go grab your stuff and I'll take you home." His blood was boiling as he watched Everett swipe everything off the couch and into the bag and come running back over. Bradley took his small hand and closed the door quietly.
Then he led Everett out to the Bronco without a word between them. Bradley knew as soon as he spoke, he was going to blow up. So he helped Everett get into the Bronco and get buckled in. And then he rolled the window down a few inches as he whispered calmly, "You stay here for just a minute, okay?" Everett nodded at him, eyes wide. This child wasn't stupid, he knew something was going on, and Bradley didn't want to upset him further.
"Okay," Everett whispered. Bradley kissed the top of his head and locked him inside the Bronco. He would make this quick.
Bradley's breaths were coming short and shallow as he could feel the rage flowing through his body. Either you didn't know Danny was smoking with Everett there, or for some reason you didn't mention it. Maybe you suspected something, or maybe Everett had called you on his own. Regardless, you were away and drunk, and you had trusted Bradley to take care of this situation for you. He honestly loved that you asked him for help; he would do anything for Everett.
But there was no way he could leave without taking care of the rest of this for you whether you asked him to or not. He glanced back at Everett sitting in the car, and then he made a fist and pounded on the door until Danny started calling out, "Hang on!"
Bradley kept his hand in that tight fist as the door opened to reveal Danny who was very clearly stoned and standing next to a young woman in a tee shirt and underwear. "What the fuck do you want?" Danny asked, looking at Bradley closely for a few seconds. "Wait. Are you that tee ball coach?"
"Where's your son?" Bradley asked, clenching his right hand tighter, practically shaking with the urge to level your ex husband. "Where's Everett?" Bradley asked, trying so hard to keep his voice calm, but he could see Danny flinch.
"Huh?" he asked, turning around and looking at the living room and kitchen.
"Come on, Danny. Where is he? Are you so stoned you can't figure it out?" Bradley asked, his volume rising with each word. He watched the woman reach out for Danny who was looking very confused now.
"He's here somewhere," Danny muttered, clearly more interested in sex and weed than his own kid. Bradley stepped inside the house and shoved him.
"He's not here, asshole. He's in my fucking car!"
"Get the fuck out of my house," Danny said, staggering backwards as Bradley shoved him again.
"I took your kid from your house without any issue, which you'd know if you were fucking paying attention to him instead of using drugs! In front of a six year old!" Bradley had him by the shirt collar now.
"Do you want me to have you arrested for kidnapping?" Danny sputtered, and Bradley laughed right in his face.
"You want to call the police? Go ahead. Please do. I have permission from his mom to pick him up here. Do you have permission from his mom to smoke pot around him? You're house fucking reeks."
The woman took a step away and said, "I'll call the police."
"No! Tori, do not call the police!" Danny yelled at her as Bradley shook him until Danny met his eyes.
"Let her call," he said, much calmer now. "I'm sure they'd love to know all about this." He shoved Danny back against the wall and let go of his shirt.
"Get the fuck out of my house," Danny said more forecefully, but his eyes were still glassy and unfocused.
"No," Bradley replied, glancing back out to make sure Everett was okay. "I'm not done yet, you piece of shit."
"Well then finish up and leave," Danny managed through clenched teeth, and Bradley thought he'd never seen someone so cowardly in his life.
Bradley jabbed his index finger into Danny's chest until he knew it would bruise. "You don't deserve that kid, and you never did. And you better give his mom whatever she asks for, because she has been picking up your slack for years, you worthless motherfucker."
With one more glance around the house, Bradley stormed out and headed down the sidewalk back to Everett. He heard the front door slam behind him, and he had to roll his shoulders and count slowly to ten to get control of himself. He swallowed hard before he unlocked the driver's door and let himself inside the stuffy Bronco. He turned around and smiled at Everett who still looked confused and scared.
"You hungry, Kiddo? It's almost dinner time." Everett nodded silently. "How about a Happy Meal?"
"Okay. Chicken nuggets, please," he said, and Bradley was relieved he was talking again.
"You truly are a kid after my own heart," Bradley told him as he started the engine. He quickly texted both you and Molly and let you know he had Everett and that he'd take him to your house after stopping at McDonald's.
"Hey, Coach?" Everett asked softly as Bradley pulled away from the curb.
"Yeah, Kiddo?"
After a beat of silence he said, "Will you tell my mom I don't want to go back to my dad's house anymore?"
Bradley could feel tears burning the backs of his eyes. Danny had the opportunity to be a dad, but he didn't want it. But as far as Carole had ever told Bradley, Nick had been so happy to be a father, it made it that much harder for them to lose him when Bradley was young. Some things were so unfair, Bradley couldn't properly put them into words. But you had to know by this point that you couldn't force Danny to do something he didn't want to do. He just didn't want to love Everett. The most lovable kid.
"Yeah," Bradley said, his voice sounding raspy to his own ears. "I'll talk to your mom later, okay? Let's go get some chicken nuggets."
--------------------------
Molly made you walk around the vineyard for a full hour before she would let either of you near your car. And then she insisted on being the one to drive back to the city.
Bradley had texted you to let you know that he had Everett with him, and that they would be waiting at your house. But now you were sitting in a silent car with Molly while she gripped the steering wheel. There was so much traffic, it would probably be an extra hour before you got home.
Eventually, as you wiped more tears from your eyes, Molly asked, "Do you think he was smoking weed around Ev?"
"I don't know," you whispered. "I'm too afraid to ask Bradley what happened. I think I just need to hear everything all at once instead of texting him for bits of information."
"Makes sense," she replied. "But I swear, I'll happily kill Danny with my bare hands. You just say the word, okay?"
You nodded silently, and looked at your phone for the hundredth time. Bradley had texted you a picture of him and Everett eating Happy Meals at your kitchen island an hour ago.
Bradley Bradshaw: We are bummed we got duplicate toys. But we are just fine. See you when you get here.
They seemed happy enough in the photo, so you kept looking at it while Molly tried to navigate through all the traffic. "Come on," she groaned, honking at someone who tried to cut her off. "What the fuck."
When she finally pulled into your driveway next to the Bronco, it was getting pretty dark, and you were out of the car before she had even parked. You ran up to the front door and jammed your key in the lock, shouldering the door open.
But what you saw had you frozen in place, like the wind had been knocked out of you. You could hear Molly coming up the porch steps, so you signalled for her to be quiet. Then you stepped fully into your living room which Everett and Bradley had turned into a gigantic pillow and blanket fort.
The TV was on, softly playing the end credits of Toy Story, and you had to cover your mouth with your hand to keep from laughing or crying. Because the two of them were sound asleep amongst the pillows on the floor underneath one of your fleece blankets that was stretched from the couch and over the coffee table like a tent. Bradley was laying on his back with Everett curled up against his right side, and you thought you were going to melt into a puddle.
"Oh my god," Molly whispered, closing your front door softly and coming to stand next to you. "You need to marry him."
You had to stifle your laugh as tears filled your eyes. Bradley had taken care of everything. Sure, it was going to take you an hour to clean up this elaborate fort, but you didn't care at all. As you set your bag down and took your shoes off, Molly peeked out the front window.
"Bob is going to pick me up so you can have a conversation with Bradley," she whispered. "Will you call me later tonight? Any time is fine."
You nodded and wrapped your arms around her, holding her tight as a few more tears fell. "Thank you for driving and for everything, Molly. I love you."
She kissed your cheek as you heard Bob's truck pull up outside. "Call me."
And then she was gone, and you were crawling inside the blanket tent and curling up against Bradley's left side. When you pressed your lips to his cheek, he started to stir.
"Kitten," he whispered in his sleepy voice, pulling you closer as Everett continued to doze. He squeezed your hip with his big hand and kissed you softly. "You okay?"
You nodded and rested your head on his shoulder. "I'm okay now."
--------------------------
When Everett woke up to find that you were home as well, laying on Bradley's other side with your fingers stroking his mustache and scruffy cheeks, he scrambled over Bradley and into your arms.
"Mommy!"
Bradley crawled out from under the blanket fort and stretched while you held Everett and kissed him. He turned off the TV and started to clean up the wrappers from the Happy Meals as well as some of the pillows. This way he could give you some time to talk quietly with Ev. But because he wasn't sure if he should stay or leave, he lingered a bit since it was close to Everett's bedtime now.
When you and Everett finally crawled out from under the tent, Bradley's arms were full of both of you. "Thank you." Your words weren't necessary, and you'd already thanked him so many times, but Bradley thought perhaps you needed to say them again. And now he was dreading telling you what happened at Danny's
"Will you carry me up to bed?" Everett asked, looking up at Bradley. He finally seemed like the relaxed, happy child he usually did.
"Of course," Bradley replied, scooping him up and carrying him upstairs. In no time, he was snuggled up in bed holding the plush Phanatic in both arms. And Bradley's heart was aching.
"Baby, we need to talk," he told you as you led him out of Everett's bedroom.
You nodded with a look of agony on your face. "I know." You walked ahead of Bradley and went to your bed, holding the covers up for him to crawl in with you. You swallowed hard as he wrapped his arm around you so that you and he were laying face to face. "I know you won't always be able to help out like you did today."
Bradley's brow scrunched up, and he pursed his lips. "What do you mean? Of course I will."
You sighed and looked at him. "I just mean, even if we're together, you could be deployed or something."
"Kitten, I'm not going anywhere. And if I'm deployed, baby, you still have Molly and Bob. Hell, you could have called Nat for help today, too. She would have probably beat the living shit out of Danny, but she would have brought Everett home safe and sound."
You closed your eyes and pressed your face into his chest as you asked, "What happened when you got to his house?"
Bradley sighed and rubbed your back, trying to decide just how much detail to give you. The last thing he wanted was for you to feel any worse than you already clearly did.
"Just tell me, Bradley," you gasped, gripping his shirt. But when he still hesitated, you said, "Just tell me everything."
"I knocked on the door, and Everett answered," he said softly, still rubbing small circles along your back through your shirt. "Danny was nowhere in sight, and I took Everett right outside and got him buckled into his booster seat."
You pulled away from him and stared off into space. "You...took him right out? And Danny had no idea? Why wasn't he with Everett?!"
Bradley shook his head and kissed your forehead five times before he said, "Danny was high, Kitten. He had been smoking, and the whole house smelled."
You started sobbing against his chest. "That's what I was afraid of after Everett called and told me it smelled weird. But I was trying to hope that I was wrong about it." You were quiet for a minute. "Was there a woman there?"
"Yeah," Bradley whispered. "She was high, too. After I got Ev safely locked up in the Bronco, I went back up and pounded on the door until they answered. I thought for a second that I was going to lose it and knock him the fuck out. Honestly, the only reason I didn't was because Everett was ready to leave."
You were crying in earnest now as you pushed Bradley fully onto his back. When you sat up on your knees and swiped at your tears, you said, "I don't even know why I'm crying. I am not sad, I'm furious! And now I have to go over there and talk to Danny about this!"
Bradley watched as every emotion flitted across your face, and then he sat up to give you a kiss. "Everett doesn't want to go back to Danny's house anymore. He begged me to tell you that."
You nodded and cradled your forehead in your hands. "Okay. Now I am sad."
He let you have a few minutes to process everything before saying, "If you want me to stay tonight, I'll stay. But if you want me to go so you can have some space, just say the word, and I'll lock up when I go."
"I need to call Molly. And I think I need to be alone," you whispered. But before Bradley went back to his apartment, he held you until you promised him you were feeling better.
----------------------------------
When Bradley only received a few texts from you on Monday, he was beginning to feel apprehensive. But when Molly pulled into the parking lot with Everett for tee ball practice, Bradley knew something was wrong. Because he expected that you would have told him you'd be missing practice.
"Everything okay?" he asked Molly as Everett ran over to him.
She just shrugged and handed the gear bag to Bradley when he reached for it. "I'm not sure."
He gave her an appraising look. "Where is she?" But he didn't need to ask, because he already knew. And now he was getting pissed that you hadn't told him before going over there.
"Danny's," she whispered, and Bradley started texting you right away. He would have preferred to go with you. "I told her I would take Everett home for a sleepover if she needed me to."
And then Bradley understood that you weren't expecting a positive outcome from your encounter with your ex. Fuck. He had an hour long tee ball practice to get through before he could even get over to your house to see if you needed anything.
His patience was already short when he knelt to help Everett with his cleats before sending him out to Bob. And that's when Sandra opened her mouth. "I can't help but notice that she's not here. I think it's her turn to bring snacks."
Bradley met her eyes and watched her cheeks turn scarlet as she snapped her mouth shut. He could only imagine what he must look like right now.
"I have the snacks and juice boxes in my car, so really there's no need to comment on anything," Molly said sweetly. "But if you do feel the need to comment further, my car is that blue Honda, and I'd be happy to meet you there after practice is over. Just keep in mind that I'm in a raging bad mood today, and I'm nowhere as nice as my sister."
"Having been on the receiving end of your rage, I can vouch for that," Bradley muttered to Molly, making her chuckle. "Hey, after practice I'm just going to head right to her house."
Molly nodded. "That's probably a good idea. I'll distract Everett this evening, but she's going to need someone to vent to, I think."
As soon as practice was over, Bradley contemplated picking up dinner, but he decided getting to you was more important. And when he let himself inside your house, he was so damn thankful he hadn't stopped anywhere on his way.
----------------------------
You hadn't even knocked on Danny's door yet, but you just knew you were about to feel his wrath. Instead of contacting him first, you simply left work and headed to Mission Beach, hoping to blindside him.
When Danny opened his front door, he just shook his head at you. "I don't have time for this right now."
"Yes, you do," you replied, feeling your anger fill you up.
"I'm in the middle of something," he replied, starting to shut the door. But you wedged your body in before he could close it completely. "So you're just going to barge in then? Like your boyfriend?"
"I guess so," you growled, slamming the door closed once you were inside.
"What do you want?" he asked blandly.
Rage. That was the only thing you could feel now. "I want you to tell me what your problem is! Smoking pot while you're supposed to be watching Everett? Really?"
He got right in your face, and you staggered back against the front door. "You are the one with the fucking problem, okay? I told you I didn't want him here yesterday, but you insisted."
You pushed yourself away from the door so your chest was bumping his. He was bigger than you, but you weren't going to back down. "I gave you two options, Danny. So I guess you'll be taking the paying child support route then?"
When he clenched his fist at his side, you felt your tummy dip in fear. "We have been over this. I don't have the income for that right now."
"You have money for weed," you growled. "Why don't you give me that cash and call it a day?"
"You don't understand!" he yelled. "You never understood, and that's why we aren't married anymore."
You swallowed hard. "We're not married anymore because I left with Everett. Because we deserved better. And being on our own was a much better option than being with you. But he's still your kid! So I'm going to call my lawyer."
His eyes flashed. "You're getting a lawyer involved? I don't have money for that."
"Then what do you suggest I do, Danny?" you asked, your tone patronizing now. You knew it wasn't a good idea to goad him on, but you couldn't help yourself. "Get a time machine and convince my past self not to let you fuck me? That's what you expect me to do?"
"No!" he hollered. "I expect you to leave me the hell alone! You and Everett both! So whatever needs to be done to make that happen, that's what we are going to do!"
You were shaking now as his words sunk in. The bile started to rise up in your stomach, but you couldn't move. Your teeth started to chatter. "I can understand your anger with me," you whispered. "But you don't want him around at all?"
"No!"
And with that one final word, you felt your stomach clench painfully. "And you're going to refuse to pay child support?"
"Yes! I don't want to have to deal with any of this!"
You sucked in a few breaths before you could speak again. "You want to sign away custody? Never spend time with your kid again?" You had to wipe your eyes to be able to see clearly.
"Yes! Use your fucking lawyer to make that happen, okay?" he barked at you, face red with anger. "I don't want you around, and I don't want him. Now, how about you get out of my house?"
Your breath was coming in short gasps and you thought you might faint. But when you didn't move fast enough for his liking, Danny physically turned you and opened the door before trying to push you outside with his hand on the back of your neck.
"I'm not going to give you another chance with Everett after this," you said, tears dripping from your eyes as you spun around to face him. But your necklace chain was caught in his fingers, and he snapped it as he pushed you again. You caught the chain and the charm in your hand before they could drop, and you looked up at him.
"Get out," he barked. "And don't come back until you have something for me to sign."
You squeezed your paw print charm in your hand as you ran out to your car, nearly tripping in your high heels, and started the engine. The interior echoed with your broken sobs as you made the first turn toward your house.
Danny didn't want Everett. As hard as you tried to process things, the words just stayed at surface level, because they didn't make sense. You couldn't accept them as the truth. That was Everett's dad, and dads were supposed to want their kids around. Dads were supposed to love their children. You and Molly had been raised by older parents who loved you both, and you didn't get enough time with either of them.
But that wasn't the case with Danny at all. Danny didn't want Everett. He just couldn't be bothered. He really was that selfish.
What was wrong with you that you kept trying for so long? Did you really think he was going to change his mind? You left him for a reason. But you always thought that you were the problem, because how could anyone not want Everett?
When you looked up, you were parked in your driveway. You didn't remember driving home. You walked inside to your empty house and took off your work shoes, still clutching your necklace as you walked upstairs to your bathroom.
Danny didn't want Everett.
You threw up in the toilet and then sat down hard on the floor. You must have done something wrong, because that was the only explanation for this. You pushed too hard, or you didn't push hard enough. Danny had wanted you to get an abortion, but you thought you were in love. You dreamed of having the perfect family, and you thought he would eventually change his mind. But he didn't. He never did. Danny didn't want Everett.
You curled up on the bathroom floor and gripped the tub mat to your chest, still clutching your necklace, and you let yourself cry. It was all your fault. Everything was your fault. And now you were going to have to call your lawyer and explain out loud to another person that your ex husband didn't want your son. Danny didn't want Everett. As if there was some reason that your son didn't deserve to be loved. As if your six year old child had done something egregious or unforgivable. But all he had ever done was make you happy and give you purpose. How could someone not want him around?
"Oh god," you gasped as your tears rolled down your cheeks and onto the floor. At least Molly would take care of Everett for the night, because you wouldn't be able to look him in the eye right now. It would be a while before you could process all of this. "Why?" you sobbed, unable to catch your breath. You rolled onto your back and draped your arm over your eyes, but the pain in your chest just grew worse and worse, and you started gagging on your tears.
You couldn't catch your breath, and you couldn't hear anything past the wretched sobs filling the small room. Until you saw movement out of the corner of your watery eyes.
"Oh, Kitten. I'm here." And then you felt him lay down next to you and collect you into his arms as you sobbed harder.
---------------------------
Yes, Coach! Stepping up and taking care of things, but putting Ev first! I feel terrible for Kitten. She really can't understand Danny. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32!
PART 21
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Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader
Summary: After missing a few notes during rehearsals, you have to prove once again to your Maestro that you still deserve a chance.
Warnings: +18, Minors DNI!, smut, nat has a penis, loss of virginity, groping, overstimulation, rough sex, pet names, a bit of manipulation, light choking, unprotected sex, praising, abuse of authority, infidelity, age gap.
Word count: 6.2k
a/n: here's part two for all you horny people. also; comment if you want to be tagged in the next part <3 ✰ series masterlist, main masterlist
"Okay, stop!" the Maestro's loud voice makes everyone stop playing their instruments immediately. Your hands that were previously on the piano keys just rest on your lap, playing with a loose thread of your blouse. "What's going on today huh? Just because it's Friday and you guys want to enjoy the weekend doesn't mean you have to play like a high school band."
When she says this your eyes go directly to your friend on the other side of the orchestra room, Kate. She widens her eyes, and makes a funny face like she's bored. Even though Natasha's words can be a little harsh at times, everyone here is used to it. Especially Kate. You remember one time Natasha just walked out of the auditorium after making you guys play the same song for hours and hours, saying it was still bad, and all that Bishop said was that at least she didn't say it was terrible, just bad, and that coming from Natasha is like a compliment.
You end up quietly laughing at your friend's action, but then Natasha's body get in the way, stopping a few meters away from you, right in the direction you were looking. All you see for a few seconds is her white shirt, but lifting your gaze you meet her green eyes, feeling her strong judgment in you. Fuck. Your smile disappears instantly. "If you keep playing like this, you don't even have to show up on the day of the big performance." she continues, looking away from you and crossing her arms in front of her body. "An empty stage is better than a whole audience listening to whatever this is that you're playing. Because as much as this symphony was composed by me, the way you guys are playing make it sound like shit, and I don't want people to think I compose shitty music."
She takes a step forward, getting out of the line of sight between you and your friend. You look at each other again, and Kate mouths an 'ouch.', exaggeratedly making an offended expression with her face. You again cannot contain a smile. Bishop always finds the fun in tragic moments, and you love her for it. And you know that if Natasha even saw these kinds of interactions that you two have during rehearsals she would be pissed, not out of jealousy, of course she's not jealous of you, but out of the fact that she hates not being taken seriously.
"In the next rehearsal I don't want any mistakes, especially in the violin part, you're not playing in sync." Natasha takes a deep breath through her nose, turning her face to look in your direction, but you’re more focused on staring blankly at the keys of the instrument in front of you. "But for now... you're dismissed." as soon as she says the words everyone starts to get up, walking towards the stairs to go down from the auditorium stage. You follow your colleagues, going to the first row of seats, which is where everyone usually leaves their belongings.
"Today she's in a bad mood." Kate says as soon as you reach her side. You take a quick look at the person she's referring to, she has her back to you, tying her hair up in her usual bun. You tried not to spend the entire night thinking about what happened between you two. But all you could imagine when you closed your eyes was how her cock felt inside your mouth, and how good it felt. You don't even remember when, but your hand was already inside your pajama pants, imagining it was her. You even tried using two of your fingers to mimic the feeling of what it might be like to have her inside you, but it hurt, all you were able to bear was half of just one finger of yours, so you stopped. You already know that she'll want to do something else today, and you think if it will hurt too. Or if she's going to let it hurt.
"I mean, it's impossible for her to be in a good mood."
You ignore Kate — so oblivious to your thoughts that you don't even know what to say to her — before picking up your backpack, slinging it over your shoulder. Every Friday you guys usually go to the bar at the end of the street after rehearsals, but you remember Natasha asking you to stay today again, and the way her mood is you sure don't want to give her another reason to stay even more grumpy. "I... I'm staying a little longer, the Maestro is helping me with some of my compositions." you lie, you don't even compose songs. "But you can go to the bar with the others, I'll meet you there."
"Oh... okay... I'll definitely want to listen to your piece later." she says in an excited tone, closing her violin case. "Just promise not to take too long, the bar is kinda boring without you."
"I promise."
"Okay perfect, and good luck with her." she pats your shoulder twice before walking past you, and you just stand there waiting for everyone to leave the orchestra room. When silence sets in, you realize that you are finally alone with Natasha again. She remains onstage as you grip the strap of your backpack so hard it looks like you want to tear the poor thing apart. You think if you look good, if the outfit you chose today caught her attention, if all the strands of your hair are in place. You’re nervous.
Natasha stares at you for a few seconds, actually, she couldn't take her eyes off you the entire time you were playing the piano, which isn't all that unusual, but this time she knew that at the end of the day she would have you, and that she wouldn't come home just to have to relieve herself alone thinking about you. But she didn't have a good day, you could tell from the way she was harsh with her words throughout rehearsal. Not that she isn't like that naturally, but today she put a lot of work into the insults. So all she wants now is to have something to make this day better. And you are the best option she has to solve this problem.
Her steps get louder as she steps down from the stage to approach you, who still has your back to her when you feel her presence so close to you. "Why don't you drop this, you're not leaving." she says referring to your backpack, and you immediately do as she asks, dropping it on the floor. Natasha smiles, seeing that she doesn't need to ask you twice for you to obey her. "Don't think you're an exception Y/N, you also disappointed me today."
You swallow hard, feeling her smooth the strands of your hair to the side to be able to kiss the curve of your neck. You close your eyes, her breath so close to your ear that you pay no attention to any other sounds in your surroundings. "You're gonna have to work really hard if you still want to be my first choice for the world tour, because with all the mistakes you made today..." she sucks your pulse point after saying this, making sure to leave a mark for everyone to see. "...maybe you don't really deserve this opportunity after all, hm?"
You haven't missed a single note, since you've been playing for her you've never made that mistake. You play the piano since you were six years old, so hitting the wrong key is something very unusual for you. But when you hear her saying that you made a mistake, you end up believing, it's her song, not yours. And Natasha knows it, she knows you played the song perfectly. But she needs a something to make you give her what she wants, even though deep down she knows you'd give in for no particular reason. "I-I... I know I deserve it." you say in a weak voice. "I can prove to you that I'm the best option, I know I can, Maestro."
"Yeah?" you gasp as her strong hands grope your breasts, pulling your body towards her and making you feel her hard bulge against your ass. You tremble in anticipation knowing that you're going to lose your virginity to her today, and you've kind of been preparing for it all day, so maybe that must have caused you to miss a few notes. Yeah, that would make sense. "I can put your name on the list today, you wouldn't have to wait another day to be part of the world tour... but only if you prove to me that you really are the best choice. Would you like that?" she asks close to your ear, and you nod frantically. "Good."
You feel a cool breeze hitting your body as she suddenly pulls away. As you turn to face her, you see her grabbing your backpack from the floor, slinging it over her shoulder before taking your hand. You look at her confused, but let her lead you to wherever she is leading. The two of you enter the hall of the building that you come to every day to stay hours playing the piano. It's dark, probably all the other employees working here are gone by now. You're known as the late-night musician crowd here, the ones that play for more hours straight too, five hours of class in total. So it wouldn't be surprising if in fact the only ones left here are you and Natasha. "Did your parents complain that you were late yesterday?" she lets go of your hand to get a key from her pocket, and unlocking a door she takes your arm to pull you into the room.
"No, I told 'em I was practicing, and they believed." you answer, hearing the door lock behind you. It's a relatively small room, it has a piano against one of the walls, but unlike the one in the orchestra room — which is a grand piano — this one is an upright one. There's a couch with red upholstery, a few other decorations, and then a desk. You walk towards it, running your finger across the wood material from one end to the other. "Is this your office?"
Natasha drops your backpack on the sofa along with her glasses before walking towards you. "No." she answers, and you again feel her warmth behind you. "I have my own office somewhere else, I just leave my stuff here from time to time." her hands go to your hips, sinking her nose into your neck to smell your perfume. "I spent the whole night thinking about you." you understand that she's not here to talk, she just wants something specific from you. You let her grip your body possessively, her hands squeezing every inch of you like she doesn't want you to leave. It's hot, you think that's even a little weird considering the fact that it's winter, but having her so close to you makes it feel like summer. And you can't deny that feeling her gaze on you throughout rehearsal has you completely needy for her, you already know that your underwear situation isn't the best, and you can't wait for her to finally do something about it.
But then something on the desk draws your attention. A ring. Natasha is a married woman, but she rarely wears her wedding ring. She just puts it on before leaving the house to prove her wife that she wears it, but whenever she gets here for rehearsals she leaves the little accessory in this room. There were times when she forgot, and kept the ring on all day, but rarely did anyone notice. Because as much as she loves her wife, Natasha still hates showing everyone that she belongs to someone, and that thought only started when you entered her life, what a coincidence. You bend your body to pick up the accessory, and when you look at it you can see a date engraved on the inside. It has a name too, but before you can read it Natasha snatches the object out of your hand.
"Sorry." you whisper, expecting her to call you names for taking something that isn't yours, but she doesn't. She doesn't have time for that. Natasha puts the ring on her finger, before turning her attention again to gripping your body. You feel bad for a few moments, knowing she has a wife who don't even imagine the things she does to you. But your mind is immersed in desire when Natasha's hand starts to go down between your breasts, to the button of your pants. She plays with your zipper while planting kisses all over your neck, with that, you find yourself thirsting for her with every passing second. "Nat..."
"Did you hear what I said? That you didn't get out of my head last night?" she unzips, and slowly pulls your pants down to your thighs. You feel your cheeks burn, feeling her play with the hem of your underwear. Are you really prepared for this? You think. But also think of the world tour, and the answer becomes clear. "I had to fuck my wife thinking about you to relieve myself." you bite the inside of your cheek, hearing her say such words makes you wet. You feel bad for her wife, yes, but turned on to know that Natasha thinks so highly of you. She thought about you all night, just like you thought about her. Maybe this could be more than just an exchange of favors, no?
With one hand, Natasha spreads your legs apart. You have both of your hands resting against the desk, as her hand starts to move up your inner thigh. "You're always so quiet." she chuckles when her hand reaches between your legs, your body squirms, pressing her fingertips against your underwear Natasha can feel how wet you are for her. This just makes her harder. "Is it because you've never done this before? Is that why you don't know what to say sweet girl?"
"Uhum." you hum, closing your eyes when she presses on your clit. "I just... I just need..."
"What?" in one swift motion she pulls your underwear down, and you end up moaning as her hand goes straight to your slit. You spread your legs a few more inches apart when she starts to move back and forth over your folds, looking down Natasha groans at the sight of your cheeks so close to her covered cock. "What do you need?" she continues to spread your wetness all over your pussy while her other hand grabs one of your breasts, making you close your eyes at the aggressiveness she does. "Do you wanna tell your Maestro what you need from her, hm?"
You want to talk to her, you really do. But it's the first time anyone's touched you like this, and you can do anything but form a complete sentence. You didn't think she'd be this quick, you really thought you'd at least talk before she had all of you, but feeling her fingers slip through your slits makes you not mind too much about that. You just need her, you're practically begging her to finally ruin you. "I really need you to say it so I can keep going." she murmurs, opening your folds with her fingers before teasing your entrance. "Do you want me to stretch your tight little pussy? Want me to be your first?" she ends up sliding just the tip of her finger inside you, and since you tried to do the same last night, the sensation is not so strange for you, but even so, because she’s the one doing it, it makes you feel different type of feelings.
You manage to nod your head at her question, gripping the edge of the table tightly as she switches from teasing your entrance to playing with your clit. You smile trapping your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to follow her movement into your sex with your hips. "I need words baby, please."
"Y-yes, fuck I need you, p-please."
The Maestro smiles, her heart beating wildly inside her chest. She pulls down her own pants and boxers, her hard cock as it springs out brushes lightly against your cheeks. Your hands that were once on the edge of the desk are now both pressed against your low back as Natasha takes your wrists, and with her other hand she forces your body into the desk, causing you to whine in pain when your cheek is pressed against the icy wood material, your breasts practically smashed against the table. You close your eyes for a few seconds at her subtle movement, and think about how easily she can position you however she wants. She's much stronger than you. And she wasn't really planning on ending up being this aggressive, but sometimes she can't help herself.
"Fuck... you're so wet." she says as she pulls back a little just to get a good view of your sex, her hand still holding yours against your lower back. "Who knew you got so turned on in the presence of your Maestro huh? What would your parents think of that? I don't think they would be so proud to hear that you lie to them by telling you're practicing when in reality you're letting yourself be fucked by your conductor."
You turn your head away to hide the embarrassment you feel, but pressing your forehead against the table is even more uncomfortable, so you end up turning your face away again, resting your cheek on the furniture. Natasha uses her free hand to rub her cock against your slits, groaning at the sight of your wetness mixing with her pre-cum. "Natasha... I..." you whisper, remembering that this can hurt. Even though you're so turned on, so wet that you might not feel a thing, you're still tinged with fear, and the red-haired woman can see it too. "I don't know if-."
"Shhh." she silences you, letting go of your wrists to brush the strands of hair that fall over your face. "It's okay, no need to be scared, it will feel good, I promise." you find comfort in her words, and that makes some of the fear go away, even though you know she's not that honest sometimes. The older woman even thinks of getting the lub she brought, but seeing how wet you are she thinks that won't be necessary. A gasp escapes her lips as she continues to rub her cock into your slit, and feeling the heat of your sex only make her more painfully aroused. “Stay still detka.”
You close your eyes tightly as you feel her tip slowly stretching your hole, and you realize it's very different from when you tried to use your fingers. She stays still for a while, and you think it's not that bad, at least not until she starts sliding even more inside you. You grunt in pain when half of her cock enters you, and even though you are wet, it still burns a little, trying to get used to this new sensation. "Fuck, you're so tight." Natasha breathes out the words, moving her hips back and making your pussy clenches around nothing. "Is this okay? Can I keep going?”
"U-uhm y-yes." you open your eyes again when she pulls your head by holding your hair, lifting it slightly but your body still pressed against the table.
"Good... This might hurt a little. Tap my thigh if you want me to stop."
You don't understand why you would have to tap her thigh when you can use your words, but feeling her hand pressing over your mouth you understand why. She uses her hand to stifle the scream that rips from your throat as she thrusts her cock all at once inside your pussy, and it hurts, it hurts like hell, but even so, your hand remains still, making no move to tap her thigh. Your entire body protests Natasha's gross invasion, but you remember she said this will feel good, and that's what you want to believe in. She pulls out, leaving only the tip inside you, before moving her hips forward in a blunt act, causing the table to swell slightly beneath you. "F-fuck." you mumble against her palm, every inch of her stretching your walls, feeling like at any moment she's going to destroy you from the inside by the thickness and length of her. She is indeed really big, you don't know what was on your mind when you thought this would be easy to take.
"Fuck baby, you're so tight, how am I supposed to move inside you hm?" Natasha's fingers continue to wrap around your hair as she presses your face back against the table, while her other hand grabs your hips to keep you still. She starts to fuck you slowly but hard at the same time. Her every thrust is aggressive, some things on the table even move with every move she makes against you. You palm your hands to the side of your body as that aching feeling inside you starts to turn into a feeling you didn't know would feel so good until now. "Do you think you can take more? Want me to fuck you hard?"
You clench around her dick at the thought of her fucking you harder than she already is, and the sensation this causes around Natasha's length makes her moan in pleasure. "Oh that's it... clench around my cock, fuck you're so hot." she sinks her nails into your hips, pulling you closer to her. "Do you want me to continue? Want me to fuck you mercilessly?"
"P-please." you beg, even deep down you want her to take it easy at first, moving your hips back when she stops suddenly with her movements. "Keep going, feels so good."
"Hm?" you feel her strong hand against your throat, pulling you up and making your body fully erect again. You feel the relief this caused on your cheek, but what holds your attention the most is the way Natasha's cock starts to fuck you from behind. "Like this? Want me to treat you like a slut?" your arms are pulled behind your body while her other hand is still around your throat. Natasha fucks you while preventing you from moving your arms, and at the same time making it difficult for oxygen to rise to your brain. You arch your back, your eyes rolling as you feel her hit against the deepest part of your pussy.
She's rougher with your cunt than she was with your mouth, sinking her thick cock into your tight walls and making you moan over it. It still hurts, you didn't have time to get used to its size completely, but you get wetter with each thrust that gets easier and easier for Natasha to fuck you hard. You feel your pants sliding down your legs with every pound of her, and it's not long before it falls to your ankles. "You wanted this didn't you?" she asks tightening her fingers around your neck even more. "I bet this isn't the first time you've wanted this from me, tell me, did you touch yourself thinking about me too? Did you use those talented hands of yours to imagine I was fucking you?” she wants to hear it from you, she wants to know that she wasn't the only one doing this all these months that you've been her apprentice.
"I-I, yes." you admit it, even though it's not true. Even if you had impure thoughts about your Maestro you've never really touched yourself thinking about her, but if that's what she wants to hear, that's what you'll say. And again, a big mistake you just made. "Fuck. it. hurts." you end up saying it out loud between labored sighs, feeling the tightness in your throat loosen.
"Want me to stop?" you shake your head from side to side quickly, feeling embarrassingly closer to the edge. Natasha slows down her thrusts inside you as she lowers the hand that was previously around your throat to massage your clit. She fucks you slowly, while making circular motions on your bundle of nerves at medium speed. With her light movements you can feel better the way she moves inside you, not just hard thrusts. You feel her cock sliding over your walls, and how her fingers work so well on your clit.
That's much better, slowly and carefully. You throw your head back, not understanding how you can still stand when the way she fucks you makes you feel boneless. "S-so good." you murmur, your arms move a little when you feel her ridge digging deep into the spongy part of you, but natasha holds them tighter, pulling you against her, almost making your back press against her covered breasts. She again feels your perfume invaded her senses, and thinks how she never wants to try anyone's scent but yours.
You didn't imagine that your first time would be in a random room, with a woman much older than you, and whom you admire so much. But now you don't think how it could just be better that already is. It's just wonderful the way her dick enters you carefully, as if this whole time it was meant to be. You wonder if it's normal to feel so ecstatic so quickly, you didn't think that anything other than your hand would be able to pull you over the edge so fast. And you want to hold on longer, trying to prolong her pleasure as well, but it gets hard when all you can feel is her thick cock sliding in and out of you, as your clit begins to grow sensitive to her touches. “You’re doing so good.” she whispers close to your ear, increasing the stimulation on your nerve just a little bit, only to pull you further towards the climax.
She hates that it took you so long to give yourself to her, and even though you're not completely hers yet, she already feels that way. She's wanted this for a long time, and now that she finally has what she wanted, it's going to be hard for her to let go. She rolls her hips over yours, and it's torturous but perfect at the same time.
Natasha has a hard time keeping her movements slow, all she wants is to abuse you until you can't walk the next day. But she also wants to make you feel good, she wants to make your first time worth it. And it's working. You feel the orgasm starting to build, and you know you won't be able to hold it back for long because of the way she makes you feel like you're out of gravity. "I... fuck... I'm so-." you don't even know what to say, you just try to control the moans that insist on coming out of your mouth. "Fuck I think I'm-."
"Come for me pretty girl, come on, I know you're close, come on, I got you."
It doesn't take long for you to reach your peak, and unlike when you're alone, this time feels totally different. You close your eyes tightly when the pleasure is all you can feel in every muscle in your body, Natasha rests her forehead on your back as she feels you squeezing her cock, feeling the wetness that spreads on her hand as she keeps stimulating you. "That's it..." she stops inside you, pressing her finger against your clit and feeling your sensitive area pulsating on her fingertips. Your breathing is uncontrolled when you finally break out of the trance, feeling your body sweating even though she did all the work.
It feels like you're drugged, and you're afraid you'll end up becoming addicted to her. And this was only the first time, you don't know if there will be others, but really hope so. With time she stops completely, waiting for you to get back together. And you thank her for it. It was so good, you want to go again, and again, until you can't take it anymore. You didn't know it would feel this good, you really were afraid that it would just hurt, but even though it did, in the end it was worth it.
You stay that way for a few moments before Natasha slowly pulls out of you, and you suddenly complain about the emptiness. Your legs are shaky as you turn your body to face her, her eyes showing nothing more than desire as they look directly into yours. "You okay?" she asks gently, cupping your face in her hands. You nod, staring at her parted lips. You try to bring your face even closer to kiss her, but the Maestro holds your jaw, preventing you from getting any closer. "No... no kissing."
"Why?"
"Oh detka, we're not trying to fall in love here, are we?" she speaks in a subtle way, even though she knew those weren't the words you wanted to hear. But you end up agreeing with her, it's really not what you're looking for, it's just an exchange of favors. You force that thought into your head, feeling the tip of her cock pressing against your bare sex. You look down, seeing the length of her glistening with your fluids, she imitates your act, this time getting a perfect view at your pussy. Is certainly one of the best views she's ever had. "Gonna keep fucking you okay?" she warns, running her fingers over your slits to make sure you stay wet, You shiver as she runs her finger over your clit before returning to your entrance. She pulls two fingers inside you, wetting them before leading them to her mouth. Natasha hums while feeling your taste on her tongue, and you think it wouldn't be possible for a scene to be this mesmerising, but ends up being anyway. Being completely aware of your arousal she quickly gets back to work.
Natasha groans, lifting one of your legs up to her hip to continue. She hasn't come yet. You weren't expecting it when she pushes her cock back inside you, and unlike how she was doing it a few minutes ago this time she just uses you like a fuck doll. And that's what you are to her, just someone to fuck, not someone to create emotional bonds with. At least that's what she's trying to get herself to believe in.
"You don't know how good it feels to have you squeezing my cock... my god how tight you are." you'll never get tired of hearing her tell you this, it just works the way you feel around her even more. The sounds you two make aren't low by any chance, and you're grateful that there's no one around to know what the two of you are up to behind closed doors. "You're so fucking beautiful, you're perfect."
Your legs feel like jelly, still trying to fully recover from your last orgasm, and noticing your difficulty standing up Natasha holds both your thighs, pulling you to sit on top of the desk, while thrusting her cock even deeper inside you.
She grips your jaw tightly, forcing you to look deep into her eyes as she fucks you. You see the darkness that consumes her, so lost in desire it makes your body convulse. "You're just a tiny little talented slut aren't ya? Look how good you take me all in." her breath hits against your lips, and you try to control yourself so you don't end up realising it again, feeling overstimulated by her every second. "So... so good for me, only for me.”
You rests both your hands on the table, wrapping your legs around Natasha's hips feeling her fuck you quickly and aggressively. Her hands grip tight on your thighs, and she tries to maintain eye contact with you, but she wants to see how she fucks you, she wants to see the scene of her destroying you from the inside. She lowers her sight to focus on the way her cock disappears inside you, how you take her so well even being your first time. "Gonna come so deep inside you." she whispers, feeling closer with her own words. "Gonna fill you up so good baby."
You feel the heat getting more unbearable, as it seems the walls of the room get smaller around you, one of your hands going towards her shoulder for better balance. You expect the table to break at any moment, just like Natasha is doing with your insides. And unlike her, you keep your eyes glued to the expressions on her face; how her eyebrows furrow up, how she tries to keep her moans from being audible. "Oh fuck... fuck... keep taking it... that's it..." you feel her nails digging deep into the skin of your thighs, and you know you're going to be bruised all over, but the thought of it makes your heart warm. "Is this making you feel good? Oh I bet so. Want to tell me how good I make you feel?"
"Y-yes... you make me feel so good." you say in uncontrolled breaths, squeezing her shoulder hard as you feel yet another orgasm slamming against your body like a brick. But still Natasha doesn't stop, even noticing the way your walls tighten around her cock, she still keeps pushing inside you harshly. "Fuuuck... fuck I don't think I can... Nat... p-please-."
"Shhhh, yes you can, I'm almost there, keep taking it." her hands lift your shirt up to your breasts, and she grunts at the sight of them covered by your bra. All she wanted right now was to get that stupid piece of clothing off your body, but being content with what she has she just squeezes them, your breasts fit perfectly into her palms, and she gropes them so hard it seems like your skin burns with her touch.
Your legs fall from her hips, feeling so overstimulated you don't have the strength to keep them wrapped around her. Natasha also finds it difficult to keep pushing inside you because you're so tight, and you try your best to keep taking her. That pain that had passed comes back, making you cry when you realize that you won't be able to hold on. "Please... please!" you beg, squeezing her shoulder and making Natasha hiss from the strength you do it. "Nat please I can't… it hurts.”
"Baby, begging isn't going to get you anywhere... you didn't ask me to stop, so keep quiet hm?" you nod your head realizing that what she says is true, you didn't actually ask her to stop, you just begged, but for nothing in particular. You feel so sensitive, her cock feels so big on you that it really hurts, but also a pain that feels really good. Fuck, it hurts so good you even feel ashamed to admit it. It feels like you're going to pass out, the room grows dark and your breath gets shorter. And the Maestro sees the tears running down your cheeks, and that's the last straw for her. With a few more thrusts you feel her warm fluid being released inside you, painting your inner walls all over. "Yeah... that's it... fuck… you feel so good."
Natasha practically collapses on top of you, resting her head in the crook of your neck as she continues to fill yourself with her cum. She moves her hips slowly to fuck the cum inside you, and you hate to admit that the wet noises of her action are so arousing. She closes her eyes for a few seconds feeling her dick throbbing inside you. "Nat..." you whine as she pulls away, and then taking her cock outside you you can feel the liquid seeping through your slits. You sigh with immediate relief, and only then do you realize your face is wet with your tears. Natasha grabs her shaft, rubbing it in your pussy and watching as her white juice spreads through your folds. She slides the tip back inside to keep every last drop that’s left in you, before going back to rubbing the end of it on your clit. Natasha is mesmerized, and even though she wants to continue she takes a step back.
"You did so good, I'm proud of you." she runs her knuckles over your cheeks, wiping the tears away. You close your eyes in her caress, feeling your pussy throbbing. "You were perfect."
And then the room is back to its normal size, the walls aren't suffocating you anymore, and the heat isn't so unbearable. Natasha picks up your underwear on the floor, and passes them by your feet to help you put them on, and you end up getting up from the table so she can pass the piece of clothing to your thighs. She doesn't say anything as she picks up your pants as well, holding them out to you before running her fingers over the strands of her hair. She's still hard when she tucks her cock into her pants, and as soon as you're fully dressed again you approach her. "I can help you with that..." you say directing your hand to the bulge in her pants, but Natasha shakes her head no.
"No, it's okay sweet girl." you smile when you hear her call you by the nickname, then just nod as she starts walking towards the door. She unlocks it, and holds it open for you to pass. As you move you can feel some of her cum that was still inside you wet your underwear, and then it hits you, you really did it, it doesn't even seem real, and the worst of it is that you liked it more than you should have. After you pick up your backpack on top of the sofa, you two begin a silent path through the corridors. You feel your legs weak, and you fear it will only get worse when you wake up the next day. But as has been said before, it was all worth it. When you're next to her, you see Natasha fiddling with her phone, talking to someone in messages. You also notice the way she squeezes her cock over her pants, the discomfort you left her in still isn't entirely gone. "Are you gonna get an uber or something?" she asks as soon as you step onto the sidewalk outside of the building.
"Uhm... no... I'm gonna go to a bar with my friends at the end of the street."
She just nods, not taking her eyes off her phone screen. You tighten your backpack straps, rocking your body back and forth not knowing if you should just walk away or wait for her to say goodbye first. She types quickly to whoever is talking to her, and you see the way her brows furrow, like she's worried about something. "I uhm... I should go." she says before finally looking up at you, giving you a weak smile. "Are you okay with what happened today?"
"Yes." you answer immediately. "It was... really good."
Indeed it was, you could do it for hours. You didn't know sex could feel this good. Or at least the sex with her definitely was.
"Okay good." she's relieved that she didn't make you do anything you didn't want to, even though she knows the real reason why you actually did it. "And... I'll talk to you next week about what I told you earlier."
"What?" you ask, not really knowing what she's talking about.
"The list... Your name on the list."
Oh, this.
For a moment you even forgot about it, you felt so good in her presence that you didn't even remember that in fact all of this was for other intentions. "Oh yes of course… okay." Natasha stares at you for a few more seconds before walking towards her car, leaving you alone. When she drives away you follow the vehicle with your eyes until it completely disappears from your view. And then you're back to reality. And what a shitty reality.
taglist: @kksalexa @madelineleong @shaniaauld03 @natashafanatic @gayerthanevertbh @wifeofnatasharomanoff
#natasha romanoff x fem reader#natasha#natasha romanoff#smut#wlw smut#natasha romanoff fanfic#natasha romanoff x reader#black widow#black widow x reader#wlw#marvel#my pianist series#natasha romanoff x you
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Flowers, Cuddles And A Hair Bow | Sydney Lohmann x Child!Reader
warnings: none :)
word count: 1083
summary: little eyes watch, little minds learn, you try to do some of the things Momma does for Tante Syd, part of Sydney's Little Liebe
a/n: requested, i hope you like it
‘Tante! Tante Syd!’ You demand, tiptoeing as much as you can to look over the counter top.
You hop up and down, snatching quick peeks of your Tante in between them.
She laughs from the other side of the breakfast bar, looking at your little head bopping up and down.
You huff impatiently as she continues giggling.
‘Tante!’
There’s another snort and then she comes around, her strong arms lifting you up and onto a seat.
‘Hi.’ She grins and you all but shove the flowers you are holding into her face.
‘For you.’ You cheer.
Your Tante chuckles, taking them from you carefully.
The petals and stems are slightly crushed from how hard you had been holding it, the roots and accompanying soil still attached.
‘Wow. They’re really beautiful, meine Little Liebe. Thank you.’
You practically glow at her praise.
It had taken you a long time to decide which flowers you wanted from the garden and you ended up choosing some pink ones because the kind of pink they are, are the same kind of pink your Tante’s cheeks sometimes turn when your Momma kisses her.
‘I give you flowers like Momma.’ You proudly explain.
Your Tante Syd kisses your forehead.
‘I love you, you’re too cute for words.’
Even though you are now four fingers old and know a lot of things you didn’t before, you still don’t know what being too cute for words is.
But Tante Syd puts your flowers into a mason jar, right next to the one of your Momma’s flowers. She keeps them there until they wilt, then dries them and puts them back into the jar.
So you think that just like your Momma, you must have done something right.
******
Momma gives Tante a lot of cuddles.
Just like you, Tante Syd likes the big bed and sleeps there often.
Every now and then, on mornings that you wake up early, you find your Momma holding her and running her fingers through Tante’s hair.
Momma always pats the spot next to them both and lets you lie there as you wait for your Tante to wake up.
You have to be quiet and still so you don’t disturb Tante. Sometimes you are so good at it that you fall back asleep.
On those days, everyone gets out of bed late.
Today though, your Momma has to go to work early.
She tells you before you sleep and your Tante promises that she’ll be there when you wake up.
And she is.
You wake up very early so she’s still asleep.
Instinctively, you climb up into the big bed and settle yourself beside her.
‘Hey Little Liebe.’ She mumbles sleepily, pulling the covers over you.
The warmth makes you yawn and you let her wrap an arm around you.
It’s super comfy and you yawn your biggest ever yawn.
You want to sleep but you remember Momma is not here to run her fingers through Tante Syd’s hair so you do it.
Your Tante sighs softly, ‘Both you and your Momma are way too good at that.’
Hugging Tante Syd, you push your face into her hair and yawn.
She giggles, ‘Sleep sleepyhead. You need your rest to help me make pancakes later.’
You want to protest that you’re not tired and very excited to be your Tante’s assistant chef but another huge yawn bubbles its way up and you give into it.
You hug Tante Syd extra tight and she pulls you snugly into her side.
It’s how your Momma finds the both of you later, still cuddled up and fast asleep together.
******
‘Tante you have to stay very still okay?’ You warn.
Your Tante Syd can’t help giggling simply because you sound so much like your Momma. Her girlfriend tells you exactly the same thing, in exactly the same way, when she’s tying your hair.
Sticking your tongue out in concentration, you focus very hard on brushing Tante’s blonde hair out and putting it up into a ponytail. She’s sitting on the floor of the locker room, where all your Tantes get ready for work and you are sitting in her cubby, just above her.
It’s the only way you can reach Tante Syd’s hair because she’s so tall. Taller than your Momma even. You make sure to eat all your veggies no matter how icky they are so that one day, you can be tall like her.
Momma always does Tante Syd’s hair on game days and you decide that today, you want to be like your Momma and help her tie her hair for practice.
Making the hair tie go around your favourite Tante’s hair is difficult but you manage.
With a bright smile, you clap your hands and announce that you’re done.
‘Danke meine Little Liebe.’
Your Tante pulls you into her arms to hug you tightly and your smile gets bigger.
‘Did I do a good job?’
Tante Syd lets you go, running a hand over her ponytail and nodding.
‘The best job.’ She promises. There’s more than a few strands out of place but she is honestly impressed with how well you’ve done.
You do a little dance to celebrate and she laughs.
‘Do you want to know a secret?
Tante Klara once told you that you must be quiet when hearing a secret so you freeze and stop your happy dance before nodding rapidly.
Your Tante Syd bends down, leaning in close to your ear to whisper, ‘I think you’re way better at tying my hair than your Momma.
‘Really?’ You ask in awe.
‘Really.’ Tante tells you seriously and you’re so pleased with her words that you quickly rummage through your pink backpack and pull out one of your spare bows.
You have a bunch of them in different colours and your Momma’s been putting them in your hair ever since you were little.
There’s a special red and white pair that you wear only on gamedays because they are the same colour as your Momma and Tantes’ jerseys.
You don’t have them with you now but you do have a blue one which you hold out to Tante Syd.
There is a soft smile on her face as she understands what you want and kneels down so you can reach her ponytail.
You pin the bow there and your favourite Tante lifts you up onto her hip.
‘Let’s go find your Momma now okay? I want to show her how pretty you’ve done my hair.’
German Translations:
tante - aunty
danke - thank you
meine Little Liebe - my Little Love
#sydney lohmann#sydney lohmann x reader#sydney lohmann imagine#woso x reader#woso#woso imagine#fcb frauen#gerwnt#dfb frauen#katelynnwrites#gerwnt x reader#gerwnt imagine#dfb frauen x reader#dfb frauen imagine
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Can I get a yandere hobie x plus size reader who's Insecure about her or their weight please? Both sfw and nsfw if you comfortable with it.
Warnings: talks about insecurity, and nsfw.
A/N: no because he's definitely a chubby chaser. I'm chubby, so sending this in made me smile ;P! Ty for the request <3.
And please be more specific with the gender next time. I did GN.
Hobie, at first, would be sad and surprised when you opened about your insecurities. In his own eyes, you’ve always been attractive. He doesn’t understand why you are insecure. He gets sad whenever you devalue yourself or look at yourself in the mirror just because of your size. Everybody is different, especially with size. Why do you need the praise of others when he tells you how beautiful you are?
You should know he loves everything about you. The stretch marks, body curves, round cheeks, and plush thighs; he admires it like a deity. Nothing can change his opinion.
He has a way with words. There’s no room for hate when he’s with you. He’ll trace his hands down every spot you deem ugly. Whispering everything he loves about you, why you’re so perfect. All until you give in and genuinely tell him you feel better.
Hobie will sweep you off your feet. When worrying about your weight and size, about people's opinion, he’ll immediately silence those thoughts by picking you up in his arms. No matter what you’re doing or where you are, he’ll take the opportunity to lift you up. Sometimes he’ll even do it with one hand or lift you onto his shoulders. It always surprises you. If you start worrying about hurting him, he’ll shush you and say, “Ya’ feel like a kitten to me”.
Is 100% bold. Loves to slap your ass when you least expect it. Especially in front of people.
Finding clothes to fit your lovely form is hard. It’s either highly expensive or pretty bland. However, with Hobie, the issue is naturally fixed. He loves to sew and create clothes for you, though beware: Hobie will try to sneak in more revealing/risqué of clothing.
More often or not, he calls you his sweet cheeks, baby or peaches. Definitely bunny if you are too cute for him to handle.
Ever since you two got together, he’s been pawing and touching you; at any given time, his hands are on you and squishing your chubby form.
And this includes with sex. Literally the entire time, he’s with you, rolling under the sheets and kissing your skin, his hands are pawing at your rolls and thighs, making sure to leave permanent marks.
He thinks the best medicine for your insecurity is fucking it all out. If he finds you frowning in front of the mirror, pulling at your tummy rolls? He’s fucking you in front of it, making sure you make eye contact with him as he nibbles and bites at you; calling you his pretty peaches.
Denying sitting on his lap as you fear you’re ‘too fat?’ Hobie makes you sit on his face, leaving dark marks all over your yummy thighs and ensuring you cum at least 5 times before he gives you the real package.
Insecure of how your thighs and ass look? He takes extra time with foreplay, whispering the reasons why he loves your silver marks, soft skin, and peached build; biting into your ass as he licks your special place.
Definitely uses your thighs to masturbate. Whenever the two of you are sleeping, and he’s up at midnight – his bulge in the boxers becoming a problem, he’ll pull down your underwear before slicking in between them. His groaning and love marks littered and stained on your neck cause you to wake up. Though, you aren’t complaining.
Can’t decide if he’s more of an ass, or thigh man. He appreciates both of them and every part of your body equally. Any stretch marks, cellulite, anything.
The type to affectionately cup your sex. Whether that’s after a steamy session or sitting in your bedroom, Hobie will dig his hand into your pants and cup it like a piece of art. Most of the time, it’s not even sexual – he just likes how it feels down there.
As much as he loves you, Hobie is still a devious son of a bitch. He loves to leave marks all over you, especially your thighs and tummy.
—
Masterlist || Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!! Stay well!!
© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.
#kokeshi!!#yandere blog#yandere x reader#yandere male#male yandere#yandere#yandere hobie brown#yandere spiderverse#yandere spider punk#yandere atsv#yandere across the spiderverse#yandere x curvy reader#yandere x chubby reader#requested by undertale-anomaly20#requested#hobie x curvy reader#hobie x chubby reader#hobie x reader#the icons are not mine#they belong to their rightful owners#atsv hobie#hobie brown#hobie x you#hobie brown x reader#hobie spiderverse#hobie smut#hobie headcanons#hobie x female reader#spiderpunk x reader#hobie x gn!reader
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The Barbecue. Silence can never be bought, only rented (pt. 5 of 6)
5k / dbf!Joel x f!Reader, 18+ / pt 1 / master list
The long-awaited HOG (hot old guy) barbecue. Joel watches in the reflection of the window as you get out of the pool and grab a towel. You follow him inside. "Don't tell me that made you jealous," you say. "Turned me on," he responds, and you can tell.
NEXT: part 6 / Story Master List
WARNINGS/NOTES: NSFW 18+ dry humping, vaginal fingering, jacking off, brief oral (M receiving), semi-public-ish, swallowing, alcohol, irresponsible cook-out behavior, DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE, some angst, reader wears Joel's shirt, lack of PIV, blue balls. Do not read the dad as your actual dad!
Tags - This story: @jbcalway @daddy-din @angelmenace @silkiers @axshadows @legs0pen4dilfs @fan-fiction-floozy @grnherbs @icuminurbutt @lokanda @not-a-unique-snowflakewflake89 @likeanimagepassingby2 @witchy-jadda @mxtokko @missannwinchester @cannolighost @anxiousankylosaurus @montenegroisr @97cityy @lillyrob @billyloomiswhore4 @cloudroomblog @boysddontcry @blackvelveteen1339 @twsssmlmaa @call-me-doll-facee @str84pedro
All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea. @evyiione. ty @dark-scape for the support as usual.
Lmk if i missed you. Idk why some are buggy.
-
You don’t hear from Joel for days. The first day, you’re a mess of feelings, pinballing between numb and smitten.
You feel like you don't really know anyone in your life. The people you thought were closest are perfect strangers. You don't trust anyone. Your roommate is spending all her time with that friend of Chad’s. Your friend from home is on a trip overseas and won’t be back until the day after Independence Day. You feel like you don’t have anyone to hang out with, talk to, or even sit in silence with. You’re lonely and pensive.
On the other end of the spectrum, your mind (and body) frequently drift to that long-awaited kiss, and everything that happened in that hotel suite. You almost feel like if you can sleep with Joel, everything will be right in the world, even when it’s all wrong. Even when he’s part of what’s wrong. You know it’s illogical.
-
One afternoon, for a change of scenery, you go to the bookstore with the cafe where you work. Maybe you’re clinging to the last bit of familiarity that’s left. On the bulletin board at the entrance, there’s a flyer for Chad's band playing at your favorite spot. That must be why he originally came by the cafe the other day.
While you’re in the middle of the bookstore, you get a text from Joel and your face burns when you open it. It’s a disappearing dick pic. Not just his dick. It’s a blow job POV including his dick. “Your souvenir,” he says, like that’s all that happened. Your blood boils but also rushes to your loins.
That’s all he has to say to you? You respond, “really?” He’s trying to act like that whole car ride never happened.
“Wanna talk about it?” he responds. It’s nice that he offers, and your heart probably swells a little too much at the basic decency, but you’re actually not sure you want to talk about it. You’re almost afraid to find out more. You already wish you could rewind and live in blissful ignorance.
-
After an exhausting day of stewing and sulking, you decide to go to Chad’s show. It feels pathetic, but who cares? The way you see it, you don’t have anything to lose. Chad can’t hurt you anymore. It’s hard to imagine anyone who could. You text Chad to let him know you’re coming. He doesn’t text you back.
When you get to the venue, you don’t see anyone you know, at first. There’s still another band to play before them, so they should be hanging out near the merch table and you make your way over there. Finally, you see their drummer behind the cash box, then you see Chad’s hair from the back. The drummer says something to Chad, then Chad looks over at you. Your stomach turns when you see his face. You can only see half of it, but there’s a gauze bandage across his eyebrow and upper cheekbone. His mouth is scabbed over. Joel. Chad makes himself scarce as soon as he sees you.
You finally respond to Joel, “not really.” And that’s that. But you don’t know how you’re going to face him or your dad when you go home for the holiday.
-
On Independence Day, you’re so anxious that you drive right past the turn onto Joel’s street. You don’t forget, you just decide not to turn. You go to your friend’s house, even though you know she isn’t there. It’s a familiar place to park your car and try to calm yourself down. You sit there for almost an hour doing nothing but scrolling tumblr and listening to music.
When you don’t arrive at the barbecue, your dad and Joel separately call you and you don’t answer either of them. Based on your degree of dread with each respective call, you realize your dad is the one you least want to see. You’re not really harboring much negativity toward Joel at this point.
Frank texts you and you finally take a deep breath and decide to show up. Your plan is to detach as much as possible and let yourself leave as soon as you’re uncomfortable.
-
You pull up to Joel’s house wearing a bikini and the flannel with a change of clothes in your Billy Loomis tote. Pretty much everyone is already at Joel’s house. Tommy and Maria, Bill and Frank, your dad and stepmother, a couple of Joel’s neighbors, and two of your dad’s work friends, rounding out the requisite hot old guys (HOGs), according to your friend, at least. One of the HOGs, Steve, always looks at you like a piece of meat. You used to think he was just an old creep, but now he strikes you as a bit of a DILF.
A light breeze carries the smell of propane and pork butt as you approach the pool gate. Only Frank is in the pool. You’ll probably hang out with him the whole time. Joel is at the grill in swim trunks and t-shirt, talking to one of your father’s work friends. He doesn't even look up when you open the gate. His swim trunks sure do show a lot of thigh.
Your stepmother is all over your dad. You pry him off with a hug out of spite and to face your fears. Then, you go to the grill and hug Joel from the side. It’s way too hot to stand there long.
“There she is,” Tommy announces on the other side of the grill. He’s talking to a guy you don’t recognize who turns around and does a double-take.
“This is Jesse, he works with your dad.”
He extends his hand and says “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Hmm, that sounds ominous." You can imagine being very attracted to Jesse even a week ago, but suddenly you don't have interest in anyone under 40.
"Well I heard you like to swim, at least. I didn't wanna swim alone," Jesse says.
-
Frank has a tray at the side of the pool with a glass of wine and his phone on it. He puts his glass of wine down when you walk up.
"Thank God, I've been drinking by myself," he says.
"And what kind of pairing is this for your pork butt?" you tease him as you sit down on the edge and put your feet in. Bill just barely raises his glass to wave at you. He's sitting alone under the shade of an umbrella, wearing khakis and a button-down shirt.
"Hey I think I have this shirt," Frank says, and takes the flannel between his thumb and finger. He studies it contemplatively for a moment. You catch up with Frank for a while.
-
You call over to the grill, "Joel are you gonna swim?"
"I'm on butt duty," he says.
Frank gives you an inquisitive look then asks if you're gonna get in.
You put your stuff down on a chair, take the shirt off, and start applying sunscreen. Joel watches as you rub it into your bikini top. Then you turn around to give him a side view as you rub it into the part of your butt cheeks hanging out of the bottoms.
Jesse moseys over within seconds and takes off his shirt. And well, damn. When Jesse raises his eyebrows at you, you realize you've been staring while lazily reaching over your shoulder and applying sunscreen. You were really just looking at his tattoos. Mostly.
“Nice ink,” you say.
"Need a hand?" He asks. Why not? You hand Jesse the sunscreen and watch his face as he squirts some into his palm. He bites his lip.
You turn around facing the pool – facing Joel – and stretch out one leg in front of you, keeping the other bent, while Jesse rubs lotion into your back. He doesn’t do it in an erotic way, but you curl your toes and subtly bite your lip as though it is. You let your legs fall open a bit.
You lower yourself into the pool and have small talk with Jesse for a minute, then Joel says your real name for once and it makes your eyes go wide. He doesn't say it that loud but you still hear him from across the pool. "Gimme a hand?" He asks.
Jesse stays in the pool and awkwardly makes small talk with Frank.
-
Joel watches in the reflection of his big living room windows as you lift yourself out of the pool and get a towel. You follow him inside to the small, secondary kitchen and he closes the door behind you..
He pins you up against the counter, already aroused, and further hardens against your wet swimsuit, flooding you with desire from your core to your chest.
"Havin' fun?" He growls in your ear.
"Don't tell me that made you jealous."
"Turned me on," he says, low and horny.
He kisses your chin, then your neck. Your hands wrap around him and grab his ass, pulling him into you harder with your own soft grunt.
He slips his hand under the damp cup of your bikini top, his fingers curving around the side of your breast, thumb resting at your cleavage. His warm palm pushes your cold, hard nipple as he firmly cradles your breast, his hand applying slow pressure in rhythm with his hips. Your knees are weak. You're dripping, not just from the pool.
He wraps his arms around you and slides his warm hands into the sides of your swimsuit bottom, grabbing hold of your cold ass cheeks. He groans, "God almighty.”
He kneads your ass, pulling you into him and his rock-hard length. He kisses your neck and grinds himself into you. The feeling of his warm, thick rod slowly rutting against your clit drives you mad. You couldn’t get any wetter. If you don't have this man inside you soon, you might actually die. You reach into his shorts and use your other hand to try to take them down. He doesn't stop you.
But there’s a knock at the door. Good Lord. You know who it's going to be.
Joel puts his dick away and removes a big pan of coleslaw from the fridge. He hands you the coleslaw while you open the door.
"Am I interrupting anything?" She asks.
"No," You say, then cock your head and add "Am I?" You hold eye contact for several seconds, then hand her the cole slaw and ask, "don't you and Dad have some catching up to do?"
Your stepmother takes the coleslaw outside.
You close the door behind her. “Basement?,” you ask, and start toward the pantry at the back of the space. There’s a hidden staircase that opens into the movie theater downstairs.
Joel groans and rubs his beard. “Later,” Joel says with a sigh. “We better go back out.”
You scoff. “Really?”
“Go on back outside.” He opens the door to the main kitchen.
-
When you get back to the pool, Jesse's already gone, talking to your dad. When you get back in, Frank says, "You little minx." He's got Instagram pulled up on his phone and shows you a picture from several years ago of Joel and him together, both wearing the shirt you arrived in. "Tell me everything."
Your face gets hot. “Seems to be a popular shirt,” you say.
"No," Frank says. "Shirt's just the kicker. There's something about the way you say each other's names. They sound like a secret." Frank is good at reading people.
"What, you think I fucked him? I didn't." At least you don't have to lie about that.
"Maybe not yet," he scoffs. Frank looks behind you and covers his mouth, then says “Look at his shirt." Yeah, Joel’s shirt has just the right wet spots. In theory, they could've been from a hug. It basically was a hug.
"Ever heard of a hug?" you say.
Frank raises his eyebrows then holds up his glass of wine and "accidentally" clinks his wedding ring on it before downing the rest. Bill hears it and comes over with the bottle. Frank gives him a look with the slightest nod across the pool, like he can't even wait a couple hours to share his new gossip. Bill's eyes dart over to Joel, then meet Frank's eyes again. As usual, no reaction is visible on Bill's face, aside from a twinkle in his eye. "Everything to your liking, sir?" he asks Frank.
Frank smiles, "Come on, at least dip your feet," but Bill leaves. Just as well, Frank's not done prodding you.
"It's okay, you don't have to tell me," Frank shrugs. "But I know you want to. . . and my lips are sealed. . ."
Frank is one of the most trustworthy people you know, so you don't worry about him spilling it. You just don’t feel like saying it out loud and putting words to it. Once it exists in the air, it’s something that can be broken. Something that can fall apart.
You panic and tell Frank about Joel and your stepmother instead. You claim you're just keeping Joel close for now while you decide what to do. You leave out any details about what close means.
The initial look on his face is horror, then Frank looks like he's going to cry. "Are you okay?"
"Chill," you say, looking around nervously. "Jesus, how much wine have you had?"
"Sorry, I just. I'm sorry. I know it's hard. That's all." He hugs you, and over Frank’s shoulder, you see Joel looking across the pool with his brow furrowed even more than usual.
"Well, don't forget my dad cheated on my mom with her, so, whatever," you say.
"Well, exactly. That's why I worry-"
Your face tells him to stop, so he changes the subject. "So what about that guy from the band, is that still a thing?"
You sigh. "Chad? No. Nothing juicy, just no."
"Got it," he says and you know you can trust him not to bring it up again. He follows your eyes back to Joel. You’re not off the hook, but at least you don’t have to talk about it.
-
The actual meal is relatively uneventful. It’s hard to be around your father right now. Deep down, you knew there were secrets. You knew he wasn’t the most upstanding man. You never fully trusted him after what he did to your mom. But at this point, he feels like a stranger. You’re almost glad his wife is cheating on him.
Steve, the hotter of your dad’s non-Joel friends, tries hitting on you. Asks if you like to party. Says he bets you get pretty wild after a few drinks. Pressures you to do shots with him. Why not, you think. You do one shot, but make Joel join in.
“Bad fuckin’ influence over here,” Joel says and gives Steve a slap on the back. Steve tries to egg you on to do more, but you don’t and neither does Joel.
"That's why we call him Mr. One Shot," Jesse says. laughing at his own joke.
Joel bristles at the nickname and crosses his arms, jamming his hands under his ungodly biceps.
Steve lowers his voice and asks Joel, "How many shots in Uvalde?" Joel doesn’t answer.
"One," Jesse says. "Miller’s too modest, you're embarrassing him," he laughs.
Joel tenses. "Give it a rest, Jesse. Have some discretion."
Jesse looks at your end of the table and swallows. “Right”
Your stepmother abruptly changes the subject. She asks Jesse how old he is and why she hasn’t seen him before. She’s drunk, and every time she looks at Jesse, she looks like she could eat him alive.
Your dad elbows Jesse. “I think my wife likes you,” he says with a wink. It’s awkward.
-
Joel’s face is a little pink from the sun, and it looks good on him. He’s looking at your face, but not making eye contact. He seems to be in a trance. You kind of feel like you should still be mad at him, but for some reason, you’re not. And you’re not going to deprive yourself out of spite. You can feel Frank noticing every detail of this.
Bill pours the last of a bottle of wine, and you volunteer to go to the wine cellar. Bill says they’ve had enough. Frank protests that he wants one more glass. He asks you for a German Riesling, with a wink. You subtly shake your head at him, falsely denying what he knows you’re up to.
-
You stand in the wine cellar, enjoying the cool air, then sit on a cabinet that spans the whole back wall. It’s only a few minutes before you hear Joel’s flip flops echoing down the stairs, presumably with the pretext of helping you find the wine. He crosses the cellar without even glancing at the wine. “Leavin’ for the fireworks in 15,” he says.
He has that horny look in his eyes and there’s already a bulge in his swim trunks. The way his t-shirt stretches over his pecs and arms — God damn.
When Joel reaches you, his massive hands part your knees, then lightly stroke your bare thighs. His lips brush your temple as he says, “You’re gonna get me in trouble one of these days.”
“That’s the idea,” you say as his hands wrap around your back and he slides you closer to the edge of the cabinet. When your crotch comes to rest against his, an acute desire floods your breasts. You squeeze his sides with your thighs, then roll your hips into his arousal and hook your hands under his arms, bringing him closer.
You slide your hands down his back and into his swim trunks, feeling his ass and bringing the trunks down. At the same time, you pull his hips into you and the swell of his hard-on against your clit makes you throb with need. You start to untie your bikini bottoms while he gropes a breast.
His mouth latches onto your neck. You let the front of the bottoms fall between your thighs, and tilt your hips in just the right way. He brings a hand between your legs and drags his flattened fingers up and down your slippery seam, then thrusts two of them inside and you moan.
“Fuuck,” he breathes.
You grab his cock. “Come on,” you beg as you tug him. He takes his hard length from you, holds it in his hand, and furrows his brow as he pumps his fingers slowly in and out of you. You try to read his face. He breathes heavily as he fingers you.
“Fuck me already,” you beg.
He looks down at himself and shakes his head no, but looks pained by his own answer.
“We both know it’s gonna happen,” you say.
He takes a deep breath as though to restrain himself. “Maybe so, but not tonight.”
He removes his fingers and brings the tip of his cock to your dripping entrance. A bolt of need shoots through you. He dwells there for a moment, takes another deep breath, then lays his stiff manhood vertically against your seam and pulls you tight against him. Then he grinds wetly against your aching clit, and your hips roll into him. Your head falls back and you moan. Your eyes are watery.
“God, Joel. . .this is . . .so dumb. . . just fu-”
You cut yourself off with a moan as he quickens his pace and grunts.
“Pleeease.”
“Shhhhhhh,” he says. You’re on the verge of coming and on the verge of tears. He holds you tight for leverage then goes jackhammer pace.
“Joel. . .”
“Come for me, sugar,” he pants. And not long after, you do. You clench around nothing, pulse against him, and you hear the echo of a breathy “Joel” you didn’t know you said.
He takes his cock in his hand again and looks at you with his pupils blown wide. His breath is ragged as he strokes himself. You find yourself slipping down off the cabinet. He doesn’t deserve what you’re about to do, you just want it for yourself, for whatever reason. He steps back and you squat down to face level with his cock. You hover your mouth over it, then wrap your lips around the head, and he comes with an echoing groan before you take any of the shaft into your mouth. His cum even tastes unattainable. Your eyes sting.
You fix your swimsuit and compose yourself.
“C’mere,” he says and hugs you. You don't really hug him back. You wipe a tear off your cheek. He tries to kiss you, but you’re too upset, and it would make you need him even worse than you already do.
-
Joel’s phone rings and he picks it up. “We’re comin’,” he says. “C’mon, let’s go.” He puts his arm around you but your demeanor doesn’t soften. You’ve had it with him depriving you.
“Ya know, maybe it’s a good night to talk to my dad,” you threaten as you near the top of the stairs.
“Damn, Trouble.” You can't tell if he’s impressed or judging you. “I said not tonight. I didn’t say never.”
That makes you think twice, at which point you realize what you just did. . .You tried to blackmail Joel for sex.
He adjusts his shorts. God, what’s become of this situation in just a few days - you try to put it out of your mind. You can beat yourself up over it later.
Joel stops you with his hand on yours before you open the door. “Look,” he continues. “Before you do anything stupid, there’s somethin’ I should tell you later.”
You lean against the wall and cross your arms. “Lemme guess, you and Dad are up to some shady, dangerous shit.”
“Nothin’ to do with that,” Joel says, lowering his voice.
“So you are.”
“Dangerous, yes, shady, no. We’re the good guys. Less you know ‘bout that, the better.”
“Why?”
“For your safety.”
You open the door to the living room and people are milling around deciding who’s riding with whom to the fireworks. Frank says, “hey, she didn’t get bricked in,” and hands you your bag from outside so you can change.
-
You and Joel ride with Bill and Frank to the fireworks. Frank keeps looking back and making small talk, but you and Joel mostly look out your opposite windows. You get to thinking about what Joel said. Not tonight. . . I didn’t say never. . . If he means that, maybe it’s worth the wait. Maybe you should hear him out, whatever he has to tell you.
During the fireworks, you come around a little. Joel playfully covers your ears, knowing you’ve always hated loud noises. When Bill and Frank drop you off at Joel’s afterwards, everyone is going their separate ways. You're relieved to see your dad and stepmother drive off before you have to say goodbye.
You start to go to your car, wanting to quit while you're ahead and not end up begging for it again. Joel stops you with gentle hands on your shoulders.
"Come in for a minute. Let's talk." A pit opens in your stomach.
The two of you go in through the pool gate. “Lemme make you a drink,” he says. That sounds even worse.
. . .
Joel hands you your favorite cocktail, then comes around the bar with his own drink to sit on the stool next to you. He takes a deep breath and puts his hand on your knee. He seems almost as nervous as you are. You can't remember seeing him nervous before.
“Yeah?” you prompt him.
He nods and takes a sip of his drink, then looks you in the eye. He puts his glass down, then takes yours out of your hand and puts it down on the counter too.
He swivels you toward each other. He looks like he's about to say something, then something changes in his eyes. He cradles your head with both hands, lays his lips into yours, and kisses you slow and hard, his tongue dipping into your mouth.
After a few seconds, you don’t even notice the taste of his whiskey, and his hands trace your body on their way down to your thighs. It’s intense but tender. You can’t help but feel like it’s some kind of a kiss goodbye. It scares you. He slides off the stool and gets in between your knees, tries to put your legs around him again, and that’s certainly where your legs want to go. But you want to hear what he has to say first.
You pull away and your hand drifts up to your lips. They buzz from his fervor. Your chest rises and falls.
“Spit it out,” you tell him.
“Right," he says. "I dunno if you’re still gonna wanna. . .” He downs his drink. It’s hard for you to imagine anything that would make you not want to fuck him anymore.
Finally, he begins. "Alright. . . ‘member what I said at lunch the other day, 'bout how monogamy isn’t for everyone?"
"Yeah." If this is all to say it’s not for him, it’s not hitting like much of a bombshell. Now, if he's going to tell you about other people he's fucking–when he's not even fucking you—that's a different story.
"Well," he clears his throat and looks away. "Your dad-"
You interrupt him with a loud sigh. "Just because he cheats doesn't mean you can sleep with his wife." You’re annoyed he’s even going there.
Joel holds up his hands as though to tell you to slow down. "Lemme finish. 'member what I said, how even in a marriage, some couples. . . ." He tries to make you fill in the blanks for yourself, but you won't. "Okay,” he shifts in his seat and begins to gesticulate vaguely. “Your dad and stepmother, they have an arrangement."
You feel the blood drain from your face. You think about the way she was eyeing Jesse. "Gross," you say.
He swallows and nods regretfully as you process this. He waits patiently as your heart races along with your thoughts, then you spill them out all at once. "I dunno why I would believe you. OR why you would believe her. Is that what she told you?” You laugh. “Whatever. Even if it's true, you aren't just any guy-"
"He knows," Joel says almost somberly. “About me.”
"Oh, he knows?" you laugh. He couldn't possibly. This is a terrible attempt at defusing the whole situation for himself. And yet, he looks like he feels bad for you.
"The first time, he talked me into it."
Deep breaths. "That's insane. That's. . .this is your new plan? Try to convince me my dad is some perverted cuckold?"
"No, not like that." He shivers in disgust. "Damn, Trouble. That's where your head went? No. . . when he. . .it was like. . . a swap.”
Your stomach turns.
“Okay, remember my date to Bill and Frank's wedding? The stripper?” Your heart sinks. “Your dad, um, really liked her, and-"
"I get the picture," you say, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose, recalling that your dad did in fact really like Joel's date. It was embarrassing.
"It was casual with me and. Shit, what was her name. Anyway, we were all stayin' in that hotel gettin' sloshed at the pool, an-"
You open your eyes and say, "Yeah, I got it, okay?" Then, you walk over to the sofa to sit down. He follows you. You feel sick to your stomach and don't want to hear another word about it. You cross your arms and slouch, sitting in silence for a moment.
He hesitantly puts his hand on your knee, sending a rush of blood to your loins. You don’t know what to feel.
"Did you really end it with her?" You ask.
He sighs. "More or less."
Now rage starts simmering in your chest.
"Told her I wanted a break.”
Unbelievable.
“That just — it lessens the blow. But trust me, I'm not doin' it again. Especially after how she’s been actin’."
You wish you could believe him.
You ask, "Why'd you let me think it was some huge secret?"
He's quiet for a moment.
"I don’t think your dad would appreciate you knowin’ about it," he says. "But I was gonna tell you anyway."
“Yeah, right.”
“‘Yeah. . . ‘member all those calls you ignored?”
“But then I got to thinkin’ about it, and I guess. . . .”
"What?”
"I," he pauses and sighs. "Shit, I dunno, it was hot. Really hot. The way you acted, thinkin' you had somethin' over me. . .never saw that side of you before."
Now this you can believe.
"Next day, still thought about tellin’ ya. But after the pool, there was no goin’ back. I mean, damn."
There’s a sparkle in his eye as he reflects on that. He adjusts himself, which always makes you tingle, even now. Especially now? God, you have no idea.
"Guess it kinda did somethin' to me,” he says. He raises his eyebrows and gives your thigh a rub, but you flinch. It isn’t personal, you’re just on edge, but his eyes get sad and he takes his hand away, resting it in his lap as he sits back lazily on the couch.
You ask, "So why tell me now?"
"I dunno, maybe I'm growin' a conscience."
You try to make sense of that, but you can’t. Why would he feel guilty about you doing something as depraved as blackmailing him into sex?
"Woulda been hot as hell though. Maybe I shoulda let ya go through with it. Damn.”
It sounds like everything is up to him, and apparently, it is.
He hesitantly rests his hand on your back and slowly rubs it. You take a deep breath and sigh audibly. You’re melting under his fingertips.
He lowers his voice, “So, now that you know everything . . .”
His phone buzzes. When he looks at it, he tenses and sharply inhales.
“Your dad’s here,” he says.
And your car is still parked outside in the turnaround.
-
Planning for the next chapter to be the last in this story. . .
#joel miller x reader#joel miller#joel miller smut#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x you#perdo pascal#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal smut#toxicanonymity ☠️#toxicdbf#dbf!joel#pervy!joel#dbf!joel miller#joel miller/reader#joel miller/you#bill and frank#joel jacks off#toxic dilf summer
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If you’re still taking writing prompts, may I request Halsin comforting the reader who gets bad anxiety about going to sleep?
ahhh this is so sweet and definitely something I think about constantly, imagine curling up in Halsin’s lap and him holding you and comforting you im going to scream!!!!!!!!
ty for this prompt, I needed it 😭
Halsin x gn!reader/tav 🩷
rating: sfw (very soft and fluffy and sweet)
Sleep has never come very easily to you. And the few times it did, it was restless - filled from start to finish with nightmares that always inevitably woke you up in the middle of the night, clutching onto your bedroll, chest heaving and eyes streaked with tears.
You’d been able to hide it from the others for the most part, but Halsin noticed a few nights ago while on night watch, when you lurched out of your bedroll, silently sobbing. He watched you as you tried to calm yourself, burying your head in your hands and curling your knees to your chest. He wanted so badly to comfort you then, but he didn’t wish to make you uncomfortable in his efforts. So he silently watched you until you finally settled back into your bedroll, and your eyes closed once again for the night.
The next night, you noticed he’d been lingering close to you all evening, periodically asking you if you needed any help with anything, even offering you a cup of the tea that he’d brewed, bringing it to you with a warm smile that made your heart skip a beat.
He towers over you as you sit on a log next to the campfire, watching the flames lick at the night air and the smoke swirl and try to find shapes in it. You almost gawk at his size and stature, despite having already spent a considerable amount of time with him - you’d think you’d be used to it by now.
You smiled and took the cup gratefully, your fingers brushing against his as you took it from him.
“Thank you.”
His smile softens, and he brings a hand up to brush a lock of hair behind your ear.
“No need. It should help you sleep, we must take all the rest we can before morning.” He says, resting his hand on your cheek - his warm palms feel like a beam of sunlight.
Your face falls.
“Y-yeah. Right.” You reply, your voice meek and small as your eyes fall to the cup in your hands, staring at your reflection in the tea.
Halsin notices your demeanor shift, his brows softening as he kneels in front of you.
He holds your chin between his thumb and his index finger, guiding your face up so your eyes meet.
“What is troubling you? Is there anything I can do to help you?” He asks, his expression outwardly calm but his light eyes flicker with concern.
Your body tenses, and you feel your eyes start to sting with tears that you can’t shed. You shake your head, and force another weak smile.
“I’m okay, really. Nothing dire or important. Thank you.”
You feel a tightness in your chest - you wanted so badly to talk to someone about this, you knew that you likely needed to, but for some reason the words just wouldn’t come out, the taste of them bitter on your tongue. It wasn’t out of fear of Halsin judging you, as you knew he was the last person in the realm that would judge you for such a thing or probably most things. He had a true heart of gold.
Part of you just wanted to preserve the image of you that he had in his mind - strong and fearless and unbreakable. It was unbecoming of a leader to be wrecked over something as simple as nightmares.
“It is important to me, if it is important enough for you to lose sleep over. But, if you are not ready to talk about it, I shall be here when you are ready.” He says simply, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You close your eyes and savor his touch, still feeling his lips burning on your skin even after he pulls away.
He turns to walk away, and you grab his arm to stop him.
“Halsin?”
He turns, his scarred face glowing in the orange light of the fire, his eyes reflecting the flames. “Yes, my heart?”
“I’m so happy you joined us. Thank you.”
His eyes soften more than you’ve ever seen, almost resembling those of a puppy whose just been adopted.
“As am I.”
You give his arm a gentle squeeze before letting go, and watch him lumber back to his own tent, sitting just outside of it and fixing his gaze back on you. He watched you as if he were ready to leap in front of an arrow for you, as if he were ready to fight to the death for you. Your cheeks heat under his stare, and you look back down at your tea.
Just drink it. You need to sleep. He made it for you, just drink it.
You take a big sip, the warm liquid heating you as it goes down your throat and it tastes of chamomile and honey. You smile, as you remember Halsin telling you of his sweet tooth, and how you teased him about being a bear that loves honey.
The tea helps you ease your nerves just enough to finally let yourself feel tired enough to seek your bedroll and lay down, slowly drifting off to sleep.
You only sleep for a few hours, every second of it plagued by your usual nightmares - flashes of bloody battles and mind flayers and everyone you care for either hurt or dying. Just as an arrow hits you in your dream, you wake with a start, lurching out of your bedroll, gasping and clawing at your blanket.
Your eyes burn with previously unshed tears, now falling in a full torrential downpour. You bring your knees to your chest and just sob, unable to control or care about your volume as every sob racks through your body like a tidal wave.
You don’t notice Halsin approaching you before you feel his arms wrapping around you and pulling you into his lap, cradling you and shushing you until your breathing calms.
“S-sorry…” you sob into his chest, gripping the fabric of his nightclothes for dear life.
He shakes his head, then rests his chin on the top of your head.
“Do not apologize. You are not made of steel. You are made of flesh and blood, and a beating heart. You are made to feel.”
You sigh, your shoulders still shaking and your hands and voice trembling as you speak. “I’m just so exhausted… and I can’t even find respite in sleeping.”
He tightens his arms around you, tilting his head so that his cheek presses to your scalp. “Would it help to have someone to keep you company? I can stay here beside you, if you desire.”
You nod, your breathing finally slows and your body starts to settle. “Please.”
He scoots aside into your bedroll with you as you cling to him, refusing to let him go and let go of the bliss that is being enveloped in his embrace. He grabs your blanket, pulling it so that it covers you, tucking it in between the two of you so it’ll stay.
“Are you comfortable?” He asks, his large hands gently rubbing your arm and leg.
You nod, and snuggle into his chest.
“Could you talk to me? Like… tell me a story, or something,”
You don’t see it but you can feel the smile radiating off of him as he lets out a contented breath, then places a kiss to the top of your head.
“Of course.”
He begins to tell you of his time with Thaniel all those centuries ago, of their adventures in the forest and describing the serenity of being wrapped in nature’s embrace. He tells you of the times he was in wild shape and got mistaken by other bears as a true bear, and how he acquired the large scar on his face. You listen to the steady beat of his heart and the gentle rumbling in his chest as he speaks and it’s infinitely more effective than even a lullaby is to lull a baby to sleep.
Your eyes slowly close and you drift back to sleep, this time, rather than horrific nightmares, you dream of a calm and peaceful clearing, the wet grass tickling your bare feet as you walk - and you see him, waiting near the water, hand outstretched and beckoning you. You smile in your sleep.
He looks down at you, watching you as you slumber, his heart pounding as he runs his thumb along your cheek. He would cherish this moment of seeing you in pure bliss, and cherish the thought of him having given it to you. He’d give you the moon and the stars if he could, he thinks.
god I am unwell I love him so much halsin snuggles would fix me I think
#thank you so much for this prompt I needed it 😭#halsin#halsin silverbough#the druid halsin#halsin x reader#halsin x gn!reader#halsin x tav#halsin x gn!tav#halsin fic#halsin fanfic#bg3#bg3 fanfic#bg3 fic#baldur's gate iii#baldur's gate 3#my fics#answered#fic request#one shot#short fic
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jaded - chapter 4, carmy berzatto x reader
pairing + fandom: carmen “carmy” berzatto x fem!reader (she/her pronouns used), the bear fx
warnings: smoking mention, minors dni with this story please.
word count: 2k
a/n: ok literally i am the worst ever and i totally didn't finish this fic even tho i started it so im finally posting the last part literally MONTHS later!!! sorry besties but i couldn't have an unfinished fic out there in the world so... if u fuck w this story at all thank u for reading it and all the encouraging and nice things people have said, it literally made me want to complete this fic so thank u <3
summary: tying up loose ends.
and it's a fuckin' shame that it ended like that
you broke your own heart, but you'd never say that
we went to hell, but we never came back
masterlist | chapter 3
It all just feels numb.
Sun coming up over the horizon and a light snowfall onto the street below. Your home is quiet, no pans in the kitchen making French omelettes, no TV playing outside the bedroom door as you sleep. No toothbrushing in the bathroom or running shower water, warm and steamy, inviting you in.
It’s not that you weren’t expecting his answer. Or, lack thereof. It’s that he couldn’t make up his fucking mind. First, he’s cooking you an omelette in your favourite pan with a cup of coffee made exactly the way you like it. He’s spending every evening on the couch with you, your hands splayed out against his stomach, comfortable beneath the waistband of his sweats. You’re in his sweater, baking fresh warm cookies so he can have one before bed, smudges of chocolate against your lips as he pushes you up against the counter, hot skin on cold tile.
Next, he has that look on his face, where he’s somewhere else. Thinking of her, in a dreamland where he can make it right again, and it all feels like it comes crashing down. The sweet nothings don’t exist in this realm, there’s no happiness here.
And when you do have to face him on Monday, it’s back to cold shoulder, nothing different. Yes chef, no chef, thank you chef.
Sydney tries to make conversation, and you feel bad because you won’t bitch about Carmy like you usually would. Richie’s having secret meetings with Natalie, probably more about Claire, but you don’t even think to join in. It hurts, it hurts so fucking much, and it’s hard enough to go outside and take a fucking break from it all, let alone be in the same cramped kitchen with him. There’s no solitude, just aching, just disappointment.
“Did you order me a new cake pan, chef?” It’s directed at Tina, who looks up at you with the same wistful softness as she always does, smiling before nodding in your direction. You don’t hear her slide over to you, but when she suddenly appears at your station, you can tell she just knows something’s wrong.
“What’s up with you?” she asks, clipboard finding it’s way to the counter beside you, where a piping bag lays. “You’re not yourself. Something… wrong. Don’t tell me a boy did this to you.” The tears prick at your eyes and you swallow it all before you can get out a word, because yeah, it all fucking aches and the hurt feels like it’s sitting right behind your eyes, in your throat, ready to come out.
“It’s nothing. It is a boy but, boys are stupid and I’m not gonna cry over one,” you sniffle, before untying your apron and letting it hang loose on your body. “Not worth it.”
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
Your blood runs cold when she gestures just outside to the bright light of the door, where Carmy sits, phone in one hand, cigarette in the other.
Luckily the kitchen is empty when you reply, only so she can hear, “how did you know?”
“I saw the way you looked at him this morning.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“Fuck no. Between you and me, chef.”
You sighed relief, letting your front hit the counter as the stress left your body. “Thank fuck. Yeah, I don’t know, we were-“
“Fuckin’?” Tina’s got a sly smile on her face that makes it impossible not to laugh with her.
“Yeah, I guess. It felt like more than that. But apparently he’s still hung up on Claire so, I guess that ends it.”
She exhales slowly, joining you in a lean against the counter. “Jeff makes mistakes, everyone knows that. He’s moody and sad and he’s got fuckin’ problems, that kid, I tell ya.” She pauses for a second, eyes meeting yours, sincere. “But he’s good. I just don’t think he can handle himself, is all.” She takes a beat, letting her soft hand lay over yours, “He doesn’t let himself have the good shit because it always gets ruined. But you’re good. He’s scared of you.”
“He should be scared of me. I’m gonna fucking kill him,” you mutter, letting your floured hand meet your forehead in annoyance. “I’m not responsible for fixing his shit.”
She nods, agreeing with you, a hand cupping yours on the counter. “No, you’re not. I’m just saying he could use someone like you to bring him back to Earth, is all.”
-
When Carmy does make it back inside, he’s thumbing through paperwork at the desk, hand through his hair stressfully pulling at the strands. He’s trying so hard not to stare at you from where he’s sitting, noticing your cold gaze, somewhere far away. He takes out his phone to scroll through it mindlessly, procrastinating, when he meanders his way to the text icon and opens up your thread. A few texts here and there, mostly just asking about plans to come over, the occasional sexy photo or recipe idea.
[sunday, 10:26] they don't have fresh sourdough. should we just make some this aft?
[saturday, 4:35] i hate when you go in on saturdays
[saturday, 4:36] Photo Recieved
[saturday 4:36] don't you wish you were home with me?
[tuesday, 12:22] is balsamic glaze overdone? lmk. miss u.
It feels a little too domestic, seeing the way he so effortlessly became comfortable with you, a warmth and excitement that was just never there with Claire. It’s raw and it’s guilty and he’ll beat himself up over it forever, but it was never going to be perfect with her, no matter how hard he tried.
“Boss?”
Richie appears in the office, leaning against the door frame before noticing Carmy’s disheveled look. “Yeah?”
“You look worse than usual.”
“Thanks. What do you need?”
“Well, I was gonna ask if you ordered more eggs.”
“I, uh, yeah. Yeah, I think Sydney did.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
It’s like Richie could see right through him.
“Nothin’. Stupid shit.”
Richie steps into the office, leaving the door only slightly ajar.
“Cousin.”
Richie can be sweet when he wants to be, and when he’s got a hand on Carmy’s shoulder and a somber look in his eyes it’s like he already knows how Carmy feels.
“Why do I suck so bad at being a fuckin’ normal person?”
Richie sits next to him, a look of surprise. “Is this about Claire bear?”
“Yes, well - yeah, and also no. Kinda. I don’t know.”
“Is it about Miss Buttercream out there?”
He gestures to you outside the door, zesting some orange on top of the cake you were finishing up. Carmy stifles a laugh.
“We all know you’re porkin’ her.”
“Don’t say that,” Carmy laughs, hand coming up to his face to rub his eyes. “It’s more than that. We’ve been kinda, dating, I guess? I still don’t know what counts as having a girlfriend.”
“So what did you do?”
He gnaws at the skin of his thumb and lets his eyes flicker up to Richie’s. “Fucked it. Last night, I, uh,-“ his hand finds his warm forehead. “I really like her, like a lot. But she asked about Claire and I said the wrong thing, like I always do and uh, she didn’t like it.”
“She’s good,” Richie starts, letting his hands find his aproned thighs as he sits at the corner of the desk. “Claire was good for you too. But she didn’t… get it. Not like she does,” he gestured vaguely to your station outside the door. “Claire was never gonna get the restaurant and the kitchen and the fuck of it all.”
Richie's hand extends to cup Carmy's shoulder.
“Look, do whatever you want, but there isn’t really someone who matches you like she does. Claire’s history now, drunk phone calls don’t mean she’s still in love with you. If that’s what you were thinking.”
Carmy sits back in the creaky chair. “Nah, not that. I just don’t know how to do it right.”
“It’s not about doing it right,” Richie’s got sincerity in his eyes. “It’s about fuckin’… trying shit. Just go and make a move and see.” Carmy watches you hang up your apron on the hook and grab a hoodie before fucking outside. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks Richie.”
“Good luck.”
-
“I’m sorry.”
Carmy’s voice takes you out of your trance as you stare into the back alley of the restaurant. “Hi.”
“Can we talk?”
“You can talk, I’ll listen.”
The crackle of his lighter, orange flame against white snow. You can see his breath slipping from between his lips as he exhales out of the corner of your eye.
“I feel like a fuckin’ asshole,” he starts, plunging his other hand in his pocket. “I don’t know what to say.” A beat. “Can you look at me?” It’s gentle, a question, not a demand.
You turn to look at him. Cold blue eyes, darkened by the brightness around you. “You’re not second best to me. You’re it, this is it. I like this, I, I fuckin’,” he takes a breath, “I love… this. I want this.”
“You hurt my feelings, Carmen,” tears brimming your eyes and coating your lashes. “If you’re not done with Claire, I don’t… I don’t care. If I am your second choice, fine.”
“You’re not.”
“Even if I was. But don’t fuck me around if you don’t want me.”
“I do.”
“Are you sure? You weren’t sure last night.”
“I get it if you don’t trust me. I get it. I haven’t given you a reason to.” He searches for the right words, but chooses to take a tentative step towards you. “I’ll beg for you,” he’s quiet, unlike Carmy. “Anything.”
Your eyes meet his briefly, a soft smile pulling at your lip. “I’m not saying yes, okay?” He nods. “But I am saying I would appreciate a ride home tonight. If you’re serious.”
“I’m serious.”
“Good.”
-
The walk up to your apartment is easy. His heavy steps behind your light ones, hands sliding up the bannister as you unlock your door. He’s on your heels, a little behind. When he steps in your apartment, it’s familiar. Browned butter, vanilla, laundry.
“Do you want dinner?” He’s tentative, letting his shoes sit next to yours on the mat. His jacket goes up on the hooks by the door, together.
“Are you offering?”
“Yes.”
Carmy shows love through food, that’s how he always is. You can tell he’s feeling particularly sorry about it all because he’s bringing out a big pasta pot and a saucepan, pulling the only fresh ingredients left in your place and putting them next to the stove top. Your t-shirt finds its way into the laundry basket, an old sweater thrown over your bare skin.
You hate how normal it all feels, because it’s scary. To think of a domestic life with him, where there’s another girl lingering in the background of his thoughts that he has unfinished business with. Insecurities of who is better, prettier, happier, warmer… if he had the chance, would he leave? Would he jump ship?
He sits next to you while you eat, thighs against thighs, and comfortable silence blanketing your small apartment. He hasn’t gotten into one of the many pairs of pyjamas he’s left at your place, or taken his usual after-work shower, or taken out the frozen cookie dough to thaw. You can tell he’s not sure if he’s welcome here for good, yet.
When your food is done, he pushes the plates away and takes a calloused hand to wrap around yours. There’s sharpie marks small knife cuts on his fingers.
“Are you gonna stay the night?” You ask, still not meeting his gaze.
“Am I welcome to?” He doesn’t sound like himself, and you can feel his warm breath near the top of your head as you turn towards him. Your body collapses a little then, folding slightly at the middle to have your head fall right into the centre of his chest.
“Yes, Carmen,” you nod, letting your eyes flicker up to meet his. “You can stay for as long as you want.”
His hand slipped from yours then, sliding around your side and up your back. He pulled you into his embrace, lips wrapped around yours in a soft capture. Your hands found their way under his t-shirt, only slightly, his warm skin against the palms of your hands, pulling him impossibly closer.
And when you lay in bed with him that night, your face burrowed into the softness of his chest, you know the days of waking up alone are over.
#carmy berzatto fanfiction#carmy x reader#carmy berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto#the bear#the bear fx fanfic#the bear fx fanfiction#the bear fanfic#carmen berzatto x you#carmen berzatto fanfiction#carmen berzatto
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Fic idea: Mommy contest eunbi vs irene
Predator & Prey
Part Four of Dulce Periculum | Previous Part | Next Chapter
Red Velvet's Bae Joohyun (Irene) x IZ*ONE's Kwon Eunbi x Male Reader Smut
7,994 words
Categories | principal!Irene x (jealous)girlfriend!Eunbi x student!You, mommy kink, cunnilingus, oral double blowjob, snowballing, cumswap, degradation, female cucking
Surprise, it was a spoiler! Had to move the time to avoid posting in the night lol
So... this is dedicated to @subfortwice, who ignites the Dulce Periculum universe, @idevian whose tutor Eunbi ask started it all, to my birthday twin @eunbisrabbit who had the idea of the collarbone thing, and to best boi @sinswithpleasure. I appreciate everything and every one of you guys!
And again, sorry for the usual self-indulgent style that the whole Dulce Periculum series is based on XD and the barely edited fic. Eunrene just drive me crazy
“You little brat.”
That’s the first thing you say the next time you see Eunbi at school. Not even a “hi” or a “how are you,” but when she’s set you up to fuck her teacher and led you into a trap, it’s definitely a nice way to open your little story. This tiny little thing of a story going down, down, down the rabbit hole.
(Holes.)
It’s all her fault. She’s conveniently fended off your questioning of the incident at the Kwon household. Now, however, with her parents nowhere to save her from your schemes, you’ve got your eyes on her. Soon, your hands will be, too. She can’t escape now.
Eunbi squeals in fear and excitement when you run after her. Alright, so maybe she can escape. That’s fair. You bump through masses of walking students, trying to find her in the crowd. It's impossible to not identify her when her glasses and wavy hair give her away, so your eyes remain locked on her like a sniper. Your hands just itch to get on her.
Students pass you weird and amused looks. You and Eunbi, after all, are always on some dumb shit. However, you care not for it especially if ignoring them leads you to finally cornering your girlfriend in the backyard school garden. It's a dead end—no windows or doors are here for her to attract help. She's laughing, too, and screaming a little as you pin her to the high school building wall.
"Mmm, oppa," she giggles between her squirms and struggles, "stop—"
"You think you were slick, Eunbi?" you ask. Your fist keeps her wrists above her head. What a pretty little twist of fate—if she lured you into the trap that's Kim Taeyeon, now you're the one tying her up into your makeshift trap. It's more satisfying than seeing Jo Yuri get scolded. "For whoring me out to that teacher you're so obsessed with?"
She nods mindlessly. "Yesss."
"Brat." Kiss her. She giggles. Of course, that prompts several other kisses. "That's what you are, you know. A little fucking brat."
Your chest fills with happiness at how she smiles and laughs despite your teasing words. She knows you'd never do anything to hurt her. It's all a little fun play of words. A little skit, to be more truthful.
Speaking of, there's some factualness to your words, too, and she knows it. Eunbi's crushed on Taeyeon for too long and sees her as an actual mommy that she isn't jealous of your little getaway with her at all. She's probably prouder than you'd assume of her idea.
But of course, she denies it. Denies it with every inch of her annoyingly gorgeous body.
"Can you please forgive me, oppa?" Eunbi's eyes gleam. "I promise I won't slut you out to mommy again, I pinky promise!"
She's wearing the uniform Taeyeon borrowed, and thinking of how there's still some of your teacher on it, that there's a good amount of your cum embedded into its fabric, makes you more turned on than you should. Eunbi with her arms up in her tiny uniform is an added factor.
But then there's also a few more classes to attend. You can't fuck her here. You'd love to more than anything, yet Eunbi has her priorities, and you don't want to hold her back.
Release her hands. "One day I'll get back at you," you warn. "You're really gonna get it."
You let her off with a warning. You can be the cop here—you'd cuff her hands with your fingers, tack them to a wall or mattress, teach her a lesson. Tear that cheeky smile off her face and replace it with the lewdest expression. But you're a good cop, or at least, as good as one can get. You know it's what she wants: to be punished incessantly, so you're not giving it to her. It would be putting out fire with fire.
You turn her heel to leave. Like so, you leave her unfulfilled and needy, which is exactly how you want her to be.
"Oppa!" whines Eunbi. She runs after you. "I'm sorry!"
You shut your eyes and laugh. In hindsight, you really shouldn't have. It would have shown you a dash of a shadow mooring and watching, and prepared you for what will happen later on.
-
Let's just say later on a letter is written. You and Eunbi don't know it yet, but there is a letter—it's written in rehearsed formality, sent to the principal's office, and given by a person who's got more control than they should have.
So, again, just for context: there's real parchment sent to her that ties this whole story together. There's a dual meeting, and a whole lot of evidence. Keep that in mind.
-
It's one giant teenage hell in the classroom.
The boys are gaming on their phones with the Filipino exchange student, who introduced them to League of Legends. The girls have flocked to the bathrooms arm in arm, while the others stay behind to braid some of their classmates’ hair. There’s messy chalked writing on the blackboard, some too explicit to even be allowed (“Wan-pipty for wan subo," courtesy of the Filipino student, of course, and although you don’t understand his language, you have a good idea of what it means), and others promoting their favorite K-pop groups (“stan BLACKPINK, you uncultured fucks!!!!!”, to which someone has replied: “Doesn’t everyone?”).
But what else can you expect from a batch of eighteen-year-olds, especially when it’s vacant time?
That's right: exactly this.
Either-which-way, it’s a complete mess, is what you’re saying. There's no one around to keep the noisy mess contained, not even Eunbi, who's trying to vent her frustration through doodling on her notebook. She’s already drawn several plotless comics and a rabbit named Bi, but the noise still gets to her. It irks her soul so much that her hands squeeze up and loosen too much of a grasp on her pen.
Click. It bounces back up. You catch it with one swoop of your hand. You could be Spiderman in another life. Watch out, Tom Holland, or whatever.
“God,” she says, looking up from her notebook with a frustrated, sarcastic smile, “do these people ever shut up?”
You chuckle. You’re an open fan of Eunbi breaking her kind, forgiving character and just growing tired of everyone’s bullshit. It’s an occurrence rarer than thunder coming before lightning, a once-in-a-lifetime show only a select few are allowed to see. She’s too kind, really, that although she's the lead role, she bails out of it often.
Gesture to the messy classroom and say, in a matter-of-fact voice: “Welcome to senior year.”
“Can you tell them to be quiet?” she asks.
“Miss Myoui said only you can.” Quote her: “‘You’re the president, right? You go tell ‘em.’”
Right, Eunbi says to herself. She’s been wrapped up in too many responsibilities—captain of the volleyball team, president of every school club you can think of, plus end-of-the-year valedictorian just to name a few—that she forgets that these positions even hold meaning. It’s the norm for her to be given the highest positions in each category that it’s quite tiring, if she were to be honest. But she has her mother to please, along with herself. She can’t let either of them down.
Sighing, she leans back into her chair. “I just wish everything would, like, stop for a moment.” She closes her eyes, as if to dream of that being possible. Unfortunately, the world goes on with or without the fantasizing. “I wish I could get a break.”
“Hey.” You pat her thigh and caress it above her short school skirt. “Cheer up. You don’t have to be so excellent all the time. You can just,” wring a hand in the air for emphasis, “you know, be okay. Average.”
“But my mom…”
Sigh. You realize it’s easier said than done. While your parents are lenient and have gotten used to your low grades, your girlfriend’s aren’t that nice. You know that from your visits to the Kwon household. Her mother and father try to be subtle about the pressure, but there’s something in the air that passes and tenses that tells you there’s a lot more to the situation than you think. Whatever it is, it's clear that being a Kwon isn't that fun.
Sometimes you wish you could trade places with Eunbi and withstand her problems for her. You hate seeing her like this.
“Your mom?” a menacing new voice asks. “Or would you rather say… mommy?”
Eunbi’s eyes open suddenly and enlarge. She recognizes that word, and unfortunately, she remembers using it on someone she shouldn't have been with. So do you, for which you turn your gaze upwards.
Of course it’s Jo Yuri. She’s your mortal enemy dressed in deceiving innocent school uniform. She’s wearing a knowing smile on her face. It always means bad news, and right now, the main topic of it is you.
What does she know? Most importantly: why did she say that?
In your anxiety, you can’t even defend yourself or your girlfriend.
“Y-Yuri—” stammers Eunbi, the look in her eyes being one of a deer caught in headlights. She’s a terrible liar at heart, so even if she were able to finish her sentence, it would have come out oddly. Probably even add up to proof of her guilt.
Yuri smirks proudly. “I know all about your dirty little secret, Eunbi,” she says. “About what you did with professor Kim while everyone was at the Intrams… about what you called her…”
Every step she takes rounding your cluster spells trouble, and you can’t say you didn’t bring it upon yourself. However, you're still scared to death.
“Cut it,” you say. Even for a troublemaker, your voice trembles. Not a good look… er, sound, rather. “We don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Your head races with anxious thoughts and distress. How did Yuri know about that little session you had with Taeyeon? Were you guys that loud? Perhaps she had a source or spy nearby? You've no idea which one it is, and that's what scares you more than the consequences.
Eunbi's silent, refusing to speak. She looks anywhere but Yuri's eyes. Her ears are red and it's impossible to denote anything from the two of you but obvious guilt.
“Oh, is that so?” Yuri pouts mockingly. "Guess you'll have no reason to talk to principal Bae right"—she checks her watch, then smiles widely—"now."
The speaker attached to the wall of your classroom buzzes, catches the attention of everyone and says: "Will miss Kwon from 12-A and her boyfriend please come down to the principal's office?"
Okay, so maybe you are scared of the consequences just as much as you're scared of how Yuri found out.
Everyone's looking at you now. How could you feel so cold yet so hot at the same time? Everybody's eyes are burning holes in your skin, and your spine's undergone several chills that you feel numb already.
Are you even alive?
Your breaths are bated and Eunbi's shifting in her seat nervously. You should have seen this happening. Yuri's had a vendetta against the two of you ever since you and Eunbi got together. She's haughty, she's proud, she's rich—and for that, she's got her sources everywhere, can even manipulate official school results through pure influence. You hate yourself for being a terrible boyfriend and letting this happen to Eunbi.
Yuri smiles as you and Eunbi rise from your seats. She waves goodbye at you coyly, and leaves everyone in the room confused. Each one of them, even the boys gaming at the back, are wondering the same thing word-for-word: what happened?
-
You don't speak while taking the stairs with her, and neither does she. You don't tell her that you're dizzy from the curving paths and she doesn't say how cold her hands are. However, you both know so, since you're both reluctant and afraid to meet the principal and didn't expect it to reach this point. It's your fault and hers, equally split, the modern day Adam and Eve. Could Yuri be the snake? Would God banish you?
Probably, but you had it coming.
The steps you take are slow. You're afraid of what might come. But you suppose nobody's more afraid than Eunbi. She's the face of the school for the honors she's achieved. Everything can go wrong with one wrong move, and that's what this is. She put everything on the line, not expecting anything to happen, only for it to be taken all away.
Once you reach the ground floor, Eunbi suddenly grabs your wrist. Her small hand can only wrap around half of it, but her hold is tight. It carries meaning in its tightness, urging you to look at her.
"Oppa, j-just want to say…" She looks down at her school shoes in shame. "I'm sorry for pulling you into this."
You're not mad at her. You can never be. You're just… regretful. If you hadn't let lust propel your actions, maybe there wouldn't be reason for the two of you to be down here. You've been sent to the principal's office countless times, but this is the first time you're actually scared. What more when it's with Eunbi? She's never gotten in trouble before.
"Don't be," is all you say. "Let's just get it over with, okay? Together?"
Mold your hand to fit hers, and she's smiling again, in spite of what's about to come.
You make the first move to knock. Eunbi nearly cries as she watches your knuckles meet wood. You wrap an arm around her and enter.
Long time, no see. Bae Irene's office is as grand as ever. Seems like this is where the tuition fees go: grand marble floors, a statue of a naked Greek goddess, and a fine desk that sits in the center of the room. Certificates, awards, and medals stack the shelves and walls that put even Eunbi's achievements to shame. Perhaps they're what intimidate her more than the woman standing in front of the desk.
"Good afternoon, miss Bae," you say.
In certain angles, the principal looks just like Eunbi. Or maybe it's the other way around? The glasses don't help differentiate them. That makes you understand why people have a theory that there's a kind of narcissism in Irene that made her put Eunbi as the face of the school.
What else can you expect from Irene, anyway? She's older, wiser, and tougher. The last one bears repeating. That by itself should be good enough justification as to why you shouldn't have fucked Taeyeon, why you shouldn't be such a troublemaker. God knows she's tired of seeing your face in here. She’d expect Eunbi would have a good influence on you, but instead, you've turned your poor girlfriend into a nymphomaniac.
Maybe everything about this is your fault after all.
Irene knows this. "You've turned your girlfriend into one of yours, hm?" she asks. Rhetorical question or not, all three of you know the answer. "First time seeing you here, miss Kwon."
"Miss Bae," says Eunbi timidly. She's trying a diplomatic approach here—it's all she knows in navigating life. Unfortunately, it won’t work here. "We're sorry. It won't happen again."
She smiles condescendingly. "So you know why you're here."
Irene's peaceful yet scary tone is exactly the reason for her English name, derived from the goddess of peace. She looks the part, too. Her pale skin can be the marble used to carve her most holy altar, and her sharp gaze can be replicated in it. She's like an older and more intimidating counterpart of Eunbi. She's smart as well, but not afraid to show it.
"I—I’m sorry," Eunbi says, realizing she's cornered into confession. It's as if all her speaking skills have evaporated in this room. It makes her nervous; you know so because her hand’s almost deathly cold in your touch. "We'll do anything to make it right."
Irene clicks her tongue. "It doesn't work that way, miss Kwon. You two had sexual relations with a teacher. It isn't something that can be resolved with community service."
How did she know? You think and think, and all your suspicions, though they jump from Taeyeon (she's in the wrong here, too, so why should she be suspected when she's at as much risk in getting trouble?) to Minju (why the angel, out of all people?) to anybody else, all lead to one person:
Jo Yuri. Of course it was her. But how?
You suppose that doesn't matter now that you're in Irene's office again. What's worse is that you brought Eunbi with you, the one person you swore you wouldn't toss into all your trouble. It feels like betraying her and everything your relationship has promised.
"Look," you say, taking a step forward, "we're sorry. Really. But please just let me take the blame. Suspend me or something. Just please don't hurt professor Kim or Eunbi, miss Bae."
"How touching, Kim Taeyeon's got you head over heels for her. I wonder what made you like her that much."
"Nothing, miss Bae. It was… just a one-time thing."
"I see, so the word 'mommy' doesn’t ring a bell?"
You stiffen. So does Eunbi, suddenly losing grip of your hand and losing her balance a little. In conclusion: yea, that word rings not only a bell, but a whole fucking gong in your mind.
Of course, Irene sees through this and rolls her eyes to heaven, as if she were making fun of you telepathically to an unknown deity. "Oh, so it does, huh?" she says, lifting her hands in the air. It's obvious, really, and she should have expected it. "Of course. One woman treats you like shit during sex and you drool for her. Of-fucking-course."
Your professional principal daring to curse in front of her students catches you off guard. But you know that, despite this, she's right. There are a lot of deeply internalized issues in you and Eunbi that would have reserved the right to be connected to the fling. These issues are the reason you like Taeyeon after all, but justifying the situation using them won't help your case at all. Irene doesn't take kindly to beggars of pity.
She walks over to the two of you. You subconsciously back away. It's instinctive, and you really should have gone through with what your gut tells you when the woman continues.
"I wonder how you ended up with miss Kwon then, if that's your type." Irene approaches her lookalike and laughs a little. "This little girl can't even get on top without begging for your dick five seconds later."
"That's not true," Eunbi stutters. She tenses up when the older woman strokes her shoulders. "I, I take control all the time, miss Bae. You can't just assume…"
If whatever's going on weren't putting your life at stake, you'd let out the biggest laugh to ever be heard by man. It's just insanely untrue. Eunbi's the most passive girl you've had the blessing to be with. It's just not in her to dominate in the bedroom. Debates and civil arguments in school are all things she tops, but when it comes to you, it's just out of the question.
"Then show me," Irene says. Massaging the girl's shoulders, her smirk creates a new punishment for you to abide by. "Show me how you control your bad little boyfriend."
The anxious, whimpering Eunbi has no time to think about how fucked up this is. She grabs your shoulders and pushes you to Irene's desk. She kisses you clumsily, tearing your uniform with shaking hands.
Her lips create a path downwards your chest. She unbuckles your belt and drops to her knees. You breathe through your teeth when her mouth works itself on your cock. Down, up, down, up, and a sweet little kiss at the tip. Perfect for you, but not for your principal, who has higher standards, apparently.
Irene smirks, shaking her head pitifully. "Darling," she says before she kneels before you, too, "you really don't know how to do this, do you?"
Eunbi shakes her head. The fact that she's ashamed is, unlike her claim earlier, not a lie.
"Ah." In a sudden affectionate and motherly act, Irene rubs the student's thigh. "You're better off being a good little girl, is that it?"
"Mmm. Yes."
“You’d rather be your oppa’s submissive little doll? Do anything he wants?”
“Y-yes, miss Bae.”
"That won't do here. You have to pay for what you've done, or else it wouldn't be fair."
Eunbi whines. Is it in protest or pleasure? Irene's fingers have crept under her skirt and to regions they're supposed to be restricted from. The cause is probably a mix of both, but you can guess what they're doing when you see Eunbi grinding down on your principal's hidden hand.
"How about this?" Irene offers to you. "Miss Kwon and I will take turns on you. We test out who can dominate you better, and whoever does gets to do whatever they want to the rest."
"Miss Bae—"
Irene pulls her fingers out of Eunbi and spanks her. Your girlfriend gasps and her hips flinch. Yeah, apparently, there's no way to back out of this. "Close the door, slut. Lock it. You, shut the blinds. I don't want to get in trouble for fucking you spoiled brats."
There's truly no resistant bone in Eunbi's body with how quickly she scampers to the door. You can't say you're any better. You and your girlfriend obey the principal's orders like you're her pets, and perhaps that's a little true. Maybe this is the beginning of something new. Something a little screwed up, yeah, but new.
Whatever this is, you hope it'll get you out of getting your life royally fucked over. You used to not give a damn if that ever happened, but when Eunbi's on your side, you become more cautious.
(If you were in a better state of mind, you’d recognize how having sex with your principal can and will contribute to your cautiousness going to no avail, but you’ve got two gorgeous women kneeling in front of you. What else is better than this?)
"Sit down." Irene pushes you down her swivel chair. "We're gonna have fun with you first. Call this a little," she winks, "practice session."
Your heart almost stops. You're thrust down even more into the cushion, and the foreign feeling of the principal's tongue provides an aching rush of blood to your cock. Meanwhile, Eunbi attends to your heavy balls, licking and sucking at the sensitive flesh.
Your skin is on fire. The two beautiful women smear their salivas on your erection. Their tongues collide at times, making Eunbi recoil in shock at times, but not for too long that your penis is devoid of attention. Irene doesn’t mind at all. She’s fine with the occasional dab of her tongue on Eunbi’s mouth, and coating the sheen of saliva she’s left with more. No inch is left needy—while Irene teases your base with sharp licks between smirks, the other girl sloppily makes out with your dickhead.
"Stop. You don't want your boyfriend here to think he can do anything he wants to you.” Irene’s rough fist stiffens the mast of your erection, and although it's pleasurable, it's also painful. Her speed is too much for a start to the show. "You need to put him in his place. Do it because you want to feel good about it, not him."
"B-but…"
"I'll show you."
Eunbi departs from your crotch and Irene does… well, nowhere near leaving, that's for sure. It's like your cock was just liquid streaming down her throat with how fast she takes you in. Her mouth is small, but she swallows it all expertly. Her hands tie your thighs down to the chair.
Being in Irene's mouth is a wet dream. Literally. Her slick tongue and cheeks rub your tip. They're just appetizers for the main course: her delectable throat that's thin and tight on you. She's almost forcing you to deal with her relentless blowing, betting her career that you can't withstand it. She doesn't need innocent, Bambi eyes to make it appealing when she has that goddess-like face, yet you have to prove her wrong.
But then she wraps her soft, jutted lips around your base and elegantly slides them up with puckered suction. She's not even fucking your rod with her throat anymore and you automatically say something you shouldn't have:
"Mommy, please."
Irene stops and smiles at Eunbi. "See what I'm saying?" she says with overflowing satisfaction. "It just comes naturally to him, doesn't it? Now it's your turn. Make me proud."
The pupil obeys. When has she ever done anything but that? You aren't complaining, though; her pretty mouth ranks up in their competition.
The two women are so different in so many different ways. Eunbi's gentle blowing, her eyes glimmering with broken innocence that always dart to your face to see if you're enjoying, is far from Irene's harsh one. She bluntly licks at your tip, sparking precum to drip into her mouth, before she slowly takes it all in. Again, widely different compared to Irene's experienced swallow, but who's keeping note? You sure aren't; you're just glad to have the best of both worlds.
"That's a good girl," Irene says. She gathers Eunbi's hair into a makeshift ponytail to help her out. "Don't be afraid to go a little crazy. If you do a good job I might just play with your cute little pussy."
Eunbi shuts her eyes and moans. Your breath is long gone with how her soft, pleasured sounds vibrate on your cock. If that weren't enough, she's lifting her head up and down with a pace that's a little quicker than before, nudging your cock deep inside her mouth. It's past that, actually; your cockhead slips down the end and bears the overwhelming feeling of her airway blocked by your girth.
"M-mmmph!"
"Aw, poor girl's choking," Irene remarks mockingly. "What's the matter, miss Kwon? Can't take it?"
Eunbi tries to surprise her by taking it all down. Unfortunately, it’s too much for her. Instead, she whimpers and chokes.
While she gags, you moan without shame. "I'm gonna cum, baby," you announce. Your cock feels like it's going to burst with her throat spasming around it.
Her lips tighten around your tip. It successfully manages to flow your cum directly into her mouth. Irene jacks you off to help out. The younger girl's mouth is soon flooded with the natural waterfall of your cum. It could turn into a natural disaster; Eunbi’s already struggling to save all your load.
"Don't swallow it. Come here."
Irene forces Eunbi's face to hers and kisses her deeply. Your girlfriend's hands are frozen in the air as they share your cum. The older woman’s hand imprisons her jaw in place so she can greedily collect your cum from the passive mouth. You see the shimmer of your semen as it’s passed from one tongue to another, hear the breathy moan of your girlfriend, feel your cock become more solid.
Irene swallows whatever she's gotten and, as an end to the makeout session, licks the other girl's plump, cumstained lips. "Ah, you’re really delicious," she says. "And your girlfriend's so cute. No wonder professor Kim likes you two so much."
You’re still in shock at the sight, but the mention of your professor gets you to make another comparison with said woman. She and Irene are alike, too, but differ so much as well. They’re both violent, but at least Taeyeon has a nice streak in her; she attended to you after the violent copulation in the classroom. Irene's gentle gestures are done only to please her will. But even with those contrasting traits set in the Venn diagram, you can't choose between the two of them: the dominant principal or the quietly pretty professor?
Irene pulls Eunbi's hair mercilessly, yanking her head backwards and exposing her beautiful neck. "It's just too bad that she's terrible at being a mommy," she murmurs. Her fingers trace the large tits threatening to burst out of the buttoned fabric. "Such a perfect body for it, but completely useless."
"Oppa, that's not true, right?" asks Eunbi, squirming. "I'm good at being your girl, aren't I?"
"Who was a better mommy, baby boy? Me or her?"
It's not even a question. As much as your heart is biased towards the girl who owns it, it's obviously—
"You, mommy."
"Oppa!" Eunbi protests. She looks genuinely hurt. It's the first time she's ever been second place in anything, and it hits her right where it's already sore.
Irene's grin is smug. It's beautiful, but actually terrifying. It's a sign that everything will only go downhill from here. "What should I do with you two now, hm?"
"Please,” says Eunbi. Struggling to compose herself now that the principal is playing with her breasts, she fights to say anything without moaning. “Please give me one more chance, mom– miss Bae… please, I'll be good—oh, I'll be so good—"
Your principal drags Eunbi up by her hair. "Stand over there if you're so good, mommy." One swift push sends her stumbling to the edge of her desk.
Eunbi, sniffling through her tears, awaits her next order. There's something in her face aside from the wet tears; it's a tale of how much she wants to be as good as Irene at using you that competes with her desire to please her. She's been a people-pleaser all her life, and it's hard to break its shackles, especially when Irene orders her to grind herself down the end of her desk, with one rule:
“Don’t cum until I say so.”
The panties slip off her plentiful thighs. She closes her eyes as she settles her nub over the edge of the wooden desk. Slowly, she starts to move.
"F-fuck." Eunbi places a shaking palm over her mouth.
"Exactly what your boyfriend's going to do to me," quips Irene. "See, this is how you put a man in his place."
She tears her pencil skirt apart with no hesitation. After, she confidently sits on your lap, filling her cunt to the hilt. You tense up; her round ass on your lap is a blessing alone, but when it comes to her cunt, it’s a whole heavenly reward. Although Irene speaks and acts with nothing other than confidence, if not arrogance, her pussy is too tight for your cock to even pulse. When it barely does, her textured velvety walls cease it with a firm clench.
“Holy shit, mommy. You’re so”—between gritted teeth, you groan and rest your hands on Irene’s ant waist—“fucking tight.”
“I know,” says Irene. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
The whole situation is sinful. Watching your girlfriend having nothing to do but touch herself on the inanimate object and helplessly watch the two of you fuck is one thing, but Irene’s perfect ass on your lap is in another world. Galaxy might be more accurate. The melody of their moans causes you to struggle in keeping yourself from cumming too fast, but it’s already a challenge with Irene’s pussy fucking itself on you. She’s as tight as she looks, and probably would have been the ruinable type if she weren’t the way she is.
She leans back into your chest and caresses the side of your face with a surprisingly gentle hand. With timed movements, she lifts herself off and on your erection. Her folds splay apart to welcome you inside, into a whole, slick world. “I guess he’s all mine now, yeah?” she asks Eunbi. “He seems to like mommy better, Eunbi-ya.”
When she’s fingered and forced the girl to sexually stimulate herself on her table, there’s no need for even the polite formalities. There’s not even a chance for it to resurface when Eunbi’s already tearing up.
“Oppa likes me, too,” she says. The jealousy brewing like a potion cauldron inside her drives her gyrations on the desk to go faster. It’s a fucked up coping mechanism for the sight in front of her. “You still like me best, don’t you, oppa?”
“Of course… fuck”—forget what you’re saying when Irene grinds her hips in circles and bounces her ass cheeks into your lap—“of course I do.”
She certainly knows her way around a dick. Her seductive rounds on your crotch and the measured riding just tell you that she’s had way more than enough experience in this realm, which, in terms of that, places her first. Eunbi’s a sore loser who doesn’t like that fact, but you can’t rig her a place anyway.
“But listen to how he’s moaning, babygirl,” Irene points out. You really don’t intend to moan again in order to avoid hurting Eunbi’s feelings, but Irene keeps a consistent squeeze of her vaginal walls on you and makes all go awry. “He loves my pussy. He loves it when I use him. I presume it’s not the same when it’s with you?”
Try to shut her up by rubbing her clit, but she only murmurs a series of “yes”’s. Besides, the damage, although fired from simple words, is already done; Eunbi’s quivering bottom lip is as clear as day.
“He loves me,” she whines. She squeezes the table tighter, as if the vicinity of the wood can help magick up a proper way to get her to become the mommy she just isn’t. “Hnn. He, he likes me because I’m a good girl.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Irene says, her sarcastically rolled eyes unimpressed. “You’re young. You should know being good is outdated. If he likes it, then he shouldn’t be fucking me right now.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” you say. You stop thrusting upwards into Irene, but she keeps bouncing. The stimulation remains constant.
You really can’t find your way out of this. Irene’s weight, though light, keeps you on the chair and void of anything to do to break it all up. Your legs already feel weak at her pace. It’s as if she’s completely unaware of how tight and wet she is and therefore subjects you to it, thinking that you can handle it. But of course, she’s an intelligent, self-aware woman—she knows her effect on you, and she isn’t hesitant to exploit it.
Eunbi sobs as she grinds down the edge of the table harder. She can’t take watching you and Irene fuck anymore. "Mommy, please.”
"’Mommy’? Not putting up a fight anymore, are you, pretty little girl?" Irene asks. She pouts mockingly. "Gonna give up?"
Eunbi shakes her head. "No…"
"Alright, if you aren’t, use me. Use your boyfriend. We’ll see what happens."
Your girlfriend bursts into tears. It’s no mere tear sliding down her cheek anymore. It’s a whole fiasco of whiny crying and childish protests. Of course, it’s not in her to fight Irene. She’s remained a diplomatic civil debater, not a physical one. At times she doesn’t even counter an argument, similar to now, when she weakly replies, "B-but I don’t know how.”
“Come on. You’re smart, aren’t you? You can win over me.”
“Mmm, please just let me cum, mommy. Please."
"Do it. I dare you."
"Mommy—"
"Do it."
"I—I can't!" Eunbi says this in a tone that’s nearly a scream as she struggles to keep herself standing. "Please don't take him away from me, I'm a good girl, I swear, I swear!"
“Oh, look at her, baby.” Irene strengthens the force of her riding. It draws you nearer to an orgasm. “She wants you so bad. She wants to be your mommy so bad.”
Eunbi’s explicit moans and Irene’s soft gasps contribute equally with the silken pussy in draining you. You fill Irene up to the brim. As she stands, white drips down her naked legs.
“You want to be a mommy so bad?”
Irene slips her fingers inside herself, scooping out white liquid, then walks over to the quaking valedictorian. Under the guise of the skirt, she sticks the cum-stained fingers into the needy little hole.
“Then fucking be one.”
“Mommy!”
Eunbi screams when Irene stuffs her cunt and fingers her violently. Her legs close together, and suddenly she’s creaming all over the fingers moving unabashedly inside her. Wetness is wrung out repeatedly, and strings of arousal connect and disconnect between the joined fingers.
“Mommy, miss Bae, hnnn…” mumbles Eunbi, mind fogged with pleasure, “mommy—”
“Shhh, that’s a girl, miss Kwon,” Irene says as she offers the nectar-coated fingers to the girl’s mouth. Eunbi gladly accepts.
To your surprise, Irene seems gentle this time. She pats your girlfriend’s back firmly, even wiping the drool on her lips. Maybe it’s the satisfaction of making both a girl and a boy orgasm. That’s all you can guess.
“You haven’t fucked me like you did mommy,” Eunbi protests. “I want you, too, please?”
“You heard the girl,” Irene says. She’s all for another go. She seems to be the only one not tired between the three of you. Her arrogant smile has not once lost its shine. “She wants to be fucked. Or do you not like her little pussy the same way you love mine?”
That triggers Eunbi to look up with tearful eyes. “Oppa, do you…?”
“Of course not. You can have me all you like.”
“Darlings,” pipes in Irene, “you seem to be forgetting someone here. That isn’t part of the deal.”
Of course. You’re still under the invisible contract she set. As the obvious winner of the battle of wills and domination, she gets to have the nicer end of the deal: to do anything she wants with the two of you. Whatever happens here has to involve her. No one’s going to be left out here.
How should it go?
“I want that mouth on my pussy, miss Kwon,” decides Irene, sitting on her throne (AKA as the swivel chair.) “And I want you to fuck her. Really fuck her. I want to see her break.”
So that’s how it goes, since Eunbi’s too kind to propose another way. She crawls between Irene’s legs, greedily eating the cum out of her, while you pound her from behind.
Eunbi’s wide hips are just irresistible. They fit right into your hands and serve as anchors to pull you in and out of her. The skirt, instead of infuriating you with how much it blocks your view of her ass and grippy pussy, drives you more insane.
And when you look up, there’s Irene, with her legs spread wide for Eunbi to stay. It’s nice of the deities to create a world where there are so many beautiful women, and for two to be right by your side currently. Maybe you gotta thank the Greek statue that’s privy to the whole thing—you’re pretty sure she’s part of the whole god gang. Whatever.
Irene’s hands aren’t sedentary. They tug onto the wavy hair for its owner to tongue her core more. The pussy-eating thing is an act of jealousy from Eunbi, really—part of the reason she agreed to eat her out is so she can drink your cum straight from where you deposited it. Safe to say it’s a win-win situation.
“Fuck, you’ve got a good mouth, miss Kwon,” says Irene. She bites her lip, and hisses. “Just like that.”
Even with all she’s done to her, Eunbi mewls in appreciation. Or maybe it’s your cock causing that. Yeah, definitely your cock. You make it a purpose to stretch her out and keep her pretty cunt stuffed. Gently stimulate her bundle of nerves for her skirted ass to reverse back into your crotch.
“Oppa—” Eunbi says, her voice reaching another high pitch due to the pleasure.
“I didn’t say you could stop,” Irene sharply reminds her. “Don’t stop or he won’t fuck you anymore.”
Eunbi gets back to work, moaning after you penetrate her again. You may have fucked Irene, but she still remains in control here. She just solidifies her place in the little contest she and Eunbi had. Your girlfriend, ever the grumpy loser, vents her frustration in eating her principal out, evoking broken gasps from her.
“Aw, don’t be too jealous, Eun,” you say to Eunbi. Her tight pussy is an everyday heaven you, a sinner, are given a free pass to relish in. “You’re still my good girl.”
You can feel her cunt tighten at your words. Eunbi closes her eyes and whimpers while she sucks on Irene’s clit. Her nose presses against the older woman’s flat stomach.
“She really likes being called that, huh?” chuckles Irene, ruffling Eunbi’s hair.
“She does.” Thrust into her particularly hard. “She’s a sweet girl.”
Eunbi’s body trembles. Unable to deal with the flood of praises, she tonguefucks Irene’s hole harshly, suppressing her heavy breaths in the pink flesh.
“Is that what you want to be, miss Kwon?” Irene allows Eunbi to take a breather and lifts her chin up, but renders her breathless anyway with the next set of words. “Mommy and daddy’s sweet little girl?”
The girl’s walls twitch around you, and you hear her whine again. She’s always like that, the poor thing, but now, it’s urgent—it goes on, prolonged with need and desire, that you have to pull her into your lap, cock still lodged inside her, and say: “Use your words, baby.”
She’s a little taken aback, but she’s nodding. Breathing through her mouth in shaky little exhales, Eunbi nods. “Y-yes, please,” she says, as if in a trance. “Mommy. Daddy.”
You and Irene don’t get along too well due to your history of troubles, but you immediately understand each other when you gaze into each other’s eyes. You don’t say a word, but there’s no need for any when her lips are already on Eunbi’s.
It’s a quick change of positions. You bring her over to the desk again. This time, she’s not merely here to watch, but to indulge in the pleasure of having the two of you at the same time. Buttons fly in the air as Irene rips the school blouse apart. She bares the bouncing tits of any bra then immediately goes to worshiping them. Eunbi’s nipple ends up in her mouth and hardens at the suckles. It was as if she were determined to draw out milk from them.
“Look at you,” she says. Irene admires the round, full bosom before her, tracing a hand along the flesh. “Walking around with a body like this shouldn’t be allowed.”
“Mommy,” says Eunbi. She shivers when you fill her up. “Daddy, please. I’m yours.”
“Oh, you are.” Irene plays with the perfect collarbone for a while before edging her hand up to her throat. There, she squeezes tight. “Trust me.”
You squeeze Eunbi’s breasts and kiss them. You don’t think there would ever be a time you wouldn’t appreciate her beautiful tits. Irene seems to have discovered their beauty, too, for the two of you start to worship them. Irene takes left, you go right. Each one provides more than a supple amount of softness that with each bite, squeeze and suck makes Eunbi clamp down on your cock more.
“Baby boy,” Irene whispers. She’s never looked this motherly, yet so seductive. “Remember when I said I wanted you to break her? I still expect you to do it.”
“I’d want nothing more,” you reply.
“Daddy, mommy, w-what are you going to do to me?”
“Bend over, miss Kwon,” instructs Irene, “we’re going to give you what you want.”
Eunbi happily does, and thanks her by slipping her fingers inside her. They immediately set a quick pace to keep her on her toes.
“God, fuck her,” Irene says. “She’s earned it.”
Your girlfriend’s never been so glad to hear something from the principal. The praise earlier is a close competitor, but when these words are the cause of your cock to begin thrusting again, she still prefers these.
“Fuck, daddy!”
You match the pace of her fingers in Irene’s pussy. You choose to go brutally, putting her out of her long misery by filling her over and over again.
“Daddy, daddy, daddy, please!” Her eyes are shut, and her body is still except for the movements driven by your thrusts, but her fingers still fuck Irene’s waiting pussy. She’s a true multi-tasker, this girl.
How many times has she begged like this today? You don’t know, but it’s the first time that she’s calling you the name. It surprises even yourself that it turns you on. It drives a forbidden feeling deep in your chest that’s exactly what fuels your thrusts.
She’s finally fulfilled after being kept at the side for practically the whole time, so her screams are also of relief. She squirts so goddamned easily that each thrust is slick and messy. Her folds spare not a second of releasing your cock. No, it holds on, and it’s all too messy. Sinful. Incredibly immoral.
“That’s it, take my cock, Eunbi,” you groan. The words just come naturally to you, because when she’s absolutely writhing underneath you and her pussy is that tight, you become a philosopher with a way with words. You can write several doctrines about how fucking ruinable she is, how her body’s just fit for your cock, how her thin whines are strung out so deliciously that you could never think of stopping.
After everything that’s happened, she’s still your girl. She’s still the one you want to take to bed. She’s just that good.
“Daddy, mommy, fuck—me!” she screams. Eunbi’s tears come flowing back. They pour down her pretty face and onto the desk. If there was paperwork getting done on this desk, they’re replaced by Eunbi.
You think she’s gone crazy. Her voice is strained and her fingers almost painfully shove themselves in Irene, like they’re machine-controlled. All different sounds are extracted from her sore throat: moans, screams, and gasps—you think you’ve broken her.
You guess that’s enough payment for Irene.
Irene’s groans and cries are loud; her legs squeeze around Eunbi’s wrist. “D-don’t fucking stop,” she warns. You sense that there’d be more than what punishment is if the girl dares to halt. Eunbi knows better than to, anyway. She continues fingering Irene, exploring the cave of her tight hole and pressing down on her G-spot.
Eunbi closes her eyes as Irene’s cum sprays her. Now she really looks ruined. She’s already covered in her tears and drool. You guess that soon, she’d be covered in you.
You slip out to flick your cock against her clit.
“Ahhh, daddy!”
“That’s right. Cum for daddy, baby.”
“Y-yes, yes, yes, fuck, daddy! Keep rubbing my clit like that, it feels so good… it feels so warm, please don’t stop!”
“Cum for me.”
“Daddy!” wails Eunbi.
Everything is a mess of moans and squirting. Eunbi screams in pleasure, shaking as her folds remain determined to swallow every inch of your cock even after her orgasm, and Irene’s to your left riding her digits, crying out as if she were in a war. And you guess that yea, maybe it is a war—a war of good and evil, a war of the overachievers (that brings a chuckle out of you), a war of sex.
But in the end, in a feat that no one’s ever seen, everybody wins.
-
Dear Ms. Jo,
This is regarding your recent concern about Ms. Kwon Eunbi.
I find that the evidence you provided to me is altered and has been tampered with. After further questioning with teachers and staff, I can conclude that your concern is dismissed and shall only subject you to disciplinary action.
It is strictly prohibited to spread harmful falsehood about your fellow schoolmates. Please see me after class tomorrow.
Sincerely,
Principal Bae Irene/Joohyun
#kpop smut#idol x reader#red velvet smut#irene smut#red velvet irene smut#bae joohyun smut#joohyun smut#izone smut#kwon eunbi smut#eunbi smut#izone eunbi smut#male reader#reader insert#pov smut#request#girl group smut#idol x male reader
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CHARLIEEE AHAHAHAAAA
thank you for allowing me the chance to give you all my depraved thoughts. my request is for mr. joel miller, obv.
i’m craving a good soft!dom with some daddy kink. i know this is picking way more than one HAHA, but maybe some blindfold and restraint action… a bit of sensory deprivation scene, if you will. maybe it’s readers first time trying it, but of course she trusts joel to take care of her.
bonus points for some fluffy aftercare.
MYA BESTIE SAY LESS. I GOTCHU. I SEE YOU. I LOVE YOU. Also sorry but this might actually be trash... idk I'm feeling weird about it but the longer I look at it the worse it gets so HERE WE GO.
Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader
Word Count | 1.8k
Warnings | Explicit. 18+, Minors DNI. We've got soft Dom!Joel, restraints, blindfolds, daddy kink, teasing, unprotected PiV sex and a spattering of sweet aftercare.
Part of my 1k Smut Sensation Celebration - if you want in, check here for details - I’m accepting requests through July 15th.
“That too tight?” Joel’s gruff voice is speaking from above you.
You wriggle your wrists. There’s still plenty of slack that you can move them about a little, but enough to keep you tied to the headboard, just as you wanted. You can already feel the roughness of the rope scratching the skin of your wrists, but at this point you’re beyond caring. You’d asked for this, this was what you wanted, and so far, Joel is delivering everything you’d wanted.
“Perfect,” You squeak out, looking up to find him staring down at you expectantly, “Daddy, sorry, it’s perfect, daddy.”
“Good girl,” He murmurs, letting his fingers run a little way down the bare skin of your arms before he’s pulling away, standing at the foot of the bed in just his boxers, “I’m gonna take real good care of you, sweet girl,” He’s speaking as he bends to where his backpack is at the end of the bed, pulling out a strip of material that looks like it was a tie in its previous life, he’s rounding back to you on the bed, “Lift your head up for me a little,” He instructs, you do as you’re told and he’s wrapping the tie around your head to cover your eyes, “Still okay?”
“Still okay.” You speak.
“Good,” You can’t see him anymore, but you can feel the movement on the mattress as he stands again, “Anything gets too much, you use that word, you remember it?”
“Red.”
His voice is further away when he responds, “Good girl.” Then you feel his calloused palm grip your ankle, the sudden touch that you weren’t expecting makes you jump, which causes him to chuckle low in his chest.
You can feel the bottom of the mattress dip as Joel kneels between your ankles, he’s got a hand on each and he’s dragging his palms slowly up the skin of your legs. Asking to be restrained and blindfolded had seemed like such a good idea at the time, but now you were aching to reach out and touch him, coax his mouth up to the apex of your thighs, to show him what you really wanted, as if he didn’t already know.
When Joel reaches your knees, you can feel his hands gripping the bend of your legs, pushing them back as you feel the bed dip more where he’s lying down now. You can feel his breath on your pussy, already wanton and aching from where he’d kissed you breathless and stripped you down ever so slowly before tying you up. You buck your hips up towards the source of the hot breath, receiving a sharp squeeze to the skin he’s holding.
“Now, now,” He warns, “That’s not how a good girl behaves, is it?”
You grumble, “No daddy,” You acquiesce, “I’m sorry.”
“You’ll get everything you want, sweet girl,” He pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, facial hair scratching at your delicate skin, “You’ve just gotta be patient, okay?”
Your response is a moan as you settle your hips back on the bed. Joel presses another soft kiss to the inside of your thigh before he’s pulling his mouth away. You’re expecting him to move to the other side, much like he always does, but the next time he kisses you, it’s on your tummy, then his lips are pressing a kiss to the soft curls at your mound, then moments later they’re back at your thighs.
It's hard to keep up with, you don’t know where his lips are going to touch next, and it’s got your chest heaving and your body writhing. He knows where you want his lips the most, he can feel the way you’re trying to subtly move yourself, so his mouth is where you want him. But he’s not done. The control he has over you in this moment is overwhelming and he’s going to make you wait as long as he can bear before he gives in. He continues to pepper soft kisses across every inch of your skin, reveling in the way that your whines and gasps are coming a mile a minute.
“Joel, please,” You beg, “I can’t take it anymore.”
“Poor baby,” He coos softly when he’s at the skin between the valley of your breasts, “So needy for me, aren’t you?” He’s trailing his lips down your abdomen, letting his tongue run wet trails over your skin until he’s back between your legs, “Does my sweet girl need my mouth here?” You can hear him ask, before you can feel the pad of what you think is his thumb running lightly along the seam of your pussy.
“Yes, daddy,” You groan at finally feeling him where you want him the most, “I need you.”
“Alright baby,” You can feel his breath fanning the skin there now, “You’ve been so good for me, so patient, let me make you feel good.”
You can feel his rough hands spreading the lips of your pussy, baring your slick center to him, before he presses a singular open-mouthed kiss to your clit. The feeling of him finally putting his lips on you is ecstasy. One small touch of his mouth and you’re aflame, skin prickling with pleasure. He goes back a second time, just another kiss to your clit, but this time he finishes with a flick of his tongue across it and now you’re letting out an obscene moan from your mouth.
Then, Joel Miller does what Joel Miller does best and devours you. His tongue is inside your pussy, coating his mouth in as much of your slick as he can manage, the pad of his thumb working circles over your clit when his tongue isn’t. He can tell all the teasing has you worked up, the way you’re grinding into his tongue and chasing the pressure of his fingers on you. You’ve been a good girl, he decides, he’ll give you what you want.
“Does my sweet girl want to come?” He asks, latching his mouth around your clit to suck, you let his name drop from your lips, “I know she does, go on baby, let go for me.”
He manages another three swipes of his tongue before you’re arching your back off the bed, the rope tightening around your wrists, adding pain to the insane pleasure currently coursing through your body as he works your through the shuddering aftershocks. God, you wish you could see him right now. He always did the same thing, grins up at you with his wet mouth, eyes dark like predator pouncing on prey, as he slinks up to rest between your thighs. You can feel him shift from the bed, thinking he must be taking off his underwear, before there’s that telltale dip in the mattress.
You almost cry with relief when you feel his body press to yours, the broad expanse of his chest is pressed to yours, you can feel the stiffness of his cock sliding through your folds, nudging at your clit as he settles himself above you. You can feel his palms resting on the bed on either side of your head, then you can feel his breath fanning across your face as he kisses you. You can taste yourself on him, his tongue in your mouth, mixing with your own, as you drink yourself down, then he’s dragging his perfect nose across your cheek to rest next to your ear.
“Still okay?” He whispers, letting his tongue jut out to lick across your earlobe.
“Still okay.” You confirm, tilting your head so he can press kisses to your neck.
“Gonna fuck you so good baby, you ready?”
“So ready,” You whine as you feel him start to slide his thick cock into your aching cunt, “Feel so good, daddy.”
“Yeah, that’s right sweet girl,” You can hear him panting into your ear as he bottoms out, “Daddy fucks you real good, doesn’t he?”
All you want is to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and grip onto him as he fucks into you. Want to be able to lean up and press kisses to the sweaty skin of his chest. Grip the meat of his ass to bring him deeper inside of you.
“Look so fuckin’ pretty for me baby,” He chokes out, as he picks up his pace, “All spread out and takin’ me like a good girl.”
As his thrusts get harder, you start grinding your hips up to meet him. You want this man to give you everything he has. You’ve given him everything you have in this moment, most of all the unbridled trust you have in him, that he’ll tie you up and use you like this, the kind of trust you’ve never had with anyone before.
“Want you to come for me, daddy.” You let out a moan as he uses one hand to tilt your hips so he’s hitting that incredible spot inside you. If your eyes were open, you’d be able to see stars.
“Fuck baby- I’m so close.” You can feel his pace getting sloppy, can hear the way his gasps and groans are speeding up.
Then, he’s pulling out of you, just as he always does. You can hear him grunting and the slap of his skin as he fists his cock, before the warmth of his cum is spreading across your lower tummy. You feel his big palm come to rest on your hip as he’s heaving in air to his lungs. Then, you can feel him clambering over you and taking the blindfold off.
“Hey pretty lady,” He smiles, pressing a kiss to your nose once the material over your eyes is gone, “Let me untie you.”
His fingers make light work of untying the knots he’d made in the rope. You’re grateful for the relief of the scratchy material being gone. He leaves you on the bed, pressing a kiss to your temple before he leaves the room, coming back moments later with a glass of water and a washcloth, which he uses first to soothe between your legs before wiping away his cum from your skin.
“Get under the covers,” He encourages once he’s pulled the duvet back, letting you slide in first before he’s getting in as well, pulling you to his chest, “They sore?” He asks when he notices the red marks along your wrists.
“A little.” You reply honestly, watching intently as he takes one of your hands in his, bringing your wrist to his mouth before he’s peppering soft and gentle kisses around it like a bracelet. He does the same to the other wrists, promising to pick some salve up from the general store in town when he’s out in the morning.
“Did you like it?” He asks, lips mumbling into the top of your hair.
You’re sleepy, struggling to keep your eyes open, but you tilt your head up to him, “Yeah, I liked it,” You smile, “Liked it a lot, but I still think I prefer to watch you when you come for me.”
#Joel Miller#Joel Miller smut#Joel Miller fic#Joel Miller fanfic#Joel Miller fanfiction#the last of us#the last of us hbo#tlou#tlou hbo#tlou fic#tlou smut#tlou fanfiction#Joel Miller x you#Joel Miller x reader#Joel Miller x female reader#Joel Miller x f!reader#Pedro Pascal#Joel Miller Pedro Pascal#PSSC
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