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letstripdotcom · 3 months

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losing sleep - matt sturniolo x fem!reader

a/n: much needed enemies to lovers bc i’m a SLUT for enemies to lovers. also country song fic bc i’m a little southern girl🤠

summary: matt sturniolo was the boy you hated most. it wasn’t always that way. one day he just decided he hated everything about you. that was until you slowly started to break down every wall off hatred and anger.

warnings: smut (eventual) mentions of being drunk/drinking, mentions of family problems

well i’ve been losing sleep

like a man loses time

reminiscing over memories

bouta lose my damn mind

he was the kindest, sweetest person to walk the planet. he was absolutely adorable. everyone admired him, and worshiped at he’s feet. matt sturniolo could do no wrong. he had the sweetest smile and the kindest eyes, and he didn’t have a mean bone in his body

but that wasn’t the case for you. matt hated you actually. he couldn’t stand being around you. you genuinely didn’t know why either. you didn’t have a reason to hate him, other than the fact that he hated you.

every time you spoke, he would shut you up by throwing a mean comment at you. when you walked into the room he would groan. he just seemed so bothered by you, but you never asked why. the once time you tried the only thing he said to you was “don’t ever talk to me again” and so you didn’t.

you and matt were best friends at one point. you spent every day together one summer and you were inseparable. you would wake up, go to the triplets house, do whatever, and when the moon came out your adventures had just begun. on the night everything changed you were too blacked out to even recall what had happened. you just woke up the next morning and matt wasn’t talking to you anymore.

matt’s pov:

people constantly ask me why me and y/n don’t get along the way we used to anymore, and as much as i want to tell them it’s because i hate her, she’s a terrible person, and things will never be the same, i know that’s not the full truth.

yes i hate her annoying voice, and i hate when she talks about boys, or when she comes to nick crying because some boy broke her heart. i hate the way she laughs and i hate how she squeals when she gets excited. i hate everything about her, but i used to love her once.

it wasn’t until a drunken night in late july that everything changed. y/n and i sat out by the pool at her house as we passed a bottle of pink whitney and talked about our lives. a lot of that night was a blur. but i remember kissing her. we were both so shitfaced, and so stupid.

“hey matt?” she spoke up “hmm?” i turned my head to look at her, as the world around me spun. “would you ever kiss me?” she asked. “i don’t know y/n, why?” i stared at her trying to read her expression to see what she was thinking. she leaned in and kissed me like it was something we did all the time. it was messy, but it was sweet. but what i didn’t expect was what she said to me after.

“matt i think you should leave.” she slurred

“y/n i’ve been drinking i can’t drive.” i argues

“you can sleep on the couch tonight but you need to be gone by the morning matt, i can’t do this.” she demanded

“do what?” i asked

“i’m sorry matt. goodnight.” she got up and stormed inside

and that was the night everything between us changed. i wasn’t friends with y/n after that day. when people noticed the distance between us, i had told them we got into an argument. i told them how much i hated her for it, and i told them i would NEVER love her the same again.

in august, my friend nate threw an end of summer party. i went, but i avoided y/n at all costs. i sat by his pool alone, downing a bottle of malibu. i wanted to just drink until i wasn’t thinking about y/n, but it’s like she never went away. the more i drank the more i thought about her.

i pull out my phone as i start to type her contact in. i’m so drunk i can barely make out the letters, but i try my best. i need to call her. i just have to make things right. i know she’s got nothing left to say, but i should call anyways. just then, nate comes outside. “yo matt are you okay?” i didn’t call her that night, and i didn’t fix things.

time skip

i roll my eyes when i walk into my house and hear her voice. she’s laughing about something. i hate that stupid laugh. what could possibly be so funny? i scoff as i walk by. as i pass nicks room, it takes me a few moments to register she’s not laughing, she’s crying.

just then, i get a text.

nick

y/n is having serious family problems right now, be nice when you get home pls!

i’m not home right now, but she needed a place to stay.

👍

i stand outside nicks door for a moment before turning to the kitchen. i grab my tub of mint chip ice cream and a bag of blue takis. those were our favorite snacks when we were kids i quietly walk up to nicks door and knock lightly. she let out a broken “come in” i opened up the door with a soft smile and i hand her the snacks i grabbed

we didn’t speak to each other at all, but we didn’t need to. she took the snacks and scooted over on the bed, signaling me to sit down. i sat down and engulfed her in a hug. she pressed her head against my chest and began sobbing.

i held her in my arms all night. we didn’t talk, and she just cried. i never wanted to let go of her and expose her to whatever else could happen to her. i didn’t need to ask her what happened, and she didn’t need to ask me why i was letting her do this. eventually, we fell asleep. i held her like if i let go she would disappear.

part 2 tmr! ❤️

#Spotify #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #smut #nick sturniolo #sturniolo

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ghoststyles · 10 months

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Fairway to Heaven - Part 1

Hi!! I’m so excited to post my first-ever Harry fic! I’ve been on 1D Tumblr since the very beginning, logged off for 5 years and now I’m back 💀 So I’ve had a lot of ideas over the years that have just lived in my head. GOLFRRY + MUSTACHRRY are my weaknesses, so this is my twist on a golf/bev cart girl + agegap fic 🤩

I’d love to hear your thoughts. I have most of the story written, so I should be able to have a consistent posting schedule. Not sure the total # of parts quite yet. I’m also happy to write additional blurbs if y’all like Harry and Briar as much as I do 🥹🐥🦊

Here is a mood board I put together. Feel free to picture Briar however you please. The mood board is just to set the vibez!

Without further ado...Enjoy!

Word count: 4.5K

Contains mature themes. Read at your own discretion. Agegaps, cursing.

Read Part 2 | Read Part 3 | Read Part 4

By the time she gets to her designated cart, she’s already fifteen minutes late; but her iced coffee is the perfect color, and her hair didn’t give her too much trouble this morning. She smiles to herself, a win is a win.

Briar Barlowe quickly dumps a bucket of ice in her cart’s side cooler as the bar back begins filling the bin with the usual suspects: Bud Light, Michelob Ultra, Fireball, Tito’s, Casamigos, Ginger ale, and, of course, grape juice. She makes sure to keep her lavender cups stocked and plenty of fun straws to make everything more fun. She even decorates her tip jars to say funny jokes.

Since starting at Wynnewood Country Club, Briar has gained a bit of notoriety among the players as the girl with a bright smile and a heavy pour. This job is exactly what she needs to fill the gap between graduating college and beginning her business degree in the fall. Good money, stress-free responsibilities, and time spent in the sunshine.

Her Uncle, Patrick Barlowe, is the golf pro at Wynnewood; a local legend who was just shy of making the PGA Tour himself. He spends his days teaching lessons, running the pro shop and serving on the Board of Directors for the club. If you’re in with Patrick, you’re in with everyone.

When he heard her worries of not finding a summer job after graduation, it was a no brainer to offer her a position as a beverage cart girl. They both gaze out over the course from a table under the gazebo on the top deck of club’s restaurant.

“That job sounds a little sexist, Uncle Patrick,” Briar sneers. All she can picture is driving around in a little dress and a visor like Malibu Barbie, answering the male members’ every beck and call.

The club is gorgeous; first built in 1914, and the architecture reflects it. It has two golf courses, 4 tennis courts, a pool, and deluxe spa. The member fees skyrocket each year, upping the amenities and overall snootiness of the members.

“The money is good and the members are pretty harmless. From the way you’ve swindled me into throwing teddy bear tea parties, I think you’ll do just fine on the sales aspect.”

“Fine. When do I start?”

Patrick leans back in his seat, “I’ll call Dominic in the morning.”

With that, they finish their drinks and appetizers just as the sun sets.

Walking out to her car, she sees a black Range Rover pull under the carport. The boys at the valet stand are already bickering over who gets to drive this one.

Based on the surrounding town, the level of pretentiousness at the club never surprises Briar. The yearly member fee for the club can cover 2 years’ worth of her business school tuition alone. She shakes her head and jumps into her hand-me down Jeep to head back to her apartment, paying no mind to the man entering the front door of the club.

Her shift this morning started out in the frigid cold, forcing her to change outfits later in the day as the sun came out. She’s sporting her black athletic skort and a racerback tank top. She opts to leave her hair down and sport her black and white Nike trailblazers to keep the look casual.

With a few weeks’ worth of shifts under her belt, she’s learned the ways of the club and fallen into a good rhythm. On any given weekend day, she has to head to the clubhouse to restock twice before 12PM. Today is not one of those days.

As temperature warms up, the course begins to fill up. In the last hour of her shift, she’s left with only a few beers and a few shots worth of Tito’s. Her tip jar is a little emptier than usual, but the pun on her sign got a few chuckles. She sets up shop on the 17th hole and snaps a few photos of the sunset.

“I shot one under today. One under a tree, one under a bush, and one under the water.”

Briar jumps at the voice behind her. Is that an Irish accent? She leans to peer over the side of her cart. She sees a man, older than her, donning a light blue polo with dark blue pants and a white hat, reading the joke on her jar.

“Clever, isn’t it?” She smiles kindly at him.

“Hilarious. It’s like ya been watching my game today,” he laughs. He moves closer to where she’s standing.

“Can I get you anything? I’ll be honest, I’m mostly wiped out.”

He peers down at the contents of the cooler. “I’ll take that last Mich Ultra. Do you have any Casamigos left? My mate is a little picky.”

“No Casamigos,” she says with a slight frown. “I’ll try to keep my drinking to a minimum next time and save you some.”

He lets out a loud laugh and squeezes his eyes shut. “Alright, just this then. He’ll have to deal with it.”

“I can offer you some Peanut M&M’s for your troubles,” she says, pulling out her iPad to ring in the order. “Do you have an account with the club, or do you want to pay cash?”

“The account is under Niall Horan,” he says, putting a $20 bill in the jar. “Thanks for the M&M’s, darlin’.”

“I’m Briar. It was nice meeting you, Niall. Thank you!” She beams. He smiles and starts heading back to the path toward the clubhouse.

After cleaning her cart and counting her money, Briar finishes the day drinking a mojito at the bar, while Cam, her new friend at the club, is working her bar shift.

“How was it out there today, babe?” Cam asks.

“Slow at first, but it definitely picked up. I couldn’t even head back for a restock. Luckily, the members I got at the very end weren’t picky.”

“Oh! Did you see Niall?” she asks as she puts glassware in the dishwasher.

“Yeah,” Briar furrows her brows. “How did you know?”

“I used to serve him on the front course all the time. Now that I’m too old and wretched to work out on the course, he’ll visit me in here sometimes. He mentioned playing the back course with a friend today.”

Briar is always assigned to the back course. There are only minor differences in difficulty, but she finds the back course to be a little more calm and serious. They’re also a little more generous with their tips. She’s not sure if her assignment has something to do with her uncle’s knowledge of the club’s inner workings.

“He is really nice, and generous. I didn’t get to meet the friend, though. Did you?”

“Yes, he was a little more reserved. But Niall is a riot, so he makes anyone look calm. I didn’t catch his name.”

Briar hums and stirs her mojito around as she stifles a yawn. “Well, I’ve been here since 7:30 this morning, so I am ready to goooo,” she drags out her last word. She waves bye to Cam and begins the trek to the employee parking lot.

As she’s walking, she gazes up to the upper deck of the restaurant where she can just barely make out Niall standing by the railing. He’s talking animatedly and waving his beer bottle around.

A bit off to the right, peering down at her, is a tall, striking man with dark features wearing a white button down and a sport coat. The top two buttons are undone just enough to see his collarbones.

The club has a strict dress code for the restaurant. Briar often does a double take when she sees members out of their golf clothes. She wonders if he’s even allowed to show that much skin.

Shrugging it off, she continues toward her car, but not without looking back at the man. He’s still looking at her, curiously, taking a sip of his drink and turning away not long after she looks up.

She can’t help but get this strange feeling, almost as if the hairs on the back of her neck are standing straight up.

As the summer starts to heat up, so do her shifts at the course. By the end of them, Briar’s hair is sticking out sideways and her make up is smeared down her face. She bought a miniature fan that clips right to the visor of her cart to keep her cool throughout the day.

It’s just past 8:30 in the morning on Tuesday when she hears a familiar voice on the 8th hole. She squints and sees Niall, along with the dark haired man from the other night. There are a few guys she doesn’t recognize standing with them.

She maneuvers her cart through the winding path, closer to where the men are.

“There’s the beer angel!” Niall shouts. She smiles and shakes her head. He comes jogging over. “I hope you’re fully stocked this morning.”

“Yep, I am! I even have a few breakfast sandwiches, if you’re interested.”

His eyes light up as she pulls out a bacon, egg and cheese on an everything bagel from the warming drawer. Chef Lambo, the executive chef of the club, made them especially for Briar’s customers.

“Yesss. I’ll take one of those, a Mich Ultra, two Transfusions, and — H! What do you want?” He yells, partially turning to face his friend in the distance.

She faintly hears, “Casamigos!”

“And a Casamigos on the rocks, with a lime,” he finishes. It takes her only a few minutes to make the cocktails.

“Do you want these on your account?” Briar asks Niall.

He takes a huge bite of the bagel and mumbles, “No, you can put it all on my mate’s. Last name is Styles.”

Styles, or, “H” as Niall called him. The mystery man’s Last name is Styles. And, he’s a member here.

“Got it. Well, good luck today.”

“Thanks, we’ll need it. We’re trying to close a work deal with the two guys we’re playing with. Hey, don’t be afraid to swing by us multiple times. We can use all the schmoozing we can get,” he smiles.

“I think I can do that. Let me know if you need help, I’m told I’m very persuasive,” she smiles as she takes the emergency brake off of her cart. He throws another $20 in her jar and then waves, nearly dropping all of the items in his hands.

Niall returns to his group, handing out their drinks. Briar continues to watch before pulling away. H steps out from behind Niall, slightly lifting his cup — his lavender cup — towards her, as a thank you. His facial expression is stoic, watching her carefully.

She smiles to herself and drives off. The rest of the shift goes by in a blur. She swings by Niall and H’s group a few times. Each time, Niall greets her to grab more drinks and snacks.

Is that on purpose? If the drinks are on H’s account, why isn’t he coming over? She’d like to get a closer look at him. She chews on the inside of her lip and continues on with her closing duties. She loves the morning shift; in early, out early.

After parking her cart in the garage, she can see her uncle in the pro shop, glasses on the tip of his nose, peering down at something. She lightly knocks on the door and pushes it open.

“Hey, Briar bear,” he says, looking up at her. “How was your day?”

Briar sighs at her childhood nickname, plopping down on the couch by the practice putting green. Members can test out clubs before purchasing them in the pro shop, making it an optimal spot to hang out and mess around with all of the clubs.

“It was good, I just have to get used to waking up this early again. And I already know you’re going to say, ‘welcome to the real world, kid’, so just stop there,” she says sassily.

Patrick chuckles and focuses back on with his paperwork. They’re quiet for a few moments.

“What’re working on, anyway?” she asks, craning her neck to see what he’s doing.

“Just some budget sheets, and making a list of members who haven’t had a lesson from their amazing in-house golf pro,” he says, punching numbers into his phone calculator.

“They get a free lesson from you?”

“Yes, when they join. But now, to keep up member retention, we’re going to offer sessions to members who have been here for 5 years or more,” he scratches his temple. “Most of ‘em don’t need it, but I feel they always leave with a new drill to practice and some sage advice from yours truly.”

“That’s cool,” she replies absently.

“Wanna help?” Patrick asks her. She nods silently and takes a seat beside him. She sees a list of last names, first initial and an “X” next to their name if they’ve taken a lesson.

She notices an X next to “Horan, N.” but not “Styles, H”. Interesting.

Briar continues to audit the two lists, until she hears her uncle clear his throat.

“Hey, are you going to hang here for a bit? I need to run back into the main clubhouse for a few minutes.”

Patrick runs the pro shop solo during the day, until a high school or college kid can come in in the afternoon.

“Yeah, I’ll hang here. What do I do if someone needs something?”

“Then you can entertain them with your dazzling personality until I get back,” he teases, sticking his tongue out. “Alright, I’ll be back.”

“‘kay,” she says, walking back to her original spot on the sofa, laying her head back on the edge.

Her eyes are shut, only for a minute, until a brilliant idea pops in her head. She rises off the sofa and saunters over to the computer her uncle was just working on.

The employee portal is logged in under Patrick’s account. Briar doesn’t know much about it, aside from using it to clock in and clock out. It’s still on the member screen, an area she’s 100% sure she doesn’t have access to.

She peruses the site until she finds a “Member Look-Up” tab. Briar’s intrusive thoughts win.

She slowly punches in S-T-Y-L-E-S and waits for the results to populate. 2 results found.

She clicks on the first profile. An account pulls up for a Paul Styles, and a photo of a white-haired man pops up.

Well, that’s certainly not him, Briar thinks to herself. She exits out and clicks on the next account. No profile photo opens, but the name is at the top. She bites her thumbnail in anticipation of what she’ll see.

Harry Styles. H. Niall’s mysterious friend. The tequila lover.

She starts to scroll down the page. The profile is more bare than the other man’s, but she can see the basic things about him. He’s 41, joined the club 8 years ago. He lives in another pretentious town only a few miles away.

Then, she sees a “Member Activity” tab. Out of curiosity, she clicks on it. Her eyes widen, seeing every transaction he’s ever made on his account. His “dues” each year. Holy shit.

His purchases seem pretty standard for members of Wynnewood. Mostly rounds of Casamigos on the rocks (shocking) and dinners ranging from $100-$400, with a few bills over $1,000.

He joined 8 years ago, but his transactions have only begun to pick up in the last month or so. Before, his visits were sporadic at best.

Briar can’t even fathom having that sort of money to throw away. She started working at age 14 and never stopped. The only reason she gets a taste of country club life is because of her uncle.

She closes out the portal, not wanting to risk Patrick walking in while she’s snooping around. She returns to her spot on the sofa and begins playing 1010! on her phone.

She exhales and tosses her phone to the side. As she sits up, Patrick reenters the pro shop.

“Thanks, Bri. Heading home soon?”

“Yeah, I gotta get back home for Gus,” she smiles, thinking about her dog. Her baby.

“Alright, I’ll catch you later. Say hello to my buddy for me. And give him a butt scratch — Tell him it’s from Uncle Patty.”

“Will do. See ya.”

When she’s showered and comfy at home, with Gus, her Bernese Mountain Dog, snuggled at her side, she finally feels relaxed.

She’s worked nearly every day since she started. But, those are the sacrifices of a summer job.

She turns on Selling Sunset on Netflix to drown out the silence of her apartment. Already bored of this season, she pulls out her phone.

One last round of stalking, then she’ll let it go. She opens Instagram and begins typing in Harry’s name in the search bar. Nothing. Hm.

She tries Niall, immediately getting a hit. She clicks on his account to find it public, full of funny and happy photos. He’s clearly from Ireland, but has lived in the United States for some time. She wonders if he went to school here, or if he just got a job here.

She scrolls down to a group photo — on the golf course, of course — of Niall, Harry, and a few other guys. They look a lot younger here. She can see the photo is from 7 years ago. Harry’s stoic face is a stark contrast to Niall’s infectious smile. She clicks on the photo to see if Harry’s profile is tagged. Nothing.

Defeated, she moves onto LinkedIn. She tries Harry’s name again. Within 10 seconds of the search engine results popping up on the screen, her eyes land on exactly what she’s looking for. He has a profile. Her heart starts beating a little faster.

Really, Briar? All this for a guy you’ve barely caught a glimpse of? She clicks on the profile and sees the most gorgeous man at the top. He looked good from afar, but this is totally different.

Sticking out to her is his chiseled jaw, pouty lips, and beautiful (green?) eyes. His hair is longer in this photo than what she’s seen him with the past 2 times at the club, but she figures this page is old.

She scrolls down to the employment history. He works for a hedge fund. No wonder he has that kind of cash laying around. He’s been at the same company for a number of years, and received his bachelor’s degree from Georgetown and his MBA from the University of Pennsylvania. Smart dude.

She notes his MBA graduation year is 2006. She laughs, knowing she was probably still playing on a playground that year.

She exits out of the page, proud of her findings. She decides to text Cam about Niall’s friend.

B: Hey! So I totally stalked Niall online. His friend’s name is Harry! 😆

C: So funny, how’d u do it? 😂

B: Instagram for Niall, and earlier, I used Wynnewood’s portal to look up Harry. I just went on his LinkedIn, too. Now, I know all about his work and schooling, lol.

C: Your account is private, right? 😳

C: It notifies people if you’ve looked at their profile unless you’re private…

B: What?! I didn’t know that…WTF do I do?

Briar’s stomach drops. He’s probably already gotten the notification by now. She’s mortified. She logs back on to LinkedIn and deactivates her account. Reddit says those are her best chances of counteracting the notification.

She decides to go to bed, but ends up tossing and turning until 3 AM, knowing her alarm is set for 6:30. She stares at the ceiling, pleading for Harry not to show up at the club tomorrow.

The morning comes around, and after mustering enough courage to get up and make herself presentable, she rolls into work, ready to jump on her cart and be lazy. The universe (or Uncle Patrick, probably!) has a different plan.

Since it’s a holiday weekend, Briar is working inside for a change. She feels a little out of her element. She’s worked in restaurants in the past, but it’s always a little stressful when you have know idea where anything is, or how to use the register.

Taking a moment to survey the large banquet room, she doesn’t see Niall or Harry. She begins to relax. Until, 30 minutes later, she sees both of them enter and begin talking to the hostess.

Please don’t go to my section, she thinks. She watches the girl gathers 4 menus and turns to lead the men further into the room. Briar’s worry grows more with each step the hostess takes toward her section. Fuck.

She seats them down at a 4 person table right in the middle of Briar’s section, assuming the two men from yesterday will be joining them.

She takes a few deep breaths before grabbing a water jug and two stemmed water glasses. She casually approaches the table, lightly placing the water glasses down and filling them.

Niall looks up briefly with a smile before exclaiming, “There she is! I requested you to be our server after I saw you at the coffee machine over there.”

Briar smiles before turning her attention to Harry, who hasn’t glanced up from his menu. She looks back at Niall.

“Awesome! This is going to be great,” she lies through her teeth.

While this exchange is happening, she can feel Cam’s eyes burning through the back of her head. Cam is the service bartender of the day, so she has time to people watch and laugh at Briar’s bad luck.

“Are we waiting for any more guests to join us?” Briar asks.

Niall clears his throat and says, “Yes, those two blokes from yesterday. Harry here is going to close the deal with them today.”

Harry glances up at her with a shy smile. She reciprocates, unsure if he’s aware of her cyberstalking from last night.

“Wow, well, I’ll make sure my service is extra good, then. Can I throw in some drinks while you wait?”

“I’ll have an Old Fashioned. Harry?” Niall turns to his friend.

“Casamigos on the rocks for me, please. With a lime. Thank you.”

“You got it,” she says with a tight-lipped smile. Of course that’s the very first thing he ever says to her. And he’s BRITISH?

Cam laughs as the ticket prints at the bar.

“Oh, shut up,” Briar grumbles.

The other men finally arrive, and the meal goes by at a snail’s pace. When the group is finally ready to order, Briar is already mentally checked out. Briar goes to take Harry’s order.

“What can I get for you?”

“I’ll have the chicken, please,” he says simply.

“And how would you like that cooked?” Briar asks, furiously scribbling on her note pad.

Harry’s face contorts to a perplexed look, almost as if he was about to laugh.

“Um…cooked…all the way through?” He stifles a chuckle.

Niall bursts out laughing, cluing Briar in. She realizes the others ordered porterhouse steaks, so, out of habit, she asked how they’d like them prepared.

Her eyes go wide, “Right, well, I’ll go put these in. Thanks!” She shuffles away at lightning speed.

Harry stares at her from across the room, smirking when they make eye contact. She wants to bury her head in the sand trap on the golf course.

When the meal is done, the men shake hands, and Niall and Harry look relieved. They ask for another round of drinks for the two of them and the check. Niall heads toward the restroom while Harry pays. She tries to bolt as soon as the check is dropped, but she hears Harry clear his throat.

She turns to face him.

“We’re about to go play a quick round of 9-holes to celebrate. Are you our beer angel today, or are you stuck in here?” Harry says, as he opens his wallet.

Briar feels her heart begin to race. She’s sure her face is beet red. The word angel rolls off his tongue so easily.

“Um, no, I’m um, stuck in here for the rest of the day. I’ll be back on Sunday, though,” she says quietly.

“Shame, I was starting to think you were bringing me all of my luck. I’ve been crushing these guys in our last few rounds,” he smiles, swirling the remnants of his drink around.

She bites the inside of her lip, unsure if she should still be holding eye contact. He hands her the checkbook, full of cash. She smiles, unable to speak.

“Oh, and Briar— I’m an open book. If you wanted to know more about me, you could’ve just asked,” he says with a sickeningly sweet smile.

That’s the moment Niall returns to the table, and presumably the only reason she doesn’t drop to the floor in fetal position.

“Thanks, Briar. Lunch was great. We’ll see you next time,” Niall says sweetly.

“Thanks!” she squeaks, scurrying to the back, where she nearly mows down Cam.

“Woah! What’re you doing?” Cam squeals.

“He KNOWS!” Briar wails.

“Who? Who knows — OH!” Cam shrieks. “What did he say to you?”

“He said, ‘Briar, I’m an open book. If you wanted to know more about me, you could’ve just asked.’”

Cam’s mouth drops open. “Did he say it with his sexy accent and sultry voice?”

“Shut up!”

“Fine. Well, what did he tip you?” she asks, reaching for the book in Briar’s hand.

She opens it, finding enough cash to cover the $450 tab, and an extra $300 as a tip.

“Damn! Who has that much cash at one time?” Cam laughs.

Briar flips to the back of the book, only to find a note on a small piece of paper:

I’m an Aquarius, in case you were wondering. : - )

She stares blankly at the note. When did he have time to do this? Was he going to slip this note to her regardless? A million thoughts run through her head, until she hears Cam.

“What a creepy-ass old person smiley face,” she says, shaking her head.

Briar thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world.

Finally, her shift ends and she can escape the club, just for a day. As she heads towards the women’s locker room, she’s rummaging through her bag, attempting to fish out her street clothes so she can change as quickly as possible.

As she stalks closer to the locker room, she collides head-first into a firm, wet object. She feels strong hands grasp her hips to steady her.

“What the fuck?” she says, moving the hair out of her eyes, only to be met with a strong tattooed torso, partially covered by towel tied loosely around the person’s waist.

Her next words die in her throat as she looks up.

Harry.

Harry, who just left the steam room.

He smirks down at her, gently letting go of her waist. Suddenly, she feels hot, as if she were just in there with him. Briar’s fight or flight kicked-in, causing her to spin on her heels and flee in the opposite direction.

He senses she’d run, so he gently grabs her wrist, locking her in place. She peers up at him like a deer in headlights. His other hand is firmly planted on his hip to hold up his towel, in fear of giving the whole club a show.

He tilts her chin up so she’s making direct eye contact. Her stomach drops, sending a wave of nausea through her body. She studies his face; long eye lashes, slight stubble and two dimples that form as he smirks down at her softly.

“I told you, I’m not shy.”

He releases her chin and saunters back to the mens’ locker room.

#ghoststyles #fairway to heaven #Harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #golfrry #dom!harry #daddy!h

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seren1tyhaze · 6 months

Text

road snacks

PAIRING: haechan x afab reader

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

SUMMARY: a cross country move with your boyfriend is exciting and sometimes a little more steamy than you thought it would be

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I officially present my first Kinktober 2023 entry! This is another piece I had finished but was trying to finish other wips but don't want to hold off posting things that are ready anymore. Please enjoy prompt number 16 "Public" :)

WARNINGS: explicit smut, public sex, soft Haechan who is actually not very soft

PLAYLIST: Lost in the Light by Bahamas, Yacht by NCT 127, Malibu 1992 by COIN, Daylight by Matt and Kim, Catch by Epik High + HWASA

The sun is starting its descent in the horizon, bright rays stretching across the sky as you stretch your arms across the dashboard in a deep stretch. It’s nearing the sixth hour of the long first day of your road trip and your energy is starting to fade. You’ve been up since early this morning, taking on the first few hours of driving before swapping with your auburn haired boyfriend currently tapping his thumbs on the leather wheel car beside you, humming lightly to the music filtering through the sound system.

Leaning back in your seat, you sink down, letting your eyes slip shut as you lean your head against the window and let the sun warm your bare arms and face. The music is calm and filled with beautiful harmonies, lulling you to sleep for the first time on the journey. You had promised each other you would help whoever was driving stay awake, but with plans to stop at nightfall at a hotel, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to take a short cat nap.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you feel a light brushing of fingers along your exposed shoulder and you reluctantly push your eyes open to see an apologetic gaze from the handsome man next to you.

“Babe, I’m so sorry, could you hand me something from the cooler?” Hyuck asks, applying some pressure to your shoulder to massage it with his fingers.

You melt into the touch, nuzzling your cheek warmly against his hand before nodding, unbuckling your seatbelt to carefully lean between the front two seats and open the cooler in the back. Travelling together has been a dream, stopping at different tourist spots on the way, letting him take pictures of you on his film camera, and charting out which cities along the way had all-you-can-eat hot pot.

“Water? Ginger ale?” you ask, wedging your waist between the seats to get a better angle.

Suddenly you feel Hyuck’s hand on you, causing you to jump and your upper body to lurch forward, trapping you between the seats.

“HYUCK!” you squeal, craning your neck to try to get his attention.

“What?!” he whines back, laughter seeping in as you feel the car slow down, easing his foot off the gas to reduce speed.

Without further explanation, he spreads his hand out over your ass, kneading with his fingertips slowly, just as he had been doing to your shoulder a few moments before. Despite the awkward angle you are currently curled into, you sigh and feel your cheeks start to heat. Despite all the alone time on the trip so far, there hadn’t been much time for anything beyond quick kisses or spooning in bed in the weeks leading up to the move. You’ve both been so busy and exhausted that every night your eyes have slipped shut the minute your heads hit the pillow.

“I’m sorry, what am I supposed to do when you’re on display for me and I’ve been horny for days,” he adds, voice dropping into a gruff tone as his hand moves between your thighs that are pressed together from the position.

“I thought you wanted something from the cooler,” you reply, trailing off as you feel him slide his fingers slide up the seam of your leggings, getting dangerously close to your core.

“You know what, I am kind of hungry, now that you mention it…” he replies, applying more pressure to your ass with his thumb, glancing up in the rear view mirror wickedly as he pulls off the highway and into a deserted corner of a rest stop.

As he puts the car in park, you wiggle trying to free yourself from the awkward position, feeling your calf starting to cramp. You let the lid to the cooler drop shut, knowing he’s definitely not thinking about that drink anymore.

Hyuck turns around in his seat, moving his hands to your waist, making contact with your bare skin from your shirt riding up just below your breasts. He pulls you gently so you are no longer wedged between the seats but keeping your ass close to his face.

“Now, how about that snack,” he murmurs barely audibly as cool air sends shivers up your spine when Hyuck pulls at the waistband of your leggings, exposing you fully.

“Donghyuck!” you cry out, arms tensing up and teeth digging into your bottom lip. The sun is setting slowly and a hazy dusk covers the sky. Anyone walking by would definitely be able to see and your cheeks burn at the thought of someone tapping on the window or pulling out their phone at the sight.

He only laughs, dipping his head down to press kisses at the thin lines of the bear tattoo on your lower back, laving at the skin there with his tongue as he always does. His hand slides up your chest, massaging you there and taking your nipple in between his fingers to squeeze it gently. A moan bubbles up in your throat and you dig your palms into the back seat below you, letting your head drop down.

Hyuck keeps kissing your skin, brushing his lips over and over, making you squirm. He gently lifts your hips up to give him a better angle, pushing your thighs open gently and lowering his head between them. You can feel his breath cool across your dripping core, arousal building in you and your temperature starting to rise in the cramped car.

“Baby, please,” you groan, turning your head to try to make eye contact with him as he continues to tease you.

“Begging? We’re begging now, are we? I thought you were scared someone would see,” he chuckles cruelly, sitting back and dragging a finger suddenly through your arousal before pulling it up to his lips and loudly sucking on the wet digit.

You groan in annoyance, feeling frustrated at not being able to move and have a sneaking suspicion he’s going to edge you despite the urgency of the situation.

“Please Hyuckie, I need your mouth on me now,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper, almost drowned out by the soft music still playing in the car.

His eyes darken at the sound of the nickname in a lust-filled tone and his hands return to your ass cheeks, spreading them lightly to give him better access. His mouth is suddenly on you, tongue dragging along you to gather your arousal on his tongue, swirling at your clit. Your legs start to shake with pleasure and he tightens his grip as he slides a hand up your back to push your ass up further.

You don’t realize you’re holding in your moans until you taste blood in your mouth, having punctured your lip lightly. You know you aren’t going to last long after weeks without sex so you push your hips back, grinding against his lips for more friction.

You can feel him smile against you, pulling you even closer to him by the waist, moaning against your core and tasting every inch of you. He was starving, nose bumping up against your clit repeatedly and sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Your mouth drops open to warn him of your impending orgasm but there’s no time as it crashes over you, a strangled cry falling from your lips that surely could be heard by anyone parked nearby. His grip on your waist tightens as you try to pull away, refusing to breathe until he’s worked you through your pleasure with his wicked tongue.

He finally breaks away from you with a messy sounding smack of his lips and you don’t need to look back at him to know that his cheeks are flushed and silky strands are dangling on the sides of his forehead. He pulls your leggings up for you and gently pulls you back into the passenger seat, slumping back into his own once you’re settled.

You’re out of breath and your arm hurts slightly from being pressed in an awkward position for so long. Your chest is heaving underneath the thin material of your shirt and you sigh, finally bringing your eyes up to meet your boyfriend’s gaze.

He’s smirking deviously, as he always does, and his legs are spread wide, cock visibly hard in his loose sweatpants. There’s a slight sheen across his forehead and his lips are still wet. You flush at the sight of him, heart pounding in your chest as you reach forward to close the space between you. You can taste yourself on his lips and moan into his mouth as your tongue makes contact with his. You run your fingers through his hair, dragging his head back to break the kiss and meet his eyes again.

“Now, is my boyfriend going to let me have snack time too? Or is he not going to share?” you ask menacingly, shoving your free hand down the waistband of his pants suddenly to grasp at his cock.

All he can do in reaction is moan, letting his eyes roll back as his head gently hits the window as you tug on his sweatpants and lower your lips over his lap. As much as he craves eating you out, you know blow jobs are his biggest weakness and it was your turn for payback in the darkening parking lot on the side of the highway.

This trip might end up taking longer than you both had planned if your quick snack breaks turned into full course meals, but neither of you really minded.

#nct smut #nct x reader #nct fanfic #haechan x reader #haechan x y/n #haechan x you #haechan smut #kinktober #nct kinktober

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valhallaas · 1 year

Text

A Love Like Religion

Coming Down by Halsey

Pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x Joker!reader

Word Count: 4.7k

warnings: SMUT: (18+ minors, dni) dom!jake, brattysub!reader, degradation kink, light orgasm denial, overstimulation, spanking, daddy kink, choking, oral (female receiving), p in v, creampie (wrap it up pals)

Summary: jake likes when you’re mean, but god, you love when he’s meaner.

A/N: it’s me, hi, i’m the problem. i am so in love with this. it is by far the dirtiest thing i’ve ever written and jake absolutely deserves it. i think i might make a part 2, but we’ll see--play it by ear. as always, feedback is so so so appreciated. i hope you guys enjoy it!

While not a lot of people would agree, there’s something about being in Lemoore. You go one way and there’s the mountains, you go the other and you know you’ll hit ocean water. On top of the Central Valley being one of the top agricultural producers of the country. That being said, there isn’t a whole lot to do.

Well, that isn’t exactly true. There is something. Someone.

Hangman’s grin splits his face when he sees you enter the common room. His eyes light up like the fourth of July. It sends a heat through you, makes the muscles in your lower stomach clench tight. You haven’t seen him in months, almost a year. Seeing him here when you didn’t even know he’d be has your mind spinning. You feel dizzy, slightly sick. Your face must show it because his smile loses some of its luster, but the cockiness remains. Of course it does. It’s Jake fucking Seresin we’re talking about.

“Well well well, as I live and breathe. Nice to see you, Joker.”

But is it really? A lick of betrayal runs up your spine. If you could even call it that. Really what you feel is jealousy. You feel scorned. You feel like you’ve been fucking cheated on and it’s eating you alive. You can’t bring yourself to play his games. Maybe when you pull yourself together. When you can face him and there isn’t a stinging sensation at the back of your eyes. You’re a big girl, you’ll figure it out.

Your gaze lingers, burns into him, your eyebrow twitches when he shifts under your unyielding gaze. He does it because it’s not like you. Or it is, just not in public. Your lips shift, and you can feel it. The tension pouring out of you, you bask in it. Turning from him, without acknowledging him is going to light a fire you’re sure would scorch you later. A group of familiar faces greet you on the other side of the room. Time passes slowly. You’re keeping yourself here, but you’re not sure why. It isn’t like he won’t find you wherever you are.

Everyone at the table is bursting with laughter. It’s friday night and everyone is gearing up to head out for drinks. You cringe at the idea. Someone had mentioned Fresno and you’d rather die. It’s time to head in. A bottle of wine. A trashy romcom. You’ll be fine. You always are.

“Joker, are you coming?”

Uh, what? You weren’t really expecting them to want you to come. Digging your teeth into your bottom lip, you go to respond before someone else does for you.

“Nah, she ain’t going.” You glare at the side of Hangman’s head.

“What do you mean?” Hyena asks, looking between the two of you.

“Do you know why Joker got her name?”

You cannot stop the eyeroll that overcomes you. You want to stab him in his perfect fucking face with a pencil, snap it off in his eye.

“Uh, because she’s a fucking hoot?” Malibu says from behind you.

“No. Because she doesn’t know how to take a joke. She’s got a permanent stick up her ass.”

Your hands clench and unclench at your sides. Yep. That’s what they say. You follow the rules. You don’t cave under peer pressure. If someone says something that’s not funny, you’re not laughing just to make them feel better. People called you abrasive, stuck up, a bitch. Or in the words of Jake Seresin, a fucking brat.

You nod your head, not disagreeing. Hangman’s eyebrows shoot upwards, clearly surprised. Shifting, you rest your elbow on the arm of the couch, hand in palm as you level a searing gaze at him. A gaze that tells him you know something that he never thought you’d find out. With a small tilt of your head, your lips pull up in a shy smirk.

“Don’t talk about my ass, bagman. But, speaking of call signs, I heard you went on a date recently.” His eyes widen, grip tightening on the back of the couch. “Heard it didn’t go too well. Heard you couldn’t make Banshee live up to her name.”

You can’t hide the fire in your eyes, the anger in your voice. You’re dripping with accusations. The tone you're taking on is a warning. A demand. You’re begging. The girls around you burst into giggles. Checkmate. They add on to your taunt. Talking about how he can’t get it up. Big talk for such a little man. The both of you know that it’s not true, but they didn’t need to know that. You aren’t an ‘established relationship’ it’s more of when you happen to be together you’re together. It’s been that way for years—since you graduated from top gun. The stinging sensation is back. You blink, swallowing before standing to your feet. You don’t meet anybody’s gaze, keeping your head down, wiping your hands against your pants, dying to get rid of the sudden clamminess.

“Anyway,” you say lightly, pulling the girls’ attention back to you. “I’m heading home.”

“Jo, you need to come out with us,” Malibu begs, her hand catching your wrist before you could pull away. “We need to get you laid.”

A snort leaves you, eyes widening at the idea of a stranger touching you. Instantly you yank yourself away from her. “Yeah, no. Thanks, but no thanks.”

Hyena and Malibu grumble, but leave it. They’re suspicious. Never have you gone home with someone from a bar. Never have you woken up to a stranger sleeping next to you. Your shoes were not made for the walk of shame. Giving them a warm smile, you meet Hangman’s gaze when you turn and your smile brightens. His expression is stern, eyes hard, teeth clenched. With a wink you say your goodbyes and head home.

You like California. Wish the coast was closer, but this is fine. You live an hour off base. Separation from work and home, even if it means there's a commute. The sun is just setting when you finally get to the small little house with the white picket fence. It’s a cliche, but you don’t mind. Going about your routine, you light your candles, turn on the two lamps in your living room. You’ve got music playing on low, you’re walking around your kitchen to prepare dinner with a glass of wine in hand. It’s the first time you've been home in months. It’s the first time you’ve let yourself relax, but there was no release. The tension was still there. It had nothing to do with the mission. The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board echoes through your mind, a reminder of what you’re doing. Setting the knife down you realize your hands are shaking.

It’s Jake. Of course it is. He’s the only person who has ever been able to put you on edge like this. He only spoke two sentences to you. But it’s his presence. It’s domineering, it’s controlling, it’s cocky and you love every second he’s around you. Even if sometimes you wish you could smack him upside the head. Like right now. You’re angry and you’re hurt. It’s eating you up inside because you’ve given yourself up. Given everything to him and–god, you’re such a fool to pay that price. You want more, always want more of him. That doesn’t mean he wants or needs you.

** You’re ringing out your hair when you hear the front door open. Heavy footsteps move throughout the house, creaking on loose floorboards. Did you have the energy for this right now? You may have had one too many glasses of wine. Meaning, you drank the whole damn bottle. Pulling a shirt from one of the drawers, you glance at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are red rimmed, cheeks blotchy. Sighing, you go to pull the worn shirt over your head.

“Don’t even think about it.” You lift your gaze to meet Jake’s in the mirror. Your eyebrow twitches as his teeth clench, not missing his wandering eyes. “I have plans for you, you fucking brat.”

You snort. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You like to talk don’t you, Jo?”

“Talk is cheap, and word travels fast. Faster than you thought it would, apparently.”

“You jealous Joker?” Jake says with a growing smirk.

Rage burned hot and heavy in your chest. Your hands shake and your lip snarls. If he wants to fucking fight, you’ll bring a goddamn war.

“No, not jealous.” A fucking lie. It tastes bitter on your tongue. “Wouldn’t want to feed your ego.”

Your body relaxes when you feel the brush of him against your back. The bedroom isn’t all that big. Jake stands behind you, invading your space, warming you up, and swallowing you whole. There is nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. You're at his mercy, one hand clenching the shirt–his shirt from a long past concert, and your other hand on the dresser. Your knees wobble, threatening to buckle at any given moment.

“I missed you, sweetheart.”

You smile at the nickname. “I bet you did.”

His hand comes down on your naked ass cheek with sudden force. “Brat.”

You grin at him through the mirror. If you weren’t as close as you were, you’d have missed the way his breath hitched. You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips. You’re exhausted. When he grabs at your hips, you know you’re done for. Your eyes shut when his hand pulls your hair to rest over one shoulder. Another smack to your ass has them snapping open. You meet his eyes in the mirror. A warning.

Only you were without clothes. It makes you feel a little vulnerable. But then Jake pushes himself even closer. He’s no longer in his khakis. He’s in sweats and a t-shirt. You can feel him breathing, his chest warming your back. It’s when he pushes his hips against you—you can feel him. All of him. It makes your head fall back against his chest.

A hand trails down your side while the other moves to your chest. You slip out a whine when a nipple is taken between his expert fingers. His hands on you is the best feeling in the world. The heat coming from him is intoxicating. A hum rumbles from him when his fingers finally find your core, slipping between your folds. You’re completely soaked. You’ve been this way since you saw him in the common room. You were really that weak. Your breath locks in your throat when he slips a digit in.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his accent tainting his words. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

You whine again, you can’t help it. You push your hips back into him, arching your back. It’s truly amazing how desperate and needy he can make you. One of these days you’ll have to time it. He pulls his finger out only to push it back in with another. He does this, warming up your body, until you’re moaning, your own hand wrapping around his wrist. You can feel his grin against the back of your neck. You can’t stop your hips from grounding down on his hand. Desire has taken over. Jake has left your nipple, hand now wrapped around your throat, holding you hostage to watch yourself in the mirror. He grunts when you clench around his fingers. You’re close, too close.

“Daddy,” you breathe, fingers digging into his arm.

“There she is. There’s my sweet girl. Not the fucking brat I’ve been dealing with today. Do you want to come, baby? Hmm? Should I let you? Let you gush all over my fucking hand, and then maybe I’ll think about lettin’ my cock sink into you? Does that sound good?”

If you have him whisper dirty things in your ear all hours of the day, you’d die happy. It’s only moments later when the band is about to snap that he pulls his hand completely away from you. Your core throbs with the sudden emptiness. Meeting Jake’s stare in the mirror you see just how blown out his eyes are. His grip tightens around your throat before he lets go. Really, you should have seen it coming. It annoys you because you only want more.

You can feel him moving behind you. The soft sounds of his clothes hitting the floor. Your whole body shivers in anticipation. Heat pulses between your legs. You love the idea of him breaking you open. It’s fucked up, and dangerous, but it warms your belly all the same. His lips pink and full, he bends down and kisses right between your shoulder blades. Traveling up your spine, over your shoulder, he digs his teeth in where it meets your neck. You don’t miss his smirk when you moan.

“Are you ready to start being nice, sweetheart?”

“I’ve been nice.”

His hand cracks hard across your ass. “Wrong answer.”

“Fuck, Jake, you be nice.”

Roughly, he spins you around and pins you against the dresser. His chest is heaving, breathing ragged enough to match your own. He’s got a slight crazed look in his eye. One you only see when it’s just the two of you. Slowly a smile creeps on your lips. Your nose wrinkles as you stare up at him.

“This is me being nice.” You tilt your head, shaking it at him. Jake was a lot of things, but nice wasn’t one of them. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?” He raises a brow.

“Yes daddy.”

Jake kisses your forehead before pushing you towards the bed. You go without argument. Following back into your soft sheets, elbows holding you up.

“C’mon pretty baby. Open your legs.”

You do, slowly, testing his patience. Jake doesn’t say anything, only watches. His eyes never move from your pussy. Open, vulnerable, exposed. He takes a few steps forward, his hard length bobbing with each step. You eye it for a moment, a small one. Not sure what hell you’d pay if he caught you staring. You gasp, body slightly jumping when there’s a sudden slap against your center. Glancing up at Jake to see him with a malicious grin. Fuck. You mewl and writhe at the sting of the slap. He just chuckles darkly, relishing in the sounds you make as you squirm beneath him. Jake moves up the bed, his lips finding their way to your skin. Biting, licking, sucking a trail up your tender thighs, teasing you.

“Such a pretty pussy, sweetheart.”

A squeal escapes you when he drags his teeth over your clit. You haven’t even orgasmed yet but he’s pushing you towards overstimulation. He’s purposely driving you crazy, but god, do you like when he’s mean. You wiggle your hips as his head dips lower, feeling the warmth of his breath ghosting over your core. You instinctively lift your hips up, exposing your dripping cunt to him. You hear him hum in satisfaction as you moan and buck in desperation for his touch.

“Such a needy little thing” he taunts, placing hot kisses to the back of your thighs, just below the curve of your ass. “You want the me to fuck you with my tongue hmm? Is that what you want?”

“God, yes.”

He laughs. “Heaven can’t help you now, sweetheart. It’s just you and me here.”

You groan as he licks from your throbbing core up to your clit, not lingering for you to get any kind of satisfaction. “Come on baby, you can do better than that.”

“Your mouth, your fucking fingers, I don’t care.”

He sits up suddenly, placing another sharp slap to your ass, making your skin sting. You were sure you’d have welts the shape of his hand tomorrow.

“Then beg for it” Jake commands, his hands running up and down your thighs, his fingers getting tantalizingly close to your cunt before he starts moving away again.

“Please” you whine, hands tightening in the sheets. You want to touch him. Knowing him though, he’d pull back and away from your reach. Making this a lot more torturous than it was already. “Please, touch me. Use your tongue, your hands, anything. Please, daddy, please just touch me”.

He sighs, moving back to hover over you. “So needy, sweetheart. What do you want? Do you even know?”

“I know that I want you.”

That’s the truth. You say a lot of shit when he’s got you under him. You’d still say it if he bothered to ask you in broad daylight while up in the clouds. But he hasn’t, so you keep it to yourself. A well kept secret that makes your chest ache.

“Joker,” you look at him, fixating on how his normal green was just a thin ring around black. “Are you going to let me have it? Or am I going to have to fucking take it?”

You smile. “You can have whatever you want. All you gotta do is ask.”

Jake gives you a breathtaking smile, his hand lifting to your face, thumb running along your cheekbone. Your breath catches. It’s a tender touch, a gentle moment. “My good girl,” he says softly. He’s reminding you. This is not punishment, this is worship. “I think I'd like to pray.”

“Wha—”

Seeing Jake on his belly, face level with your cunt has you whimpering. You can see him smirking, his hot breath fanning over you with every exhale.

“I haven’t even touched you yet, baby.” The pet name has your head falling back against the pillows.

“So fucking needy, huh baby?” He questions, hands moving up over your thighs, thick fingers digging into them so tight you’ll have bruises to show for it. “Can’t help but be a bratty little whore, huh? I know why you do it sweetheart. Whatever gets my attention.”

He runs his nose over your center, taking in a deep breath. His hands tighten on your thighs, as if he’s stopping himself from diving right in. You shudder, squeezing your thighs together only for him to pry them apart. You swallow, breathing shallow, taking him in as his large hand lifts one of your legs to rest on his shoulder. You’re a pathetic pile of putty in his hands. You can’t help but wonder if he knew he could mold you into anything he wanted. He could straight out ruin you and you’d thank him. But that’s the point, isn’t it? Your whole relationship. You give and he takes. Jake is good, great even, at what he does. He’ll never take what he can’t give in return.

His hand trails up your leg, rough calluses catching on your skin. There is no buildup, his finger running through your folds, a hum as he collects it before sticking the digit in his mouth.

“Look at all that. So fucking sweet, baby. Your cunt tastes so much better, though, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.” It comes out in a sigh.

“Yes what?”

You clench around nothing. The forcefulness of his voice. You moan at his words. He gave nothing else before diving in. You moan, your head falling back against the pillows again. Only to lift it when he smacks your thigh.

“Joker,” he warns.

You simply nod, biting back your whimper. His tongue is flat as it makes its way through your folds. He’s done this hundreds of times, pushed you over the edge so many times. Every time feels like the first time. A whimper escapes you.

“Daddy,” you murmur, hips lifting to roll against his face.

“Sweetheart.” He replies voice thick with amusement. You squirm at the feel of his breath against you. His thumb rolls your clit in circles as his tongue parts your folds. He slips a digit in before replacing it with his tongue.

You grind yourself on his face, his nose catching against your clit. You whisper his name, it falls from your lips like a hymn. He holds you open and licks up the seam of your sex, you jerk, knee barely grazing his cheek.

“Easy, Jo.”

He strokes and teases your pussy. Switching off between his thick fingers and his tongue. He has you quivering, moans spilling out of you. The sounds of you clenching around his fingers, his tongue are obscene and he fucking loves it. You feel like you’re in the sky. Head in the clouds and you aren’t sure you’re ever coming back down. You move with every flick of his tongue. Heel digging into his shoulder when he sucks your clit into his warm mouth. It almost sends you over.

“It’s been months, baby. Months since I’ve tasted you. Months since I’ve had you spread out like this. I’ll tell you a secret: I thought about it every night. Didn’t fall asleep once without thinking of you.”

You’re on the edge. Just a push. A simple push and—his words hit you and it’s like being doused with water. He has no idea about you. It’s a crack in your armor, a splinter in your chest. Fuck, when did your feelings for him get so deep? How did things get so messed up? A sob escapes you, tears falling down your cheeks in burning trails. Jake slows down, noticing you’re in your head, but not really there with him. Not how you should be. He goes to ask you what’s wrong when he realizes you’re crying. Instantly he’s on high alert. Jake will fuck you through a lot of things, but he will not do this while you’re crying. You’ve never cried during sex.

Rough fingers catch your tears as they fall. You shake your head, not wanting him to touch you. He wants to understand, you know he does. How can you tell him like this, in the middle of all this? You’re a fucking mess and it only proves what you already knew. You cannot function without him. He calls your name, soft but stern. Green eyes take you in, nothing but concern coloring his face.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You sigh, looking away from him. “I lied.”

“About what.”

“About being jealous.”

Jake’s lips twitch. “I know.”

“I shouldn’t be,” you whisper, “that’s our deal, right?”

“Our deal…” He sighs, coming face to face with you. “Sweetheart. All I did was take her out to dinner. I think she expected more, but I couldn’t because all I could think about was you.”

Biting your lip you look at him again. “But why, Jake? Why would–”

“Fitz. I heard Fitz took you out.”

Oh for the love of god. The fucking Navy were a bunch of high school girls. Gossiping like no one’s business. Finally, you lifted a hand and ran it through his blonde locks, something you’d been dying to do all night. “Oh, Jake. We are both so stupid.”

“Excuse me?”

“Fitz took me out for my birthday. A whole group of people were there, including Rooster and Phoenix.”

If you could take a picture of his face, you would have. Slowly a smile spreads over his face, and it’s becoming one of your favorite things. You love the way he looks at you. You’re pretty sure you love him, but you’re not going to be admitting that tonight.

Jake bumps his nose with yours. “You’re my girl, sweetheart. Only you. It’s been that way for a long time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Do you want to continue?”

You lean forward and bite right where his shoulder meets his neck, making him hiss in pain. “Yes daddy.”

“Fucking brat.”

You can’t help but laugh. You’re lighter than you have been in a long time. You feel free. You feel like an idiot because it came to a head while you were getting eaten out, but beggars can’t be choosers. Your laughter gets cut off with Jake’s tongue. He’s returned back to your cunt and is going at full force. Saliva is pooling on the sheets below you along with your arousal. Three fingers pump into you, curling into that spongy part over and over. There is no stopping. Jake’s brought you right to the edge and he’s sending you over without a care in the world.

“Oh my god,”

Jake groans against you, feeling your release. You clench tightly on his fingers as he fucks them into you, wanting to take everything you’ve got to give. He keeps up his pace, helping you ride it out. As your hips slow down he replaces his fingers with his tongue, his mouth lapping at all that you’ve spent while his thumb flicks at your clit.

“No, no. It’s too much.”

“Come on, be a good girl. I know you’ve got another one for me.”

It should embarrass you that he’s picked up on it. A chronic people pleaser, you bask in praise. His praise is far and between. Between the nit picking and the brat calling. Jake hardly gives praise to anyone and it shoots straight to your core. You’re desperate, small whimpers falling from your lips, your cunt pulsing and aching. It’s all burning heat before it melts into pleasure.

You're dripping down your thighs. You know it’s all over his face. He catches your eye when he pulls away, a grin tilting his full lips. A gift just for you. He’s shining with your release. Leaning forward he catches you by surprise and kisses you. Thrusting his tongue into your mouth, you moan at the taste of you. As quickly as it started it was over.

He swiftly moves to his knees, a hand slides across your ass, slapping you just hard enough to leave a red handprint behind as he thrust deep, bottoming out. It’s a silent scream, no sound leaving you. He’s big, too big, and he’s filling you up to the brim. It hurts, a pain that you will never get enough of. Your knuckles turn white with each rough, hard thrust. Jake slides a hand up your stomach, between your breasts so his hand can wrap itself around your throat. He loves to watch you come undone around him, and he’ll never let you forget it either. Your cheeks are flushed, pupils blown with lust, and lips parted as each of your clipped breaths turn into whimpers.

“Fuck,” he grits, hand tightening, cutting off a little more air, “feel good.”

You stare back at him, feel as he moves to kneel on one knee, the angle shifting somewhere deeper inside of you. His teeth dig into your skin again, this time leaving bruises behind. It makes you whine. Little secrets that litter your skin. He thrusts harder, rougher until your hand is wrapped around his wrist trying to hold you steady. He’s fully claiming you. Cock punching into the deepest part of you. Your head is empty, full of nothing but Jake. Words are pouring out of you, but you couldn’t understand what you were trying to say even if you wanted to. Whatever it is he wants to hear. Whatever keeps him close, keeps him inside of you. It’s been so long, too long and you honestly believe you’ll die if he were to leave.

“Daddy, I–” you're cut off by a whimper when he reaches that hard to reach spot deep inside you. Over and over again, you feel it coming, your orgasm is going to come crashing down and you’re ready to bask in it.

“You going to come on my cock, baby?”

“Yes! Yes daddy. Please, please, daddy. Don’t stop. More, more, Holy fuck,”

You come on his cock like clockwork, and when you fall back into your bed sheets, your body trembles, heaving desperately for air. Jake groans, pulling you up until you’re flush against him. His lips meet yours in a messy kiss, bucking his hips harder until he’s chasing his high right over the ledge with you.

“Good girl,” he praises, letting go of your throat. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

Your breath is a little ragged. You're sweaty, exhausted, and in need of another shower. You smile when Jake pulls out and lays down next to you, pushing your hair out of your face. There was never a sacrifice when it came to Jake. Hangman. It's as easy as breathing, you just need to know how to let go.

“You good, sweetheart?”

“I’m good.” You look over at him, trace a finger over his bottom lip. “I did miss you, you know.”

He smiles, kissing the pad of your thumb. “Yeah, I know.”

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