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rosyblooom · 28 days

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blooming season🌷 (1) | ln4

"grief is just love with no place to go”

PAIRING: lando norris x fem nepo!reader WORD COUNT: 2.6k WARNING(S): mentions of death & blood, swearing SUMMARY: four years after she fled monaco, y/n is back on the anniversary of her father's death. however, an unexpected encounter with an f1 driver disrupts her plans. A/N: my first time doing this, so probably has errors. if you've got any thoughts or requests pls let me know xoxo hope u enjoy! :)

part 1 <- | part 2

The scent of salt still lingers in the air, but now it feels different, not as welcoming as it used to be. It's a painful reminder of days gone by, days filled with joy and warmth that now seem distant and unattainable. No matter how hard you try, you can't shake off the memories, replaying them in your mind like a scratched vinyl record that refuses to play properly.

Today marks four years since your father's passing, and four years since you left Monaco. You were just eighteen then, fresh out of high school, when the news of your father's tragic car accident hit you like a ton of bricks. In a desperate attempt to escape the overwhelming sorrow, you packed your bags that very night and left before the weight of it all drowned you.

You couldn't bring yourself to attend your father's funeral, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't real. But deep down, you knew the truth—your father was gone, and nothing could change that. Even as you threw yourself into your studies, pursuing a nursing degree, the pain never truly went away.

And now, here you are, sitting alone on this deserted stretch of beach, watching the waves crash against the shore in a steady rhythm.

This spot holds a special place in your heart, known only to a handful of locals—a fact you couldn't be more grateful for. Here, away from the watchful eyes of tourist crowds, you find solace as you simply listen to the earth rotate.

You exhale slowly, leaning forward to brush the sand from your palms before reaching into your bag for the bottle of red wine nestled inside. It takes a bit of effort to uncork it completely, but the satisfying pop is worth the wait. With careful precision, you fill a wine glass to the brim with the rich, maroon liquid—something to take the edge off.

"Welcome back, Y/N," you whisper to yourself, lifting the glass in a silent salute. "Thank you, thank you. I can't imagine anything worse."

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips, a stark contrast to your usual composed demeanour. It's been 1,460 days, yet it feels like your world only just came crashing yesterday.

Needing calm now, you take a sip of the wine, savouring its sweetness, when the sound of approaching footsteps catches your attention, pulling you back to the present moment.

"Seriously?" you think to yourself, feeling your heart plummet like a stone sinking into deep waters. You took every precaution to keep your return under wraps—after all, you paid good money for that privilege.

Arriving just last night, you made it a point to rise at the crack of dawn, a time before the world awoke; a time when it's just you and no one else. You couldn't bear the idea of facing the prying eyes that would surely accompany the day ahead. For once, you didn't want to be known as the daughter of one of Monaco's wealthiest families; you simply wanted to be yourself, stripped of titles and expectations—a daughter mourning her father.

Feeling like a trapped animal, you become acutely aware of every sound and movement, your gaze locked on the figure approaching.

A man.

His brown curls bounce with each step until he comes to an abrupt stop just a few feet away from you.

With a small wave and a nod, he greets you with a simple "Hey."

It takes a moment for you to register that the greeting is directed at you, causing you to tear your gaze away without a response. Your eyes flit between the gentle ripples of the sea and the man settling down uncomfortably close, prompting an annoyed grunt to escape your lips.

“Fuck spatial awareness, huh…,” you mutter under your breath, though not quiet enough to evade his notice. He slips off his black headphones, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Sorry, what?"

You clear your throat, then sit up straight and gesture expansively. "All this space, and you have to sit right next to me?”

He smiles.

Your gaze narrows.

"But I'm not right next to you," he retorts with a playful grin. "You're all the way over there." He points towards you and then at himself. "And I'm right here."

"Well, it's still too close," you snap.

"Sorry, did you buy this beach or something?" he counters, his grin widening. "Last time I checked, it's open to all members of—."

Growing increasingly frustrated, you interject, "No, I didn't buy anything. I just want some personal space. But clearly, that's lost on you."

With a scoff, you spring to your feet, snatching up your towel and cramming it into your bag, sand and all.

"Wait, you don't have to leave," he insists, his footsteps drawing closer. But you pay him no mind, tossing your phone into your bag and hastily gathering the rest of your belongings from the ground.

Once everything is crammed into your bag, you snatch up your half-empty glass of wine and stand upright, only to feel a foreign warmth enveloping your hand and glass. The man now stands directly in front of you, invading your personal space completely; you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his piercing green gaze.

"Look, I'm sorry if I did something wrong, but—" he begins, but you cut him off sharply.

"Way too close now," you snap, attempting to pull your hand away, but he refuses to release his grip.

"You do realise I'm trying to apologise, right?" he asks, confusion evident in his eyes.

"I don't care."

His grip remains firm. "There's plenty of space for both of us here."

"It doesn't matter anymore," you respond, your patience wearing thin.

The struggle continues, your voice growing louder with each tug. "Let go of the fucking glass!"

Suddenly, a sharp yell pierces the air, followed by the hollow thuds of broken glass hitting the ground. Shock washes over you as you barely register the sticky liquid trickling down your hand and onto your toes.

"Ah, shit," he exclaims, snapping you out of your daze. You quickly assess the situation, noticing the shattered remnants of the wine glass scattered on the ground, staining the sand crimson.

Panic sets in as you frantically check your hand and feet for any injuries, your eyes wide with fear. After several anxious moments, you breathe a sigh of relief.

I'm okay.

The tranquillity is abruptly shattered by deep groans echoing through the air, drawing your attention to the man's slumped figure with his back turned to you. His face remains hidden from view.

Though he's clearly in pain, you're tempted to slip on your shoes and make a hasty escape. Today is already burdened with its own weight; you're not sure you can handle any more. You even take a step back, ready to flee, but then something stops you.

A pang of guilt washes over you, weighing you down like heavy bags strapped to your legs. With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly admit to yourself, "I can't believe I'm about to do this."

"Okay, fine. How about you put on your big boy boots and let me take a look at that?" you say, crossing your arms expectantly.

There's no reaction from him, not even a response.

Rolling your eyes, you drop your bag onto the sand and cautiously circle around him until you're face-to-face with his unruly brown curls.

"Hello?" you tap his shoulder, frustration creeping into your voice. "Earth to the stranger who doesn't understand personal space?"

"Seriously?" he retorts, his tone sharp.

His eyes meet yours as he straightens up, his expression guarded, but you simply shrug, maintaining a neutral demeanour, and extend your hand.

"Let me see," you say calmly.

For a moment, he simply stares at you in bewilderment, but then he tentatively extends his hand towards yours.

"I see," you breathe, examining the large cut in his palm with care, mindful not to dirty it with your fingers. Despite the blood seeping from the wound, you release a relieved sigh after a thorough inspection—it's not as deep as it initially appeared.

"Alright," you announce, dropping his hand and clapping your hands together. "Go home, make sure nothing touches that hand, clean the cut, and bandage it. Keep it dry for a couple of days, and then reassess."

Without waiting for a response, you turn towards your bag, sling it over your shoulder, and shoot him one final glance.

"This has been... unpleasant," you remark dryly. "I really hope our paths don't cross again. Goodbye."

"Wait!"

You shake your head and ignore him, determined to continue onward.

"Wait!" he calls out again, desperation evident in his tone. "I don't have any bandages!"

You stop walking, considering his words, but still don't turn around.

"And... I don't have any sanitising stuff either," he adds, his voice trailing off slightly.

Slowly, you turn around and wave your hands dismissively in the air, shouting back, "That's what supermarkets are for! I guess it's time for a shopping trip!"

Just as you're about to spin on your heel and leave again, his voice cuts through the distance.

"Look, you seem like you know what you're doing. Can't you just help me out here?"

Shielding your eyes from the harsh glare of the sun, you squint at him as he begins jogging toward you. "That advice," you shout back, "was me helping you out. Trust me, I wanted to leave way earlier."

For a moment, neither of you speaks as you watch him closing the distance between you. When he finally comes to a halt in front of you, you instinctively take two steps back—you need your personal space.

"So?" he says between pants, waiting for your response.

You furrow your brows, deep in thought. "Well, I don't have anything on me, sorry to disappoint. But like I said, there are shops around here."

You resume your walk, but to your dismay, the guy falls into step with you almost immediately.

"So, what? You have nothing at home?" he presses, his gaze burning into the side of your face.

Refusing to meet his eyes, you increase your speed.

"Right, because I'm just going to invite a stranger," you emphasise, "who I didn't want to be around in the first place, into my home."

His hand suddenly grips your arm, causing you to instinctively rip out of his grasp, both of you coming to an abrupt halt.

"What?" you bark, irritation seeping into your tone.

"You can google me," he offers, his voice calmer now. "Lando Norris, Formula One driver. Search my name up. You'll see pictures—every single detail about me, you'll probably find on the internet. Now I'm not a stranger anymore, right?" he suggests, his gaze pleading.

You remain silent, shifting your focus toward the calm waters as you breathe in and out. It feels as though the world has paused, waiting for you to come to a decision, to reach a conclusion.

Today, the anniversary of your father's death, is a day you've been dreading yet anticipating for so long. Its disruption unsettles you, but deep down, you know you can't simply ignore it. As much as you wish to skip over this chapter of your life, tear out its pages, and never look back, you can't. It's not healthy.

Still, that doesn't mean you can't delay it for a little while longer.

"Fine," you sigh, relenting to the situation, and begin rummaging through your bag until you locate your phone.

Quickly, you extract it and raise it to Lando's face, snapping a photo of him with the flash on.

"What the hell?" he exclaims, blinking rapidly.

"For my protection," you state matter-of-factly. "Just because you're famous doesn't mean you can't be a bad person."

Once his gaze meets yours again, he runs a hand through his hair and offers a sheepish smile. "Fair enough."

You nod, acknowledging his words, and continue your walk toward the car park.

"I'm not a bad person, though," he adds quickly, catching up to you.

"Colour me convinced," you reply dryly.

*********

As you approach the car park, annoyance bubbles within you at the sight of it: filled with cars and swarmed by dozens of people.

"You said you're a Formula One driver, right?" you ask, tilting your head up at Lando.

"Yeah, why?" he responds.

Instead of answering, you grab the hood of his jacket and pull it over his head.

"Why did you do that—" Lando begins, but you cut him off.

"The last thing I need is a mob of your fans, okay?" you interject firmly. "The quicker we get this done, the sooner we can go our separate ways."

Lando chuckles as he adjusts the hood. "I'm really that bad, huh?"

"Worse," you deadpan.

"...Right."

With your raven car in sight, you quicken your pace, relief flooding through you. The last thing you want is for people to realise you're back, especially not today.

However, as if your luck has run out, a woman steps in front of you, blocking your path. You immediately turn your focus to Lando, motioning for him to take a picture with his fan and hurry up.

But instead of the attention falling on him, a weight suddenly falls onto your shoulder, catching you off guard. You clear your throat, preparing to speak, but the woman beats you to it.

"Oh my goodness, Y/N. It's you, isn't it?" the woman exclaims, her voice filled with recognition and sympathy.

You can't reply; your mouth feels dry, your tongue heavy with unspoken words.

No, not today. Please, not today.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Y/N," she continues, her expression radiating pity. It's uncomfortable—the way she looks at you, the way she touches your shoulder so gently. It feels like you're being burned alive, yet you're immobilised, just as you were four years ago when you first heard the news.

"Your father was such an amazing man. And you, I mean, you've been missed. My daughter loves you—"

Suddenly, you're being pulled forward, jolting you out of your trance. You struggle to keep your balance as you try to comprehend what's happening—the woman is gone, and Lando's hand is firmly clasped around yours, pulling you closer to him.

Your personal space has been completely invaded, yet you don't feel the usual urge to pull away. Even if you did, you're not quite sure Lando would let you.

"Your car's the black one, right?" you hear him ask, but the words don't immediately register.

"Huh?" you mumble, still reeling from the encounter.

"That black car over there," Lando points and leans in close, his gaze locked with yours, "that's yours, right?"

You nod, still not quite ready to speak.

Lando releases your hand and holds out his palm to you. "Okay, car keys, please?"

"What? No," you shake your head, rejecting the idea. "There's no need for that."

"Come on, I'm a Formula One driver, remember? I won't crash it."

"It would be irresponsible of me to let you drive in this state," he adds, his voice firm.

"And what about your hand?" you nod toward the injury.

"Like I said," Lando smiles slyly, cocking his head to the side, "I drive race cars; I think I can handle driving with one hand."

Rolling your eyes, you relent, "Okay, fine."

With a sigh, you fish out the car keys from your bag and hand them over to him.

4:05 ───────────ㅇ─ 4:28

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jamespotterismydaddy · 10 months

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In the Wine Cellar

aegon x reader smut

TW: smut, dubcon, incest, pussy slapping, overstimulation, little bit of degrading

word count: 1,845 words

You’re woken up in the dead of night by someone pounding on your bedroom door and you rub your tired eyes as you sit up in your bed. Who would possibly be calling on you this late?

“Who’s there?” You call out nervously, surely your guard wouldn’t have let anyone dangerous get to the door of your chambers.

“Sister…” Aegon’s voice is whiny and he’s clearly tipsy. All of your hesitance fades away but the annoyance sets in. You step out of bed, cringing at the feeling of the cold stone floor against your bare feet as you pad over to the door, opening it to reveal your smirking brother.

“I was sleeping, Aegon.” There’s an impish grin on his face as he takes in the sight of you. Your nightgown is less modest than some ladies would don and you can tell your dear brother quite appreciates it by the intense look in his eyes.

“What kind of proper lady goes to bed in such an immodest state? I am absolutely appalled. I should inform mother.” He leans against your doorframe as he speaks, a mocking look of shock on his face.

“What do you want?” You ask him with a roll of your eyes. He delights in how irritated you seem to be with him.

“Is there something wrong with me wanting to check in on my little sister?” He eyes you seductively, a hand coming up to twirl your hair around his finger.

“Mayhaps you should check in on your wife instead?” You flick his hand off.

“But you are the one who needs true tending to. A sweet rose like you needs to be watered so you may… bloom.” He sucks on his lower lip as his eyes fall to your breasts. You cross your arms to cover them from his hungry gaze.

“By water do you mean wine, brother?” You glare at him.

“Hm… that is a tantalizing thought…” His mouth twitches up slightly as he seems to be in deep thought. “... but I was thinking of my own personal version of hydration. A sweet nectar that can be applied to those soft lips of yours.”

“Leave now. I want to go to sleep.” You place a hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly.

“I know the perfect way to help you back to sleep, little rose. It’ll tire you out for sure.” The playful smirk never leaves his face as he gets closer. You can feel the heat of his breath on your face.

“There's no way in the Seven Hells that I am letting you into my room right now.”

“Even if I promised to be extra gentle?” He places a hand on your waist, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I’ve missed you.”

“No.” You put both hands on his chest and push him out but he grabs you by the waist and makes you leave the room with him.

“If I can’t come in then i’ll take you someplace else.” He says, taking you by the hand and dragging you along.

“Aegon, I don’t have shoes on!” He ignores your protests as he leads you through the castle. “Where are we even going?”

“My favourite place in the Red Keep.” He grins impishly as he takes you all the way down to… the wine cellar.

“Seriously? Mother will have a fit if she finds us here in the middle of the night.”

“Oh gods, when did you get so boring? Have a little fun for once.” He reaches up to grab two bottles of Arbour Red and hands one to you.

“You know that I hardly have a taste for wine.” You don’t take the bottle.

“C’mon just have a sip for your big brother.” He uncorks the first bottle and gives you his puppy dog eyes with a pout on his lips. “Just one little sip.” He brings the bottle up to your lips and you easily give in, parting your lips to let the crimson wine slip through. You don’t swallow though, not really liking the bitter taste on your tongue. “Now, swallow for me.” The look in his eyes tells you to obey so you swallow the wine, trying not to cringe. “There’s my good girl.” You try to move away but his grip on your hip keeps you pulled flush against him. He keeps pouring the wine down your throat, the bottle held to your lips like he’s feeding a babe. The wine dribbles down your chin and onto your chest as you finally push him off.

“You said a sip!” You wipe the wine off your chest as he brings a hand to your mouth, wiping the drink off your lip with his fingers before bringing them to his own mouth and sucking it off. He never breaks eye contact as he does.

“You can’t handle the taste, sweet rose?’ He takes a swig from the bottle before putting it down. “I can think of another kind of nectar that would help you bloom nicely.” His eyes darken as he presses himself against you. You step back but he just keeps stalking you until you’re cornered against the wall.

“Don’t be stupid.” You duck under his arm and make for the door but he catches you by the arm and he sits by the wine bottles, pulling you into his lap with him.

“Ugh.” You grunt as you squirm a little in his lap but you eventually stop, not truly wanting to leave his hold.

“Good girl. No need to put on a show for big brother. I know what you want.” He lifts the bottle to your lips and makes you drink more before bringing it to his lips and finishing it off. Your head is starting to feel a little cloudy at this point. He turns you a little so he can see your face. His fingertips brush lightly over your lips before they begin to trail down your throat to the swell of your chest. Your hand comes up to hold his, stopping the movement.

“You shouldn’t.”

“But I will.” He whispers these words in your ear as his hand slips under the top of your nightgown to grope your breasts. You can feel the heat of his breath on your neck before he begins to kiss you there; you feel dizzy. Your hands go up to push him away but you end up gripping his tunic instead. He licks up your neck a little and leaves a mark.

“A-Ah…” You moan a little from the combined sensations of him squeezing your breast and sucking on your neck.

“I knew you’d like it, little whore.” His other hand reaches up to grip your hair. “You want me to touch you…” He nips at your collarbone. “... taste you.” The hand that was on your chest reaches up to the strap of your nightgown. He brings his lips to yours in a messy kiss to distract you from him slipping the strap off your shoulder. The hand that was in your hair does the same thing to the other side. You gasp, feeling the cool air on your bare skin as the nightgown falls to your hips. You break the kiss.

“Aegon!” You chastise him as you bring your hands up to cover your naked breasts.

“It’s fine. Be a good girl and move your arms.”

“You’ll ruin me for my future husband.” You glare at him through your drunken haze.

“You’ll never have a husband that’ll make you feel the way that I do right now.” He grabs your wrists and leans in to whisper in your ear. “Let me give you a night to remember.” He nips at your ear. “Let me be your first.” You think for a moment before lifting your hands to his tunic… you begin to unbutton it. He grins. “My naughty little rose.” He undoes his trousers and you pull his tunic off.

“I hate you.” Your words are a little slurred.

“You love me.” He takes your lips with his for another sloppy kiss. He forces his tongue into your mouth before laying you back against the cold cellar floor. He pins his hands above your head so he can finally get a good look at your breasts. “Such perfect fucking tits.” You blush at the lewdness of it all as his mouth moves to your chest. He circles your nipple with his tongue and leaves little love bites all over before he switches to sucking on the other.

“Mmm…” You moan and he lifts his head up to give you another kiss.

“Let’s get the rest of this off, shall we?” He tugs your nightgown off the rest of the way, taking your smallclothes with it. “Look at this tight little cunt.” He gives you a light smack, right on the pearl, and you squeal. “Sorry.” He says, not really meaning it.

He removes his cock from his trousers and your eyes widen at the sight.

“It’s… large.” You bite your lip.

“You’ll love it.”he smirks as he spreads your legs open a bit more and begins to rub his length along your slit, coating it in your arousal. “You’re so fucking wet that it’ll just slip right it.” You blush once more and he laughs before kissing you again, sheathing himself inside your cunny. He gives you a little chance to adjust before beginning to slide himself in and out.

“Oh gods.” You whimper as he hits that sweet spot.

“I told you you’d love it.” He begins to quicken his pace and groans a bit as you squeeze around him. “You’re so tight.” He grunts. “I wanna keep this tiny cunny all to myself.” His thrusts get rougher as he gets lost in the pleasure.

“H-Harder.” You whine and he grins before beginning to piston in and out of you, his hips slapping against yours at a brutal pace. “Fuck.” You moan as his fingers come down to rub your pearl.

“I want to feel you cum around me, little sister. Cum around my cock as I ruin you for every other man.” His cock continues to slam into you as you reach your peak, the waves of pleasure washing over you. He fucks you through your high and then some as he begins to overstimulate you.

“No… no more.” You beg for mercy as his ruthless pace continues.

“Don’t be selfish.” He scolds as he chases his high. You whine as he keeps fucking into you, the pleasure being too much to handle after your peak. He lets you suffer a bit before he finally gets close. You sigh in relief as he finally pulls out and releases his spend onto your stomach. You both just catch your breath for a moment before he lays on his back next to you and pulls you into his side. “Good job.” He mumbles as you rest your head on his chest.

The sight of the two of you sure gives some serving boy a fright the next morning.

taglist (comment to be added): @valeskafics @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies

#aegon targaryen #aegon smut #aegon targaryen smut #aegon x reader #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd smut

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here2bbtstrash · 1 year

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sunday (explicit)

genre: straight-up smut baybey, i did it y'all i wrote a pwp again

pairing: seokjin x reader

summary: you got your boyfriend exactly what he wanted for his birthday.

word count: 5k

contains: explicit sexual content~*~ say it with me: BRAT 👏 TAMER 👏 SEOKJIN 👏 established relationship, reader is uhhh 😬 Extremely bratty lmao, jin takes care of that, BDSM dynamics (mention of safewords and hand signals but neither are used!), reader gets spanked with a belt oop 🤭, fingering/a lil bit of eating it from the back, orgasm denial, big dick jin 😏, praise kink, mouth/throat fucking, a bit of breathplay, begging and apologizing, oh yeah she cries... like.... kind of a lot 🥲 there's a dacryphilia moment in there too (~*~add a little spice~*~), unprotected sex but they're in love it's fine, lots of subspace at the end, use of a vibrator, overstimulation, she comes.... idek how many times, and a smidge of aftercare 🫠 also i promise there's no food play, you'll get why the cake's there at the end ok lmao

A/N: a day late and a dollar short but hey that's my mental health rn 🫡 this was fun!!! always nice to dust off the ol' pwp muscles and frankly i've been itching to write proper BDSM for a bit now. sometimes you just wanna get the shit beat out of you lovingly and that's valid and sexy ya know. anyway feel free to silently skip this one if it's not for you!! and i know i'm gonna get a comment on it so 🙄 i used his korean age on purpose lmao 🙄 yes i can count and yes i know their system is changing~ ANYWAY i sincerely hope you enjoy babes and that you all had a lovely seokjin day 🥺 i loooove y'all !!! 💜

thank you to @haliiimede for beta reading and being my soulmate 🥺

read on AO3!

~*~

The slam of the front door tells you that your plan for today has worked perfectly.

Standing in front of the full length mirror in your bedroom, you adjust a final strap on your bralette, then quickly scramble to pull your clothes back on. You attempt to keep your expression innocent as you slip down the hallway to greet your boyfriend.

Before you can even make it, you hear the unmistakable pop of a wine bottle being uncorked, and you enter the kitchen just in time to see Seokjin leaning up against the counter with a glass of white in hand. He doesn’t look particularly pleased to see you.

“Hi baby,” you say, sweet as can be. “Can I have a glass?”

A muscle works in his jaw as he looks you over, and the expression on his face already has a flame licking in the pit of your stomach.

“That's all you have to say?” he finally answers.

You blink up at him, feigning ignorance. Your heartbeat has started to race behind your ribs, sensing imminent danger— the good kind.

“I haven't heard from you all day today,” he tries again.

You shrug. “I was still sleeping when you left this morning, and then, I don't know. I was doing things. Does it matter?” If Seokjin wasn’t already pissed, you know your last question will get him. You turn away to busy yourself with retrieving a wine glass so he can’t see the smile you’re trying to bite back.

The tone of his voice makes you freeze, glass in hand. “I don't recall saying you could have any.”

Your lower lip juts out automatically, and you do your best to steady your breathing without making it apparent. Even your voice comes out a little shaky. “But we always share.”

The silence in the kitchen feels deafening, punctuated by the soft tap of Seokjin setting his glass on the counter. You mirror him, swallowing hard as he steps in to close the distance between you. It never gets any less exciting to have him tower over you, big and broad-shouldered, tall enough that you have to look up through your lashes to meet his gaze. A dull ache starts to pulse between your legs.

“Do you know what today is?”

You lick your lips and try to speak. “Sunday?”

It’s like you barely get the word out before he’s gripping your jaw with one large hand, and you can feel your heartbeat in your throat. Anticipation buzzes through your body, all the way down to your toes, as he forces your chin up.

“Anything else?” His voice sounds like a warning.

Your mouth pulls into a grin beneath his grasp, one you can’t quite manage to keep innocent. “Oh, Seokjin, is it your birthday? I knew I was forgetting something. Oops.”

“Fucking brat.”

All at once Seokjin locks an arm around your hips, and you let out a shrill squeak as your feet leave the floor entirely when he outright slings you over his shoulder. This is, of course, exactly what you’d hoped for, but you struggle a little in his grip nonetheless. All part of the fun.

You’d left the bedroom door cracked on your way out to greet him, and he takes the opportunity to kick it back open. A shiver runs up your spine at the sight, and then you hit the bed hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs.

You push up onto your hands as you sit up, slightly dizzy.

“That hurt, Seokjin,” you whine, but you both know you don’t mean it. You have agreed-upon methods of telling him when he’s really hurting you in a way that doesn’t feel good: safewords, even hand signals for when you’re rendered non-verbal. Anything said that isn’t one of those is just you running your mouth on purpose, winding him up. Like now. “You’re being so dramatic.”

“And you’ve got a fucking attitude today,” he snaps. “Is this really how you want to do this? On my fucking birthday?”

You blink up at him with the same sweet smile. “What if I told you I got you a present?”

This seems to surprise him a little, and he pauses, like he doesn’t quite buy it. “A present, huh?”

“Mm-hmm.” You nod as you get to your feet. “Let me unwrap it for you.”

Taking your time with it, you peel off your sweatshirt and leggings to reveal the lingerie you pulled on as he was coming home. It’s a soft pink set with a floral design, thin straps, and romantic lace, and you happen to think it does wonders for your curves.

“What do you think?”

You can see the hungry gleam in Seokjin's eyes even as he scoffs, feigning disinterest. “Oh, this is my present? A disrespectful brat that I have to teach a lesson? I should rip this shit off.”

“Hey, this was expensive!” you snap, and he arches an eyebrow as if to give you a final chance to behave. It just makes you want to push him that much further.

You step closer, allowing a perfect line of sight to your tits that threaten to spill out of their confinements, and you soften your voice when you speak again. “What, you don’t forgive me, Seokjin?”

The corner of his mouth just barely ticks up. “You know the rules. Forgiveness is earned.”

He reaches a hand down to undo the buckle of his belt, and your nipples are suddenly painfully hard against the lace fabric. You can’t remember the last time he used his belt. Fuck, he’s really mad.

“Bend over.”

You huff a sigh as you drape yourself over the edge of the bed, and his hands are already on your ass. He makes a low noise of appreciation as his fingertips dig into your supple skin, pressing firm enough to make you wince. He's not being gentle, and you don’t want him to be.

Your eyes flutter closed in enjoyment of being manhandled like this, and you get so lost in it that it takes you a second to realize Seokjin has asked you a question. By then it’s already too late.

He gives a warning slap to your ass as he repeats himself. “I said, how old am I?”

You peek over your shoulder, wiggling your ass against the flat of his palm, only for him to smack you hard over your left cheek. You bite back a whimper, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

“I don't know,” you lie, blinking up at him. “You’re so old now, it’s hard to remember.”

In one swift move, he yanks his belt out from around his waist, and you swallow hard as you watch him fold it over in his hands.

“Then why don’t you fucking count for me.”

The belt cracks down over your ass, and you flinch at the first real rush of pain. It takes you a second to regain focus, your brain still buzzing from the hit, and then his words come back to you.

“One.”

“So you are capable of listening, huh?”

Another hit, equally as hard on the other side, and you grit your teeth.

“Two.”

“Aw, where’d that smart mouth go? Not so chatty now?” Seokjin cracks the belt again, and you can barely get the word three out before four is being delivered just as harshly. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to breathe. He's really hitting hard tonight.

“Four,” you gasp, and you hear Seokjin exhale a dark laugh above you.

“Better toughen up, sweetheart. We’ve got a long way to go.” Another hit in the same spot, this one enough to really sting.

“Five.”

“You know, since I'm so old.”

The next blow he delivers is so hard, the word comes out as a cry of pain. “Six!”

You flatten your pelvis down against the sheets, as if in an attempt to hide from the beating, but there’s nowhere to go. The extra pressure makes you feel how hard your clit has started to throb from your punishment. You bury your face in the crook of your elbow, your hips jerking reflexively as you moan through seven, eight, nine.

Every muscle in your body seizes taut as you prepare for ten, trying to encourage yourself to breathe through it, though all you can get out right now are shallow gasps for air. I can take this, you tell yourself, I can take this.

But it doesn’t come. You’re pulled so tight you think you might snap, and you manage to lift your head up from your arms to look back at Seokjin.

“There she is,” he says, and the soft tone of his voice in no way influences how hard he brings the belt down over your ass.

“Ten!” you groan, and the sharp bite of pain over your already raw skin nearly brings tears to your eyes. And he’s not even halfway done.

It’s all you can do now to remember what number you’re on, especially as Seokjin continues to allow torturously long pauses between his hits. He'll wait just long enough that your heartbeat starts to slow, teasing the thin length of the belt up the backs of your thighs, sometimes even with a laugh.

But it’s not relief: the waiting keeps every inch of you on edge, all wound up with anticipation of the next dose of pain, so tense you’re not sure you’re breathing.

You’ve hardly choked out fourteen when you flinch at a brush of contact, the warm touch of skin where you were expecting the crack of leather. Letting your forehead drop against the bed, you pant like you’ve just run a marathon as Seokjin's hand moves over your abused flesh, groping and massaging as he did before. You can’t tell if it’s been minutes or hours since then, but his touch is grounding, calming, even when his fingers sink into your fresh bruises with enough force to make you whimper.

You can feel the way the seam of your panties sticks to your center now, and you can only imagine that they must be entirely soaked through, your slickness already starting to paint the crux of your thighs. With a soft whine of need, you spread your legs a little wider in search of anything but more pain.

“What do you think?” Seokjin's voice is dark when he speaks, thick with lust. The thought of him straining hard against his pants has you practically drooling on the mattress. You want nothing more than that cock stretching you open right now. “Starting to learn your lesson?”

As much as the rational part of you appreciates the check-in, you can’t ignore the new rush of rebellion that surges up at the question. What, does he think you need him to go easy? Does he think you’re not tough enough, that you can’t take everything he’s willing to give you?

You push up to look over your shoulder at him again, your jaw set firm. “No.”

Anger flashes over his face, but he can’t quite hide his smile. “Then I guess I can stop holding back.”

Shit, he was—? You don’t get the opportunity to finish that thought before the loop of his belt is whizzing through the air, and the impact it makes against your ass hits so hard, you momentarily see stars. “Fuck!”

“That's not a fucking number.”

“Fifteen,” you gasp, dropping limp against the bed like a ragdoll, breathless with relief that you didn’t lose track. “Fifteen.”

“The brat can count,” Seokjin remarks, and then he delivers sixteen just as hard and your whole body spasms from the pain as you choke out the number. “If only you knew how old I was, you might have some idea of how much longer I have to beat your ass.”

Your eyes are really starting to well up now, but you force yourself to keep breathing, to focus on his words. It might be coded to fit the scene, but it’s a clear reminder nonetheless: you’re more than halfway. You can do this.

By twenty, the tears have started to spill down your face, but Seokjin knows you well enough to know the scene doesn’t stop unless you call a safeword. He trusts you to know your own limits, and you do. But fuck, he can really test them sometimes. You’re dying for him to touch you, fuck you, do anything but keep fucking beating you. It’s taking everything in you to keep going, your feet kicking helplessly each time he brings the belt down over your tender backside. He hasn’t lightened the weight of his hits up even in the slightest. If anything, they’re only getting worse.

“Twenty-one,” you breathe. You only have ten hits left, and you’ve already gotten through ten hits twice now. You can do this.

“Twenty-two.” You tell yourself not to fight it.

“Twenty-three.” Just give into the pain.

“Twenty-four.” Submit.

Your shoulders heave with sobs as the twenty-fifth strike finally, finally breaks your last resolve. You press your face into the mattress; you’re crying so hard you can scarcely breathe. Even though your body keeps flinching with the reflexive animal reaction to try and get away from the pain, your mind has fully accepted your punishment, all the fight gone out of you.

It’s like someone else is counting for you now, so much so that you don’t even realize what number Seokjin is on until the words leave your mouth.

“Thirty-one.”

You hear the jingle and thud of the belt hitting the floor, and then his gentle hands are encouraging your legs to spread apart. The brush of his fingers over your aching core is sweet, overwhelming relief from the pain still coursing through your system. You’d think it’d be enough to make you cry, if you weren’t already.

“Good girl,” he says softly, and that small praise alone has you floating straight up to the ceiling.

His hands move quickly to pull your panties down and off, and you work to get your breathing back under control, letting your sobs dissolve into sniffling gulps. You whimper when his palms slip under your hips, encouraging you up onto your knees. Your body shivers all over as you try to hold yourself up, to be good, and then you feel Seokjin slip two fingers into your drenched center.

“Oh my god,” you groan as he starts to rub diligently at the ridges of your front wall, his free hand gripping your ass to spread you open. His touch in both places at once, pressing down on fresh swollen bruises and curling up into the sweetest part of you, it’s so good. It reminds you why you willingly give yourself over to this man, the one you love so much, the only one who can make you feel like this. You’re so turned on from the mix of pleasure and pain, you might be close to blacking out.

The bed creaks as he shifts a little, and then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, and you keen. You bury your sounds in the crook of your elbow as his tongue plunges into you, and he snakes a hand between your legs to rub slow circles over your clit. Your mind is reeling; you can barely manage to speak.

“S-Seokjin,” you gasp. “You’re g-gonna, ngh, gonna make me—”

He pulls off just enough to mutter, “You better fucking ask first.”

You swear he ups the intensity on purpose when his mouth returns to your pussy, as if to drag you that much closer to the edge. His thumb is working so perfectly at your clit, you can feel your thighs starting to shake as you writhe back against him. “Can I— can I please come, Seokjin? Pleaseplease, please?”

“No.”

His voice is firm, unbothered, and paired with the painful loss of his touch all at once. A strangled sob of frustration escapes you as you collapse against the bed, exhausted from holding yourself up and from your denied release.

“Not yet,” Seokjin continues. “Not until you’ve learned to be a little more obedient.”

His strong hand closes over your bicep, and he easily flips you over onto your back, causing you to hiss at the graze of your sore flesh against the sheets. Your lower lip trembles, your eyes threatening tears as you stare up at him, but you stay quiet.

“Be a good girl,” Seokjin says, dragging one finger up the column of your throat. You willingly tip your head back for him as a shiver rolls through you. “Let me fuck this smart mouth, then I’ll make you come as many times as you can handle. Okay?”

When you nod softly, he hauls you up to your feet. “Get on your knees.”

You do as he says, sitting back on your heels and watching as he works his pants and boxers down to free his cock. He’s thick and long, flushed dark and dripping hard. Big enough that you go slightly cross-eyed trying to take him in. Your cunt clenches desperately at his size, at how badly you need all of him inside you, bottoming out into you again and again.

But even moreso, you want to be good.

“Mouth open,” Seokjin instructs, and you comply, letting your tongue loll out for him as he tangles a hand in your hair.

He guides himself between your lips, and your eyes roll back at the weight of him on your tongue, the feeling of your jaw stretching open to fit him. He’s so fucking big, it’s uncomfortable, but you do your best to breathe around him and give into it.

Trying to hold still, hands placed sweetly on your thighs because you know he likes it that way, you blink up at Seokjin as he starts to thrust into your mouth. You can taste the salt of his precum as his length drags along your tongue, and you fight back the urge to gag when the tip of his cock nudges into the back wall of your throat. He groans softly as he rubs himself there, his grip on your hair tightening until the pain stings your scalp. Your eyes start to water as you try to keep yourself from choking.

“Fuck,” he hisses when he pulls out, saliva stringing in thick strands from your mouth to the head of his cock. He squeezes at the base of it, eyes glazed dark with lust, and you take in as much air as you can, the cool rush painful where your throat is sore from the stretch of him.

You sit up taller as if to ask for more.

Seokjin’s gaze meets yours as the hand on his cock guides it back toward you, but he doesn’t slip back into your mouth. His eyes are fixated hungrily on your face as he drags the head of his dick down over your bottom lip, teasing it around your mouth and along your cheeks, clearly enjoying that he can do whatever he wants with you.

Your pulse drums loudly in your ears as you sit there, mouth open, and take it. The whole lower half of your face must be slick with spit and precum now, given how easily he glides across your skin, and then you’re hit with the heavy thud of him smacking his cock once, twice, three times against your flat, willing tongue.

“Are you done being a brat now?” he prompts, and you can feel drool spilling down your chin as you nod, his cock still weighing heavy on your outstretched tongue. He slips it in a little further, just past the ring of your lips.

“Gonna be a good girl for me?”

A soft whine escapes around his girth filling your mouth. You nod again, desperate, and then he hits the back of your throat with enough force to make you gag noisily. Your body shudders beneath him, and you try to keep it together.

“Learned your fucking lesson?”

Tears start to sting at the corners of your eyes as he keeps sliding himself into your mouth, the head of his cock dipping down into the tight clutch of your throat, as far as he can go until your nose is flush with his abdomen. You can’t make another sound, your mouth crammed too full, but you do your best to nod even as you lose the ability to keep breathing.

Seokjin’s thumb brushes over the bulge in your throat, and you know what he wants. Tears slip down your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut and swallow around him, and he rewards you with an unabashed moan that lights up everything inside you.

“That’s it. You look so good when you cry on my cock,” he rasps, his hand closing over your throat as you swallow again.

You can feel yourself starting to get light headed from lack of oxygen as more tears stream down your face, but the praise spurs you on. You want it too much, it makes you eager to please at any cost, despite the dizzying surge of adrenaline, despite the way your throat is spasming painfully now. You’ll pass out with his cock down your throat, if that’s what it takes.

He pulls out all at once, and the rush of air you heave in is like broken glass against your raw throat. You fall forward, your palms just barely catching you from landing directly onto your face, and you can’t do anything for a moment but breathe in ragged, shaky gasps. Tears are still welling up in your eyes, dripping down onto the carpet beneath you.

Your world tilts as Seokjin easily scoops you up in his arms just to drop you onto the bed, flat on your back. There’s still the dull ache of the bruises he beat into your ass, but it’s like someone’s turned the volume down on it. All your physical sensations seem distant, like they’re happening to someone else, even the dull ache thudding between your legs, a desperate desire to come that was only made worse by being used as your boyfriend’s fucktoy.

Your eyes flutter closed as his hands slip up your body to undo your lacy bralette and peel it off of you, and you don’t fight it.

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” Seokjin's voice pulls you back from the edge, and you fight to open your eyes again. He's hovering over you, fully stripped now, his brow creased slightly with concern. “Stay with me a little bit longer, okay?” His tone is still serious, and you sniff softly as you nod.

He slips a palm encouragingly under your thigh and you do the rest, so out of body that it’s like you weigh nothing at all as you pull your knees up to effectively bend yourself in half for him. He practically growls at the sight of you spread for him so willingly, presenting a cunt swollen with need, painted glossy with arousal.

You watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he kneels up on the bed, and then his thick cock is grinding over you, dragged right up your center. The feeling of finally being touched where you need it most has you exhaling a moan of relief.

“Is this what you want?” Seokjin's breath is hot on your neck and chased by the scrape of his teeth, earning another noise of pleasure from you. Your clit throbs as he rolls the head of his dick over it, up and down, slow teasing.

“Yes,” you manage to gasp. Your voice comes out a little broken from your scraped-up throat. “Yes, please. Please fuck me, please, want it so bad.”

“Which do you want more?”

You’re so gone, choking on whimpers and whines, that his hand closes over your throat to make you focus on the rest of his question. The look on his face is so dark, it sends a shiver down your spine.

“My dick, or my forgiveness?”

Tears spring to your eyes immediately as an overwhelming wave of emotions floods through you. There isn’t a doubt in your mind what your answer is, you don’t even have to pause to consider it. As badly as you want, need him to fuck you, the thought of Seokjin discarding you when he’s finished, still upset, not kissing every inch of your skin, not praising you for being so good… you can’t bear it.

“Your forgiveness,” you sob, doing your best to keep breathing despite his hand around your throat. “Please, please, please forgive me. I'm so sorry. I just wanna be good, wanna be good for you, I don't need anything else.”

You can see his face soften even through the tears that blur your vision. “There she is,” he murmurs, and then he tips his head down to brush his lips over yours. The warm touch of his mouth is all the reward you could ever ask for, and he sucks sweetly on your bottom lip before pulling back.

“Good answer, babygirl.”

Before you can even process what’s happening, he’s fucking the whole of his thick cock into you, and you can only keen as he stretches you wide enough to fit all of him. Your walls are immediately trembling tight to him from how edged close you’ve been all night.

“Thank you,” you moan, your head dropping back against the pillow. A gasp rips through you as he bottoms out, your spine arching when the crown of his cock presses firmly on your cervix. “Thank you, oh fuck.”

“Yeah,” Seokjin purrs, his mouth against your collarbone. You think he might be sucking a mark into your skin, but it’s already getting hard to tell what’s happening. “You always take it so well after I beat the brat out of you. Let go now, baby. You’ve earned it.”

You’re grateful for the permission, because you’re not sure you could stay tethered any longer if you tried. Not when he’s splitting you open, thrusting hard and deep because he knows you can take it, with a cock fat enough to light up every sweet spot in you at once. Your eyes roll back as you start to float, so out of it that you barely even notice a faint buzzing sound until you realize Seokjin is pressing your vibrator down against your swollen, aching clit.

Fuck, when did he even grab it off the nightstand?

You’re vaguely aware of someone moaning, but it doesn’t even feel like you. You’ve given up entirely to it now, a sweet surrender to this all-encompassing pleasure. It’s so good, too good, it slips you out of your mind and body alike, like he’s fucking your brain right out of your skull.

“That’s it, come on my cock,” Seokjin groans, and fuck, you are, you’re coming hard enough to drench his cock with every pulse of your needy cunt. “Such a good girl.”

He doesn't even pull the toy off to give you a moment of recovery, just keeps it nestled between your folds as he pounds into you. Your hips shudder violently as you coast out of your first climax and straight into another one.

It all starts to blur together now, wave after wave of orgasm washing over you until you’re drowning in it. You come and come and come until it feels like you’re melting into the bed, pinned through by this massive cock and the endless mind-numbing buzz on your clit. You can distantly tell that you’ve soaked a wet spot into the sheets beneath you, that your thighs and even the muscles of your ass are shaking from overstimulation.

“S-S-Seokjin.” It takes you three tries to get his name out, and you’re still not really sure if you said it until the toy switches off. The humming sensation is still reverberating through your body even in the absence of it, enough to make you tremble all over as he picks up the pace.

“Gonna fucking— fill you up,” Seokjin grunts, voice thick with effort, and then his cock twitches at the very back of you, buried deep as it can go, pulsing heavy as he paints you with rope after rope of his release.

You’re still not here, not really, not when he pulls out with a heavy sigh, when the cum starts to drool down your legs, when he drops onto the mattress beside you and pulls you into him. It comes back to you in pieces: you’re shivering all over, breathing hard, your face is wet— fuck, when were you crying?

It takes you several moments to realize Seokjin is murmuring in your ear, that his fingers are carding through your hair, his breath ghosting over your skin. “Just breathe, baby. Did so well, it’s over now. You’re safe.”

As the post-scene comedown settles into your bones, you bury your face into his shoulder, trying to breathe through the myriad of emotions and chemicals flooding your system. He pulls the blanket up over your chest, and the warmth of it and his body help to gently bring you down from the high.

You don’t know how long you lay like that until you finally manage to squeak out a question. “Y-you’re not really mad, right?”

Seokjin laughs gently as he presses a kiss to your hairline. “No, baby. I know you didn’t really forget. The birthday cake in the fridge kinda gave it away.”

The words take a second to hit you, and then a dazed giggle bubbles up in your chest. It’s like you’re floating as you start to laugh, your face still pressed into Seokjin’s skin, and you can feel the rumble of him laughing too. It didn’t even occur to you that he would’ve seen the fucking cake when he grabbed himself a bottle of wine.

“Oh,” is all you can think to say, and you keep giggling as his lips move over the line of your jaw, trailing kisses.

“You’re cute when you’re trying to get punished,” he says softly. “It's part of why I love you. You’re my perfect little brat. And this was the perfect gift, seriously.”

A warm glow blooms in your chest at the praise, and you sigh happily as you curl up against his side. “Can we eat cake in bed?”

Seokjin leans down to brush his mouth over yours, sweetly adoring. “Anything you want.”

#seokjin smut #seokjin x reader #seokjin x y/n #bts smut #bts x reader #bts fanfic #💜 happy seokjin day 💜

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ageingfangirl2 · 6 months

Text

Never Have I Ever! Red Hair Pirates (One Piece)

Part 2

You play a game of Never Have I Ever and secrets come to light that some crew would rather forget. Reader x Red Hair Pirates FLUFF (Female reader implied)

You walk onto the deck after finishing documenting the last battle since Shanks had assigned you the ship scribe and roll your eyes as the rest of the crew sits in a circle drinking and laughing. You didn't mind a drink here and there but sometimes pirates could be a little excessive when it came to booze and celebrating after a successful battle.

Shanks spots you and waves you over wearing his trademark drunken grin, 'come play with us,' he slurs, and brings the bottle in his hand up to his lips.

You roll your eyes again and approach the circle, 'what are you guys playing?'

Benn notices you looking for an empty spot since there were none and immediately pulls you down to sit on his lap, 'never have I ever doll.'

Yasopp hands you a bottle of unopened wine, 'you take it in turns saying something you haven't done, and if someone has done the thing they have to drink and tell the story.'

Benn squeezes your thigh and smirks, 'We're about to find out some of your secrets, hit us with your best shot.'

You uncork the wine and take a large swig, you had a bone to pick with Benn for embarrassing you in town earlier and you had just the right ammunition to take away his smugness.

'Okay, never have I ever...' you pause, and everyone in the circle leans in a little closer because you didn't share a lot about yourself, '...never have I ever seen my captain's dick.'

Benn scowls at you, 'You little minx, I told you that in private.'

You pout, 'Drink up and spill old man, unless our beloved captain wants to tell the story.'

Shanks howls with laughter, 'Benn's seen my dick several times. You jealous little lady?'

'Seven...' you stutter.

Benn pretty much finishes his whole drink before talking, 'I never initiated any of them, that's all on Shanks.'

However what shocks you next is that one by one the rest of the guys start drinking, and if your jaw could hit the deck it would as Shanks continues laughing.

'He showed me in the kitchen when I was prepping vegetables, compared it against a bunch of carrots,' Lucky says with a grimace, 'it took me a while to pick up another carrot.'

'Rockstar and I were fishing and he simply whipped it out,' Lime Juice says calmly, 'we promised never to talk about it again.'

'It wasn't long after the formation of the crew. We got drunk and had a dick measuring contest,' Yasopp speaks up, 'it sobered me right up.'

Hongo clicks his tongue, 'it wasn't even medical. Like Rockstar and Lime Juice, I was minding my own business in the infirmary, and he waltzed in real pride in himself.

You notice Benn pout next to you, 'What's wrong? Did you think you were special?'

'Maybe a little,' Benn mumbles into his empty bottle.

You find your captain's eyes and he's smirking at you mischievously, 'I'm going to like playing this game with you, everyone tells you their secrets.'

The game abruptly ended after your one and only turn, the crew wanting to drown their sorrows, and a lot more booze was consumed to forget the image of Shank's dick.

You finish your wine and decide to leave the pity party and head towards the back of the ship to get a better view of the stars. You were pretty satisfied with the carnage you'd caused, maybe now you wouldn't be teased or pranked as much.

'You never answered my earlier question,' Shanks slurs from behind you.

You spin around and see Shanks leaning casually against the railing, 'err what was the question, captain?'

Shanks saunters towards you, 'You jealous you haven't seen your captain's dick? You're the odd one out.'

You shake your head and cover your eyes as Shanks's hand goes to the waistband of his pants, your cheeks blushing, 'I'm not jealous, I wanted to get back at Benn for embarrassing me. Please keep it in your pants captain.'

You gasp as you feel Shanks's arm go around you pulling you against his chest, feeling the fabric of his pants on your legs so you don't have to worry and open your eyes, 'you're going to give me a heart attack one day captain.'

Shanks ruffles your hair, 'I'll never make you feel uncomfortable. But when you're ready to see your first dick I'll make sure it's mine.'

You grew up on an island full of women, so until meeting Shanks and the rest of the crew you had limited knowledge of men. After agreeing to join the crew because you wanted an adventure you slowly started your education of men. Maybe pirates shouldn't have been your first introduction.

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tigertales9 · 9 months

Text

Good Clean Fun

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+ / Smut

Description: You accompany Joe to the Hamptons for the white party

Time/Place: July 3, 2023 - the Hamptons, NY

A/N: I wrote this just after the white party pics dropped, but I'm still not sure about it. 😬 I've tweaked it to pieces and finally decided to just offer it up. Hope y'all like it.

Inspo pic: (one of many)

Pic source = white party hotness

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You jolt awake at the sound of your phone ringing, fumbling to grab it off the bedside table. "Hey," you whisper.

"Hey," Joe says. "What are you doing?"

"Just laying in bed … thinking about you," you answer nonchalantly, not wanting to admit you were asleep. "How's the party going?"

"It's … fine," he mutters. "I wish I was there with you."

"Me too, babe."

"I'm thinking about leaving early."

You check the clock on the bedside table. "Better stick it out for at least another hour," you advise, smiling when he heaves a sigh. "I know it's not your scene, but you need to do this, okay?"

"Are you gonna be awake when I get back?" he asks, the pouty tone in his voice causing you to smile even bigger.

"Of course. Shoot me a text when you leave and I'll be waiting for you at the front door."

"Promise?"

"I promise," you chuckle. "Now get back out there and mingle," you order, laughing at his dramatic groan.

"Yes, ma'am," he grumbles. "Love you."

"Love you, too," you echo.

You set your phone down and look around the elegant but unfamiliar bedroom. Joe had begged you to come with him to the Hamptons even though you weren't invited to the white party. Y'all had flown up the day before on a private jet, quickly settling into your Airbnb before ordering a dinner delivery of salmon piccata pasta, caesar salad and garlic bread. Joe had uncorked a bottle of crisp sauvignon blanc, and y'all had enjoyed your meal while watching an amazing sunset from your upstairs balcony.

You smile to yourself thinking about what happened after dinner; you and Joe tangled together on the plush bed, him getting you off twice with his fingers and tongue before putting your legs over his shoulders and fucking you slow and deep, his big hands teasing your breasts and clit in a way that had you writhing beneath him, your third climax of the night hitting so hard you actually saw stars.

You bite your lip at the intense memory as you flop back against a pile of fluffy pillows, heaving a sigh as you look around the tastefully decorated bedroom. The Airbnb is a few miles away from Billionaire Lane where the white party is taking place, but even though it's more modest than those monuments to conspicuous consumption, it still has amazing views, a super comfy king-sized bed, and a huge shower with a built-in bench and several different water features.

You giggle when you think about the shower; you had a little solo fun in there earlier after a couple glasses of wine and a couple pics of your man at the white party looking like a walking orgasm got you worked up. "Sexy motherfucker," you mutter to yourself, still smiling at the naughty memory when your phone chimes; you read the text from Joe before sending a quick reply.

"Thirty minutes is not exactly an hour, Joseph Lee," you giggle to yourself, "but okay." You place your phone on the bedside table before easing off the bed and walking into the en suite bathroom to check your reflection in the mirror. You're wearing a short silk robe the color of pale seafoam green and a lace thong to match. Your face is devoid of makeup and your long wavy hair is in a messy bun on top of your head; you briefly consider fixing it before giving a shrug. "Fuck it," you mutter, walking downstairs just in time to see a car pull into the driveway. You watch through a front window as Joe climbs out of the backseat of the car and ambles up the sidewalk, his slightly unsteady, long-legged stride making you smile as you swing the front door open.

"Hey," you purr, staying mostly hidden behind the door as the car reverses out of the driveway and drives off into the warm, humid night.

"Hey," he mutters, giving you a lopsided smile as you close the door behind him. "You look gorgeous," he says, reaching a hand out to finger your slinky robe as you raise an eyebrow in response. "And you look drunk as fuck," you chuckle, pulling him into a tight hug. "Did you have a good time?" you ask, inhaling his pungent aroma of sweat, vodka and a hint of weed.

"Not really," he pouts, "and I'm not drunk. I'm just a little buzzed," he argues. "Just a little crossfaded," you retort. "Maybe a little," he admits, giving you a sheepish smile when you pull back and look up at him. "But I'm mostly just tired as hell," he continues. "I couldn't relax the entire time I was there because I felt like an animal on display at the zoo. I mean, it was fun to catch up with the guys, but then there were these random peeps who kept staring at me, taking pics and vids." He makes a stank face before continuing. "Some of them even tried to talk to me," he shudders. "Weird as fuck."

"Awww, you must be so exhausted," you murmur sympathetically, pulling him into another tight hug. "I am," he sighs, burying his face in your neck as you reach under his shirt and scratch his back through his thin tank top. "Poor baby," you coo. "It's a lot of work dodging all that pussy being thrown at you. No wonder you're tired."

He leans back and looks down at you, narrowing his eyes at the bratty look on your face. "For a second I actually thought you felt sorry for me," he grumbles, trying hard not to smile when you roll your eyes. You stick your tongue out at him just as his stomach gives a loud growl. "Did you eat anything at the party?" you ask, shaking your head when he lists a few appetizers. "That's not nearly enough," you state, grabbing his hand and leading him into the kitchen. "Good thing I got you a lobster roll when I ordered mine earlier."

"Oh yum!" he chirps, placing his phone and sunglasses on the kitchen island before shrugging his "crochet" shirt off and tossing it over a barstool; he hurries to the kitchen sink and washes his hands, giving you an almost giddy smile as he plops down in another barstool, his entire demeanor perking up at the thought of delicious food.

You preheat the toaster oven before pulling a fluffy split-top roll out of a paper bag; you quickly slather butter on the roll before popping it into the oven to crisp up, throwing him a smile over your shoulder while opening the fridge. "I got it deconstructed so it wouldn't get soggy," you say, grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge and sliding it across the counter to him. "It'll be ready in just a few minutes."

"Thanks, babe," he sighs, twisting the cap off and guzzling most of the bottle in about five seconds, a tiny drop of water escaping one corner of his mouth to casually slide down the long, sexy column of his throat. You watch the downward progress of the runaway water droplet like your life depends on it, biting your lip when he finally wipes it away just before it reaches his collarbone. Your gaze lingers on his broad shoulders, muscular chest and sculpted arms, the skimpy tank top and smiley face necklace he's wearing showcasing those impressive attributes in a way that makes your mouth water.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, giving you a loaded look when you meet his gaze.

~ DING ~

You jump as the timer on the oven goes off, shaking your head as you place the warm roll on a plate before grabbing the container of lobster salad out of the fridge. "I'm thinking I need to get this food in your belly," you mutter, smiling when Joe groans as he watches you pile an obscene amount of lobster onto the crispy roll before setting the plate in front of him.

"You're so good to me," he mutters, taking a huge bite of the roll as you hand him a bag of kettle chips and another bottle of water. "SO good," he repeats, his eyes rolling back in his head as he devours another bite. "I didn't realize I was so hungry," he mumbles, holding a big hand in front of his mouth as he speaks so as not to show you his half-chewed food.

You walk behind him and scratch his back as he continues to scarf his food, grinning when he pulls his tank top off to give you better access. You continue to scratch his bare back just the way he likes, your pulse reacting to the sex-type noises spilling from his pretty lips. "Feel good?" you ask, sliding one hand up the nape of his neck into his sweaty curls, his low-throated moan making you want to pull his hair and have your way with him. You ponder that naughty thought for a second until your pragmatic inner voice reminds you he needs food and sleep more than sex since y'all have a fairly early flight out tomorrow morning.

"Feels amazing," he groans after swallowing his last bite of lobster roll.

You give his back a final scratch before grabbing his empty plate and walking to the sink. "I got you some dessert, too," you say, quickly rinsing the plate and washing your hands before reaching into the delivery bag to pull out a small package. "I hope that's a euphemism for sex," he purrs, giving you a dirty wink when you cut your eyes at him. "These are better than sex" you state, placing a napkin in front of him before setting two peanut butter chocolate chip cookies on it.

He raises one eyebrow before taking a huge bite of cookie. After chewing and swallowing he narrows his eyes at you. "These are delicious, but they're not better than sex. Not even close."

"I was just teasing," you chuckle, watching in amusement as he crams the rest of the first cookie in his mouth before reaching for the second. "If you think these are better than sex then I really need to up my game," he grumbles, polishing off the final cookie while giving you a pouty grimace.

"I said I was teasing, grumpy cat," you giggle, reaching forward to wipe cookie crumbs off of his lips while he continues to faux-glower at you. "If you upped your game you'd give me a stroke." You flick his pouty bottom lip a couple times until he smiles. "Anyway," you continue, "quit thinking about sex. You need a shower and sleep since we have an early-ish flight tomorrow."

He makes a face before speaking. "I'm almost too tired to take a shower, but I know I need one since I feel grimy." He lifts an arm and gives his armpit a hearty sniff. "I smell like b.o. and vodka."

"And weed," you interject, chuckling when he wrinkles his pert nose at you. "C'mon," you urge. "I'll help you shower since you're so wrung out."

He follows you upstairs into the en suite bathroom, leaning against the wall as you turn the shower on to heat up. You squeeze toothpaste onto both of your toothbrushes before handing him his, keeping a close eye on him while you brush to make sure he doesn't fall asleep on his feet.

When you finish brushing you strip naked before helping him do the same, ushering him into the steamy shower and immediately ordering him to sit on the built-in bench while you angle all of the water jets to your liking. You grab the handheld shower head, quickly switching the setting from pulsate to rainfall before wetting him down head to toe, stepping in between his spread thighs as he slumps back against the tile wall and groans at the feel of the warm water cascading over him.

"Let's wash your hair first," you murmur, placing the shower head back in its holder before squeezing some shampoo in your palm. You rub your hands together before sliding them into his wet hair, thoroughly lathering the drenched strands while he ogles your bare chest.

"Close your eyes and keep 'em closed, please," you state.

"How am I supposed to keep my eyes closed when your tits are jiggling in my face?"

"You wanna get shampoo in your eyes?"

"No."

"Then keep 'em closed."

"Yes, ma'am," he grumbles, squeezing his eyes closed as you step a little closer, dropping a quick kiss on his wet forehead before massaging his scalp. "Feels good," he groans, sucking his plump bottom lip into his mouth as you grind the pads of your fingers against his temples, slowly working your way down the nape of his neck before reversing course. You smile at the look on his face as you grab the shower head. "I'm about to rinse so keep your eyes closed tight."

"Okay."

You thoroughly rinse his hair then grab his tube of face cleanser. "Hold a hand out for some face cleanser," you order, squeezing some gel onto his palm and waiting for him to lather up his face before rinsing again. He wipes the water off of his face and slicks his hair back as you reach for his shower pouf and wet it down, squeezing a generous dollop of his fav body wash on it before getting down to business.

You get him to lean forward so you can reach his back then move to his shoulders, working the foamy lather down each muscular arm all the way to his fingertips, pushing his wristbands up to clean underneath before moving to his chest; you grin when he squirms a bit as you tease his nipples with the frilly sponge, urging him to lift both arms so you can scrub his pits before continuing down his torso.

You bypass his crotch, ignoring the fact that he's semi-erect as you lather up his long legs, upper thigh to ankle. "You better do your feet," you giggle, knowing you could easily catch a foot upside the head if you accidentally tickle him. "Got it," he mumbles, quickly scrubbing his feet before handing the sponge back to you.

You rinse the pouf and apply more body wash, dropping to your knees between his spread legs before matter-of-factly soaping up his dick, still ignoring the fact that it's getting stiffer by the second as you slide the mesh sponge down over his balls and between his cheeks. He scoots a bit lower on the bench to give you better access and you slide two soapy fingers just behind his balls, biting your lip when he moans low in his throat as you massage the sensitive skin, reaching farther back to ghost your slick fingers over his hole a few times before grabbing the shower head to rinse him off. You give him a thorough rinse starting at his shoulders and working your way down, your mouth watering at the sight of his fully-erect cock laying against his glistening abs.

You eventually place the shower head back in its holder and position yourself on your knees between Joe's legs, dropping open-mouthed kisses from knee to groin, leaving love bites where his ample ass meets the top of his muscular thighs. He gives a grunt of approval and cups one big hand behind the nape of your neck as you lightly suck his balls while ghosting your fingertips over his impressive erection, teasing him for a few minutes before sliding your tongue farther back, tickling his hole with your tongue while slowly pumping his cock.

"Woman, if you keep that up I'm gonna cum in ten seconds," he grits out.

"Is that good or bad?"

"I wanna cum," he gives you a naughty smile, "but not in ten seconds."

"Okay, I'll ease up," you chuckle, his well-defined abs tensing under your fingers as you slide your hands up his torso, teasing his nipples while sucking your plump bottom lip into your mouth, giving him a filthy grin before lowering your head.

You hold eye contact with him as you flatten your tongue against the base of his cock and slowly drag it up, tracing a prominent vein all the way up before lapping at the precum on his tip; you feel his hand tighten on the back of your neck as you take him deep s-l-o-w-l-y, feeling every vein on his cock as you start to bob your head; you go deep enough to choke on him a few times, knowing he loves it even if he's too much of a gentleman to push your head down himself.

"Yeah, baby, just like that," he groans, squirming underneath you as you continue your sensual onslaught, dropping a hand down to play with his balls before sliding it farther back to tease his hole. "Don't stop!" he grits out, his throaty groans magnified by the acoustics of the shower enclosure as you follow orders, tears streaming down your cheeks as you continue to deep throat him.

When you feel the first spurt of his climax hit the back of your throat you quickly pull off and take the rest of his load on your face, using your free hand to milk every last drop out of him. "Fuck!" he grunts, his head dropping back against the tile with a thud as he watches you slide your tongue out to lick his creamy essence off of your lips. "So fuckin' hot," he mutters, panting hard as he continues to watch you through half-mast eyelids.

You wait a few minutes before speaking. "Did you like that?" you ask, playing with his slowy-softening erection as he catches his breath.

"I loved it." He gives you a blissed-out grin as you reach for the shower head, quickly rinsing your face and hands before turning it on him to give him a final rinse.

"Good. Let's get you dried off and tucked into bed."

"Lemme get you off first."

"You can return the favor tomorrow."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." You step out of the shower and grab a fluffy towel, handing it to him as he steps out behind you. "You want some undies?" you ask while drying yourself off, stepping into a pair of panties as he half-ass dries himself. "Gimme that," you chuckle, taking the towel from him and vigorously finishing the job. "No undies," he mumbles, walking into the bedroom and faceplanting onto the bed. You laugh to yourself as you crawl into bed beside him. "Goodnight," you whisper. "Night," he croaks, his voice muffled by the pillow.

After several minutes of silence, he speaks up again. "You still awake?"

"Yeah."

He turns to face you. "I feel like I left you hanging," he says, punctuating this statement with a huge yawn. "Lemme get you off."

"I'm good, babe, seriously. I'm kinda tired, plus I had a little solo fun earlier with that handheld shower head."

He perks up at the mention of you pleasuring yourself. "Tell me more," he orders while scooting closer, his expression a little hard to read in the dim lighting.

"You know how our handheld shower head at home only has two settings?"

"Yeah."

"Well this one has a few extra settings." You give him a naughty smile before continuing. "One of them is pulsate."

"Ohhh, sounds interesting. So you got yourself off with it?"

"Mmm-hmm. I got worked up looking at pics of you so I decided to relieve the pressure."

"That's hot," he purrs. "Why didn't you do a repeat performance just now when we were in the shower together?"

"Because you were half asleep," you state, smiling when he tries to stifle another huge yawn.

"I would've instantly been wide awake if you started going at it with the pulsating shower head," he grumbles.

"Exactly. That's why I didn't do it." You give him a quick kiss before rolling onto your side, facing away from him. "Go to sleep, horndog. Our car will be here to pick us up at 10:00 am."

"Did you set an alarm?"

"Yeah. We'll have just enough time to get dressed and pack our shit before the car gets here."

"Can you set it for forty minutes earlier? Pretty sure we're gonna need a looong shower before we leave for the airport."

"Are you serious?" you ask, rolling back over to try and read his expression.

"I'm dead serious," he mutters, giving you a sleepy smile when you grab your phone off the bedside table to reset your alarm.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You do a final walk-thru of the bedroom and bathroom, making sure y'all haven't left anything before heading downstairs. You check your watch as you walk into the kitchen -- 9:49 am -- giving Joe a smile as he places your bags by the front door.

"Good thing we're in an Airbnb and not a hotel," he states, winking at you when you raise an inquisitive eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because that loud ass scream you let out in the shower would have folks calling 911 if they heard it," he teases, pulling you into a hug when you roll your eyes at him. "Did you scream that loud when you went solo with the pulsating shower head?" he whispers against your ear.

"I didn't scream at all when I went solo."

"So it was better with me?"

"Of course it was better with you," you scoff, leaning back to give him a 'boy please' look. "Your fingers, tongue and this," you give his cock a gentle squeeze through his slinky shorts, "were the stars of the show. The shower head was fun, but you're always the main event."

"Glad to hear it," he gloats, giving you a smug smile while reaching into a pocket to grab his phone. He quickly pulls something up before showing you his screen. "I ordered a pulsating shower head for you," he grins, giving a dirty chuckle when your eyes go wide. "You didn't have to do that," you demur, secretly thrilled that he did. "You know I'm always looking for new ways to make you scream," he purrs, sliding his tongue into your mouth when you pull him down for a kiss.

Several heartbeats later a car horn honks in the driveway, signaling the arrival of your ride to the airport. "I'll thank you later, daddy," you whisper against his slick lips, giggling when he playfully swats your ass.

#joe burrow #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 6 months

Text

Like Real People Do

Pairing: Abraham (Grantchester) x f!reader Warnings: Allusions to smut, mild angst, mentions of pregnancy. Word count: ~2.5k

Summary: Her and Abraham have been seeing each other on the sly for the last six months. Some unexpected news makes her worry she's ruined everything between them. Based on this request.

Author's note: For @bbyaemond. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She gasps as she feels Cora’s hands gently squeeze her breasts through her blouse.

“Sorry, love,” the dark haired, older woman smiles at her apologetically, “it’s one of the only ways I can know for certain. Might be worth you seeing a doctor though, just to be sure.”

“No!” She shakes her head vehemently. “No doctors. If mum finds out she’ll kill me.”

“Seems to me you’re not far along, but give it another month or two and you’re gonna start to show. You can’t hide it forever,” Cora tells her softly. “Does Abraham know?”

Feeling tears prickle at her eyes, she lowers her head, inhaling shakily. “N-no,” she replies, her voice wobbling. “God, Cora, what am I gonna do? Please don’t say anything.”

Cora sighs, stepping forward and pulling her into a tight hug. “I’ll pop some water on to boil and we’ll have a nice cup of tea. That always makes everything better.”

The Romani people had arrived into Grantchester six months ago, setting up camp on Mr. Ruskin’s land. They’d kept to themselves and caused no trouble, so there had been no rush from the farmer to move them on, especially when they were paying him good money to make use of his stables for their horses.

She had been enamoured with Abraham from the moment she’d laid eyes upon him. His intense blue stare and the way it had dragged slowly down her form from top to bottom then back up again had made her skin feel hot.

He felt impossibly tell as he’d approached her and introduced himself, a lopsided smirk upon his sharp, handsome features. From the way her heart raced as she’d told him her name she’d known instantly she was in trouble. She was going to fall hard for this man, and she had.

It was a warm summer’s evening, the sun hanging low and vibrantly orange on the horizon as they’d walked to the top of the grassy hill that overlooked the village, settling down onto its grassy bank.

“I like it up here,” she’d told him, “I come here when I’m feeling sad or worried. Nice to pull my head out of the clouds by being close to ‘em, y’know?”

He’d raised an eyebrow at her, that trademark smirk reappearing and she’d felt for certain he was going to make fun of her, until she’d felt the weight of his arm around her shoulder. It had made excitement flutter in her stomach.

“Pretty girl like you shouldn’t ever feel sad or worried,” he’d told her, pulling a brown glass bottle from his inner jacket pocket and holding it up to her, “Pal’s ginger wine, fancy a swig?”

She’d giggled, accepting the bottle from him and uncorking it before taking a drink. It had burned the back of her throat as she’d swallowed, making her eyes go wide as she’d covered her mouth with the back of her hand, coughing and spluttering.

Abraham had laughed, taking the bottle back off of her and rubbing her back. “Yeah, it’s a bit on the strong side. Go easy with it.”

They had shared their first kiss that evening, and the ginger wine tasted so much sweeter upon his lips than it had from the bottle. His lips pressed against hers firmly, yet felt soft against her own as he’d threaded his fingers into her hair, their breaths heavy as his tongue had slipped against her own.

Every night after that had been filled with his presence, his large hands wandering over her curves as their mouths had moved together.

When he’d pressed inside of her for the first time, as they’d laid against a blanket on the hay, she’d winced slightly, tensing up at the uncomfortable sting. He moved with such self assuredness that she couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy, acrid and bitter in her chest. How many girls had there been before her?

Her worries were immediately pacified the moment he’d sensed her discomfort and pulled back slightly to look her in the eye, his palm cupping her cheek. “Is this your first time?” He’d asked quietly.

She nodded, embarrassment heating her skin, and averted her gaze with shame.

Abraham had grasped her chin between thumb and forefinger, brushing the tip of her nose with his. “Good,” he’d whispered, “that means you’re mine.”

He had kissed her passionately, his movements inside of her slow and gentle.

God, I love you, she’d thought, and every day since then the feeling had intensified.

It had been half a year of bliss, and she had been too wrapped up in her whirlwind romance with her handsome traveller to take any notice when she’d missed her monthly bleed the first time. However, when a second month had passed without any sign of it she had noticed and grown worried. Her breasts felt tender and she was more tired than usual.

The thought of telling her parents she might be pregnant had terrified her, she was sure they’d disown her. Cora was a kind, motherly figure of the Romani people’s camp and had always been welcoming to her, she had felt like the safest option.

Now as she sits opposite her, her hands cradling the comforting warmth of a cup of tea, she knows she’s made the right choice.

“I can’t tell Abe,” says quietly, figures stroking against the delicate china of her tea cup. “We’ve never even said I love you. He won’t want a baby with me, I was just a bit of fun until you all move on again.”

Cora tuts, pushing a plate of biscuits towards her. “You do both of you a disservice. That boy loves the bones of you, anyone can see that. Tell him.”

“What if he finishes with me?” She asks worriedly, her eyes big as she stares across the table at her.

“Then I’ll give him a bloody good clip round the ear,” Cora quips, snatching up a custard cream from the plate.

She feels lighter as she steps out of the caravan, more prepared to deal with the burden she has to bear. Filled with courage from Cora’s words, she makes her way towards the stables, knowing that’s where she’s most likely to find Abraham at this time of day.

Hearing voices as she gets closer, she pauses, listening intently to the conversation, keeping herself out of sight.

“So you’ll be ready for us to make a move once this thoroughbred’s sold then?” She hears Pal ask.

“Yeah,” comes Abraham’s response, “she’s fast, so she’ll sell quick.”

“And what about your missus, is she alright with all of this?”

“She’s a good girl,” Abraham says, “easy going, she’ll give us no trouble.”

Her heart lurches in her chest, her throat feeling tight and she turns and walks quickly away in the direction of home.

She’s a good girl, easy going, she’ll give us no trouble.

The words play on a loop in her mind. Abraham’s easy summer fling, one that will give him no hassle when it comes time for him to abandon her and move on to the next town, the next girl. Is that really all she is to him?

Hot, fat tears roll down her cheeks as she bows her head, wrapping her arms around herself, willing her feet to move faster, so she can fall apart in private. The thought that she is carrying the child of the man who plans to leave her is more than she can handle.

She shuts herself away in her bedroom for the next couple of days, feigning illness to her parents. It’s not a complete lie, the morning sickness has begun in earnest, though she is displeased to find it doesn’t have the courtesy to restrict itself simply to that time of day, and waves of nausea have her crouching over the porcelain at all hours.

This is the longest she has gone without seeing Abraham since they met, and in spite of the fact she knows their relationship is doomed to fail, she can’t help but miss him. When she’s not vomiting up the tea and toast she’s fought to keep down, she’s curled beneath her duvet, fear and sadness gnawing at her. What will she do without him? What will she do with a baby?

It’s early afternoon, and her dad is at work, her mum out running errands, when she sees the small pebble sail towards her bedroom window, dinging loudly off of the glass as it makes contact before falling away again.

She feels a rush of excitement as she looks out to see Abraham standing on the path below, looking up at her. Despite everything she cannot help what she feels for him, can’t deny the effect he has on her. He gestures for her to come down, brow furrowed slightly in concern.

Dread forms a hollow pit in her belly. Has he come to tell her he’s moving on, to end things? She is not sure her heart can take hearing him say the words to her, yet she slips on her shoes and goes outside anyway.

Abraham moves to embrace her, but pauses, stepping back as she hovers by the front door. “Your mum and dad in?”

She shakes her head and he visibly relaxes, posture becoming less rigid as he reaches out and takes her hand.

“Not seen you for a few days,” he tells her, “everything alright?”

She stares at where their hands join together, then up at his face and suddenly it feels as though she can’t breathe. She doesn’t want this to be her final memory of his touch, the clasp of his hand in hers as he breaks her heart.

Snatching her arm back, she swallows thickly, ignoring the way his eyes widen and his lips part slightly in apparent shock. “No. No, I’m not alright,” she says, voice wobbling.

Tell him.

She can’t. She doesn’t want the reason he stays to be because she has trapped him by falling pregnant. She wants to be enough for him, but the fact that he has her and wants to leave anyway tells all she needs to know; she isn’t.

She presses on, not giving him the chance to interrupt her. “I heard you and Pal in the stables the other day. I know you’re leaving, I just wish you’d had the decency to tell me sooner. So, if you’ve come here to finish with me, I don’t wanna hear it. I know. Spare me.”

Her breathing is laboured by the time she finishes speaking and she’s crying once more.

Abraham steps forward, his own eyes watery as he reaches for her. “Please, I–”

“Don’t,” she chokes out, before spotting her mum coming from the end of the lane.

Abraham follows her line of sight and stuffs his hands into his pockets, walking quickly away in the opposite direction, as she steps back into the house. She slams the front door and runs up the stairs to muffle her tears into her pillow. She doesn’t emerge for the rest of the day, falling into an uneasy sleep.

It has been four days since she overheard Abraham and Pal’s conversation, three days since she left the house, and the walls are beginning to feel as though they’re closing in on her. She is desperate to get outside, to breathe in fresh air and clear her mind and body of the heartache that plagues her.

She heads for her favourite hill. The climb feeling more tiring than it usually does, a side effect of her being pregnant she supposes. She wonders if she will have to stop coming here altogether as she gets bigger. The thought makes her sad. She is losing everything she loves.

The tickle of the grass against the backs of her legs as she sits down, coupled with the gentle breeze on her skin, has her closing her eyes, turning her face up towards the sun, enjoying its gentle warmth.

Staying like that for a few moments, she smiles to herself, savouring the first time her mind has been quiet since Cora confirmed her suspicions about her current condition.

She senses the sunlight darken through her eyelids and slowly opens them to see Abraham standing over her.

Her mouth turns downwards, her heart sinking.

He’s come to finish what he started.

“Alright?” He says, long limbs folding as he settles beside her on the grass.

She sighs. “Why’d you follow me here? I’ve said all I’ve gotta say.”

“Good for you,” he says, narrowing his eyes, “but I haven’t, so you’ll listen for once. I’m not leaving you. What you overheard the other day was Pal asking about me planning to bring you with us, you misunderstood.”

Tell him.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurts, acting on Cora’s advice before she has the chance to talk herself out of it.

Abraham’s eyebrows raise, his baby blues widening as he stares at her wordlessly for a moment. Time feels as though it stretches for an eternity, and she worries he’ll simply get up and walk away, but then he smiles, a wide grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes them twinkle.

“Just as well I’m taking you with me when we go then,” he says, placing a hand on her knee and squeezing gently.

She sighs, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms around her middle. “You aren’t obligated to me just because you got me up the duff.”

“I know that,” he says, his hand never leaving her thigh, “but I meant what I said, I won’t leave you, baby or no baby. Look–”

He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a delicate gold wedding band, and she gasps.

“This was me nanna’s. Mam held onto it, wanted to give it to her daughter. Unlucky for her, she had all boys, so she said whichever of us got married first could have it. Been carrying it round since we first kissed, I’ve always known I wanted to ask you.”

“You were gonna ask me to marry you?” She asks in disbelief.

Abraham nods. “I still am. Figured you wouldn’t wanna come with me if I didn’t make an honest woman outta you, and well…I love you.”

She sniffles, resting her head against his shoulder and he wraps his arm around her, pulling her close. “You’re not angry that I’m pregnant?” She wonders aloud.

“Not at all. It’s not happened in the order I thought it would, but that’s life, I s’pose. Just means you might look a bit fat in your wedding dress.”

She huffs a laugh, swatting at him playfully and he grins.

“So, we’re doing this then?” He asks.

“Yeah, looks like we are,” she smiles up at him.

“Good, ‘cause I wouldn’t leave without you.”

#abraham x reader #abraham x y/n #abraham x you #abraham imagine #abraham smut #abraham angst #abraham grantchester #ewan mitchell #abraham fan fiction #abraham fanfiction #abraham fan fic #abraham fanfic #grantchester #grantchester abraham #grantchester fan fiction #grantchester fanfiction #grantchester fan fic #grantchester fanfic

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hamsterclaw · 7 months

Text

Untouchable

Yoongi lets you know exactly how he feels about upsetting comments you've received. A Vows story, read the rest here.

Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Sex, swearing

Word count: 1.5k

You jerk upright from where you’re slumped over your computer screen when you hear your husband’s voice.

It takes you a moment to regroup, gather your scattered thoughts from the tunnel you were in.

Yoongi’s walking around your desk, and he’s not visibly hurrying, but he’s rounded the curved edge to stand beside your chair before you can say anything, let alone close the window you were looking at.

He glances down at the screen, and for a single panicked moment, you want to fumble for the power button, send the cursor to the x in the corner, anything, just so he won’t see.

You’re too late.

Your face burns as he reads over your shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything, just reads the comments quietly.

She’s just some privileged chick, no one likes or respects her.

She’s shit at her job but you don’t have to be good when you’re working for one of daddy’s companies.

I can’t believe he went out with Park Gyuri and ended up with her instead.

I’ve heard she’s being investigated for fraud. I doubt she’s smart enough to fool anyone 😂

JFC

I fucking hate people like her

You say, staring at a spot on the wall just beyond the screen, ‘I’m fine.’

Yoongi says, mildly, ‘You’re more than fine.’

‘It’s stupid,’ you continue.

You risk a glance up at him to find him looking at the screen, lip curled in disgust.

He says, without looking at you, ‘stop reading this shit and come have dinner with me.’

‘Yeah,’ you agree.

You turn your screen off and follow him to the kitchen.

It’s your housekeeper, Mrs Gye’s night off, but true to form, she’s prepared food for both of you.

Yoongi fixes you a plate and you fall into the routine you’ve adopted lately.

You fetch wineglasses and pick up the uncorked bottle Mrs Gye’s left by the wine rack.

Yoongi says nothing as he watches you gulp down a half glass of wine before you’ve even sat down.

He sets your plate down in front of you with a murmured, ‘Eat.’

It’s only three mouthfuls in that you realise he’s looking at you carefully.

You tilt your chin up. ‘Take a picture, it lasts longer.’

Yoongi raises a brow. ‘Do you have a social media manager?’

‘Not right now,’ you hedge.

‘One of our interns is looking for a job. They run most accounts for our 18-25 demographic. They’re excellent. You should consider hiring them,’ Yoongi says evenly.

You mull this over as you chew.

‘I don’t need you to save the day, Yoongi,’ you say.

You regret your spikiness as soon as the words leave your mouth.

Old habits die hard.

You still haven’t learned how to talk to your serious, cold, husband in a non-defensive way, pillow talk notwithstanding.

Yoongi shrugs. ‘Seems funny to me that you’ll happily make me come apart in that sweet mouth of yours but won’t let me reciprocate.’

You stare at him. ‘You reciprocate plenty.’

Yoongi looks amused. ‘Do I please you in bed, love?’

He takes a sip of his wine. ‘Let me please you outside of it too.’

You sip your wine, trying to think.

What’s Yoongi saying?

He sighs, and it’s more familiar than anything else.

Your impatient husband.

He stands, picks up his glass and the half-full bottle.

‘Come on.’

You follow Yoongi to the bedroom you now share.

The balcony doors are open, a cool night breeze making the curtains sway.

He walks right up to balustrade and turns to you.

His shirtsleeves are rolled up, unusual for your usually conservative husband.

He looks so beautiful leaning against the balustrade, his hair gently ruffled, his eyes dark and serious as he looks at you.

‘I hope you don’t need me to tell you not to worry about what anonymous idiots on the internet think,’ he says.

His expression is difficult for you to read, but his voice makes you feel warm.

‘I don’t care what they think,’ you say. You put your empty glass down and position yourself next to him, facing out at the gardens on the Min estate.

You look over at him.

‘I don’t care what you think,’ you say, your defiant streak rearing its head again.

Yoongi turns his face to you.

‘My stubborn little brat,’ he muses.

He closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and unbidden, you step between his legs, pressed against his front.

He doesn’t move except to slide his arm around your waist.

‘I care,’ he says, eyes still closed.

Your eyes fly to his face.

‘I care what you think of me, and I care that some assholes had the audacity to bring that shit to our door.’

His eyes open, and he tilts his head to yours. He stops when your foreheads touch, so close his lips brush your cheek as he speaks.

‘You’re a Min, you’re part of me,’ he murmurs.

His lips part again. ‘You’re fucking untouchable.’

You’re already tilting your face to kiss him when he slides his warm palm around your cheek, cupping the back of your head.

His kiss is slow, languid, but somehow you’re still breathless when he finally pulls away.

He presses his lips to yours again, and this time his tongue licks into your mouth.

You melt into his arms. It still surprises you every day how your husband can make you burn for him.

Heat licks through your veins as he nuzzles against your neck, nudging your chin up so he can lave your skin with his tongue.

‘Yoongi,’ you whisper, trying not to moan as he sucks the skin of your neck.

He chuckles, low, the vibration of his breath on your neck making heat pool low in your belly.

‘Do you care what anyone else thinks, jagiya?’

He licks a stripe up your neck. ‘Or do you care what I think?’

He grasps your hand. ‘Touch me.’

You reach out, unbutton his shirt, and when it’s fully unbuttoned, slip your hand underneath.

Yoongi’s quiet as you explore the planes of his back, as you unbuckle his belt and undo his trousers to feel more of him.

‘Do you like this, Yoongi?’

‘I like it very much, jagiya.’

He’s still, letting you stroke over his ass, hissing as you wrap your fingers around his length.

You lower your lips to his cock, and he closes his eyes.

His throat bobs as he swallows.

You take him in your mouth, tongue pressed firmly to the underside of him.

Yoongi’s hand comes up to hold your chin.

He’s hard inside your mouth, throbbing, but his voice is remarkably calm when he speaks.

‘Only you can get me like this, jagiya.’

He strokes your hair back from your face. His fingers tighten in your hair as you start to move on him.

He moans.

‘Don’t stop,’ he pleads. ‘You feel so good.’

His thighs tense beneath you. When you look up you realise he’s watching you intently, pupils blown, lip tucked under his teeth.

You grasp his hand, slide it around your back to your bra hooks.

Yoongi’s only too happy to help you undo your bra.

He runs his thumb over the indentation between your breasts from the edge of the underwire.

‘My poor girl,’ he says, his breath quickening as you move on his cock. ‘Mark so easy.’

His hand curls around your bare breast, taking the weight of you.

He fondles your breasts as you lick his cock, murmuring his approval as you tug on his balls.

His hand hesitates on the back of your head, until you pull off him just long enough to say, ‘go on, fuck me, Yoongi.’

Yoongi groans, bucks his hips up into your face. He pushes you down on his cock, shouts your name, and a moment later you feel him spurting into your mouth.

‘Come here,’ he says.

He pulls you up, into his lap. You can feel his heart pounding against your face, pressed to his chest.

Yoongi puts his hand between your legs like it belongs there.

He slides the tips on his fingers into you shallowly, stretching you, palm over your clit.

You grasp his wrist when he tries to pull out.

Now you’re the one pleading.

‘Don’t stop,’ you moan.

You bury your face in Yoongi’s neck as his fingers move inside you. You can feel yourself getting wetter, the slide easier, as he curls his fingers inside you.

‘Yoongi,’ you cry, so close now you can’t bear it.

‘Come, jagi,’ Yoongi urges. He scissors his fingers, pounding into you hard, and you squeeze his wrist as you come.

Yoongi stays still until you let go of his wrist.

‘Did I hurt you?’ you ask.

Yoongi snorts. ‘You let me shove my dick down your throat and you’re worried about my arm? You’re unbelievable, baby.’

He steadies you with an arm firmly around your waist as you climb off him.

‘Maybe I’ll take up your offer,’ you say.

At first you don’t think he’s heard you, then he nods.

‘That’s a good idea. At least I don’t have to execute plan B.’

‘What’s plan B?’

‘Tracking down those assholes and fucking them up,’ Yoongi says, blithely.

You’re pretty sure he’s joking.

#yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi fic

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lesbianoms · 4 months

Text

Fantasizing about going out on a date with an older woman who seems pure and vanilla on the surface. We end up talking about personal stuff and somehow end up on the subject of kinks.

After a while I reluctantly reveal to her that I’m into vore, and after telling her what it is her eyes widen in surprise and she just says, “oh.”

We say goodbye to each other and I go home, agonizing over the date and her mannerisms and overthinking literally everything like the gay little disaster I am.

And then I get a text. From her. And it’s a video.

I open it up and she’s standing in her bedroom, grinning warmly. She explains, “I thought about what you told me, and I wanted to do something special for you.”

She picks up a container and there’s a tiny inside, a man, who looks 0% frightened and 110% pissed off. My jaw probably drops at this point.

“Don’t ask how, but I managed to get my ex-husband shrunk down to a more… bite-sized helping.”

He looks about 4-6 inches tall, like he fits perfectly on her palm. She picks him up by the collar of his shirt, licking her lips. Her ex starts thrashing and shouting at her to let him go, put him down, how she’s a psycho and he’s glad he divorced her, etc.

She completely ignores his protests and his shouts of anger and just smiles into the camera.

“This one’s for you, sweetie~”

She lowers him towards her mouth.

“You crazy bitch! Let me go! I swear to God I’ll-”

Slurp. Her lips close around him before he can finish. I hear a loud gulp on camera and she tilts her head up as she slowly, seductively traces his shape down her throat.

Then she lifts up her shirt revealing her bare tummy. She hums softly, posing with her arms above her head, and the video is in such high quality that I’m able to see the exact moment he lands in her stomach.

She lets out a small burp, chuckling as she pats her belly. Pulling the camera close, she says in a milky purr, “Wanna listen?”

Immediately she presses her phone up to the center of her belly, and I hear the loud roar of her stomach fill my headphones. Between all the glorps and gurgles of her sexy stomach, I can hear the muffled sounds of her ex-husband’s voice. He’s cursing her, screaming at her and demanding to be let out.

“Bet you wish that was you, huh?” she asks. Her mature voice goes even lower as she teases me.

The video focuses on the close-up of her belly for a few minutes. She’s moving it every now and then so that it slowly sloshes up and down, like a belly dancer. I can hear the digestive groans of her ex inside, being felt up and squeezed by her walls. The sounds both relax me and turn me on, and being able to watch him squirm inside of her is really something else ❤️

“Come with me.”

She takes the camera with her as she walks down to the kitchen, where she opens up the fridge and takes out a bottle of wine. She places the camera on the kitchen counter, angling it so that the view is just under her belly.

I can see the writhing form of her prey as he gets churned around by her stomach walls. She uncorks the wine, pours herself a glass, lifts it up towards the camera in a toast.

“Cheers,” she says slyly, and she begins downing the glass.

I can hear the wine filling her up and entering her tummy, sloshing around inside as the wiggling lump of her ex-husband cries out. He disappears from view for a second until she pushes out her stomach, and I hear the bubbling of brewing wine mixed with the occasional groans of a liquid-filled gut. I can only imagine him sloshing around in there with the wine…

“Oh, I’m gonna feel that in the morning-”*uurrp!!*

She walks back to the bedroom, pressing the phone to her belly so that I can hear each slosh of its contents as she ascends the staircase.

“You know, I can feel that bastard struggling in there... I think he's trying to give me indigestion. Like he hasn’t already given me enough bellyaching when we were married! ... I'm sure you'd be much better behaved~"

Hearing back into the bedroom, she lays on the bed. She points the phone down at her tummy and pats it. The noises from inside are clear as day on the video.

About a minute or so of rubbing her active belly, she pulls down her jeans and tugs on the band of her underwear so that more of her lower belly is visible.

“Wanna see something cool?” she asks.

She puts the camera down with her other hand and feels around for her ex-husband, pressing down on a slightly bulging spot on her tummy.

“There he is,” she mumbles.

Then, she takes the front of her fingers and massages deep into her belly, kneading, pressing into her gut with an audible glorp.

I watch as she pushes the shape along her skin, towards her pelvis, and with a rush I realize what she’s doing. A particularly loud gurgle sounds out from her middle as she guides him down into her lower belly. I hear his muffled moaning as he shifts through her.

“Oohhh, I think he’s in my intestines now~” she says seductively.

I can see the wiggling form below her belly button, and I imagine what it must be like for him in there. So tight, and hot, and wet, and slippery… I wonder how much he’s filling out her bowels as he moves around inside…

She hums in delight and traces circles around him. His struggles pick up the pace as he seemingly tries to fight his way out of his ex-wife’s body. She squirms in pleasure, twirling the elastic band of her underwear and rubbing her lower belly with her other.

Eventually her body tires him out, and when his movements begin to slow, she pulls the elastic out and snaps it back so that it covers the bulge he makes completely. Covered by both flesh and cloth now, her belly bulge of an ex-husband whimpers faintly. His fate is sealed; her stomach gives a satisfied grumble.

Lifting the camera, she says, “Did you enjoy your surprise, honey? Ah, I hope you did. I can’t wait to see you again… and I’d love to feel you inside me. I’m still new to this whole thing, maybe you could give me some pointers. And I’m sure your cute little body would fill me riiight up~”

She looks down at her abdomen and frowns, huffs out a sigh, and finishes with, “Gotta go now, my hubby isn’t- *hic* quite agreeing with me…”

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lovelettersforthedamned · 5 months

Note

okay this request might be a little specific and long to get it out of my mind because I have major baby fever right now too but what about spending the holidays w/ peter and reader is pregnant but peter doesn’t know but the symptoms are so bad with motion sickness and no drinking and it’s obvious that the ladies in the family suspect and privately tell her it’s surely that bc also they can see it “in the face” but to peter he thinks he’s done something wrong🥺 and she’s acting weird but reader is just nervous

Your Well-Kept(?) Secret

--genre + trope: FLUFF, pregnancy reveal

--pairing: husband!tasm!peter parker x pregnant!wife!reader

--word count: 1.1k

--warnings: language, FLUFF OMG, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, mentions of nausea, a bit of anxiety, reader is so anxious and nervous, peter is smitten by his wife.

You cover your mouth to muffle a strange mix of a laugh and cry in your cramped bathroom as you look down at the two lines on the pregnancy test, slowly growing darker. Placing the stick down on the cool counter, you run your hands through your hair. You’ve been feeling off for a few weeks, prompting you to run to the drug store and grab a test.

Emotions were running high. You should be getting ready for Aunt May’s annual holiday party, but instead, you’re looking at yourself, or rather your belly, in the mirror. You weren’t sure what to feel, but you knew you were nervous. Fuck, what is Pete going to think? Of course, he loved you; without a doubt he did, but kids? The topic of kids was always a conversation for later, but now that it’s here, it scared you to death.

Looking down at your phone, you check the time, quickly putting your emotions, and the test, aside.

You and Peter have made it out the door, only a few minutes late. With one of his hands holding yours, and the other carrying a bottle of wine, Peter keeps you close. Walking to the subway gave you time to think. Thinking of both the good and the bad made your head swirl with anxiety. What if Pete gets mad? Can we even afford a kid right now? How far along am I? What would their name be? A soft, but tight squeeze pulls you out of your thoughts. Looking up at your husband, you give him a polite smile, “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he rubs the back of your hand with his thumb, “you’re just a little quiet today. Are you feeling alright bug?”

His constant worry for you makes you squeeze his hand in return, “Yeah, I’m okay, just a little tired.” He nods, accepting your answer for now. He always knew when something was off when it came to you, and this time was no exception.

After a quick ride, and a few blocks later, you make it to Aunt May’s, her street filled with a row of parked cars on each side. “Wow, May invited a lot of people this year. I wonder if she invited the Blake’s across the street, their charcuterie board was so good last year,” Peter looks at you as he quips.

You nod, bringing your hand up farther onto Peter’s arm to pull him closer, a sudden rush of nausea washing over your senses.

Peter takes note of this, furrowing his eyebrows in concern while he reaches out to press the doorbell. Aunt May opens the door, her eyes lighting up when she sees the two of you, “You guys made it! Come in, come in. Oh, you look so pretty (Y/N)! The Blakes are here with their charcuterie board again, they’ve somehow found a way to double the size; but hey, I’m not complaining.”

May was clearly running around before greeting you guys, her rambling giving it away. You giggle at her excitement, you knew that she loved hosting, especially when you and Peter were able to visit.

After making your rounds, you follow Peter into the kitchen, the alcohol coming into view. He grabs a beer for himself and starts to uncork the wine he brought to pour for you. Bringing a hand up to land on his arm, you stop him, “I don’t feel like drinking tonight, baby.”

He looks at you and puts the bottle down, “Okay. Can I get you anything else, bug?”

“Just water is good for me, thank you,” you smile at him as he turns around and walks away to get water.

You sigh as you see his back walk away from you, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep up this act. The thought of keeping this from your husband adds to your nausea, but keeping it together is at the forefront of your mind. Looking down, you take a breath, only looking back up when you see one of May’s friends from work standing in front of you. You’re slightly shocked by her appearance, “Hi Miriam, how have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“(Y/N), it is so good to see you. I’ve been good, well, as good as a nurse during the holiday season can be,” she laughs, leaning in close, “I’ve just been meaning to ask if you’ve been feeling alright?”

You freeze in place, “Yeah, I’m just a little tired today, but nothing to worry about.”

“Good, good…You haven’t been feeling nauseous or anything like that?” a teasing tone lacing through her words.

Silence. You can’t even respond. You’re baffled, “Is it really that obvious?”

A warm smile appears on her features as she rubs a hand up and down your arm, “Oh, honey…You’re surrounded by women who work in a hospital, we could see it in your face.”

You feel your cheeks warm at her confession, “Miriam, I’m so nervous. Peter doesn’t know yet.”

“You shouldn’t be a sweetheart. He is in love with you, has been for forever, even before you two were even dating,” she laughs, “you know Peter. And you know who he is, would he ever be upset at you for something like this?”

This may be what you need. Reassurance that came from someone else was always more believable than when it came from yourself. God! You feel so stupid for thinking that Peter would be mad at you for this. Looking at the older woman, you smile and shake your head.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Peter walking back with a water bottle in his hand, “Sorry bug, I got held up by one of May’s cousins. Apparently, he was there when I was born, and he just had to tell me all about it–Oh hey Miriam!”

After a few short minutes of small talk between the two, she walks away, not before winking at you as she turns her head.

“Hey, we’re alright,” Peter’s voice, low and filled with worry, lingers throughout the air, “right?”

Bringing a hand up to his cheek, you copy the movement he displayed on your hand from earlier, “Yeah, we’re okay. I love you so so much, Pete.”

“I love you too, (Y/N).”

Placing the softest peck on his lips, you grab his hand, “C’mon, I saw May bring out raspberry thumbprints, and I need to snag some before everyone else can get to them.”

Your worries were at ease; that was the least you could ask for on this day, surrounded by friends, family, and most of all your husband. Your loving, caring, obnoxiously kind husband. You’ll tell him later, but today is all about each other, and the Blake’s charcuterie board.

--author's note: LISTEN I KNOW PREGNANT PEOPLE CANNOT EAT LIKE ANYTHING ON A CHARCUTERIE BOARD, BUT LETS JUST CHILL AND GO WITH IT PLEASE!!! nonnie, this request is so sweet i'm going to have a cavity. i love writing domestic peter who loves his wife, because i'm so down bad for him. my asks/inbox is open guyssss, so send in more delicious things like this!!! support your writers by liking, commenting, and reblogging pretty please!! ok, bye ily!!! <333

#fluff #andrew garfield peter parker #marvel #peter parker #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #spiderman #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker fluff #tasm spiderman

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talkdutchtome · 5 months

Text

Glitch- chapter seven (18+)

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader / mason mount x reader )

summary . . . when mason mount finds out that his assistant has been harbouring feelings for him for years, he makes it clear he doesn't feel the same way. but once he sees her become closer with formula 1 world champion max verstappen, he realises he may have underestimated his feelings towards the girl he has now pushed into the arms of another )

genre . . . angst )

song . . . glitch- taylor swift )

series masterlist . . . available here )

warning . . . this chapter contains smut, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral (f & m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, use of petnames, very slight fdom -blink and you'll miss it-, if you don't want to read the smut there is a border where it starts and finishes so you can skip it )

a/n . . . i think this chapter might make some of you mad but this is a love triangle fic, it's going to be a lil messy, like me. i promise we'll be back to what you like for chapter 8. feedback is always appreciated, i love to read all of your thoughts )

“No”

Max’s words swirled around Y/N’s head long after he had left. She had asked him if he wanted to come in and he just said no. He didn’t say “I’d love to, but I can’t tonight” he didn’t even say “Thanks but I don’t think I want to, let's take things slow” he just said “No”. Quicky followed up by “Okay, Bye”. She was completely dumbfounded, stood outside her flat; as Max's abrupt departure replayed in her mind, each step he took away from her feeling like a punctuation mark to their strange encounter.

The second she found herself in her flat, the uncorked bottle of wine sat on her kitchen side, beckoned to her, and without much consideration, she filled a glass to the brim. The rich red liquid seemed to mirror the swirling thoughts in her mind, each sip a bitter-sweet reminder of the unexpected turn of events. Tonight was going so well; she didn’t understand what went wrong.

She replayed the encounter in her mind, trying to dissect what had just happened. She felt upset, a sting of rejection cutting through her. Yet, there was also frustration—why couldn't Max have communicated his feelings instead of abruptly walking away. If he didn’t want to take it further, obviously she wouldn’t be mad at that, she’s not a monster; but he could of at least spoke to her about it rather than just walking away.

The room was softly lit, and Y/N continued to sip her wine, lost in her own thoughts. The wine was becoming both a friend and an escape, pulling her further into a comforting haze. The recent complications weighed on her, each sip a fleeting attempt to numb the complexities swirling in her mind.

With each gulp, she dove deeper into her contemplations, navigating through the messy tangle of feelings. Life, once simple, now felt like a puzzle missing a few crucial pieces. The familiar sounds of laughter and joy were replaced by a haunting silence, broken only by the occasional clink of the glass against the table and the distant hum of the city outside.

The glass became a conduit for her musings, carrying the weight of her thoughts as she pondered the unexpected twists, the encounters that left her head spinning, and the undeniable shifts in relationships. Everything seemed burdened, complicated. As the night wore on, the glass emptied, and her thoughts grew hazier. Eventually, the weight became too much. She remembered sinking into the cushions of her sofa, the glass slipping from her fingers. Sleep claimed her, the complexities of life blending into dreams until the room was wrapped in a deep, velvety darkness.

The next few days passed, and the day of the first Chelsea game of the season quickly rolled around. As Y/N prepared for the match, the uncertainty surrounding Max lingered in her thoughts. The absence of any communication since the peculiar end to their evening left her grappling with a myriad of unanswered questions. She couldn’t bring herself to messaging him first, after all she was left with quite the bruised ego when he left like he did; so, the silence from Max had become a palpable void, and she started to accept the possibility that she might never receive the answers she sought.

Dressed in her favorite Chelsea shirt, with Mount 19 proudly displayed on the back; she made her way to the staduim, trying her best to push everything she felt about Max down to the pit of her stomach so she could be in the right frame of mind to not only support Mason but the whole team.

At Stamford Bridge, the buzz of anticipation hung in the air. Y/N took her seat in the family box, surrounded by the sea of Chelsea blue. Beside her, Louisa, Ben's girlfriend, struck up a conversation.

"Did you ever find out what was wrong with Mason that night at the gala?" Louisa inquired, her eyes fixed on the pitch as the players warmed up.

Y/N shook her head, her gaze following the familiar figure of Mason on the field. "No, I tried asking the next day, but he wouldn't say anything. It's been a bit weird since then."

As the game kicked off, Y/N found herself immersed in the ebb and flow of the match. The energy in the stadium was electric, and emotions swirled with each pass and tackle. Chelsea was facing Liverpool, a formidable opponent, and every moment felt charged with anticipation.

The clock ticked away, and tension mounted as both teams vied for control. Then, a surge of jubilation erupted through the stands. Mason had scored, his name echoing through the stadium as fans erupted in cheers. Chelsea took the lead, and the scoreboard displayed a triumphant 1-0.

Amidst the celebration, Y/N couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. Mason's goal was a bright spot in a narrative that had become increasingly complex, and as the final whistle blew, sealing Chelsea's victory, for once Y/N just let herself feel happy; freeing her momentarily of the stress of day to day life. Her team had just won a very important game, and her best friend was the reason for that.

The vibrant cheers echoed through the stadium as Chelsea celebrated a hard-fought victory against Liverpool. Mason, the star of the match, was awarded the title of man of the match, and Y/N couldn't help but feel a surge of pride as she made her way down to the pitch to assist him with media obligations.

Amid the chaos of jubilant players and buzzing journalists, Y/N found Mason, his face adorned with a triumphant smile. She wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace, offering a congratulatory kiss on his cheek. The elation of the win permeated the air as they navigated through the sea of celebrations.

Once Mason had spoken to seemingly every media outlet in the UK and was ready to head to the changing rooms, the rest of the team had been and gone. Anticipating this, Mason invited Y/N to come in with him as he got ready rather than her waiting outside for him.

Mason was midway through changing when Y/N decided to seize the quiet moment and address the lingering tension from the gala. Maybe there would have been a better time to do that rather than when Mason was stood shirtless only wearing a pair of football shorts, but Y/N was never one for picking her moments well.

"Mason, what was wrong with you the other night? You seemed so sad." she ventured, her tone a mix of firmness and concern.

Mason, in his usual deflective manner, offered a unconvincing, vague explanation about being stressed. But Y/N, remembering the promise they made after their tumultuous encounter in Spain, was determined to dig deeper.

"Come on, we promised each other after Spain that we would be more open," she reminded him, the charged atmosphere subtly drawing them closer.

He glanced at her, the defensive facade momentarily faltering. The seconds ticked by, intensifying the electric tension between them. Y/N, her voice now a gentle yet insistent whisper, pressed on.

"Tell me, Mason. I need to understand," she implored, their faces now only inches apart. As he sighed, wrestling with his internal turmoil, Y/N's hand found his, pulling him back towards her. Their proximity became palpable, both aware of the unspoken emotions lingering in the air.

"It was hard, okay?" Mason finally admitted, breaking the silence. "Seeing you with Max, all close and flirty. It messed with my head."

The confession hung in the air, a vulnerable admission. Y/N, her voice nothing more than a whisper, continued her quest for understanding.

"Why would that be hard for you?"

Mason, caught between the desire to retreat and the need for honesty, hesitated. Y/N, sensing the gravity of the moment, held onto his hand, their connection unspoken but profound. Their eyes locked, and Mason slowly, almost hesitantly, began to lean down, his eyes never leaving hers and his hands coming up to cradle her face. Time seemed to stretch, the anticipation building with each passing second.

Then, all at once, his lips met hers in a kiss that held the weight of unspoken emotions. It was a collision of feelings, a dance of two souls navigating the uncharted territory of their connection.

As their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, it was as if the world around them slowed down. Mason's touch was gentle, almost cautious, as if he was testing the waters of Y/N's response. His lips moved against hers with a delicate grace, and for a moment, the kiss hung in the air like a fragile connection.

But as Y/N's hands found their way into Mason's hair, threading through the strands, the nature of the kiss shifted. The softness gave way to a growing passion, a shared desire that couldn't be contained. Mason, feeling the response from Y/N, allowed himself to be pulled into the depths of the kiss. It became more than a simple meeting of lips; it turned into a dance of longing and unspoken emotions.

Their connection deepened, and the kiss became more fervent, more desperate, as if they were trying to convey all the unspoken words and unexpressed feelings through the intimacy of the moment and quickly things progressed with Y/N breaking their contact to pull her shirt over her head, leaving her stood there in just a Chelsea blue bra and skirt she wore to the game.

For the first time since he kissed her, Y/N made eye contact, gone were his soft, honey coloured eyes, replaced by dark orbs staring down at her. It was like he was trying to take a mental image of the woman standing in front of him, lips swollen and parted, very slightly panting from the breathlessness that came from kissing him.

A second passed where the pair just stood in front of each other, almost as if they were giving each other one last chance to back out before things went beyond the point of no return. The silence was deafening and after a beat they reattached themselves to each other, with Mason pulling her onto him as he backed up onto a bench and sat down, bringing her with him onto his lap. His lips finding her collarbone as his hands grabbed her ass. The way his expert lips sucked and nibbled her neck sent shockwaves through her body and she found herself grinding herself against his lap, desperate for anything that would help the dull ache coming from between her legs, eliciting a low moan from the man beneath her.

It was evident the effect that Y/N was having on Mason from the growing hardness that she could feel under her, and when she removed herself off of his lap and dropped down to her knees Mason had thought he had died and gone to heaven. For the first time since Mason had kissed her, one of them spoke, “Is this okay?” she asked him, her hands hovering just above the place where he needed her the most, prompting him to nod his head ferociously. “Yeah it’s good”

With that conformation, Y/N settled herself between his legs on the floor and began to place soft barely-there kisses down his stomach until she reached the waistband of his shorts. Mason was squirming, she hadn’t even touched him yet, but she seemed to have full control of him, something he had never experienced before. The second that Y/N’s hands went to lightly tug at his shorts, Mason was lifting himself of the bench, allowing her to pull down his shorts and underwear in one go.

The sight of Mason’s dick slapping his stomach as his shorts were pulled down was one to behold. Y/N would be lying if she said she had never imagined this, put one thing she never considered was that he would be this big. She watched the way it throbbed in time with his heartbeat, the way a bead of precum spilt from his tip. And then in a move that made Mason whine, she placed her hands at the base of his dick, and darted her tongue out to catch the droplet. The taste of him was musky, almost sweet; and the most addictive thing she had ever experienced. She went in again, very slowly placing her mouth around his tip and swirling her tongue around it.

“Oh fuck Y/N yo-” Mason’s voice was deeper than she had ever heard as he called out for her, but when she took him further in her mouth, his voice gave out. His hands found her hair, grabbing in into a makeshift ponytail as she continued to bob her head up and down on his dick, swirling her tongue as she did so.

It was becoming all too much for Mason, the sight of his best friend on her knees for him, making him feel this good. He quickly found himself close to cumming, but not wanting this to be over, he used his grip on her hair to gently pull her off of him.

“That felt so good baby, but I don’t want to cum yet” he told her when he caught sight of her pouting at the loss of contact.

“I need to be inside of you Y/N, need to know how you’d feel squeezing tight against me” His words were sinful, and they made her desperate for him. He stood up, grabbing her hand to bring her up from her knees to before gesturing at her to sit down in the place he had vacated. Then he dropped to his knees, placed her legs over his shoulder and moved the fabric of her skirt out of the way, letting him see her soaked through panties.

He dived in, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses on her clothed pussy, running his finger ever so gently across her, before hooking it under her underwear and pulling them off. The sight of her cunt, glistening and wet made him again, wish he could take photos with his mind. Never wanting to lose this image for so long as he lived.

“Please Mase” Y/N spoke, her voice breathy and desperate.

Mason didn’t need to be asked twice, bringing his mouth to her, licking a long strip across her slit before attaching his lips to her clit. The way he sucked at and nibbled her sensitive bud made her see stars. And when he brought his hand up to start pumping his fingers inside of her whilst still attacking her clit with his mouth, she quickly found herself close to the edge. His expert fingers curving up to her, making her legs tremble and her toes curl.

“Oh Masey, I’m so close please don’t stop” she whined in between heavy breaths. At her words, Mason sped up his actions, bringing her closer and closer to cumming until she finally reached her climax with a squeal, trapping Masons head between her legs as she squeezed them together in the sheer exstacy she was feeling.

Once she had released her grip on the man's head, he came up to kiss her, the kiss was needy and desperate, and she could taste herself on his tongue. It was utterly filthy, and she never wanted it to end. If she could, she would stay in this moment with Mason forever, wrapped up in him and their pleasure, nothing else. Nothing complicated or uncomfortable, just simply pleasure.

Mason pulled himself off of her lips and took his place back on the bench, swiftly pulling her onto his lap. His manhood nudging itself against her warm core. His lips reattached themselves to her neck, suckling and biting; leaving marks peppered against her skin. He pulled back and admired his work, admired how good her skin looked littered with his marks, the way it made her look like she was his, she was only his.

“I’m going to fuck you now, is that okay?” Mason said, reaching for his hard dick beneath her, pumping it in his fist, prompting Y/N to nod her head frantically, desperate for him. “No baby I need words, tell me you want this” He spoke again, wanting to be sure that this is what she wanted, wanting to be sure that she wouldn’t regret this.

“I want this, please Mason I want this so bad” she told him, becoming desperate, her wet cunt clenching around nothing in anticipation.

So, Mason did what she asked, and lined up his cock to her pussy, gripped her hips and brought her down onto him; strings of moans and cries falling from both of their mouths as he began to stretch her. Wanting to take control, Y/N placed her hands on Masons chest and began to ride him, grinding down onto him after each bounce. Mason was quickly becoming unglued, the way that that best friend bounced on his dick, clenching around him made him go crazy.

Y/N quickly found herself becoming closer and closer to the edge, and when Mason started to rub circles on her clit, she fell apart. Calling out for the man beneath her as she came on his dick, her cunt squeezing him tight. The sight of Y/N reaching climax meant Mason was not far behind. He spilled out inside of her, filling her up with his cum as he kissed her deeply, moaning into her mouth.

For a second, he stilled inside of her, resting his forehead against hers as they caught their breath. She kissed him one last time before getting up off of him, feeling his cum run down leg as she did so. She tried to find something to say, anything to say; but she came up with nothing. What could she say? What did this mean? The cloud of lust had dissipated and the gravity of what just happened began to sink in.

After they had come down from the high of the moment before, the air hung heavy with an unspoken tension. As they both processed what had just transpired, a palpable awkwardness settled between them. They found themselves in a silent ballet of getting dressed and composed, each movement filled with uncertainty. The room seemed to echo with the weight of the unspoken. In a fragile quiet, they avoided eye contact, unsure of what to say or how to navigate the aftermath of their unexpected moment together. The atmosphere became a canvas painted with uncertainty, the seconds ticking away in awkward silence.

It was in this vulnerable moment that Ben casually strolled into the changing room, unwittingly disrupting the delicate balance that lingered in the air. "Where've you two got to?" he asked, sensing that something unusual had occurred. Mason responded a little too quickly, "Just got to talking. Lost track of time."

Ben eyed them with a confused look, sensing there was more to it but deciding not to pry. "Well, we're going out for a few drinks to celebrate the win. You two coming?"

Mason nodded, "Yeah, I'll come."

Y/N, still caught in her own thoughts, didn't immediately respond. Ben noticed her distraction and asked, "What about you, Y/N? Coming for a celebratory drink?"

She hesitated, glancing at Mason. "I, uh, I've got some work to do," she started, realizing it was a flimsy excuse.

Ben raised an eyebrow, "Work? On a match day? Come on, just one drink."

Caught in the moment and not wanting to draw more attention to herself, Y/N reluctantly agreed, "Fine, just one drink."

The bar buzzed with celebration as the team and their partners reveled in the victory. However, amidst the cheerful atmosphere, an undeniable tension lingered between Mason and Y/N. It wasn't the palpable anger like last time; instead, it felt like an uncharted territory of discomfort, as if both were uncertain of how to address the recent shift in their relationship.

Y/N found herself sitting in a sea of voices, yet she remained silent, her gaze fixed on her drink, the weight of the unspoken hanging heavily. Ben, ever the most observant yet oblivious man in the room, couldn't help but notice a string of subtle marks on Y/N's neck, a telltale sign of a love bite. With a mischievous grin, he couldn't resist teasing her.

He grinned, "Looks like someone had a good time. Max, huh? You guys enjoy yourselves?"

The question hit the room like a sudden chill, drawing Mason's attention. His jaw tightened, and he clasped his glass a bit more firmly, an expression of annoyance flickering across his face. Reece, seated nearby, picked up on Mason's reaction, his eyes flicking between his friend and Y/N.

Y/N chuckled awkwardly, attempting to diffuse the situation by offering a half-hearted explanation. "Oh, that's just a burn from my hair straightener."

Ben, persistent in his teasing, pressed further, noting, "But you have naturally straight hair, don't you?"

Y/N squirmed under the spotlight, feeling the discomfort escalate. "Well, I straighten it every day," she mumbled, her attempt at normalcy faltering. Before Ben could continue his line of inquiry, Y/N's phone rang, offering a timely escape from the awkward conversation. She quickly grabbed her phone, signalling a temporary reprieve from the scrutinizing gazes and the unspoken tension between her and Mason.

The night air felt cool against Y/N's skin as she stepped outside and glanced at her phone, revealing Max's name on the screen. She felt her stomach drop at the sight of his name across her screen; she had accepted that she wouldn’t hear from him again. Hesitating for a moment, she considered not answering, still stung by the abrupt way he left.

Eventually, she sighed and pressed the answer button. "Hi," she greeted cautiously, uncertainty lacing her voice.

"Can we talk?" Max's voice, though warm, carried an undertone of hesitation.

Y/N swallowed, the remnants of hurt and confusion lingering. Nevertheless, she nodded silently, a tentative "yes" escaping her lips.

As Max began to unravel his thoughts, Y/N listened, her emotions swaying with each word. "I'm sorry," he confessed, a heavy sigh preceding the admission. "I panicked that night. I've been bouncing around, one meaningless nightstand after another, and I don't want us to be like that. All I wanted was to stay with you that night, but I want more than just a moment. I want us to be more than that. These feelings make me uncomfortable and weird, and I'm so unsure about everything in life. Except for one thing – I'm sure I want you."

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rosewaterandivy · 6 months

Text

got lovesick all over my bed

Summary: it might be worth it for once.

Warnings: facetime shenanigans, rockstar!gf had one too many glasses of merlot, my usual brand of filth™️

a/n: be a slut, do whatever you want!

🎶 everyone wants him, that was my crime, the wrong place at the right time 🎶

It was stupid.

Borne of desperation and one too many glasses of red wine, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Steve was off filming for the next few weeks and you were back in an empty house in Laurel Canyon. You tried, unsuccessfully, to not be a bitter Betty about it all; oh, woe is me! My incredibly talented boyfriend has to go back to work.

Were you even his girlfriend?

Jesus Christ.

It’s been what, less than two weeks and you’re already spiralling.

Shuffling from the couch you pocket your phone and try to ignore the desire to double-text.

Hey

Could you be any more pathetic? Hadn’t even “defined the relationship,” whatever that meant, and already slipping. You know he’s busy, on-set, and suffering through night shoots in the desert somewhere.

Leaning against the island of your kitchen, you uncork some wine and pour it into a glass. Watching as the crimson liquid sloshes against the curved glass, you idly wonder if you should seal the deal and live your best Olivia Pope fantasy by having popcorn for dinner.

Before you could think better of it, you felt the subtle vibration of your phone in your pocket,

S.H.: Hey yourself

wow, so clever

wow, so bratty

You bit your lip and took a sip of wine in an attempt to quell the low swoop of your stomach.

The texts were intermittent for the next hour or so before he was called back to set. It was a nice distraction from the utter lack of plans you had for the evening. Your producer had sent over the final mix of your new album that you needed to proof and sign off on, so that was the plan while Steve was off filming for the next few hours.

He’d asked if he could call you later, once filming wrapped for the evening and you’d agreed not realizing that it would be nearing 2 a.m. and you’d be half a bottle in.

Settled back in your bedroom freshly showered and laptop atop the duvet cover, you’re only briefly startled when the FaceTime ring trills out.

“Shit!”

You quickly pause the song you were listening through and hope you look halfway decent before answering Steve’s call. Mussing your hair, you minimize the image of yourself and enlarge the one of him.

“Hey sweetheart.”

Steve smiles slow and sweet, huffing a laugh at your poor attempts at primping.

“Stop messing with your hair, you look great.”

“Uh huh,” you brush off with a smirk, “Watch me make red wine drunk the next trendy TikTok look.”

He looks to be back at the Palm Springs house, settled against the headboard of the bed that you swore was going to fall off the wall from the sheer amount of times he’d fucked you into the mattress the last time you visited.

Your skin warms at the thought.

“Can’t wait.” He smiles and takes a screenshot as you flip him off, he’s always doing shit like that— his iPhone or one of his many film cameras or, your least favorite, FaceTime. Says he has to have up-to-date photos of you for the Missing Person posters he'll make once the coyotes finally get you out in the Canyon.

What a dork.

“How was your day?”

“Oh fine,” you say with a sigh. “Did a whole bunch of nothing, showered, I was proofing the final tracks for the album and then you called.”

“Oh,” he pulls a face, grimacing because he thinks he’s disrupted you at work, “I can fuck off if you—”

“Harrington, if you finish that sentence I swear to god—”

“Fine, fine,” he relents with a chuckle and runs a hand through his hair, knocking the glasses off of his head. “So that’s where these went.”

You roll your eyes, this man, honestly.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just tired is all.” He heaves a sigh. “These night shoots are the fucking worst.”

You hum, “I can imagine. The cold desert at night?” You blow a raspberry, “And you’re worried about coyotes carrying me off?”

“I have a vested interest in your safety, y’know.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” You tease, taking another sip of wine. “I got thick thighs and a fat ass, and the only person I want to eat me is you.”

“Aww, I’m touched.” Steve laughs, hand to his heart. “Look at you, gettin’ all sappy and borderline cannibalistic over FaceTime.”

“I know,” you demure and bat your lashes. “I’m so emotionally mature.” Setting the glass on the nightstand, you lean forward inadvertently giving him a generous view of your tits.

“Anyway,” you sit back against the pillows of your bed. “What’re you wearing, honey?”

It’s like his brain glitches for a moment or two, and he needs to reboot.

“Uh,” he glances down with a furrowed brow. “Boxer briefs.”

“Thrilling.”

Could it be that Steve’s never done something like this before? It hadn’t been exactly discussed between you, but he was looking so delectable and you missed him so much.

Fuck it.

“What about you?”

A slow smile splits your face, a waggle of your brows. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Instead of a verbal reply, you pan the camera down to display your latest lingerie acquisition— pale pink and adorned with tasteful floral embroidery, because Steve is a sucker like that. You can hear him swallow and his shallow breaths from the speakers.

“D’ya like it?”

“Fuck.”

There was a rustling sound as he settled more comfortably on the bed. The room lights were dimmed casting shadows across his bronzed skin, an errant lock of hair falling in his face. His voice was so low when it came through the speakers that it sent heat straight to the pit on your stomach, “Wish you were here.”

“Me too baby,” you purr and set the macbook further down on your bed. “Tell you what,” you say taking a final sip of wine, “Why don’t you go ahead and record this for those lonely desert nights, hmm?”

His eyes nearly fall out of his skull. “Y’sure?”

“Course I am handsome.”

He was leaned over in front of the camera, undoubtedly attempting to prop it up on something and hit record.

“Gonna be good for me?” you rasp when he comes back into view, “Let me take my time with you?”

Steve nods, eyes finding yours as his breaths even out. You watched him hook his thumbs into the band of the boxer briefs and drag them down his toned thighs on screen. His hard length sprung to his stomach once the waistband passed his tip, hard and thick where it lay. You licked your lips.

He took himself slow, his fist tight at his tip as he slid down his length at an excruciating pace. That was how he usually slid into you, savoring that first push as you surround his cock in your warmth.

Your core fluttered in time with the stroke of his palm, slow and deep passes up and down his length that would no doubt feel like ecstasy inside you.

“Feel good baby?”

You own hand skates down your torso, lingering here and there before ever so gently brushing against your clit.

“Thinkin’ about my pretty mouth wrapped around your cock?”

He let out a moan, eyes rolling back at a particularly good stroke.

Fingers stuttering over your clothed clit, your free hand snakes behind you to unclasp the bra and let it fall down your arms.

You watched as he fell back fully on the bed, his hand picking up pace as the other reached down to cup his balls. A choked moan came from the screen followed by even more hushed words.

“Miss you daddy,” you whine. “Want your big cock fucking my mouth n’ gettin’ me all messy.”

Barely able to swallow around your dry mouth, you watched him lift his head and watched his hand stroke his length. Steve’s face was obscene; eyebrows furrowed deeply and mouth hanging open in pleasure.

You were overstimulated if anything, never imagining you would have such a visual of him getting off while you were beyond wet, almost uncomfortably so. Your clit pulsed as you caught on screen Steve moan a choked fuck as he writhed on his borrowed bed.

Fingers pressing headily against your clit, you rubbed tight circles around the slick bud at the sight on the screen. Couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this wet for long-distance sex, no matter the hour. Dipping your fingers beneath the lace of your underwear, the slick of your slit wetting your fingertips.

A small whimper left your lips as the contact, wishing that they were Steve’s fingers slipping through your folds instead.

“Fuck, I’m so wet for you.”

He cursed deeply as he slowed his pace, mostly likely trying to hold out from coming too soon. Everything made it hard for you to articulate what you wanted at that moment.

On screen Steve brought you back, his head tilted back as he pumped his length beautifully. You could see his stomach tensing. You could see the tops of his thighs jumping before they disappeared from the camera’s view where they hung off the edge of the bed. You could see his jaw clench every time his tight fist circled his tip. The sound of him spit slick and stroking himself was so lewd paired with his pants and moans.

While you were enamored with the screen, the fingers of your free hand brushed your nipples. You couldn’t stop your gasp if you wanted to. Every touch had your cunt clenching and begging for attention.

You could tell he was close, and kept teasing your skin but refrained from dipping a finger into your slit. Your breathing was labored, soft whines elicited from the back of your throat as on screen Steve moaned your name.

“So pretty daddy, wanna see you come so bad.”

He was breathless at hearing your words, the low rasp of your voice filtering through the speakers. Fuck, does he miss you.

You sigh again, whimper like a little punctuation, sheets rustling. “Thinkin’ bout your tongue and how wet you make me,” and your voice is so low, so needy, “I wish you were here. Touching me all over.” And the picture in his mind of you, so pretty and open, wild at the mere memory of him—

“Keep going. Think about me riding you, baby. Slow at first, how you like, taking you a little bit at a time. You’re always so hard.”

There it is, egging his own fist on to match the pace of a subtle and steady sluiced-up rhythm, your fingers working over, inside, back out, twisting and turning.

He’s lost in the way his heart pounds all the harder at the sounds you make because it means you’ve let yourself go. How you’d scramble for his fingers next, lacing them through yours, squeezing him there and everywhere.

And oh, how exquisite you look with that sheen of sweat across your chest. Hovering over him like a goddess and fucking him like a wet dream.

“Baby,” red lip pulled pale between his teeth, hands working in tandem—imitation and imagination constructing a well-oiled machine in your absence. “Baby, fuck. Miss you on me—miss you fucking me. God–”

“Yeah? Gonna come?” You’re panting, too, noises high and obscene, the background echo of your hand growing more frantic and unrestrained. “Me too, pretty boy. I want to do everything with you—have all of you. Your hands, your mouth, your cock.”

It’s all too fast. Your words, his words, your hands, his hands. Feels like he’s barely started when his eyes roll back against his lids. He’s spilling out, over his fist, up his clenched abdomen, body pulled tight, panting heavy and hard as he tugs at himself a few more times, breathing and listening, heart rattling against his ribcage when you whimper one last time.

Watching him come was enough to bring you hurtling over the edge, fingers pumping messily in and out of your sopping cunt, imagining yourself there and clenching around him instead. Your eyes flutter close, your release drenching your hand.

Steve aches then. His eyes flutter open. Heat smothered cold and lonesome like the embers of a dying fire. His neck hurts. His heart hurts.

“Babe,” you say and he hears it in you, too—the same ache, the same want. Like at the end of every call you’ve made to him since you’d left Palm Springs.

“When you get back,” you sigh, the telltale mantle of sleep falling over you, “I’m gonna let you know just how much I miss you.”

He’s hot all over, chasing the ghost of your doting kisses, the phantom touch of your skillful hands. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

A cheeky wink followed by a sleepy wave, and then you’re gone.

He closes out of FaceTime and types out a text to Robin.

Need an appointment with Lorraine Schwartz ASAP pls.

And if he peruses the jeweler’s instagram studying engagement rings for the next hour, well, no one needs to know.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfiction #modern!actor steve #hmlhr #Spotify

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 5 days

Text

Nevermind (ao3)

Twelve months to the day since she and Elain were thrown in the Cauldron, Nesta finds herself at one of Feyre’s dinner parties, trying to wrestle with an entire year’s worth of grief— until Cassian holds out a hand. (For @nestaarcheronweek day 2)

“I fell out of love again, not with you but with living in general, and I lost a lot of friends, never mind. Cause I’ve been on a losing streak, my heart’s made of stone, and I can’t trust my own damn feet to show me the right way home.” - Nevermind, Deaf Havana

It was the laughter that rankled the most.

That stung as it echoed off the crystal wine glasses and polished silver knives that lay at intervals along the grand mahogany table; glittering peals of it reverberating as bottles were uncorked and priceless wine was poured as liberally as water. Edged in the soft evening light, their joy was bright and bold and loud and warm, but as the dark crimson liquid licked the sides of her glass when someone filled it, Nesta Archeron could do nothing but sit frozen in the chair set out for her in Feyre’s expensive new house, watching the wine settle in her glass, trying not to think of how much it resembled freshly spilled blood.

There was no air in that expansive dining room trimmed with wealth and filled with golden light and laughter, no way to breathe, and as Nesta felt herself slowly suffocate, their laughter cut and pierced her skin like an entire quiver of arrows shot from seven different bows. Each one hit their mark; each one made her bleed.

With a hand she forced steady, she reached for the wine and lifted it to her lips, praying she might find some relief at the bottom regardless of… well, everything.

She wished they’d given her whiskey instead.

Cheap wine and strong liquor— that’s what Nesta had grown used to these past months. What she wantedmore than fine wine and elegant dinners pierced with laughter she couldn’t share. But then— when had it ever really mattered what she wanted anyway? When had it ever made a difference?

This wine certainly wasn’t cheap. It was rich and heady, the taste lingering on her tongue and coating the back of her throat, so thick she couldn’t breathe. It clung to the side of her glass as she lowered her hand, a smear of red staining the crystal that had her stomach churning and her throat threatening to close. Blood— did none of them notice, how much it looked like blood? It had her hearing not laughter but screams— had her tasting iron and recalling the way the blood had pooled between her fingers and collected between her knuckles only a handful of months ago.

Around the stem of her wine glass, her fingers trembled.

So little time had passed since the battle that had made an orphan of her, and yet…

They laughed.

Still, they laughed.

It was why, in the time since they had walked away from that battlefield alive if not entirely intact, Nesta had done everything in her power to distance herself from her sister and her newfound family. She had found an apartment on the other side of the city, as far from Feyre’s new house as she could get, and most nights she tried her hardest to avoid Rhysand and the members of his Inner Circle, seeking solace instead in dive bars— trying to find it in the arms of strangers whose names she never learned and whose faces she wouldn’t remember when the sun came up.

But this night…

This night was different.

The wine soured on her tongue, the sound of their laughter almost making her flinch. It was twelve months to the day since she and Elain had been forced into that Cauldron— twelve months since she had been broken apart so irrevocably that she didn’t think that there was a hope in hell of putting her back together again. It was the only reason - the only reason - why she had accepted Feyre’s weekly invitation to dinner when so many others had gone ignored. Why Nesta had crossed the river and stood in that grand, echoing entrance hall, looking up at portraits of damn near everyone Feyre had ever met, and finding that the only absence was her own.

The familiar hole in her chest had widened, yawned and gaped until it threatened to swallow her, and on this brutal anniversary she had thought that she might want, for once, to be near the only people who might understand the significance of it. Who might remember what day it was too.

She’d realised her mistake as soon as she stepped over the threshold.

Elain had been holding a cake on a silver stand, emerging victorious from the kitchen and smiling as she made her way to the dining room, where the cake now sat proudly in the centre of the table. Elain always makes dessert, Feyre had whispered as Nesta stood motionless in the doorway, trying to catch Elain’s eye and hoping to find—

What?

The same pain, reflected back at her in eyes she knew as well as her own? Some flicker of understanding?

Feyre had patted Nesta on the arm and slipped away to the sitting room, leading her to the space warmed by the glow of the fire and softened by the sound of laughter. But Nesta couldn’t find it in her to make her lips bend into a smile, couldn’t force a spark into her eyes. When Elain returned, and when Rhysand complimented the cake, her sister had blushed and dipped her chin, batting away the kind words with a soft smile and a demure tilt of her head. All the while Nesta sat in her chair, blinking, trying not to feel like a ghost that had stumbled and sat, unseen and unnoticed, at a stranger’s dinner party.

The laughter rose now, filling the dining room until the space was bursting with it, their joy pushing at the seams until it felt like Nesta would break beneath the pressure. As if from a great distance she heard Amren make some dry, cutting comment that she was too far gone to fully comprehend, and Azriel’s retort was a low, dark whisper across the silverware that had Mor’s laughter pealing all over again, like the ringing of a church bell.

Nesta’s hand tightened on her wine glass.

Did they not realise— did they not see? Or was she just screaming into the void, her pain and her anguish swallowed by their laughter?

The grief was a collar around her neck, tightening with every breath and dragging her beneath the surface whenever she was reminded that this place was not her home, this life not one that she had chosen. When she looked in the mirror and glimpsed her reflection, Nesta saw elegantly arched ears and eyes that glinted silver and she mourned every. damned. time. On the rare occasions she managed a smile, her lips felt absurdly weighty, the curvature forced and unwieldy, too unnatural to be believable given that her chest was still so empty and hollow.

And none of them noticed.

It hurt.

Every breath hurt— still. They had told her it would get better with time, that she would learn to heal, but it hadn’t, she hadn’t, and all she had come to realise was that her anger and her sorrow and her pain could not be parcelled away, couldn’t fit neatly into their little box. It had teeth— teeth and claws and a taste for blood, and it was tearing her apart, day by day by fucking day.

But it was invisible to them, because they had ticked off the days, the weeks turning to months, and now that a full year had passed… Nesta had, apparently, sailed right past the point of her pain being acceptable.

She gritted her teeth now, the meaningless and inane babble making her want to take her fork and drive it through Rhysand’s neck. If any of them spoke to her, she didn’t hear it. Didn’t register it. Instead she sat with her back straight, pushing around the food on her plate and ignoring Mor’s disapproving glance when she barely ate a mouthful and chose, instead, to drain her sanguineous wine.

A silent scream began to build in her chest, one that threatened to cleave her in two.

The laughter grew louder, another bottle of wine was opened, and for all the size of the great dining room in Feyre’s new home, the walls seemed to be closing in, the air suddenly thin as ribbons of ice crawled up Nesta’s spine. When the food was cleared away, Nesta saw as if through water when Feyre pushed away from the table, lifting her glass and suggesting that they move to the sitting room for a while before returning later for Elain’s cake.

She didn’t hear the murmurs of agreement or the clink of glasses as her sister’s family got to their feet. She didn’t hear the scrape of the chairs against the hardwood floors - not even her own - and as the rest of them departed for one of the luxurious sitting rooms overlooking the lawns, Nesta curled a hand around the back of her chair as she stood, fingers curling painfully into the carved wood.

“Nesta?”

Feyre’s voice drifted to her as she placed a hand on Nesta’s arm, but Nesta didn’t feel any warmth or kindness in her sister’s touch— felt only the icy kiss of the Cauldron and the hands that had held her captive in that throne room— a bruising grip that had held her down before water closed over her head, before her blood had boiled and her bones had shattered.

The memory slammed into her, made her flinch.

Against the onslaught Nesta took a breath, fixing her eyes on the windows and the night sky beyond, dark and clouded over, without a single star visible in the sky overhead. She looked into the impenetrable black, like a mirror to her soul.

“I’ll join you in a minute,” she managed after a long silence, her voice straining against the words.

Slowly, Feyre nodded.

She drew her hand away and looked once at her eldest sister before turning for the door, and as the sound of Feyre’s retreating footsteps grew distant, Nesta found herself standing alone and motionless before the window, looking at her reflection and mourning the life she had lived twelve months ago.

A life where she had a father still, even if he had been absent.

A life where she woke each morning and recognised her face in the mirror; where there was a path laid before that she knew she could follow. A human, mortal path.

Nesta caught sight of her eyes reflected back at her in the glass, dark and humourless, as cold and as empty as a void. From the sitting room the laughter echoed still, Mor’s voice louder than the rest as she told some ridiculous, raucous story that had Rhysand shouting something in good-natured protest, that had Feyre gasping a laugh as she allowed herself to be regaled by some tale from her husband’s past.

Nesta wondered if she would ever laugh again— ever find a reason to smile.

She had never felt more out of place than she did now, with her arms wrapped tight around herself as she stood alone, listening to the laughter and the joy of a family she would never be a part of.

A mistake— it had been a mistake to come tonight.

She closed her eyes, wondering how much scorn she would receive if she left right now, without saying goodbye. Glasses clinked in the sitting room, and it was almost enough to make her dart for the kitchen and the door that she knew would take her outside, but before she could commit herself to running away, the sound of footsteps approaching made her open her eyes again. Looking at the dining room reflected back at her through the windows, Nesta didn’t bother to turn as the door was opened again, letting in another sharp slice of the mirth beyond.

Cassian hesitated in the doorway.

Through the glass Nesta watched as he stood, lingering and drawing no nearer, even though his eyes had found her in an instant— had snapped to her, like seeking her out was the only thing he was good at. Without pause, without fear, he met her gaze in the window’s reflection, standing a handful of feet behind her as the heart in Nesta’s chest twisted painfully.

“There you are,” he said gently. “I wondered where you’d got to.”

He stood with his hands in his pockets, a stance so casual that Nesta could have forgiven herself for forgetting that he was a warrior born and bred, as ruthless as they come, with hands even more bloodstained than her own. The hair hung to his shoulders in a mass of haphazard curls, and the ruby earring he wore caught in the low light as he canted his head to the side, studying her with eyes that held no humour anymore, no hint of jest.

She wished now that Feyre had left the wine behind.

Cassian’s eyes searched hers in the reflection, taking in the hollows of her cheeks and the skin that she knew was too pale, too wan. His eyebrows inched together, a furrow forming in his brow as he took in the tracery of grief left behind, and when his throat bobbed with a swallow, something like concern alighted across his face. The scar slicing through his eyebrow was thrown into relief as his head tilted, his jaw tight as he looked her over, and something sparked in his eyes that she couldn’t bear, something so ardent and sincere that it made the hollow ache in her chest spread until she could feel it in her toes.

She didn’t know what to do with it. How to handle it.

So Nesta turned sharply on her heel, whirling to face him and taking some small pleasure in the fact that his eyes widened— that she had managed to surprise him.

“You don’t want to join us in the sitting room?” he asked, his voice slow and careful. Like he was sizing up an opponent for battle.

Nesta snorted.

Regret glimmered in his eyes, edged with just the barest hint of sorrow, but it was there and gone in an instant. The hazel darkened, and Nesta felt the anger and pain that simmered beneath her skin extending its claws like a beast stretching languorous before the hunt.

“Why should I?” she asked, poison seeping into her tone— poison as lethal to her as it was to him. Part of her knew she would regret it later, regretted it already, but she couldn’t hold back the tide of her grief alone. It was easier to let it swallow her, to let it drown her— easier to feed the anger than feel the pain, and so she lifted a chin and nodded to the doorway and the sitting room beyond, her lip curling on a sneer that only a small part of her tried and failed to fight. “So I can hear more tales about how wonderful your lives have been?”

Cassian’s eyes didn’t widen this time, like he’d expected every harsh word that had fallen from her lips. But he didn’t draw back— Cassian remained, resolute, with his face blank as Nesta’s arms tightened around her middle, as though her grip was the only thing holding her together. For half a moment she thought she saw his eyes soften— thought she saw him reach the same conclusion.

“So you can sit beside your sisters and remember what it is to be loved by them,” he suggested instead, removing one hand from his pocket and extending it smoothly out towards her. He caught her eye and raised an eyebrow, splaying his fingers like all he wanted was for her to take his hand and let her fingers slip between the gaps he’d left in his.

Nesta’s heart twisted again, and she thought that maybe - maybe - a part of her might want that, too.

A pity then, she thought dryly, that she couldn’t see beyond the tangled mess of emotions that were churning up her chest like dried earth. That she couldn’t reach beyond the shroud of grief to accept the hand that he offered.

She was silent for a moment, not quite knowing the words to say. His hand hung in the air between them, not quite enough to close the gap, and she was acutely aware that before her was a man who had thrown his life before hers, who had laid his head in her lap and grasped her hand as he lay dying. A man that she had barely seen since, who had started the hours and days after the battle by giving her space, and had never quite managed to stop. The distance between them was so great now that Nesta had no idea how to bridge it.

And then—

“I know what day it is, Nes,” he said quietly.

He made the nickname soft, breathed it like it could somehow belong to someone with a tongue as sharp as hers. His lips parted as his eyes fluttered, his gaze drifting down, and gods, it was as much of a hand extended out to her as the fingers he still had stretching towards her, a bridge offered when she couldn’t find one herself. Nesta had stilled by the windows, immovable as stone, but when her eyes shifted from his outstretched hand to the eyes that he had fixed on hers…

She had never seen his hazel gaze so earnest.

It was almost enough to make her weep, forcing apart the cracks in her chest with enough verocity to leave her in splinters. But Cassian didn’t blink, didn’t shy away from her, and when she said nothing, he only took a single step towards her.

“I know what it is to grieve, you know,” he added softly, in a voice hardly more than a whisper. “I know what it is to mourn.”

The laughter from the sitting room grew louder, and Nesta felt her eyes close against it, like she might protect herself from it if she could only pretend she was somewhere else entirely. She heard the rustle as Cassian’s wings spread a little, and part of her wondered if he’d thought he might extend those wings and shield her, blocking out the entire world. Part of her wished he would.

“Do you?” she managed as she opened her eyes again, tilting her head in a challenge that wasn’t half as sharp as she had intended. His eyes softened. “Do they?”

“Yes,” he answered simply. “But they don’t allow their pain to morph them into something else—“

“How dare you—“

“Nes.” He dared another step, eyes wide, lips parted. A plea shone in his eyes, edged with desperation. “Please.”

Nesta felt her lip curl, falling back on the all-too familiar anger that served as her shield— the defence she flung up to keep them all from looking at her too closely, from seeing just how much she had been torn apart that day twelve months ago. Just how much she’d been raked apart every day since.

“Please what?”

Cassian didn’t back away, and in the face of her barbed words he only took another breath, as if to tell her he understood— and he wasn’t afraid.

“Please let me help you. Let me do something. Anything.”

There it was again— the bridge he offered, the path back to the surface.

“You think after all these years I don’t know what you’re going through? That I don’t see it?” Cassian dropped his hand at last, curling it into a fist and bringing it above his heart. “That I haven’t been standing exactly where you’re standing right now, facing down the same damn thing?”

The beast inside her bared its teeth, claws raking down her spine. It begged to be set loose again, to snap and bite and lash out and even the slightest provocation, but…

Gods, she was tired.

So, so, tired.

“I can’t sit there and pretend,” she said at last, her voice tight in her throat. She nodded to the sitting room, to the laughter still drifting through the walls. “Just because a year has passed doesn’t mean I’ve suddenly made my peace with any of this.”

“I know,” Cassian said smoothly, reaching out his hand once again. He didn’t wait for her to accept him this time, and there was no hesitation or second-guessing as he took her hand in his and closed his fingers tight around her own. His eyes burned, his face lined with the kind of sorrow that Nesta knew would be etched across her own too, and she wanted to sob, wanted to crumble. But for once there was a crack in the darkness, a sliver of light pushing against the black and begging to be let in, and as Nesta’s fingers slid home between his, she let his warmth ground her just enough to pull her back from the edge— enough to let his light filter through the gaps.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he whispered, and just like that…

Suddenly it felt like the weight she had carried alone for so long was shouldered by him too. Like he took a portion of it, eased the burden with nothing but a squeeze of his hand and a look in his eyes that said that even now, he wouldn’t forsake her.

And it didn’t fix everything - far from it - but she hadn’t realised how powerful it was to have someone there beside her, to take her hand when the darkness got too much, when the ache was too deep and the world too heavy. Somehow the teeth tearing her apart felt a little less sharp, the claws a little more dulled than usual; the beast calmed if not placated. The pain didn’t vanish, but it was easier to bear somehow, and for the first time in twelve months, Nesta could see beyond her grief to the world beyond.

Cassian’s fingers curled around her own, his grip tight, like he was loath to let her go lest she slip away into shadow again.

“Why?” she asked, looking down at their entwined hands. “Why do you remember when they don’t?”

Cassian shook his head. “They remember,” he said softly. “Elain remembers.” He nodded to the cake still sitting on the table, waiting to be cut after dinner. “Why do you think they laugh so loudly, Nes?”

His other hand lifted to her face, his thumb brushing across her cheek, as if to wipe away the tears that had yet to fall. He angled his head to the side, as if to hear the laughter, and when it echoed his eyes snapped back to hers. His grip on her hand tightened.

“They laugh in the face of it,” he said. “They find the joy and cling to it.”

And what do I have to cling to, Nesta thought dryly. Who do I have to lean on?

She thought of the dim bars waiting for her and the nights she had spent in the arms of strangers, and even though she didn’t ask the question out loud, Cassian’s lips lifted at the edges, giving her a gentle, plaintive smile as he squeezed her hand— as if that was the answer.

As if he was the answer.

He tugged on her hand, his smile lifting to something wider, something more mischievous.

“If you don’t want to face the sitting room, how about we just stay here instead?” he suggested. “Or slip away to Rhys’ study? There’s a chess board in there and believe it or not, I was never much good at it.” Slowly, the smile curving his lips grew into one that felt more genuine than any Nesta had to offer, but Cassian didn’t let it drop. His eyes glimmered as he added, “Would thoroughly humiliating me in a game of strategy help turn the night around for you?”

“You’d rather sit and play chess with me than be with your family?”

Cassian rolled his eyes indulgently, tugging on the hand she still had clasped in his palm. “Of course I would.”

Nesta didn’t know how to answer, but when she glanced up and met his eyes, there was a warmth there that she hadn’t expected to find. And maybe it wasn’t enough to chase away the dark entirely, but maybe it was the tether that she needed to a world that wasn’t so completely consumed by sorrow. Cassian’s fingers were so warm around her own, still holding tight to her even after she’d spent so long pushing him away - pushing all of them away - and for the first time in twelve months, she wanted to let herself feel that warmth, to let it sink into her bones.

“Come on,” he said, giving her hand another small tug. His smile turned somewhat conspiratorial, his voice dropping to a whisper. “If we’re quick we can sneak down to the wine cellar. I know where Rhys keeps the good stuff.”

The retort bloomed in Nesta’s throat— a cutting remark waiting on her tongue about how she didn’t want anything from Rhysand, not even his most expensive wine. A scowl threatened to twist her lips, but when Cassian waggled a single eyebrow as if to say, well? What do you say? she felt the words die on her tongue, turning to ash as she pushed the scowl back. For too long, the sharpness had been her only defence, the only armour she could call on. But with Cassian’s hand wrapped around her own and the small smirk at the corner of his lips somehow telling her they were in this together…

Maybe she didn’t need the armour.

Not all the time. Not with him.

After all, he had taken her hand when she was hurting and hadn’t flinched as she spat and cursed. He had let her sharpen her claws, but had been there to bring her back when she needed it, when he realised that those claws were cutting her to ribbons too, and so this time, when Cassian tilted his head in a silent question and squeezed her hand one more time…

Nesta nodded.

Because she didn’t want the next year to be like the last, and she didn’t think she could do it alone, and he was there, holding her hand and throwing a smile over his shoulder as he led her from the dining room and towards the kitchen, headed right for the door leading down to the cellars beneath. And even though the grief inside her continued to snarl and writhe and claw, Nesta felt her steps fall in line with his and thought that as long as she wasn’t alone, as long as he was there, waiting to pick her up when she fell down…

Well, she thought as she squeezed his hand in return, maybe the next twelve months would turn out better than the last.

New Taglist: (If you want to be added or removed, let me know!) @asnowfern , @podemechamardek , @c-e-d-dreamer ,@lady-winter-sunrise , @starryblueskies7, @melphss , @that-little-red-head , @misswonderflower , @fwiggle , @tanishab, @xstarlightsupremex @burningsnowleopard , @hiimheresworld , @wannawriteyouabook , @hereforthenessian @kale-theteaqueen

#nessian #nessian fic #nestaweek2024

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lokischocolatefountain · 1 year

Text

Whiskey and Wine

Fandom: Narcos

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Rating: 18+ (Smut, angst, hurt/ no comfort. Warnings: Prostitute!reader, misogynistic terms to describe sex workers, mentions of domestic violence.)

Word count: 4k words

Summary: He drank whiskey and she drank wine. After years of offering her the wrong drink, Javier finally buys her the right one.

A/N: Venturing out to Javis who are no happily married and madly in love, so it’s angst central, baby! Let me know if you like this sad boi and go check out my other Javi (and Joel Miller) fics in my masterlist.

Wine was not Javier’s preferred choice of drink. He could count on his hand the number of times he’s had wine throughout his life. But when he was at the store, looking to replace his bottle of whiskey, the dark green wine bottle caught his eyes.

“Drink?”

“I’ve told you I don’t like whiskey,” she said, settling into his couch and tossing her handbag on his coffee table.

“I know,” he whispered, pulling out the bottle of wine he’d stashed in the bar. A smile found its place on his lips as he uncorked the bottle and poured it into a wine glass he bought especially for the occasion. The dark crimson, almost black filled the glass. When he’d filled his own glass, he put the bottle down on the counter.

“That looks familiar…” she said, turning the bottle around to see the label. Her eyes twinkled as she read the name of the brand she’d once told him she liked in passing. It was a long time back. Before Cali, before Los Pepes. When she’d only just become his informant. And it took him all this time to buy a bottle of wine for her. It wasn’t for a lack of wanting.

“You remembered,” she remarked, her eyes softening. They raised their glasses and let it clink together before taking a sip. Eyes closed, she nodded as though appreciating the taste. In his head, the nod was also for him, an approval, a good boy for choosing the right drink. It wasn’t his favorite. It tasted much too…fruity. But he took another sip. If it was good enough for her, it’s good enough for him.

“How have you been? How’s Miguel?” He asked about her kid who he could only remember as a two year old.

“He’s good. Getting alarmingly taller. I’m good, all things considered. It’s better now, in Medellin. I guess it’s Cali’s turn now. Is it bad there like Medellin used to be?” She asked. He took a seat next to her. Took her hand. It had been so long since he’d touched it. So long since it pulled at his hair as he buried his face between her legs.

“It’s a little more covert in Cali. The Godfathers run the cartel like a corporation. There’s this veneer of decency about them that Escobar didn’t have. But you peel back the layer and you’ll see all the same brutality.”

“Is it harder? I mean, I don’t care about Cali like I cared about Escobar. That could just be because I’m from Medellin and have no reason to be in Cali. But I don’t see anyone else giving a shit either. Must make it hard,” she said as she toyed with the loose tie around his neck.

“It does… ‘s like people think everything’s fucking perfect after Escobar died. It isn’t. You take down one monster and another one takes his place.”

She placed the glass of wine on his coffee table and put both her hands to use. She undid his tie and tugged it off his collar before rolling it up around her index finger. “Who is the next monster then? After Cali.”

Whoever the fucking CIA wants there.

“I don’t know…” he sighed before he reached out and unfurled his tie from around her finger. He tossed it back over his shoulder and took her hands in his, turning them back and front to admire them. He took her right hand and placed a kiss on each finger, looking up to catch her eyes. Her eyebrows furrowed and head tilted, she considered him like she was trying to figure him out.

“Why do this job if you think there’s no end?”

His shoulders slumped and he looked away, unable to meet her question. His hand stilled around hers. “I don’t know,” he answered again, his voice devoid of emotion. She’d always read him perfectly. Just one look at him was enough for her to know he’d had a bad day. After a lifetime of bad days, she still had a way to know exactly what worried him. One of them at least for he worried about multiple things at once.

“Let me take care of you, Javi…” she whispered, closing the gap between them. She was close enough that he could feel her breath and see the texture of her skin beneath her makeup. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, taking her lips between his. A sense of peace filled him as she melted into his arms. He moved her hair aside and cupped her cheek, gently holding her in place for him.

Burying himself in women and booze was second nature to him. Yet he hadn’t really indulged in the former since he came back to Colombia. Not after the first night with the woman from work.

Whiskey, women, work. The three Ws that kept his world running. Nibbling at her chin the way he remembered she liked, he was happy to have his trifecta back. And it mattered that it was this woman he’d found again. She was something of an addiction for him back in his Medellin days.

Sleeping with local prostitutes was no strange thing for the men at the embassy. Steve was one of the very few who didn’t indulge. And no, it wasn’t because he was married. Plenty of married men dipped their fingers into the money from their paycheque that they were meant to send back home to support their wives and kids. He just stumbled into the practice by using them as informants. While they all slept with prostitutes, he felt that he was different from the other men. He didn’t pump and dump them, didn’t fuck a different one each time. When he was sleeping with someone, he sought them out frequently and didn't sleep with others for the period. It didn’t make him a fucking saint. Of course not. It was just what he needed to do to collect intel. It was also to ensure safety. AIDS was no laughing matter.

He felt her expert hand pulling at his belt. He helped out, unbuttoning his pants for her. In a second, her hand was on his cock. He bucked into her hand, his body desperate for her touch after having gone so long without.

Javi loved women. Loved painted lips and long hair. Loved their elegant fingers wrapping around his cock and roaming his chest. He loved having them at the mercy of his tongue and making them scream his name until they could only make incoherent noises of pleasure. He loved all women, but he loved her much more than the others.

“Missed you so much, querida,” he breathed into her exposed neck. “So fucking much.”

He had given pieces of his heart to everyone in his life. Everyone he’d ever met who wasn’t an explicit enemy held a piece of him, held the power to crush it between their hands and ruin him. He broke off a huge chunk of himself for her. Or maybe it was gradual, he thought as he pulled her onto his lap.

He pushed her skirt up to her waist and adjusted her on him so that he could feel her wet heat on him. She grinds over him, eliciting a hiss. He grabs her by her hips, stalling her movements. “You keep that up and I’ll come before I’m inside you.”

She laughed and stopped struggling in his grip, allowing him a smidge of mercy. One look at the twinkle in her eyes and the upward curl of her lips was all he needed to realize that the process was gradual. Each time he invited her into his leather couch and then his bed, he gave her a piece of himself. Each time she asked if he was okay, each time she said just the right things to make him relax if only for the night, each time she did more than she needed to do for a paying client.

“Let me take you to bed,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist to pick her up. She pressed her hand on his chest in a silent request to stop. He raised an eyebrow at her and searched her features for clues.

“Want a quick one first.”

“First?” He asked, brushing his lips against hers. “Is that a promise for more?”

“Mhmm,” she hummed before giving him a quick peck, making him smile. “I missed you too, you know?”

“Yeah?”

His heart warmed when she nodded in confirmation. Moments like this had him believing that maybe, just maybe, she might feel a little something for him too. It was pathetic, really. To believe the things women in this profession told men to make them feel good about themselves. It was no different from shop assistants telling you that the shirt you tried on looked good on you. It was good business.

He sneaked a hand beneath her top, caressing the soft skin with his callused one. She lifted her arms, helping him pull the top up before tossing it aside. She leaned back, accommodating him as he grazed her nipples through her bra with his teeth. The cheap lace scratched his tongue, making him snap the hooks in the back, releasing her from the wire-lace prison. He took her tits in his large, greedy hands, relishing in how she pushed into his hands.

In turn, she undid the buttons of his shirt, spreading her fingers over his chest and running them all over him as he ground himself against her. She whimpered, pushing back against him before she reached between them and stroked his cock.

She reached into her purse that sat on his coffee table and came back with a condom. He let her put it on him, shuddering at her touch as she stroked him a few times. Lining him up with herself, she took all of him in just one go. A groan rumbled from the depths of his chest as her velvety heat molded itself around him. “Hard and fast, Javi. Want you to get your stress out.”

“You’re so good for me. So good, always…” he praised, lifting her up and down his cock. “I missed you,” he mumbled. He needed her to know, know that this wasn’t just some line. He wasn’t saying things in the heat of the moment. He really did miss her, buried himself in other women and gone home to fuck his fist because they didn’t satisfy him like she did.

They weren’t so receptive to my touch, he wanted to say. They didn’t hold me like they cared. Their smiles didn’t wipe away the worries of my day.

Her earrings jumped with their dance, the little bells that hung from the base tinkling as they joined the sweet melody of her soft sounds. The red of her lips had grown light from his greed, was smeared beyond their boundaries. As he pulled her to his chest, he smelled the faint fragrance of her rose scented perfume, the one she always wore. It wasn’t anything uncommon, he’d smelled it on several women after her and drove himself mad with yearning. But on her, it smelled just a little different. It mixed with her natural scent, her intoxicating pheromones that was just her, that he wished he could bottle up and keep at his bedside.

Their lips found each other again, tasting each other, drinking up the sounds of the pleasure they gave each other.

A thin sheen of sweat coated her neck, making her glisten under the golden light from the street lamps streaming through his window. Mesmerized by the bouncing of her tits, he fucked into her harder, faster, letting his eyes enjoy the treat. His lips, jealous of the taste his eyes got, wrapped itself around a nipple. His hand grabbed the breast as his teeth nipped at her. She trembled in his arms as he let out a groan into her flesh.

“Javi…”

“Yeah, baby. Say it again, say my name.”

“Javi…please, faster.”

Gripping her harder, letting his nails dig into her flesh, he obliged. He thrusted into her, faster like she requested. She threw her head back, granting him access to her neck. He kissed and licked and nipped, tasting her sweat and her skin. He kissed scars and birthmarks and the little black moles on her skin that he had memorized like the streets of Laredo. Take a right from the mole on the right collarbone and go straight up to find the heart shaped mark on her shoulder.

He reached between their bodies, groping around for her clit before he found it with her “Fuck, right there Javi!”

With as much tenderness in his touch as the hardness of his thrusts, he began to play her clit. She bucked into his touch and writhed on his lap. He lost himself in her, his overactive mind finally calming down. Miguel Rodriguez and his almost-capture before the efficient hand of bureaucracy meddled had left his mind. Stechner, the CIA, Ambassador Crosby— it all ceased to exist.

Tension gripped his thighs, his balls, every-fucking-where. He threaded his fingers through her hair and guided her eyes to his. The tug of her hair had her tightening around him. He pulled again, his chest rumbling with his groan as she reacted expectedly. He spoke her name in a plea, not really knowing what he begged for. She rewarded him with her little whimpers.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she hummed appreciatively as she touched him. She spread her hands over the expanse of his chest, fingers healing scars old and new.

Her touch was addictive. When she dropped her hand from the force of his thrusts, he took them and placed them back on himself. He needed her touch. He needed to know she was wrapped around him in more than one way. Contrasting his harsh strokes, she brought a gentle hand to his face. Her thumb caressed his bottom lip. Before he could take the finger between his teeth, her hand wandered away. It caressed his cheek, the softness of the touch making him close his eyes.

“Fuck! ‘m close. Keep fuuu— mmm, so fucking good, baby. Just like that!” She screamed encouragements, keeping him maintaining the pace she liked so much. He couldn’t keep his eyes off hers as they glazed over. A sense of pride filled him to see her like this. After all his failures that week, he was doing something good. To bring her ecstasy, that was above anything he’d managed to fuck up. She tightened around him, pulling the world together around their bubble. The globe was now just them, just the noises she made for him.

With one final cry, she crumbled in his arms, falling limp, relying on him to hold her up. He pulled her to him and let her slump down on his chest. “Did so good,” he praised as he used her for his sake. She continued contracting around him, the remnants of her orgasm still vibrating around his cock. He gritted his teeth as he struggled to maintain his thrusts, the intervals between each thrusts growing and shrinking and growing again.

Words struggled to escape through his labored breaths, yet he chanted her name in between curses. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuu— I love you.”

She gasped and jolted in his grasp. His words took a second to sink into him as he blanked out from the feeling of her around him. As he spilled into the condom, his world stilled. It then came crashing down, from the high and from the realization of what he’d just said.

Downcast eyes focused on the stop where they were connected. His arms fell to his sides. He kept them there, not wanting to trap her in case she wanted to escape.

The words echoed in his ears— I love you I love you I love you. There was no escaping, not for him.

“I’m sorry.”

Javier still didn’t have the confidence to look at her. Not when she climbed off his lap. Not when she walked around his apartment, collecting articles of her clothing. Not when he heard her pour herself a glass of wine.

Pink painted fingernails wrapped around a glass of whiskey entered his range of vision. He accepted it. He needed a fucking drink and wine wouldn’t cut it. He mumbled a thanks before he took the glass to his lips, closing his eyes as the liquid burned in its way down his throat.

“Take it back.”

Of all the things he’d expected her to say, this wasn’t it.

“Please…”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t mean that.” Her voice trembled as she spoke. She tilted his head up by his chin with a finger, forcing him to look into her eyes. They were glazed with tears. She held them in, let them pool around her. “Take it back.”

He shook his head. “I meant it— mean it.”

She scoffed before turning away and walking up to his bar. Glass of wine abandoned, she poured herself a finger of whiskey. She brought her hands up to her face and though he couldn’t see it, he knew she was wiping her tears. “Do you know how many men have told me they love me, Javier?”

A weight settled in the pit of his stomach. A deep ache found itself in his chest. Rejection had never felt so heart wrenching.

“It happens. Too many men say it. They find their wives boring, are sick of their kids, are tired from the monotony of their jobs… Doesn’t mean it’s real. I need you to understand that.”

“I don’t have a wife or kids. My job is anything but monotonous.”

She shook her head before taking a swig of her drink. “Doesn’t have to be that specifically. It’s just— people say it all the time. More often than you think. When life is hard… A lot of men come to me when life is hard. It’s easy to say shit like that to someone you’re fucking.”

She was rationalizing her way out of it, giving him logical explanations as to why what he said wasn’t true.

“Your job is hard, you’re in your late thirties and you don’t have a solid relationship. So you’re just saying that to me. To fill some void. You could’ve said that to any whore.”

He flexed her fingers and glared at her back, hoping to burn a hole through her skin. He planted his face in his hands and closed his eyes, attempting to get his breaths to a normal pace.

“Is that what you think you are to me? Just some nameless, faceless woman?” He asked, voice trembling with the fear of a yes from her.

“It’s not that— Javier… I’ve been doing this job for a while. I’m just one of the many nameless, faceless women. It’s just part of the job. I don’t take it personally.”

“I love you,” he reiterated despite her strong rejection. He must be a masochist, inviting more pain after his first taste of it.

“Just what do you think will happen by saying that? This is real life, not Pretty Woman. You should keep those delusions to yourself. When you wake up tomorrow, you’ll realize you didn’t mean it.”

“I mean it. ”

“And what?” She snapped. “And we live happily ever after? You take me back to Texas and give the whore your dead mother’s ring? Kids, white picket fences, happily ever after?”

He opened and closed his mouth, unable to muster up the courage to ask himself the questions she asked him. He wasn’t thinking when he told her he loved her. Not the second time and most certainly not the first time. Were you supposed to have the answers to those questions when you told someone you loved them? Fuck if he knew. The last time he said it was to Lorraine and they were much too young to be thinking about marriage and kids.

“You’ll love me today and you’ll love some other girl tomorrow. Another pretty brunette you pick up from a brothel.”

“I don’t know what you think of me, but I don’t just go around saying that to fucking everyone.”

“You think you love me. Because you’re stressed and lonely and have nothing beyond your job. You thought you loved Helena.”

“Don’t,” he warned, his voice strained. His mind filled with images of Helena, her beautiful eyes marred by fear as she lay trembling on a ratty old mattress, her mind far away from her body. Hands shaking, he took a sip off his whiskey.

“That is what happens to women like us when we get close to men like you,” she continued despite his warning. He put his drink down and clutches his head in his hands. There were only three women he’d fallen for— Lorraine, Helena and now her. What an unfortunate series of choices. “You’re good, you’re kind and you treat me like a human being. Bare fucking minimum, but you’d be surprised how rare that is for women, prostitute or not. Maybe you really loved Helena. Maybe you were just feeling guilty about what they did to her. I don't know that. Whatever you wish to accomplish by telling me…telling me that—it’s not going to happen.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, for what felt like the hundredth time that night. She came up to him, finally showing him her face as she filled his empty glass with amber liquid. He took her hand in his and rubbed circles on the back of it.

“The scar on my back. I didn’t tell you where I got it,” she said, her voice too calm to be discussing the large welt on her back.

“It’s from the first man who told me he loved me.”

His thumb froze. He tightened his grip on her. As though holding her tight would keep her away from the man she was speaking of.

“He was sweet, handsome. Paid well, treated me better than any of the other men I was sleeping with. Just like you.”

“I would never— I’m not like him. I couldn’t hurt you,” he said as he shook his head, defending himself against a man he didn’t know, but abhorred.

“I know…” she whispered, her eyes holding only kindness for him despite his confession. “I know. But I didn’t know it back then, the difference between men like you and men like him. I was nineteen, barely an adult and already in this profession. I believed him. It was hell. Almost three years of it before he went off and died somewhere.”

“Many men have told me they love me since. None of them I could believe. You, I can’t afford to believe. Because unlike the rest of them, you can break me. Because I feel all kinds of things for you. And I can’t live with knowing there was a chance, I can’t afford to break. Not again.”

He nodded, gave her a sad smile through his clouding vision and let go of her hand.

“Now tell me you didn’t mean it. Lie if you have to. Please,” she said, her voice breaking at the request.

“I didn’t mean it.”

Minutes passed before she spoke again. Or were they mere seconds? He didn’t know.

“Maybe it was my fault that I didn’t take money from you the last few times.”

Maybe. Maybe he wouldn’t have fallen in love if they’d kept it as a transaction and nothing more. If he’d forced some cash into her hands before leaving her place, he wouldn’t be here, what was left of his lonely heart breaking into even smaller pieces.

“Now pay me and drive me to my friend’s.”

They found themselves outside her friend’s place where she was staying during her trip to Bogota. The ride was silent, but no longer awkward or uncomfortable. Even after having his soul ripped out of his body, he was still standing. So was she. He glanced at her face, illuminated golden by the street lamps and took her in for what would most certainly be the last time.

“Your job has no end, you know that. There will always be new monsters to hunt but only one life for you to live. Go home. Find some nice Texan girl, take care of your Papa’s ranch, have the kids and the white picket fence,” she said, giving him one last smile before climbing out of his car.

“You too,” he said with all his heart. “Miguel, more kids and the white picket fence. With some nice Medellin boy. Oh and the restaurant you want to open. All the best.”

“All the best to you too, Javier.”

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shina913 · 9 months

Text

Breakfast | KMG

Breakfast

Pairing: Mingyu x Fem!Reader

Rating: M 🔞; SFW

Genre: meet-ugly-turned-meet-cute!AU; fluff

Warnings: cussing; sexually suggestive language but not anything too explicit; mentions of alcohol consumption

Word count: 1.7K words

Summary: While on your walk of shame, you meet an unlikely companion who is doing the same.

A/N: Ah, my first SVT fic!!!!! 🤭 I've been spiraling for a couple of months now and felt the need to channel all of my brain-rot into fic. Please be kind 🥹

You groan, squinting at the early morning sunlight peeking through the blinds. You quickly realize that you are not where you hoped to be— cozy and warm in your own bed—but rather in someone else's.

You glance over to your side but find it empty. Your random Romeo must have gotten up early for coffee or something, but you don't want to stick around to find out. Understandably, you made some poor decisions last night, but you live and learn.

Memories of uncorking and emptying bottles of wine between you and him flash through your mind, but you shake them off. You look around, awkwardly stumbling as you try to retrieve your clothes, phone, and whatever dignity you have left.

Once you’re clothed, you walk into the living room searching for your purse. You find it on the floor, next to the couch. As soon as you grab it, your body jolts when you hear the toilet flushing in the distance. You hastily grab your purse and shoes and race toward the front door. You want to make a quick and quiet exit without looking back before last night’s companion walks into the living room.

You can’t remember much of what happened but you recall drinking enough to forget about something.

Fortunately, it's early enough on a Sunday that the typical neighborhood crowd isn't up yet. Since your phone is dead, you can't call an Uber to take you back to your apartment. Ten blocks shouldn't be too bad...for this walk of shame.

You stare down your path home in silent resignation and shrug. At least the pavement is all flat, and there are no hills to climb.

Everything seems to be going well until someone rushes out of a neighboring building wearing only his pants and a tie around his neck, with what appears to be his shirt balled up in his hand.

Seeing men walking around shirtless was not an unusual sight after living in the downtown area for a while. However, he was certainly a sight to see. Although you may be slightly hungover, it doesn’t stop you from taking a moment to appreciate the view. Suddenly, you find yourself craving breakfast.

“Oh shit,” he curses out loud, his eyes wide as plates when he meets yours.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. “You too, huh?” you point at him in jest.

The man scowls at your comment, seemingly offended that you’d insinuate such a thing. He drops his shoes, which you hadn't noticed in his other hand, begins to slip his feet into them, and walks off without saying a word.

You mutter, "Pfft, whatever," out of earshot as he walks away.

However, you happen to be going in the same direction for the next block and a half, so you awkwardly follow behind him as you both cross the street and continue onto the next block.

He unravels his shirt to slip it back on when he happens to glance behind him and finds you there. At first, he ignores it, but he hears the keychain on your purse rattling with every step he takes.

He pauses and abruptly turns around to face you. This takes you by surprise, and you nearly walk into his broad chest.

“What the—“

"You know, people will start to think we did something together last night if you keep following me like this," he accuses.

You raise your eyebrows and scoff. "Please, don't flatter yourself! This is where I'm headed, too." You scan the area. "Besides, I don't see anyone around here that I know. Do you?"

He doesn't respond. Realizing that he was being rude to a stranger, he turns sheepish and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Uh, so...what's your name?" he asks.

His sudden change in demeanor catches you off guard and you squint at him suspiciously. "You first," you reply.

“I’m Mingyu.”

You contemplate giving him a fake name but it feels way too early in the day and too many brain cells to gather for an alias, so you tell him your real name instead.

Mingyu smirks. “Lovely to make your acquaintance.”

“Mingyu, huh?” you say curiously, eyeing his outfit. “Male prostitute?”

He throws his head back, laughing. When he recovers, his expression turns mischievous. "Well, as a matter of fact..."

"Mm...actually, don't answer that," you say as you brush past him, walking toward your apartment. “Good talk. See ya!”

“Hey, hang on! Do you live near here?” he asks as he runs to catch up to you.

You lie. “No. Stop following me,” you say as you try to lose him.

He catches up to you in two strides. “If I remember correctly, you came around the corner and you started following me first,” he says with a grin.

You groan in annoyance. “I was not! The building you ran out of just happened to be in the same direction I was walking,” you say with a frown.

“You’re not very pleasant in the morning, are you?” he remarks.

You stop and turn to him. "Well, sorry if I don't want to make small talk while dressed like this."

"Like what?” He takes a few seconds to rake you from top to bottom, checking you out. “I think you look pretty fucking great," he smiles cockily.

Admittedly, he's smooth, but you don't want to fall into that trap again as you just managed to crawl out of one.

"Likewise, male escort Mingyu," you smirk back at him.

“Don’t your feet hurt from walking barefoot?” he points out as he glances downward.

“No more than walking ten blocks in these heels,” you reply, picking up your stride again. “Besides, my phone is dead so I couldn’t call an Uber to get home faster.”

“I can do that for you!” He chases after you again. “My phone’s got 20%.”

“You seem like a nice guy but I don’t even know you and won’t be able to pay you back.”

“You don’t have to! I’m feeling generous today,” he says with an air of confidence.

“Sure you are,” you retort.

He taps your arm to grab your attention. “Fine, if you won’t take my offer for a ride, here,” he says as he slips out of his shoes to slide them toward your feet. “Wear these.”

“What? Why?” You ask as you stare dumbfounded at him.

“I can’t in good conscience let you walk barefoot that far. Plus, who knows what’s lurking on these streets.”

“Trust me, I’ve walked farther,” you say, briefly recalling other regrettable nights from the past. “I can also put my shoes back on, halfway through.”

He’s still insistent. “Please? Or let me give you a piggyback ride for a few blocks, at least?”

You laugh out loud. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you say to him. Even though judging by the way he’s built, especially those biker’s thighs, he could very well carry you all the way to the next town over.

“As ridiculous as me inviting you for breakfast at my place?” he asks.

Your stand there slack-jawed for a moment. This walk has taken a strange turn but your growling stomach makes his offer tempting, more than his handsome face.

“What does breakfast at your place look like? Cold cereal and burnt toast?”

“Ouch,” he clutches at his chest, feigning offense. “I may not look like it but I actually know how to cook,” he says, sweetening the deal.

You purse your lips. Were you actually considering his offer? “Hypothetically, if I accept your invitation, what would you make for me?”

“Bacon, eggs–cooked any style you want. Maybe some waffles,” he replied with a broad smile. “Hypothetically speaking, of course,” he says with a wink.

He had you at ‘eggs cooked any style you want.’ You sigh at your weakness and look downward at his shoes. “Okay, but these are way too big for me. I could trip and fall into a coma before I even make it there.”

“The piggyback ride offer stands.”

You snort in amusement at how unbelievable this morning has turned.

“I live right over there, see? The blue one.” He juts his chin toward a light blue-hued Victorian duplex at the end of the block.

He's conventionally attractive and his body looks nice, but you literally just bumped into him on the street and now he's inviting you to breakfast at his house? He could be a murderer or some kind of sexual deviant, for all you know.

“I promise I’m not a murderer,” he says, quelling your unspoken suspicions. “If it makes you feel better, my next-door neighbor is a 75-year-old grandma who likes to sit on her front porch during the day. She's practically the neighborhood watch! If I were up to no good, the cops would show up at my door in minutes.”

Just then, your stomach growls embarrassingly loud enough for him to hear.

He smirks in amusement. "At least allow me to make you a fresh pot of coffee. You can recharge your phone and call a car from there. No harm done!"

"Why are you being so nice? I'm still a stranger, you know."

He shrugs. "We both had our own versions of interesting evenings we'd rather forget. Starting the new day on a promising note would be nice, don't you think?"

Your eyebrows quirk at that. Something about his carefree optimism draws you in. And the fact that he can see past your slept-in eye makeup and poor decisions from the night before makes you feel that maybe there are still some genuinely good guys out there.

He holds out his hand, earnestly anticipating your response. You glance at it for a second, sigh, and think, what the heck?

Relenting, you nod your head, and he crouches down, bending his knees to the right level. You step closer and position yourself behind him.

With his gentle assurance, you reach your hands forward and wrap your arms around his shoulders and neck. As you rest your legs on either side of him, he asks for your consent to grip you behind your knees. You give him permission. Despite anticipating it, his strong hands still take you by surprise. You wonder quietly what else they're capable of.

Once you both have a solid hold on each other, he shifts his weight to stand up. After making sure that you are both stable, he turns his head to check on you.

“All good?”

“Yep,” you answer.

“Alright! Let’s make you some breakfast!”

As he carries you toward his building, you smile to yourself. Maybe the walk of shame wasn’t so bad after all.

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Thank you so much for reading!

If you loved it, please comment, reblog, or send me feedback! 📩. I love hearing from readers! If you didn’t like it so much, I would still like to hear about it. Help me become a better writer! 💜

TAGS: @roaminginthenights @yoongukie-ff

#svt fanfic #mingyu fanfic #mingyu x reader #mingyu x you #mingyu fluff #svt x reader #svt fluff #svt imagines #kim mingyu #seventeen fanfiction

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