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seungkw1 · 3 months

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mine — jww

♡ pairing: boyfriend!wonwoo x afab!reader ♡ theme: fluff, smut [18+ mdni], non-idol au ♡ wc: 2.6k ♡ warnings: swearing, size kink, oral (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), unprotected piv sex (stay safe y’all), creampie, dacryphilia, petnames (m. & f. receiving - babe, baby), reader is gender neutral but referred to as girlfriend once, gr8 aftercare ofc ♡ a/n: this is a part two to so fucking pretty but you don’t have to read that one first :)

‧₊˚✩彡 moodboard by @myhimbomingi ‧₊˚✩彡

You wouldn’t consider yourself a very romantic person, but your boyfriend’s Valentine’s Day surprise might just change your mind about that.

You’ve never given a single shit about Valentine’s Day. It’s not so much that you hate it or anything, but rather indifference - you simply couldn’t care less. Just another capitalistic holiday for companies to profit off of, right? Plus, red and pink is simply a godawful color combination. So yeah, you’ve never given a shit.

That is - until you met Wonwoo.

You’ve dated here and there over the years, but nothing ever too serious - all of your partners either turned out to be lousy or the relationships were just bland. So, all of them ended, and you were never too upset about it.

But with Wonwoo, everything is different. You’ve only been dating for three months, but your relationship is the complete opposite of lousy or bland. Wonwoo is warm and loving - squeezing you in his arms and giving you kisses every chance he gets. He is caring and kind - listening to you talk no matter whether you needed to vent or just wanted to infodump about your interests. He is sweet and gentle - leaving you cute notes and surprising you with little gifts just because.

He is also incredibly fucking hot, and an absolute god in the bedroom.

You fucked him on the first date, which is very unlike you, but your chemistry was undeniable and it just happened naturally. That was the best sex you’ve ever had in your life - and every time since then has also been the best sex you’ve ever had in your life. You’d be an absolute fool not to stick around.

And so, Wonwoo became your boyfriend. You’ve always found that term to be a bit juvenile, so historically you’ve just referred to your significant other as your partner. But every time you think about Wonwoo you feel the urge to giggle and kick your feet in the air, so the term boyfriend simply feels right. You’re practically head over heels for the man.

“Ooooo you’re so in love with him,” your best friend teased as you were gushing about your boyfriend for the nth time.

“Oh shut up,” you rolled your eyes as you replied. Maybe you’re a bit jaded from your mediocre past relationships, but the phrase in love is not one you throw around lightly.

But deep down, you know it’s true. You’re in love with Wonwoo.

But you’re not ready to admit that to anybody. So you keep it to yourself. You’ll cross that bridge when you get there.

That day arrives much sooner than you anticipate.

—

February rolls around. It’s the dead of winter, arguably the most boring time of year. Your mind is preoccupied with the job interview you have coming up, and you’ve been a bit stressed about it. Wonwoo has been nothing but supportive and helpful - giving you advice, offering to help you practice, cleaning your apartment for you of his own free will - and you are more than grateful to have him around.

One particularly cold Saturday morning, you wake up to a text from Wonwoo.

Good morning beautiful! Text me when you’re awake 😊

You smile sleepily as you reply.

Good morning babe 💖 I’m awake!

The chat bubble pops up as he begins to reply immediately.

Great! Can you be ready by 11am? I have a surprise for you 😁

A surprise?

Y/N: Oooh, what kind of surprise? WW: It’s a secret 😉 Y/N: Hmm 🤔 Okay... What should I wear though? WW: Wear whatever you want, you look cute in everything! Y/N: Hehe okayyyy WW: Perfect, I’ll pick you up at 11! See you soon 😊

You hop out of bed and start to get ready, practically dancing around your apartment. You open your closet and stare at your clothes, trying to decide what to wear - which proves to be hard when you don’t know where you’re going. You end up grabbing the cozy light blue sweater Wonwoo complimented you on when you wore it a couple weeks ago, and a cute pair of jeans to match. You’re putting on your heeled boots when you hear the knockknockknock of somebody at the door. You open the door to see your boyfriend, looking incredibly handsome in his dark coat and black-rimmed glasses. He extends to you a bouquet of a dozen red roses.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says with a soft smile.

As you take the bouquet Wonwoo pulls you in for a kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist. As your lips part you look at him, an inquisitive look on your face.

“But it’s not Valentine’s Day yet,” you tell him.

“I know,” he replies as he gives you a little kiss on your nose. “But I couldn’t wait.”

You feel a huge smile color your face.

“So, where are we going?”

—

The waitress sets a massive plate of the fanciest waffles you’ve ever seen in front of you. You start to salivate at the sight of the fresh berries and cream heaping on top.

A few weeks ago you had casually mentioned the bougie brunch place you’ve always wanted to try, but it was expensive and the wait was always way too long. Turns out Wonwoo immediately called and made a reservation for you two.

You go to dig into your waffles when you notice your boyfriend holding his phone up, taking photos of you.

“Hey! Stop that,” you say as you playfully try to grab his phone.

“What?” he asks innocently. “You just look so pretty.”

He looks at you adoringly. You pout, feigning annoyance, and he snaps another picture - making you laugh. There’s no way you can be mad at him, he’s simply too sweet.

After the decadent meal Wonwoo walks you back to his car, holding your hand, and insists upon opening the car door for you - even helping you take off your coat. It’s silly, but it still makes you feel warm and fuzzy.

Wonwoo starts driving, but in the opposite direction of your home.

“Where are we going now?” you inquire.

“Remember how you said you’ve never been ice skating?”

“Oh god,” you groan. “Can’t wait to make a complete fool of myself.”

“You won’t,” he insists. “You can hold onto me.”

“But you’ve never been ice skating either,” you point out. “How do you know you’re not gonna fall too?”

Wonwoo smiles. “Then we’ll fall together.”

You scoff playfully, but a grin also appears on your face.

Ice skating ends up being a disaster. Neither one of you can stop falling (it doesn’t help that you refuse to stop holding hands, so when one of you falls both of you go down), but you also can’t stop laughing - to the point where your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. You haven’t had fun like this in ages.

You look over at your boyfriend. He is extraordinarily cute right now, his cheeks rosy from the cold air. Wonwoo catches you looking at him and leans over to plant a kiss on your cheek - he then immediately runs into the wall. You let out a giggle - he looks back at you sheepishly.

“Maybe you should pay attention to where you’re going,” you tease as you nudge him with your elbow.

“Hard to do so when my beautiful girlfriend is right next to me, distracting me.” His tone mirrors your playfulness, but the way he’s looking at you - you can tell he means it.

You roll your eyes, but a huge smile lights up your face as you wrap your arm around his, squeezing him tightly.

On the drive back Wonwoo suggests you go to his place, to which you happily agree. Before you enter, he tells you to close your eyes.

“No peeking!” he insists.

“I won’t!” you swear, placing your hands over your eyes.

You walk through the front door and wait in the entryway, resisting peeking as promised. You hear Wonwoo fiddling with things for a minute, and then you hear the opening notes of your favorite album - the sound emanating from his record player.

“Okay, you can look now,” he tells you as he once again is standing right next to you. You remove your hands, opening your eyes to the sight of Wonwoo’s dim apartment - illuminated only by the dozen of freshly-lit candles placed around the living room. In his hands are the biggest box of chocolates you’ve ever seen, and a cute fuzzy teddy bear that’s holding a heart with Be mine embroidered on it.

“Oh my god, you really went all out,” you remark, smiling from ear to ear as your heart practically flutters in your chest.

“Only the best for you, babe.”

He sets down the chocolates and the bear, stopping to help you out of your coat before drawing you into his embrace, kissing you softly and slowly. He then takes your hands in his, pulling you toward the hallway.

“There’s one more surprise,” he tells you.

Before you can ask him what more he could possibly surprise you with, you see the trail of rose petals down the hallway, leading into his bedroom.

“You did NOT,” you exclaim as you laugh, truly bewildered at the sight of it.

You follow the trail as he pulls you into his room, where even more petals lay on the bed, perfectly forming the shape of a heart.

“It’s so beautiful I almost don’t want to ruin it,” you proclaim.

Wonwoo raises his eyebrow at you.

“Hey, I said almost.”

Without a word he smiles, pulling you in so he can grab the hem of your sweater, gently pulling it over your head to reveal the lacy bra you had chosen to wear today.

“So pretty,” he remarks as he runs his hands over your breasts, before reaching around your back to undo the clasp. “But even prettier without.”

He tosses the bra aside, taking your tits in his hands. You begin to undo his shirt buttons, revealing his incredibly toned body that still turns you on so much every time you see it. His shirt gone, you move to his belt. You unbuckle it and pull it off, throwing it to the floor as you take the bulge in his pants in your palm. He lets out a soft groan as you caress him, his erection quickly growing. You go to unfasten his pants, the taut fabric giving way as you undo the zipper, his cock now bulging through his underwear, begging to escape.

Wonwoo suddenly grabs you by the hips, twirling you around and pushing you onto the bed.

“Get comfy, babe.”

As you recline into the soft pillows, he removes his pants and then begins to take off yours, pulling them off of you in one go. He gently pushes your inner thighs open and situates himself right in between your legs, the only barrier between his face and your cunt being the thin lacy underwear that do nothing to hide how wet you are right now. He softly kisses your clit a few times, then licks a stripe over the sheer fabric. You run your hand through his hair as he starts kissing your clit again, this time more intensely. You begin to squirm slightly against his face - silently begging for more. Wonwoo gazes up at you, giving you a little smirk as his lips hover right above you - so close that you feel breath against your core.

“Stop teasing meeee,” you whine.

You feel his finger slide under the fabric, pulling it aside to reveal your soaked center. You feel the sharpness of the cool air hitting you, followed by the warmth of Wonwoo’s mouth against your cunt. You mewl softly as his tongue traces against your folds, lapping up your juices but only making you wetter in the process. You continue to stroke his hair as he goes down on you, enjoying the view. You love the way his nose brushes against your clit as he alternates between sucking on the bud and fucking you with his tongue.

Eventually you feel his fingers delicately graze your entrance - he inserts only one finger at first, but it still feels so good.

“More,” you beg. “Please.”

Wonwoo slides a second finger into your cunt. He knows how to curve them perfectly, hitting you in just the right spot to drive you insane. He fucks you as he continues licking your clit - you become a moaning mess as your orgasm draws closer and closer. Your hips begin to buck involuntarily, grinding your cunt against his face - overwhelmed with pleasure. Wonwoo wraps his arms around your thighs, holding you down against the bed as he devours you.

“Fuck, baby - I’m cumming,” you cry out. Your legs shake as the incredible sensation takes over your entire body, the white-hot flashes of pleasure flowing through you as your pussy throbs against your boyfriend’s tongue.

As you come down, Wonwoo gives you soft little kitten licks. You sink into the pillows, your whole body relaxed in bliss. He kisses your stomach before crawling up, his body weight laying against you cozily as he presses his nose against yours. He kisses you, his lips and chin covered in your juices. You begin to make out, his tongue moving against yours, his bulge pressing against your core. You reach down, slipping your hand through the band of his underwear, and pull his cock out. You’ve fucked your boyfriend countless times by now, but every time you’re still in awe of his size. You wrap your hand around his thickness and stroke him a few times, causing precum to leak out. You guide his tip to your entrance - you moan as it easily slips in, his size stretching you out so perfectly. He slides his entire length into you, letting out a groan as he bottoms out.

“Your pussy’s so perfect for me, babe,” he says in a low voice. He begins to fuck you, slowly pushing his cock in and out, letting your walls adjust to his size.

“So good baby, fuck,” he says, practically growling. “Your pussy’s all mine.”

You moan as he picks up speed, thrusting his huge cock into you further and further. His lips meet yours again - your mouths and tongues dancing against each other as he fucks you, more passionately than ever before.

“All mine, you’re all mine.”

“Oh my god,” you cry, tears forming in your eyes from the intense pleasure. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“I’m close baby - wanna cum in you,” he groans.

“Please,” you beg.

Wonwoo’s rhythm picks up speed - tears are fully running down your face as you let out cries of pleasure. You feel his cock pulsate against your walls as he releases, groaning as he thrusts into you, filling you up with his cum.

As he comes down from his high, his warm body melts into yours - he’s squishing you, but you’ve never been more comfortable. His cock still inside you, he plays with your hair as he kisses you slowly.

You lay there together for a while. Eventually, Wonwoo slowly pulls out of you, giving you a kiss on the cheek before he gets up to grab a warm towel. After he cleans you up he plops back into bed, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in, squeezing you so tightly it makes you giggle.

You draw your head back just enough so you can look your boyfriend in the eyes. He’s so hot, so cute, gazing at you so lovingly - you truly don’t think you’ve ever been happier than you are in this moment.

“I love you,” you tell him - for the first time.

You didn’t plan on saying it, it just came out naturally. Because it’s true - you love him, more than you’ve ever loved anyone.

Wonwoo smiles, caressing you softly as he holds you warmly against him.

“I love you too.”

[end]

#ren's fics ੈ♡₊˚•.#jeon wonwoo #wonwoo smut #wonwoo fics #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #svt fics #svt smut #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen smut #seventeen fics #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x reader

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hier--soir · 4 months

Text

a lover's pinch | seven

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: things get a little messy after returning home. a confrontation sparks the beginning of a new stage in your relationship with joel. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, angst, miscommunication trope, self-doubt, alcohol consumption/hangover, joel is 50 and he texts like it, les mis spoilers???, phantom of the opera spoilers???, jealous!joel, food/eating, hurt/comfort, professor DAD, professor COWBOY, soft emotional smut, unprotected piv sex, cream pie, oral [f!receiving], joel says dadgum cause i think it's so classic him and so cute. word count: 11.1k jesus series masterlist | main masterlist chapter moodboard a/n: merry christmas to all that celebrate. as always, thank you for your patience and kindness. the love for this series is nothing short of mind blowing, and i appreciate you all endlessly. i hope you enjoy this angst and potentially the most flowery + emotional ALP smut yet [if that's even possible]. also rachel i love you i'm sorry. without further ado, the beginning of our descent into The End Times x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part seven of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five, six.

Tuesday.

It's nine thirty in the morning and you buy a Coke anyways.

It’s raining heavy outside; fat droplets of water that splatter against the windscreen of your car and dribble down, slipping through the crevice at the top of the bonnet, searching for the engine, for the oil gasket, for somewhere undercover to dry out.

You tuck your legs beneath yourself, sit criss-cross in the driver’s seat, and take small sips of fizzing black sugar. Allow it to moisten your lips, coat your tongue and your teeth in that sickening, viscous way soda always does, before it slips down your throat.

There’s something unearthly about the day, unnerving—it’s Tuesday morning and you’re hungover. A dull ache behind your left eye, a kink in your neck. You check your phone.

Thick, rolling clouds loom across the sky. Occasionally, a flash of lightning, a thrum of thunder. You tear open a packet of peanuts and pluck one out, and then another. Eat until your lips are dry and puckered, and then take another drink. More peanuts then. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet.

It’s all you can stomach as your liver pumps and spasms, still working to cleanse your blood of the night before, spent sprawled on the couch with Trin and Nora.

Wearing sweaters and thick socks, gripping full glasses of wine, and watching Les Misérables. Nora, tears on her cheeks, had sung along with Hugh Jackman—'This innocent who bears my face, who goes to judgement in my place, who am I?’—and you, bleary-eyed and tipsy, had discreetly checked your phone.

You didn’t cry during I Dreamed A Dream but you’re crying for this? Trin rolled her eyes.

He sacrifices his freedom to save that man, Nora whimpered.

You woke up starving and the traffic was slow. At every red light and stop sign your fingers itched against the wheel, desperate to press inside your bag and pull out this little packet. And now, safe in the campus parking lot, you feast. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet. You feel a fleeting moment of pity for people with peanut allergies, and then you check your phone.

Still nothing.

Since you left New York on Monday morning there’s been no sign of life from Joel. No get home safe, no see you on Tuesday; no acknowledgement at all.

You stare dejectedly at the messages you’ve sent him.

First from yesterday afternoon:

Home now. Enjoy your last day in the big apple x

And then from late last night, two bottles of wine deep:

It’s raining and miserable here

Wish I was still in new york

With you

Sitting in your car now, glowering at the blank space where his response should be, you reconcile with the thought that perhaps he wants what happened in New York to stay in New York. Stolen glances and all-too-brief touches in a conference hall, his hand on your wrist at the museum, skin against skin in his hotel room, and in yours—perhaps it was supposed to happen there, not here. The lowering of walls came with a change in location, and maybe that was his intention. But those thoughts don’t ease the sharp twist in your chest when you think of him. Doesn’t take away how much you wish he would give you something – a morsel of communication, even a single word of acknowledgement. For as hard as you try to understand, you can’t forget the look in his eyes when he touched you at the cloisters, the way he breathed your name into your mouth. Sewing the seed of JoelJoelJoel into in the soft folds of your brain, impossible to forget.

You don’t think about his dinner with Rachel. Don’t consider that something may have happened that night, something that changed his mind about you. Something that made him rethink the entire weekend as you slipped into the shower and out the door, leaving him alone in your hotel bed while you headed to the airport.

No. You don’t think about that at all.

When you make it inside, clothes wet and cool from the rain, you shake your hair out like a dog. Let droplets fly across the hall as you make your way into the lecture theatre; a drizzled trail left in your wake.

The room is full when you step inside, but there’s no sign of him yet. You collapse into an empty chair in the front row and wait. The final few students filter in through the door, shaking out umbrellas and wiping their feet. And for another ten minutes you, foolishly, still expect Joel to show up.

It’s only when the door creaks open and an old man walks through, that you let the hopeful feeling rest.

He lays a worn old satchel against the desk and turns to smile at the room.

“Hello,” the stranger smiles, and his jowls quiver as he speaks. “I’m Jerry Dorfman, a Professor from the literature department, and…”

You zone out for a second, eyes darting down to your phone screen. Nothing.

“Oh, and Professor Miller,” Dorfman says, as if he’s just remembered that he shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be standing up there, in his spot. “Is tied up with a family matter. I trust he’ll be back with us later in the week.”

A family matter?

Slick with rain, staring at this stranger stood in Joel’s place, you feel like a kind of newborn. Some fresh lamb, soaked in the blood and amniotic fluids of her mother’s womb, staring through unseeing eyes, hoping to glean some understanding of this moment. This sudden burst of light, this shocking cold after so many weeks of warmth, of sweat and strong hands on your skin, holding you close. But this is Eros; the blacksmith, the limb-loosener, the crusher. A deviation from stoking the flame to the suddenly desperate, grasping loneliness of feeling as though you are standing by a lover’s window, staring helplessly through the glass, and watching them from the outside. Alone.

Dorfman tries and fails to connect his laptop to the projector.

Numb fingers type;

Are you okay? Where are you?

But no response comes.

No, not until later that night, not until you’re tucked beneath the covers of your bed, showered and sleepy, does he finally reach out.

The clock has just ticked past midnight when your phone vibrates.

Hey, I had to stay in the city another day. Just landed at PWM. See you on Thursday.

A hot, jagged feeling swims in your gut as you read the message, and then reread it. Twice, three more times, searching for some hint of familiarity. Some indication that he has been thinking about you as much as you’ve been thinking about him. That the past weekend meant something to him, like it meant to you.

Minutes pass, and when you don’t find what you’re looking for, you fall asleep without responding.

Thursday.

Nora wakes up with a stuffy nose.

This always happens to me, she sniffs. I hate being sick.

The tiles in the kitchen are cold beneath your bare toes and rain smears heavily against the windowpane. You can hear fat blooms of thunder bellowing outside. Nora’s sullen, husky voice paired with the steam rising from your mug are all it takes to convince you to stay home with her.

The two of you spend the day curled on the sofa beneath blankets. You stare at your laptop, a document open on your screen with the title of an essay sitting pretty at the top. The cursor blinks and blinks at you, taunting you, daring you to write something, anything. But Sex and The City is playing on the tv, and Nora is snoring at the other end of the sofa, and you can’t help but watch the minutes tick by on the clock. Listen to Carrie and Miranda argue about Big, and wonder if Joel has even noticed your absence.

Trin gets home from class, and you follow her into the kitchen. Peel and slice oranges and apples and lemons while she tells you about her day. Boil them in sugar with cinnamon and star anise while she complains about an argument she had with her boyfriend. Add red wine and brandy while she tells you that her Dad sent her some money, and she’ll order take out for the three of you.

So together you huddle in the lounge and eat hot Indian food with your hands. Soak pieces of naan in tarka dal and saag paneer and top if off with mulled wine, unphased by the clashing of flavours in your mouths.

And you don’t check your phone, or look at the time, and you don’t complain when Nora asks, with glassy-eyes and spinach in her teeth, if she can put on another musical.

He’s a freak, Trin frowns at the TV.

He loves her, Nora implores, staring doe-eyed at a masked Gerard Butler.

Nor, Trin scoffs, he put a wedding dress on a mannequin that looks just like her. In his fucking lair, no less. That’s freak behaviour.

He has amazing sideburns though, Nora grins. So he gets a pass.

Your phone vibrates as Erik strokes a passed-out Christine’s face, singing help me make the music of the night.

Careful that Nora won’t notice, you pull it from beneath your thigh.

Where were you today?

You stare at the words for a moment and feel your lips curl into an disbelieving sneer.

“Oh, fuck off,” you mutter, and shove your phone into the crevice between the sofa cushions.

Wednesday.

A week goes by with no word from Joel.

No word from you either.

You stay home every day. Write and read and catch up on work and take Benadryl and sip soup and then you wake one morning, relieved to find that Nora’s cold has finally left your system.

So you tug on jeans, a sweater, and share a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Share quiet conversation with Pete in his shitty old Beamer as he gives you a ride to campus, and walk into Rachel’s lecture with zero expectation that today will be the day you finally see Joel again.

“We understand that Antigone is a victim of her father’s sins,” Rachel explains. “In the wake of patricide, of incest, every one of her actions is seen as a direct consequence.”

“Even her fate to be buried alive was sewn by her father’s unwitting actions,” she pauses, eyes searching the faces across the room, gauging reactions. “And, of course, this concept isn’t unique to Greek mythology. We see it plainly in the Bible, in Exodus; the sins of your father are to be laid upon the children… these themes of ancestral curses, of the inevitability of fate – they are integral to understand when looking at our tragic heroines. We saw it with Medea, we see it with Antigone, with Iphigenia, with Electra. Electra herself said, we are bound to acquiesce—”

An interrupting knock sounds against the door. Rachel’s head swivels around, eyebrows knitted in frustration as she calls for whoever it is to come in.

The door creaks open and her expression lifts. A saccharine smile spreads across her face, shoulders loosening.

“Joel,” she says warmly. “What can I do for you?”

A shiver wracks down your spine, toes curling in your sneakers.

The broad mass of him rests in the doorway. His head peeks past the wood, just a glimpse of his curls, his glasses, visible from where you sit. Your heart thunders in your chest, palms going damp at the prospect of this being the moment you finally see him again.

He speaks a few words in her direction, too quiet to catch, and then he’s taking a step into the room. His hand grips the edge of the door, keeping it open, and he casts a glance out towards the audience. Dark brown and searching, those eyes filter through countless faces until they finally land on yours.

And for a second, he doesn’t say a word. Just gazes out at you, eyebrows pulled together in the middle of his forehead, and then—and then he fucking looks back at Rachel. Your stomach goes hollow when you see the smile on her face. She lazes against the corner of her desk, and it feels like minutes go by as the two of you stare at him. And there’s something about waiting, you think, that feels like torture. That slow, painful build-up of pressure as you sit and stare and prepare yourself to discover who he’s here for. You or her.

You’re reminded painfully of a Graham Greene quote. A passage from The End of the Affair – one you’d, perhaps foolishly, found romantic when you read it that first time. Chosen words that had warmed your chest and made you feel light, lighter than air; the way only words could do sometimes.

‘Yes, Henry?’ and then ‘You?’ She had always called me ‘you’. ‘Is that you?’ on the telephone, ‘Can you? Will you? Do you?’ so that I imagined, like a fool, for a few minutes at a time, there was only one ‘you’ in the world and that was me.

Now, as you stare at Joel in the mouth of the doorway and memory of that passage sinks its hooks in, you feel only contempt for Greene.

For you had always read that passage imagining yourself as Sarah. And someone else, some misfortunate Maurice Bendrix, had fallen into your lap, and he was the ‘you’. But not you, never you. And it’s that pride which deceives. That pride which lulls us into false senses of security.

Joel says your name then.

Says, “Can I speak with you?” You, you, you.

And it should feel like relief, to hear your name on his lips again. But you catch the way he spares another glance, soft and sympathetic, in Rachel’s direction, and that sickly hurt isn’t abated.

Her face falls, but she smiles at you. Nods her permission for you to leave the room, and only when you’re halfway across the lecture theatre, bag swung over your shoulder, does she continue speaking to the class.

Palm flat against the door, he holds it open for you, making you press against him as you slip out of the room. It clicks shut behind you and he begins to move down the hall, leaving you to follow behind with no explanation. You assume that he’s going to lead you to his office, or anywhere more private than this, but a metre from the door Joel pauses abruptly, turns, and you slam into his chest with a huff.

“Jesus,” you mutter, stumbling a few steps back.

“Where have you been?” he glowers, brows drawn tight and angry over his eyes.

“What?”

“I’ve been busy,” you grit, glaring back. “Where have you been?”

“Busy?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ve been busy too. Busy teachin’ the classes that you don’t even show up for.”

“I’ve been sick,” you roll your eyes, unable—or perhaps just unwilling—to stray from nastiness, from spite. “My apologies, Professor.”

“Don’t—” Joel snaps, and flinches as quickly as the word comes out of his mouth, surprised by how harsh it sounds in the air between the two of you. He takes a step closer, voice low now—“Don’t call me that.”

“Fuck, what is your problem?” you huff, eyes widening, exasperated. “I missed two classes, it’s not a big deal.”

“And the silence?” Joel takes a step forward as he says it. Close enough now to see the smudges on the lens of his glasses. Close enough to see the muscle in his jaw twitch. Too close for public; too close for here. “Can’t even text me back, huh? What the hell is goin’ on with you?”

Your body pulls taut at that, hands balling into fists at your sides.

“Oh, you don’t like silence?” you hiss, matching his volume. “You can’t be serious. Joel, I didn’t hear from you for days after New York. Why would I waste my breath when it’s obvious you don’t want to fucking hear from me?”

“It was barely two days,” he shakes his head, shakes off the insinuation, shakes off whatever blame you’re trying to put on him.

“Two days,” you nod, smirking angrily. “Two days after we spent an entire weekend together. Two days after we kissed and fucked and practically went on a date.”

And the word date must elicit something in him. Some minute, man-brain trigger that snaps him to attention and helps him understand the hurt on your face, the tremble in your hands. Because he says your name, voice softening, posture loosening, every bit of his body language screaming out that he wants to step forward and touch you.

And he’s speaking again, voice low, but there’s people coming down the hall, heading your way. Two figures that you can’t make out through the haze of Joel in your immediate vision. So when he reaches out and touches your hand you flinch, jutting your chin over his shoulder. A warning. Don’t do this here.

One of them calls your name and you pause, mouth open. Drag your eyes away from Joel’s features to watch the figures get closer.

“Pete,” you force a smile. “Hey.”

You realise quickly how it must look; your sullen expression, Joel staring down at you with his shoulders hunched. He must understand at the same moment, because he takes a quick step away, folds his hands behind his back.

“Hey,” Pete takes a step closer. He glances warily between you and Joel, confusion colouring his face. “Everything cool?”

Stony faced, Joel looks between the two of you, posture stiffening the longer he stares at Pete. So much larger than him, taller and broader and far more intimidating. But a man with a secret to keep isn’t one to jump quickly at confrontation, so he keeps his mouth shut. Let’s you do the talking.

Ian catches your eye over Pete’s shoulder and offers a sleazy sort of smile. You swallow down a glare and hold Pete’s gaze.

“Everything’s fine,” you lie, taking a step towards them. A step away from Joel. “What’s up, what are you guys doing in this building?”

Pete’s eyebrows pull together, and he cocks his head at you. “Said you needed a ride home today. This morning, remember?”

“This morning,” you repeat, nodding slowly. You raise your hand and pinch the bridge of your nose, thinking quickly, mind a mess. “I, uh… right, look, Pete, I actually forgot I have a meeting with Professor Miller about my final essay this afternoon.”

“Your final…” Pete trails off, frowning. “Isn’t that due in like a month?”

“Yeah,” you say vaguely, and do not look at Joel. “I’ll find a way home later, okay?”

“I mean, sure. I guess,” Pete agrees reluctantly, reaching up to grip the strap of his satchel. “Call me if you need me okay?”

And Joel’s face turns to stone at the insinuation in those words. The idea that Pete could give you anything he couldn’t. That anyone would need to swoop in and save you from him.

The pair of you stand in silence for a moment, eyes trained on Pete and Ian’s retreating backs as they head down the hall. You watch and watch until they turn the corner, disappearing from sight, and only then do you exhale a breath of relief.

You contemplate leaving him there. Turning your back on him and returning to Rachel’s lecture, ignoring his texts and letting this all fade into some painful memory. But when you look at him again—at those big brown eyes that gaze back at you—you know you couldn’t if you tried.

“You look tired,” he frowns, and it’s not angry anymore. A little sad, maybe.

“I am,” you admit, and wonder if your face betrays how much of a role he plays in that exhaustion.

“Are you hungry?”

You stare for a moment, blinking slow, and then say, “Yeah.”

Joel nods, attempts a crooked smile, and says, “Let me take you to get something to eat.”

It’s silent in Joel’s car, aside from the soft patter of rain against his windows and the dull squeak of his windscreen wipers sliding it away. The truck glides through the winding streets of Biddeford, cruising down the main road and into the left lane of a fast-food drive thru. Orders you a burger, fries, nothing for himself, passing the bag into your lap and then continuing to drive.

The bun is soft beneath your fingers. Grease soaks your skin, and you taste beef, taste onions so soft, so sweet. A crimson dot of ketchup spattered onto your pants; a bright shock of mustard on your tongue. A fry here and there. Joel’s hand, outstretched fingers, sneaking across the centre console to steal one. You shift the paper bag on your lap, tilt the opening so it faces him, easier to access, but he doesn’t take another.

He grips the wheel and asks, “Do you want me to take you home?”

You think about Pete waiting for you at the house. Think about if Ian and that filthy smirk on his face and whether or not he’ll be there too. Think about having to flesh out your excuse, your lie, and finally say, “No.”

Joel keeps driving. You eat until your pants feel tight and the greasy brown bag is crumpled in your fist and he’s pulling his truck off the road and into a short driveway.

“Full?”

“Very.”

“Good.”

“Is this your house?”

“This is it.” He drags the keys out of the ignition and knocks the door open. It’s not long, barely a second, before he’s pulling yours open with a rough yank and a soft, “Door always sticks on this side.”

A vague sound spills from the back of your throat, and he guides you up a path towards the small home. Single storey, with a large brown door and windows decorating the outward façade. Your immediate thought is that it’s very Joel, but you stop the idea in its tracks. Remind yourself that maybe it isn’t your place to think things like that.

Inside it’s even more silent, even more tense. The two of you stand in the entry way, toeing off damp shoes. Your eyes flit around his front room, but it’s difficult to focus on anything. Too much to look at, too much you want to know, and you find it easier to just look at him.

“Realised you’d never been here,” Joel murmurs after a while. He shifts awkwardly on his feet, decidedly unsure of what to say as he rests beneath the weight of your stare. “This is the, uh, the livin’ room. Kitchen’s over there.”

When you don’t respond, he clears his throat, ticks his head towards the hallway. “Bathroom is down the hall. Bedroom too.”

You feel your face shift. Deadpan stare turns to surprise, to incredulity, to blatant anger.

“Oh, the bedroom, huh?” you smile, sardonic, cutting. Your throat feels tight. “S’that seriously why you brought me here? Ice me out and then come crawling back when you want something to fuck again?”

“Woah, hey,” his eyebrows shoot up, hands drifting forward like he’s trying to calm a startled animal.

“Don’t,” you hold up a shaking hand, eyes wide and wet suddenly. “Just… don’t touch me right now, okay? What are we doing here, Joel? Seriously.”

He says your name hard and fast, surprised by how quickly it’s all unravelling, spilling from you in a tidal wave.

And spill it does. The words are wet and watery, a tsunami of pent up emotions pouring from your mouth without permission, without forethought.

“I mean, we haven’t seen each other since New York. And I… I thought being there changed things between us. But maybe I was wrong… and then you pull me out of a lecture, bring me here and say my bedroom is down the hall? Am I just… do you just like having someone to fuck whenever you want? Is that it? Someone at your beck and call?”

Joel repeats your name, sharper this name. “Don’t put fuckin’ words in my mouth.” His face pinches in anger, hands dropping.

“When it’s not convenient you try to shake me off, but when it is—at a bar, or out of town—” you list them off on your fingers, eyes growing wider and wider. “Oh, you want me then?”

“That ain’t fuckin’ true and you know it—”

“Do I?” you scoff.

“I came that night when you texted,” he implores, voice raising, all wild-eyed and pleading. “You were drunk, and textin’ and you needed a ride.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that—”

“You didn’t ask me not too either,” he crosses his arms across his chest. “You wanted me to come. Don’t fuckin’ deny that now.”

You open your mouth but he’s too quick, matching your spill with his own now.

“And as if you’re any better?” he bares his teeth now, voice low. “As if you didn’t find out I was your teacher and keep fuckin’ me just for the thrill of it. As if you actually wanted me, and you weren’t just gettin’ off on chasin’ some forbidden fantasy.”

“I…” you gape at him, unafraid to let the hurt show on your face. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“What the fuck am I supposed to think?” he hisses, exhaustion evident in the way he runs a hand through his curls and sags against the door. “You tellin’ me I should believe that you just want me for what I am? A fifty-year-old teacher who spends his time giving fuckin’ speeches to people that are hardly listenin’? Who goes home to an empty bed? That’s what you want?”

And it deflates you, a little. The wounded expression on his face – the devastating truth in those words, splashed across his expression so plainly for you to see. Disbelief.

“Is that such a crime?” you ask quietly. “To want you… and have it be that simple?”

“You shouldn’t,” he shakes his head. Grimaces. “You shouldn’t want me, I’m—I’m no good for you.”

You swallow. Feel tears hot and sharp behind your eyes.

“Then why do you keep letting me?”

“Jesus,” he exhales, and his hand is on the hem of your shirt, pulling you closer, closer, until you’re pressed against his chest, hands coming up to grip his shoulders and steady yourself. “Because I can’t fuckin’ quit you, alright?”

“Because I don’t just want you when it’s convenient,” his lips curl around the word, disgusted by the insinuation. “Because I think about you all the god damn time and if I can only have you some of the time then I guess I’ll take it. Because if you want some fucked up fantasy, then I’ll play my part if it means I get you, I don’t care—”

You cut him off, lips firm and searing against his. He goes still for a moment, mouth parting with a surprised exhale, warm when you press inside with your tongue. And then warmer, salty; tears on his cheeks, on yours.

“That’s not what this is,” you whimper into his mouth, desperate for him to believe it. “It was never about that, it was about you, Joel. I want you.”

He kisses you again, slow. All of the anger and hurt and frustration pools out of the both of you, spilling from your mouths and into the air. His lips mould over yours and his hands are warm on your waist, your back, holding you tight against his chest. When you sniffle, he pulls back, forehead heavy against yours, and sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, eyes closed. “I missed you, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for—"

“Where were you?” you interrupt. “What happened in New York?”

He hesitates for a moment, nervous and calculating as he stares you down.

You wilt a little; dejected all over again. Recoil from him and quietly ask, “Why won’t you let me know you?”

Joel’s hand hovers in the air, as if contemplating reaching for you again, but then it drops and he says, “I was with my daughter.”

You blink.

Daughter.

Daughter?

“She lives there now,” Joel sounds a little breathless, cheeks pink as the words spill from him. “In New York, with her girlfriend. I’d planned to spend an extra day there with her, and then Nina—Nina cut her hand open at the studio and we had to go to the ER, and she had to get stitches and—” He pauses, waiting for you to jump in, to interrupt, to say anything. When you don’t, he takes a breath and continues. “And I wasn’t gonna stay any longer but Ellie was worried, and she needed me. She needed me there, and—and I’m never fuckin’ there, because she never needs me anymore. So I stayed, and I’m sorry I went silent but I was… I was takin’ care of my kid.”

You think it might be the longest—and the fastest—you’ve ever heard him speak outside of a lecture hall.

His eyes drift to something over your shoulder and his entire body seems to sag a little. But it isn’t sad. It’s a resigned, sort of relaxed thing that happens – the corners of his mouth tilt up and he smiles weakly.

You turn, follow his eyeline until you see them.

Pictures, so many pictures, lining the walls of his home. Ones you’d paid no attention to when you first stepped inside, but can now see clearly. Bright eyes and wide toothy grins.

Some of Joel younger, leaner, smiling beside a little girl with curly hair. Some of him as you know him now; scruffy and greying, beside a different girl. This one lanky and pale and grimacing toward the camera as if she were forced into being placed in front of it.

There’s one picture of the girls beside each other, teenagers maybe, sat on either end of a seesaw. The curly-haired girl is on the upper end, grinning madly at the lens, while the other sits with her feet planted firmly on the ground, laughing up at her. Two of them. Two daughters?

“Please say somethin’.”

There’s a picture of Joel and he’s holding a tiny little bundle in his arms, and he looks so young and so fucking afraid. Dark eyes wide and teary as he gazes down at chubby cheeks, his index fingers crooked around the edge of her swaddle. A warm feeling swells in your chest and your body softens the longer you look at it. He’s a father.

Joel says your name and when you turn his face is all twisted up, and he looks the smallest you’ve ever seen him. Almost curled in on himself.

“I should’ve told you,” he nods, brown eyes darting across your face in an attempt to decipher your silence. “I know that, and I—”

“I’m an asshole,” you interrupt softly, and the tears never left but now they feel heavier on your waterline. Begging to spill over again.

“Hey,” he frowns, hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb swipes at the soft skin beneath your eye, begging the wetness there to disappear. “Hey, hey, no—”

“I didn’t think…” you trail off, sniffling. A sickly cocktail of embarrassment and guilt and shame swirl in the pit of your stomach and you try to swallow it down, try to send it away, but it’s persistent. “I never stopped to think that something had actually happened, that you had… I feel selfish, Joel, I’m sorr—”

“You’re not,” he hushes, fingers curling into the hair behind your ear. “You didn’t know. I should’ve told you before, and I’m sorry.”

“I thought you were staying away because of me,” you offer a watery smile. “I thought maybe you and…” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. Can’t make your lips form the name Rachel.

“No,” he shakes his head, jaw tight, as if reading your mind.

“Is she okay?”

“Ellie?”

“Ellie,” you roll the name around in your mouth. His daughter. “Yeah.”

“She’s okay,�� he smiles, nodding. “They’re both fine.”

“And…” You look back at the pictures. Two. “And the other girl?”

“Sarah,” Joel says softly, pointing at wild curls and brown eyes that look just like his. And he must see the questions swirling in your brain because he speaks again. “I was twenty. My, uh, my girlfriend at the time didn’t know what to do. Didn’t wanna be a Mom, but didn’t agree with abortion, and we were so young and… well, I asked her to marry me cause it felt like the right thing to do, but she didn’t…” he shakes his head a little, a faraway look in his eye as he remembers it. “She said no. She never wanted that… so, after Sarah was born, I told her that she didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t have to?” you repeat the words, eyebrows furrowing.

“Didn’t have to stay,” he clarifies. Your lips part, surprised. “So, she didn’t, and we ain’t seen her since Sarah was a few months old.”

“Shit,” you whisper, eyes widening as the information finally starts to sink in.

“And Ellie,” he laughs then, gazing at a picture of auburn locks and shock grey eyes. “Well, that one showed up on my door some time fifteen years later. Been in ‘n’ outta foster care for years, and just started followin’ Sarah home from school one day. We did this little dance for a while; dinners and sleepovers and me slipping money into her backpack so she could buy lunch at school. And then one day she just… begged me not to make her go back to her own house. So I didn’t.”

“Wow, I…” you blink. “You adopted her? Alone?”

“I…” Joel pauses. Wets his lips, frowning as he collects his thoughts. “Alone is… I don’t think that’s the right word for it. You see Ellie was… Sarah and me, we just knew. She was family so fast. It was the only thing that made sense, you know?”

And it does, you suppose. The image isn’t hard to conjure. Joel at the dinner table with two teenagers on either side of him. Arguing over homework, over curfews, over what movie to watch. You can see the fondness in his eyes as he talks about them – the emotion laced through his words; we just knew.

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” Joel says, and that line between his eyebrows is back and it’s so deep that you can’t help yourself from reaching up and smoothing it over with your thumb. He catches your hand and holds it against the centre of his chest. Lets you feel the way his heart thuds heavily beneath the skin, a sturdy rhythm against your palm.

“It’s… it’s a lot to take in,” you confess, and his hand tightens over yours. “But I’m glad you told me.”

Brown eyes search yours, gaze heavy. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay then.”

You flex your palm against his chest. Dig your fingers into the flesh there a little.

“Can I…” he hesitates, eyes flickering down. “Do you… Can I kiss you?” You, you, you.

Your heart beats fast, and you feel his do the same, and Joel is a father, and two daughters, and I can’t fuckin’ quit you, and you’re breathing into his mouth yes, yes you can kiss me, please kiss me.

It’s warm and it’s gentle and it feels like such a kindness to kiss him now and feel less space between the two of you. Feels like a thousand apologies and explanations slipping off his tongue and you opening your arms to him, saying I understand, saying thank you for telling me.

And when you pull him closer, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, he meets you in kind, pressing your back against the wall. He shifts his hips between yours and shows you how much he’s missed you, and only when his hand drifts beneath the hem of your shirt do you pause.

He stills, warm breaths drifting across your mouth as he looks into your eyes.

“Talk to me.”

“I’m exhausted,” you admit shyly, twisting a finger through a frizzy lock of hair at the nape of his neck. You tug at it, not meeting his eye, and watch it bounce back into a curl when you let go. He nods and kisses you again, closed lips soft and not asking for anything, never asking for more than you want to give, before he takes your hand and leads you through his house for the first time.

He runs you a bath. Makes you sit on the edge while he lays out a towel and checks the temperature every few minutes. Only when he’s satisfied that the water is perfectly warm does he help peel the clothing from your body. He grips your hand and helps you step into the tub, lowering you down into sudsy water. And when you’re settled, he pulls a stool nearby and sits, keeping you company as you soak.

“S’nice,” you tell him quietly, dragging a foamy sponge across your arms. “Thank you, Joel.”

The weight of before hangs over you a little, pressing down against your shoulders as you watch him. Gauge him. But he doesn’t seem angry or upset anymore. He leans over the lip of the tub. Runs his hands through the water, over the skin of your calf, your knee. Feels the coarse hairs that have grown there over the past fortnight and smiles when they scratch against his palm.

“Said you were sick?”

“Mhm.”

“What kind?”

“Just a cold,” you whisper. He squeezes your knee, palm against your patella, fingers soft in the flesh around it. “M’fine. Past it now.”

In the soapy water, his skin feels like silk against yours.

“Changin’ of the season,” he muses with a nod. “Normally gets me too.”

And you laugh a little at that, because it’s such a fatherly thing to say and you can’t believe how naïve you’d been to not see it before. Can suddenly picture him doing this a thousand times over; resting by the bath while one of his little girls floats in the water, nose all stuffy from the flu.

At the sound of your laughter he smiles, gaze dropping to your mouth, and the skin beside his eyes pinches. Little wrinkles, so soft and so beautiful that you want to reach out and brush your fingers across them.

“You’re so beautiful,” Joel murmurs, and his voice is hushed, so low in the small bathroom.

His fingers skirt against the inside of your thigh and you splay your legs open for him, knees knocking against the sides of the tub. He glances down through the water to where you’re spread open for him to see, shameless, and smiles.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he repeats.

“So are you, Joel.”

“Psh,” he rolls his eyes, offering a delicate little smile. So shy, so feeble, and so desperate to believe you. A little glimpse of that wary weight, still pressing down on him as well.

“Mean it,” you insist in a whisper. You lift a hand from the water, wet thumb grazing the corner of his mouth. Feel the bristles of his moustache, the hairs on his cheek, prickling against your skin.

“Swoony type,” you say, smiling when recognition flashes in his eyes. Stroke the fresh blush on his cheeks. “Long hair, bedroom eyes, cheeks like wine.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, turning to press a kiss against your palm. “Can’t get away with plagiarisin’ Carson in this house, baby.”

“She just said it so well.”

“She did,” he agrees. “So did Tartt.”

“Tartt?” your mind wanes, the warm water lulling you into a sleepy sort of daze. You rest heavy against the side of the bath, gazing up at him

“Beauty is terror,” he quotes tenderly, eyes bold and earnest as he holds your stare. “Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.”

You wrap an arm around his shoulders, water droplets staining his shirt where your fingers grip the material, and pull him forward to kiss you. Joel grips the inside of your leg and kisses you until your skin prunes and wrinkles. And when he notices he laughs with you, gripping your hand to press his lips against fingertips that look like raisins. Worships the soaked skin of your fingers until you pull his face back to yours; jealous of your own hands, fearful that they might come to know his kiss better than your lips.

And when the water goes lukewarm and you don’t know what time it is anymore, he dries you off with a soft towel and offers once more to take you home. But you say no, so he smiles and kisses you again—your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids—and leads you to his bedroom.

He drags a too-big shirt over your head, helps you loop your arms into the sleeves. Dark blue and warm, so warm, against your skin.

The two of you slip beneath the covers on his bed and he drags you against his side; lets you press your cold toes against his shins without so much as a flinch.

Facing each other on your sides, those hands slink beneath the shirt, rough palms cradling your ribs, your back, holding you tight against his chest until your breathing falls in sync. And those hands don’t stray, don’t move down, they just embrace you. A carefully held apology that promises I want this, to hold you, to be with you, too.

It stays like that, nothing more, until your eyelids are heavy, and his breathing has evened out. Stays like that until your hand drops from his back to the band of his boxers, sleepy little fingers plucking at the material, trying to slip underneath.

“You should rest.”

But you whine softly; needy and insistent as your fingers press harder.

“What do you need?” Joel rasps into your neck, helping you shift them down his legs.

“Need you,” you whisper back into the darkness of his bedroom. “Wanna feel you, I—”

His mouth is soft against yours, plucking those words from your mouth and swallowing them down. He sucks your bottom lip between his, prying your mouth open so he can slip his tongue inside.

His hand in on your knee, pulling your leg up until your thigh rests heavy around his hip and you can feel the hot weight of him against your core, still slick and warm and needy from when his hand rested on the inside of your leg in the bath.

And if you’d ever subscribed to the meaning behind words like sin you suppose that once this might have counted as one. An act worthy of being sent to reside in that second circle of hell, reserved solely for those overcome by lust; left to blow back and forth in the storm of their own desire. Two people who cannot touch, should not touch, who hold their hands out to feel anyways. A touch once spiteful, once desolate and removed, now so forthcoming. A touch that says this is the only way it could have ever been. And there can be nothing sinful about it anymore. No more shame or derision behind heavy eyelids, no more you shouldn’t or I’m no good for you. Here you rest comfortably in the hurricane of that second circle, and you welcome the breeze as a comfort.

Lips against yours, Joel feeds his cock to you in slow, careful passes.

Ensures you feel every ridge, every hard line of his body. And with each gentle press inside he murmurs against your mouth. Incessant, low nonsenses of so fuckin’ beautiful and god I missed you and that’s it, baby, I know, I know. His kiss smooth as an almond, tender as a fig. Ripe and wet and tremulous as his tongue finds a home against yours, over and over.

The comforter on his bed stays pulled high, up to your shoulders, and it traps the warmth of your bodies between you.

He coaxes rough, gasping sounds from you with every shift of his hips.

Long fingers grip the back of your thigh, using his hold there to rock your body into his over and over again, slowly, making sure you feel every second of it. Slick seeps out of you around his length, smearing against the inside of your thighs and his, and he groans at the wet sounds that slip from where the two of you are connected.

Joel says your name, low and gravelly, praising every syllable. He tells you how good it feels, how perfect you are, and every word is like an undressing of the flesh. Like you’re some tender butcher, peeling back layers of his skin to let the air hit hot, red, pulsating matter, flashes of thick, porcelain bone swimming amongst it all. He keeps you close, hardly an inch of your body not touching his, and yet you can see all of him. The whole surface and everything underneath it now too. And when you say his name in return and he moans, begs you to say it again, say my name again, it’s hearts on wings, thin fire racing beneath the skin, eyes unseeing, drumming filling your ears. It’s the cold sweat on his hands that hold you shaking, that feel the way you tremble and grip tighter. It’s wanting to take those bones of his and suck them clean; lick past the gristle and taste the marrow beyond it.

It's everything and it’s nothing and it’s that silly little four-letter word that you can’t bring yourself to say, let alone think, and it doesn’t even matter because he’s here and that’s enough.

His nose rests in the hollow above your collarbone and he inhales, smothering soft kisses to skin and bone there.

He says, “You smell like me,” and when he looks up and presses his forehead against yours, he almost looks wounded by it. He stills, holds himself deep inside and just stares, and his eyes are screaming I can’t fuckin’ quit you, so you lay your thumb over the dimple on his cheek and smile. “S’my clothes, my soap…”

Your body flutters and tightens around him, and your mouths fall open in soft moans, lips slotting together again.

“You like that?” you breathe into the kiss, and he tightens his fist around the back of the shirt, pressing inward until your back is arched, and your stomach is flush against his and he’s groaning yes.

“Want you in my clothes all the fuckin’ time,” he pants, and the tip of his cock presses so deep inside that you’re gasping, mouth hanging wide open. “And when you give ‘em back I’ll wear ‘em and smell like you, and then we’ll be even.”

“Even?” you laugh a little, nipping at his bottom lip. He smiles, eyes glinting in the darkness.

“Yeah, even,” he repeats it and presses forward in a sharp thrust to emphasise his point. You don’t need to hear it again to know exactly what he means.

“Tell me you’re mine,” you whisper, and he grunts, hips shifting a little faster against yours. You feel him pulse inside of you, his stomach tightening against yours.

“M’yours,” Joel murmurs, voice like velvet and honey, so soft as he leans forward to kiss you, licking the words into your mouth. You say it back, spell it out against his teeth, his lips, his jaw. Yours, yours, yours.

He says something else then, lips soft against your chin, and you’re so close; can feel it hot and burning in your gut, almost at tipping point.

“Hmm?”

“Baby,” Joel nips at your jaw, sharpening your senses. “Tell me you’re on the pill or somethin’.”

“I am,” you whimper honestly, and his body seems to sag against yours, hips shifting in sluggish, tired movements.

Something snaps at the base of your spine, and you tremble against him, gripping the back of his neck. Soon enough he’s shuddering into you, arms going tight around your back, trapping you against his chest as his cock pumps inside your core. And it’s warm and wet and sticky and his seed drools out of you, down to your asshole, smearing against the inside of your thighs, his sheets. Your legs wrap around his waist, holding him to you, keeping him there as long as you possibly can. Riding out your highs, and then the trembling, stuttering aftershocks in each other’s arms. He pants into your mouth and all either of you can say is mine or yours, until the words mix together and become a meaningless blur of sound murmured between locked lips.

It could be minutes or an entire hour before you manage to separate from each other. All eager little kisses and whines as his soft cock slips from your hold, thick spend seeping out of you in his absence. And you just want to sleep, want to curl up in his arms and never leave, but you slink off to the bathroom first. Wet your face and drop down on his toilet. Urinate and feel his come drip out of you. And where once, with someone else, you might have cringed at the feeling, you only feel warmth; calm.

In the bright lighting of his bathroom, you can see yourself reflected in the mirror above his sink. Hair a wild mess, cheeks and lips swollen with warmth. This woman in the mirror stares back at you and she has bright eyes. She smiles at you, and you feel your lips peel back, teeth on show just like hers. You stare at her and think god, she looks happy. When you wipe between your thighs and stand, she does too. And with your finger on the light switch, a wet handtowel clutched in your other palm, you give her one last look before turning out the light, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

Thursday.

Joel sleeps on his stomach. At least, that’s how he ends up overnight.

Face buried deep in a pillow, one leg slung outside of the covers, with a heavy arm out to the side. When you wake, at first, you’re careful not to move. Not to breathe too heavily, not to cough or jostle him awake. He looks so peaceful like this. Heavy breaths puffing from chapped pouty lips, forehead smooth and devoid of the stress and exhaustion that often lines his face. A large hand rests close to you. Despite you drifting a part in the night, the body heat getting too much for you both, his fingers remain outstretched in your direction. The tips just grazing the skin of your stomach as you lie on your side and watch him.

A low murmur escapes from his mouth, face twitching a little, and then he’s relaxing again, humming in his sleep. You smile, and let your eyes wander.

There’s a pile of books on his bedside table, reading glasses dropped haphazardly atop them.

An Idiot’s Guide to Space, one of the weathered spines reads. Interesting.

A framed painting rests above a set of drawers on the side of his room. A vast landscape with a herd of horses galloping across it. Gorgeous hides of orange and brown and black splashed across green grass and blue sky. And on the back of his door… hangs a cowboy hat.

You move slowly, careful not to wake him as you rise and tip toe across the room. Coming to rest directly in front of the closed door, you slip it off the hook and admire it. You don’t even hear his breathing change as he wakes up.

Dark brown with a curved brim; the felt is soft beneath your fingers. The image of Joel wearing it, perhaps often, while living in Texas flits through your mind and you can’t help but smile. And then warm hands are on your hips, arms snaking around your waist to pull you back into a warm chest.

You gasp in quiet surprise, but your smile only broadens when Joel rests his chin on your shoulder, peering down at the hat in your hands.

“Mornin’,” he murmurs, voice gruff and deeper than usual. A pang of arousal swims in your core at the sound of it, but you ignore that, turning in his grasp.

“Good morning, cowboy.”

Joel groans, sleepy eyes drifting closed as he hugs you to his chest, swaying the two of you from side to side.

“Wanted to lie in,” he grumbles. “S’too early for this.”

“For what?” you blink in mock confusion, holding the hat against your chest.

“For you to see that.” He moves quick, tugging it from your grasp.

“Hey—” You gasp, wide eyed and ready to steal it back. But before you can Joel just lifts it onto his head with a heavy sigh. “Oh.”

“Oh?” he repeats, eyes narrowing.

Warmth simmers in your stomach and you smirk, stepping back to give him a quick once over.

“I could get used to this.”

“Jesus,” he rolls his eyes, moving to take it off but you grip his hand, shaking your head fiercely.

“Not so fast,” you coo. “I want the whole experience.”

“And what exactly is the whole experience?”

“You know—” You shimmy your hips a little. Imitate twirling a lasso in the air, wiggling your eyebrows. “Show me some tricks.”

Joel laughs at you, and you can see the desire in him to say no, to refute it, but the longer you stare him down, the more it cracks and fizzles away.

“Go on, cowboy,” you try out your best Texan drawl, falling down to sit on the edge of his bed.

He adjusts his legs, elbows bending as he waves two finger guns in your direction. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down a laugh as he makes a small pchew pchew noise out the side of his mouth.

“Oh,” you smirk. “Is that all you got?”

“I’ll have you know,” Joel huffs, pretending to holster one of his guns. Hip cocked now, still dressed in nothing but his sleep shirt and boxers; he stares you down. “I’m startin’ to think this town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”

And that gets you. A sharp, barking laughs slips from your mouth, and Joel grins in return, the skin beside his eyes creasing as he adjusts the Stetson over his curls.

As your giggles calm, he just shakes his head, still smiling, and murmurs fondly, “Dadgum, you got a good laugh.”

Your face warms beneath his stare, and you just shake your head, bottom lip snagged between your teeth. Moving quick, Joel pinches the brim of the hat and places it onto your head. It’s a little big, and the brim falls down, obscuring your eyesight before he adjusts it for you. Then he takes a step back, hands on hips.

“How do I look?” You bat your eyelashes up at him, smiling shyly.

“I don’t know,” he fakes an air of contemplation, giving you a long look up and down. “Think you might be all hat ‘n’ no cattle.”

“Hey,” you pout. “I’d make a great cowboy; just need a pair of chaps.”

“Well, you can wear the hat and the chaps all you like,” Joel murmurs, gaze heavy. “But you ain’t a cowboy ‘til you prove you can ride like one.”

Your thighs tense and you arch an eyebrow, trying to remain nonchalant.

“Is that right?”

“S’right.”

“Mm,” you hum. You lick your bottom lip and watch the way his gaze darkens, eyes trained on the movement. “Gonna let me show you what I got?”

And so you end up back in bed, straddling Joel while he smirks up at you, long fingers twisting around the hem of your t-shirt. But when you slip a finger inside the hem of his boxers, the movement so reminiscent of last night, he laughs a little and gives you a look that says, really?

You pout, confused. “I thought you wante—”

“Uh uh,” Joel shakes his head. “Not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

“Get up here.” He lifts his chin upward.

Your eyes widen, stomach tensing a little.

Desire warms the inside of your thighs, and you murmur, “You want that?”

“Do I wa—?” he cuts himself off, eyes darkening a shade. “I said, get up here.”

Heart racing, you shimmy up his chest until your knees are planted on the mattress on either side of his shoulders. He smiles, encouraging, and you grip the hem of his shirt, prepared to pull it over your head, but he stops you.

“No,” he exhales, hand quickly gripping yours. “Leave it on for me.” And then he leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, and you can only nod, holding your breath as you wait for him to reach where you want his mouth the most.

Face tucked in the cradle of your hips, Joel sighs your name. A rough exhalation, nose pressed into your skin. And it feels a little silly at first – your face is warm as you stare down at him, the wide brim of the cowboy hat tilting forward.

But then, breath hot and heavy against you, he mouths at the crease where your hip meets your thigh. Slow, drawn-out kisses that have your legs tensing over him, his hands slip beneath the shirt, tracing light patterns into the skin over your spine, all the way up to your shoulders. He keeps going until you’re shivering, a wet trembling mess in his hands, hips twitching forward with every touch of his mouth to your skin until he finally glides his tongue through your folds.

Your breathing hitches as he pants against you, chest vibrating with low sounds as he licks thick stripes up the entire length of your pussy. Eyes closed, he tastes all of you; tongue slipping over every piece of exposed skin that the position grants him. And with every broad stroke of his tongue, he dips inside your weeping hole and finishes with a gentle flick against your clit. So soft and so slow, building you up over and over until finally you break and begin rocking your hips into his face.

Joel grunts at first, a little surprised maybe, but in a second his hands are dropping to grip your thighs, locking you in place against his face.

At first, he guides you. Helps you find a rhythm that works, that feels good. Flattens his tongue and uses his grip to rock you back and forth over his face, groaning as you roll your clit against him, huffing and panting quiet little pleas. But soon enough your fingers are carding through his hair, holding him tight against you as you grind down into his mouth. Sharpening his tongue, he dips it inside of you and then drags upward, pulling your clit into his mouth and sucking gently.

You gasp, vision going hazy as you try to keep your eyes on him, try to watch, but it’s too good. He knows exactly what you like, and it all moves far too quickly for your liking. You can already feel your hips winding faster and harder against him, breaths falling shorter, everything in your stomach pulling tight and hot.

Joel can tell – he can always fucking tell – and one of his hands drifts over your ass, fingers slipping between your thighs from behind until his middle finger is circling your entrance.

“Fuck,” you inhale sharply, jaw going slack as he prods at your cunt, tongue lapping lazily over your clit all the while. “Please, your fingers, yeah, ohhh—”

A long finger sinks inside and you moan, head falling back.

“You like that?” he murmurs, pulling back to graze his teeth along the inside of your thigh. A second finger presses inside, and he curls them against that soft spot, fucking you slow and steady until you acquiesce, whimpering yesyesyesfucksogood towards the ceiling.

“Good girl,” he hums, slick tongue finding its way back to your clit.

He eats at you so lovingly. So generous as he lathes firm circles around your nerves, only ever pausing to suck you into his mouth again or press wet, open-mouthed kisses against the entirety of your cunt. Nose buried in the short curls over your mound, he doesn’t let up until your moans turn high pitched; strained little whimpers of his name falling from your lips as you press down harder and harder.

“Oh fuck,” you cry, hips rocking back and forth, faster now. He breathes you in, jaw shifting from side to side, matching the intensity of your movements with sharp flicks of his tongue. And when you fall apart, shoulders sagging forward, he moans, taking and taking and taking every last drop of what you have to offer.

And what an image it must be – you, wearing a Stetson, riding Joel Miller’s face. You almost wish you’d filmed it, for posterity’s sake.

He presses a small kiss to one swollen lip of your pussy, and then the other, before his head is falling back into the pillows and he’s smiling up at you.

The lower half of his face shines, lips and facial hair slick with your come, and you can’t help but grin back, a tired snort of laughter slipping from your mouth.

“How’d I do?” You grip the brim of the hat, tipping it down at him.

Joel smirks, hands squeezing your thighs, helping to shift you up and onto the side of the bed so he can sit up.

“I’d say you more than proved yourself,” he hums, leaning in to steal a kiss. You sigh, whining against his warm wet mouth, and reach a hand down to press it against his abdomen. Shifting lower, you trail your fingers over where his cock strains against his boxers, but Joel just tuts, pulling away and slipping off the bed.

“Hey,” you huff, gripping his shirt and trying to pull him back down, but he just shakes his head, laughing, and drags you to your feet.

“Gonna be late,” he tells you, squeezing your hips and pressing a kiss to your temple. “And you needa eat.”

Late. You’d almost forgotten that you had a lecture this morning. Joel’s lecture.

He turns, rifling in the chest of drawers, pulling out clothes, a pair of socks, while you stand behind him and watch, knees still shaking, with a fucking cowboy hat on your head. After a moment he turns, stares, and a rough laugh hits the air. Shaking his head, Joel grips the brim and tosses the hat back up on its hook before pointing towards the ensuite, telling you to shower.

“You coming?” you ask, and he just shakes his head, tugging on socks before padding towards the hallway.

“Cowboys don’t shower, baby,” he flashes a smile over his shoulder at you and winks. “They just dust off.”

When you make your way out of the shower, Joel is in the kitchen. Ironed black trousers and a neat white shirt cover his frame, and from across the room you admire him. That strong back, the pert rounded muscles of his ass. Fuck.

He manages to over scramble the eggs and burn the bacon because he can’t stop looking over his shoulder at where you rest at his dining table. Head resting heavy in your palm, you smile back at him. And when he puts a plate of food in front of you, you don’t have a single complaint.

The two of you eat fast, plucking little pieces of eggshell out as you go, smiling and laughing shyly as your feet tangle beneath the table. He watches you; makes sure you clear your plate before he takes it to the sink, murmuring something about how he won’t make you sit through me talkin’ for hours on an empty stomach. Says he’s pretty sure that counts as torture somewhere, baby.

And when he turns, dirty dishes forgotten in the sink, you’re staring at him, heart on your sleeve, and he must see it in your eyes. You know that it has to be clear as day; that forbidden four-letter word blazing across your forehead in bold letters.

Joel clocks your gaze and moves to hover over where you sit, wordlessly cupping your face in two broad palms and slotting his mouth over yours. And as he licks into your mouth, tasting the remnants of eggs and bacon and every unsaid word, you start to believe that maybe confessing wouldn’t be so bad. That maybe forbidden is a word you’ve prescribed to this feeling all on your own – that he might just be feeling the exact same way.

But he pulls back, presses two more quick pecks to your mouth and tells you to get ready, says he’ll drive the two of you to school, and the moment slips from your grasp.

Back in his car, you feel relieved to replace the memory of yesterday with this one. Windows down, the air is cool and calm against your skin as he drives you through town, sated, dopey smiles across both of your faces.

A Bob Dylan song drifts from the speakers and Joel sings along under his breath.

“We’ll meet again someday on the avenue. Tangled up in blue.” Voice low and breathy, left hand on the wheel, right hand on your thigh. You nod along to the lyrics, your fingers tracing the veins and tendons on the back of his hand all the way until he pulls over.

“Shouldn’t be seen walkin’ in together.”

“Yeah,” you agree, understanding. “Best not.”

The truck idles on the side of the road, somewhere inconspicuous down the street from campus, and you slip out his passenger door. Close it with a thud and peer in at him through the open window, eyes devouring every part of his face as if you won’t be seeing him within the hour, stood up in front of the room giving a lecture.

The truck peels away from the curb, Tangled Up In Blue still whining from those speakers, and Joel sends a quick wink out the window at you, his face a blur as he drives off. And you just smile, chest warm despite the cool Spring air on your face, walking along in the same direction – because you know exactly what that wink means. And you love it.

Our little secret.

a/n refs:

in Dante’s Inferno he said that those overcome with lust were doomed to the second circle of hell, wherein they would be buffeted back and forth by the terrible winds of a violent storm, without rest. slay.

the bacchae tr. by anne carson [read if you have mummy issues, a massive ego, or just like the idea of frolicking in the woods for a while...]

the secret history by donna tartt [read if you like unreliable narrators, strange professors and stranger students, and the nursery rhyme 'the farmer in the dell']

the end of the affair by graham greene [read if you like weird intense guys and angst and infidelity]

eros the bittersweet by anne carson [read if you're cool as fuck]

thank you for reading! x

#finally am i right?#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut

1K notes · View notes

wintrwinchestr · 6 months

Text

obedience (joel miller x f!reader oneshot) 18+

summary: you decide to act out after feeling neglected by joel for over a week. it doesn’t go quite according to plan, but his punishment does help you unlock a new kink or two.

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, daddy kink, d/s and ddlg relationship dynamics, brat tamer joel, degradation/humiliation (use of slut, whore, 1 use of bitch), orgasm denial/edging, boot riding, pet names (baby, babygirl, darlin’, sugar, sweetheart, honey, puppy), entering petplay territory??, finger sucking, one face slap but she likes it (and so do i), taking/sending nudes at work, subspace, hair pulling, joel cums on reader’s face, cum eating, two idiots who finally communicate and apologize to each other, gets soft at the end bc i’m a woman of many interests, reader can be carried by joel but no other physical descriptions, winter’s limited knowledge of what contractors do, pic of girl in the moodboard is for bra imagery only, reader looks just like you!! :)

word count: 4.1k

a/n: this is extremely self indulgent so please don’t look at me!!! lil shoutout to @pascalisbaby for inspiring me to write something just so i can use “puppy” bc their love’s gonna get you killed series has fucked me up extremely bad.

divider by @saradika

It’s coming up on nearly a week and a half of Joel working long days and late nights at the latest suburban McMansion he’s been contracted out to. Each and every time he creeps into his side of the bed after you’ve already gone to sleep, never failing to wake you up in the process, he always has a different excuse. “My concrete guy was out sick today”, “the vendor gave us the wrong size rebar”, “the landscapers were in our way all damn day”, and other similar eye roll-inducing anecdotes that were followed up with sleepy apologies.

Tonight, you’re almost certain, will be just the same.

Slogging through yet another slow and uneventful day at your corporate nine-to-five, you’re practically counting down the seconds until you’ll be able to escape your drab little cubicle for the day. You aren’t exactly looking forward to going home, though, either. You know that all you have waiting for you will be another lonely night of heating up a frozen dinner, watching reality TV reruns until the ten o’clock news comes on, and then tucking yourself into a cold bed.

While you’re waiting around for a coworker to message you back about something painfully unimportant, you decide to get up to kill some time in the bathroom on your phone and stretch your legs a bit. You stand up from your rolling chair, grabbing your phone in the process, and head down the hall to the one single-person bathroom in the building that you know of.

You step inside and click the lock shut behind you, looking forward to having a rare few minutes to yourself without the threat of your manager lurking over your shoulder. You inspect your makeup in the mirror and address some flyaway hairs before leaning back against the sink and swiping your home screen into view. Your heart soars at the discovery of a text notification from Joel, but settles just as quickly when you read the words across your screen.

A couple of my dumbass guys fucked up some measurements again. Gonna be another late one. Sorry baby.

You let out an exasperated sigh and turn around to face your reflection again, bracing yourself on the edge of the sink and trying not to cry. How much fucking longer are you going to have to put up with this? You'd been getting through it alright so far, but his sterile text had ignited a raging fire deep in your stomach that made a scorching heat climb its way up the back of your neck.

You’re determined to get his attention tonight, one way or another. Even if it means pushing some of his buttons, riling him up, making him feel a few licks of that very same inferno. You’re feeling fucking bratty.

You undo the top few buttons of your blouse and shimmy it off your shoulders, exposing the blushing lace of the bra you had chosen when you were getting dressed this morning. Using one arm to hold your phone up to the mirror with the camera app open, you use the other one to prop yourself up against the sink and assist in pushing your tits together. As a final touch, you pull down one of the delicate cups along with its accompanying strap, exposing an already peaked nipple. Meeting your own eyes in the reflection and forming your glossy lips into a faux pout, you snap the picture and attach it to your text conversation with Joel. You type out a coy little message to go along with it and send it off.

that’s okay daddy. just sad i wore a rly cute bra today for nothing :(

While you anxiously wait for his response, you take a few more lewd photos to tease him with later, and make your way back to your desk after you button yourself up again and smooth out your skirt.

Sitting back down at your cubicle, you check your notifications to find a response from Joel, sent just a few seconds ago.

What’d I tell you about sendin me shit like that when I’m at work? Put your fuckin tits away babygirl. Not in the mood today.

Despite his harsh words, you know your plan is already working in your favor. You can’t help but giggle to yourself as you attach another one of the photos you had taken in the bathroom, this one of your matching lace panties pulled aside to expose your bare pussy to the front camera. You type out another flirtatious message and tap the button to send it.

idk what u mean daddy :( just miss u is all. she misses u too :((

You promptly turn off your phone and place it screen-down next to your mousepad, resigning yourself to a mere ten minutes of work before you can’t resist temptation anymore and pick it back up again to check for a reply.

Last warning babygirl. I got enough shit to deal with today, don’t need your slutty pictures distractin me. I’ll see ya tonight.

whatever. u don’t pay attention to me anymore anyway :/

You begin to regret your message as soon as you send it, worrying you might have taken things too far. But it was true; you’re upset, in a bratty mood, and feeling neglected. And, maybe you did want to work him up enough for him to take it all out on you, to fuck the attitude out of you the way you know he likes to do every so often.

A few seconds after you power off your screen to do a few more minutes of work, it illuminates again.

Oh I don't? When I get home tonight you better be kneelin in front of the door waitin for me undressed like a good girl. Not like the fuckin brat you’re actin like. And we’ll see about payin you some attention. Now pull your fuckin panties up and get back to work.

Your heart jumps into your throat as you read his text, now feeling exhilarated that your plan is officially in motion. After you’ve read his words through a couple of times, squeezing your thighs together and stifling a whimper as you did so, your trembling fingers type out a simple reply:

yes daddy <3

The remainder of your work day seems to pass by in slow motion, every minute feeling more like five. You can hardly bring yourself to focus on any of your mundane tasks, your mind constantly drifting to what you might be in for tonight. Will he spank you and leave red handprints on your ass for days? Will he fuck your face while you sputter and gasp around him? Will he work you over with his tongue until all you know how to say is “I’m sorry, Daddy”? As you shake yourself from your trance and try to focus your eyes again, you wonder why you hadn’t thought to act up like this earlier in the week. You keep your eye on the little digital clock in the corner of your monitor for the last five consecutive minutes of your work day, and as soon as 4:59 flashes to 5:00, you practically sprint out to your car in your hurry to get home.

–

You’re cuddled up on the couch underneath your favorite fleece blanket, already stripped down to your peony-colored underwear set like Joel had requested. The past couple of hours have been spent cycling between all of your streaming services and social media apps, trying desperately to find something to occupy yourself with until he gets home. You’re half-tempted to get up and walk some laps around the house, but around 10:30, you finally see the scanning headlights of Joel’s pickup as it turns into the driveway.

You immediately spring up from your little nest on the couch and prance over to the front door, kneeling a few feet in front of it just like he ordered.

In your excited anticipation to see him, you tune your ears to pick up every little sound you hear as he makes his way to you: the slam of the truck’s driver’s side door, the dull thud of his work boots heading up the walkway, the prolonged jingling of his keys as he fumbles with them to unlock the door. You’re sure he’s fidgeting with them for a few seconds longer than usual, just to tease you and keep you waiting. A shiver runs up your spine and you can feel your heart pounding against the walls of your chest as he finally turns the lock.

He calmly steps inside and closes the door behind him, dropping his dusty work bag onto the floor and stripping himself of his canvas tool belt. He stalks over to where you’re knelt on the hardwood, wrapped in your dainty lace for him like a little doll. There’s something arousing about the contrast between your barely-there feminine attire and his dark, practical clothing.

“Well, whaddya know, she can be good after all… Waitin’ for me all nice and pretty just like I asked. All it takes is an order from your Daddy to get you actin’ right again, ain’t that right, babygirl? Obedient lil’ thing…” He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger as he speaks, keeping your eyes trained on his. You nod up at him, doe-eyed and dazed, already feeling yourself beginning to slip into that familiar saccharine headspace.

Every time you had previously tried your hand at bratting, it never lasted very long, and tonight was already proving to be no different. He was right, after all, it doesn’t take more than a command, a look, a gentle grasp of your chin, to remind you of your desire to be good for him.

“What, Daddy doesn’t get a proper greetin’ after a long day o’ work? You already that far gone f’ me, can’t use your words proper like a big girl?”

“H-hi, Daddy… Missed you today,” you half-whisper, your voice sounding a little higher and further away than it did earlier in the day.

“Yeah, I know y’ did… I’ll bet your lil’ panties are ‘bout soaked through already, bet you left a wet spot on your fuckin’ desk chair just from daydreamin’ about what I was gonna do to you tonight, hm?”

Another silent nod accompanied by a pitiful little whimper. The blazing fire in your gut from this afternoon is quickly being replaced by something much more easily tamed, something more akin to a flickering candle flame than a wildfire. You struggle to keep your eyelids open as they begin to feel heavier with submission.

A stern look and a ticked jaw is enough for you to correct your wordless response.

“Y-yes, Daddy…”

“And what is it that you think I’m gonna do with you tonight, babygirl? Speak up, now…”

You rack your brain for a moment, suddenly unable to remember any of the depraved fantasies you had been conjuring up all day instead of replying to emails. You eventually land on a relatively straightforward answer.

“I th-think you’re gonna… gonna fuck the attitude outta me, t-teach me a lesson… right, Daddy?”

He lets out a dark chuckle, releasing your chin from his hold to give your cheek a couple of condescending pats instead.

“Aww, dumb lil’ thing… you thought Daddy was gonna touch you at all tonight, make that pathetic lil’ pussy cum after the stunts you were pullin’ today? Nah, I don’t think so… Open that slutty fuckin’ mouth.”

You’re reeling, taken aback by his harsh words, words that were certainly not in any of the countless scenarios you had been imagining at work. There’s a long beat of silence as you struggle to process his command.

You hear the smack across your face before you feel the heated sting of it, and it prompts a debauched mewl to spill from your parted lips.

“I said open your fuckin’ mouth…”

Your jaw falls slack in an instant, your pulsing cunt releasing an ashamed wave of wetness at the degrading slap. Joel shoves his thumb inside your waiting mouth, and you wrap your lips around it obediently as you swirl your tongue along its calloused landscape. It tastes salty, a little dirty, and you like it.

“Good girl, suck on Daddy’s thumb, tha’s it… dumb whore’ll suck on anything Daddy puts in her mouth, won’t she? Desperate lil’ thing… Bet you wish it was this fat cock instead, don’t you baby?”

You whine and nod around him, your hole squeezing around nothing as you look up at him with pleading eyes.

“Well… that’s just too fuckin’ bad, ain’t it? Tonight’s not about what you want, you can gimme that sad puppy look all you like, sugar, not gonna change anythin’...”

He pulls his thumb out of your mouth, and your slick lips try to chase after it until he wipes it clean on the side of your face. His hands make quick work of opening his stained work jeans and freeing his stiff cock from his briefs, taking it into one hand and beginning to pump it with languid strokes. He grabs a fistful of hair at the base of your skull with his free hand and taps the leaking head of his length against your cheek, adding to the dampness there from your own saliva.

“This what you want?” Tap tap tap. “You want Daddy’s cock? Hm? This what you been thinkin’ about all day, dirty girl?” He rocks his hips back and forth as he speaks, smearing his arousal along your skin.

You can’t help but squirm as a humiliated heat begins to pool in your tummy.

“Yes, Daddy, please let me have it, wan’ it so bad…” you beg.

He releases your hair and pulls his cock away from your face, making a show of massaging it and taunting you with what he won’t let you have.

“Nah, you ain’t gettin’ any of Daddy’s cock tonight, baby… In fact, I’m gonna stand right here and take care of m’self, and you’re gonna find somethin’ to rub that soakin’ cunt on while I watch…”

As the last of his words leave his lips, he steps one foot forward and nudges it between your thighs, looking at you expectantly. You lower your head to face his steel-toed work boot, covered in dust and dirt from his day at the construction site. Your mind still too deep in the clouds to understand what he’s asking of you, you lift your eyes back up to him for guidance. He juts his chin out in a silent “go on, then”, and you return your confused gaze back to his boot, the toe of which is positioned just in front of your aching heat. Your breath hitches and your eyes go wide as you finally realize: he wants to pleasure himself to the sight of you getting yourself off on his boot.

All at once, it falls into place how he wants the night to unfold. He wants to deny you. Deny you of his touch, his cock, even the privilege of making him feel good yourself… all because you acted out, disobeyed him, tested his limits.

“We understand each other, darlin’?”

“Y-yes, Daddy…” You meet his eyes as you speak, voice coming out a little unsteady. Any confidence you had while you were teasing him this afternoon is long gone, fully submitting to him now and completely at his mercy. He didn’t need to fuck you in order to put you in your place, he knew plenty of other much more degrading ways to rid you of your bratty attitude, to remind you of who you belong to.

You position your cunt over the filthy toe of his boot, the gusset of your lacy panties now completely saturated with your wetness. Your hands planted on either side of his leg, you try an experimental grind onto the leather-covered steel. A bolt of electricity shoots from your swollen clit to your fevered cheeks, burning with the eroticism of being made to humiliate yourself like this. He allows you to wrap your arms around his calf, using his sturdy form as leverage to rub yourself harder and faster against the solid material.

“Look at you, humpin’ my boot like a fuckin’ dog… that’s just what y’ are, ain’t it? Daddy’s lil’ puppy…” he teases, spurring you on with his words and the indecent sounds of his wet fist working along his thick cock.

You let out an involuntary yelp at the new pet name, which he’s quick to catch with a huff through his nose.

“Oh, she likes that, don’t she? Y’ like that, sweetheart, bein’ Daddy’s good girl, his obedient lil’ puppy? Yeah, I know y’ do… I got you trained good, don’t I? Do just about anything I want, won’t you? Got you rubbin’ that slutty pussy on my fuckin’ boot, for Christ’s sake, barely even had to ask… fuckin’ pathetic.”

The degradation makes your stomach swirl with a cocktail of embarrassment and pleasure. Your cunt flutters as you continue your frantic movements, releasing broken whimpers that sound something like uh huh and yes, Daddy. You’re sure that your slick has to be dripping down his boot by now, soaking straight through the leather and pooling onto the hardwood. You wonder if he might punish you for that, too, for making a mess of him and your freshly mopped floors. Just the thought of it has your hips picking up the pace, desperate to reach your high.

Your eyes are shut tightly as you pursue your orgasm, but you can still hear the shallow pumps of Joel’s fist and his stuttering breaths that indicate he’s close to his own release.

“Yeah, grind that sloppy fuckin’ puppy cunt on Daddy’s boot, there ya go… lookin’ like a goddamn bitch in heat… desperate whore… c’mon, puppy, make a fuckin’ mess for me…”

“I’m gonna cum, Daddy, gonna–”

Just as you feel yourself about to crest the wave of your climax, he pulls his foot out from under you and yanks your head back by another fistful of hair.

“Open up, puppy,” he groans as he splashes his hot release all over your face, aiming most of it around your mouth as you cry out from the denial of your own pleasure.

“Look at you, filthy girl… So pretty for Daddy, all covered in me,” he coos as the last few milky drops land on your cheek. Before any of it can start to drip, he scoops it up with his thumb and feeds it to you a bit at a time, and you continue to suck his finger into your eager mouth once again.

When your face is fully cleaned of his spend, he pulls his thumb from between your lips for a final time with a pop, and you stick out your tongue to show him you’ve swallowed everything he’s given you.

“Good girl,” he praises, petting the side of your hair in soothing strokes. “What do you say to Daddy, hm?”

“Th-thank you…” you choke out, still trying to steady your voice.

“And what else?” he asks.

You take a deep breath. “And… I’m sorry, Daddy,” you relent.

“For what, sweet girl?”

This was always your least favorite part, the part you struggled with the most: admitting that you were wrong.

“For being a brat today, for not listening and disrespecting you…” Your posture deflates, wondering if you should continue your confession. You remember one of the ground rules that was laid out when you first entered this dynamic with him, the one about how important communication is, and decide to keep going. “I jus’ feel like you’ve hardly paid any attention to me the past few days…” You start to sniffle as you speak, the overwhelm of it all finally catching up with you.

“Oh…” he breathes sympathetically. “Here, can you stand up, babygirl? C’mon, come sit on Daddy’s lap for a minute.”

He offers you his hands, and you use them to push yourself up onto shaky legs, feeling like a newborn foal. You wrap your arms around his neck and he scoops you up, carrying you bridal-style back to your cozy spot on the couch. He situates you in his lap, wrapping you up in your blanket again, and you bury your face in the warm expanse of skin between his shoulder and neck. You inhale through your nose, smiling to yourself and sighing contentedly when your senses are flooded with his natural comforting smell.

“I know I’ve been workin’ some real late nights recently… I’m sorry about that, honey,” he apologizes, rubbing comforting circles around your upper back.

“‘S okay, Daddy, ‘s not your fault,” you say into his skin.

“But I shoulda made more of an effort to give you some lovin’ anyway, I shouldn’t have had to wait for you to brat on me… Look at me, baby.” You lift your head and meet his sincere gaze, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours. “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry too, Daddy.”

“I know y’ are, sweet girl, I know…”

You exchange warm smiles, and he curls his pointer finger under your chin to pull your face toward his, placing a delicate kiss to your lips. He settles both of his large hands on either side of your face before breaking the kiss to press your foreheads together. You close your eyes and try to match his breathing, enjoying this moment with him.

After a minute or so, you break the silence. “So… puppy, huh? That’s a new one,” you giggle.

He laughs and releases your face from his hold, meeting your eyes again. “Jus’ wanted to try somethin’ new, I guess…” He snakes a hand under the blanket, thumbing over the damp crotch of your panties. “And judgin’ by this lil’ mess down here, I take it you liked it. Hm, pretty girl?”

Still sensitive from your earlier denial, you let out a high pitched little whine and an involuntary buck of your hips into his hand.

“See? Even sound like a lil’ puppy… Daddy’s good girl. You want Daddy to train you, babygirl, you wanna be his pretty lil’ pet?”

“Uh huh, yes, Daddy, please…” Your face is buried in his chest as you rut into his hand, squeezing it between your thighs, back to the same place you were just before he pulled his boot out from underneath you.

“Daddy was so mean earlier, wasn’t he? Not lettin’ you cum, punishin’ you for actin’ up… But I think you’ve learned your lesson now, huh puppy? C’mon, sweet girl, let go, soak Daddy’s hand…”

And you do. With his permission, you cry out, muscles spasming and cunt twitching as you finally ride out the climax you’ve been chasing all night. You’re panting by the time you start to come down after what feels like several minutes, exhaustion hitting you hard all at once. When some of your awareness has come back to you, you realize that Joel is gently rocking you back and forth on his lap, petting the back of your head and gently shushing in your ear.

“Shh, shh, you’re alright, babygirl, I gotcha, Daddy’s gotcha… So good for me, baby, my precious girl…”

When your breathing evens out once more, you muster the strength to lift your head from its place against his heart, and he chuckles at the sleepy and sated look on your face as you blink slowly at him.

“My lil’ puppy’s all tuckered out, huh? Let’s get you up to bed, darlin’, Daddy’ll tuck you in.”

He stands up with a groan, cradling you in his muscled arms, and carries you into the bedroom. You’re already drifting off to sleep when he sits you on the bed, carefully stripping you of your ruined underwear and helping you into a clean, sensible pair of cotton undies. He retrieves one of his oversized “Miller Contracting” shirts from his drawer and slips it over your head, helping your weak arms through the sleeves. Brushing your hair away from your face, he places a scruffy kiss to your hairline and helps you lay down onto the cool sheets. He pulls the covers up all the way over your shoulders, the way he knows you like, and smiles to himself when you burrow yourself into the sheets.

He takes a quick shower to rid himself of the grime and grit he collected on his skin during the day, and slips into bed beside you. Another private smile and a small shake of his head when you instinctually turn to face him and snuggle into his warm body, wrapping your arms around the breadth of his upper arm and inhaling the masculine cologne of his body wash.

He reaches across his chest to gently scratch at the top of your head, prompting a dreamy little noise from you. “Just like I said,” he whispers to himself, “a lil’ puppy.”

He wouldn’t have you any other way.

not really sure who to tag for this one, gonna use the same list from my last fic if that's okay!! anyone else please let me know if you'd like to be tagged on my future fics!!

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @gracieispunk @iamasaddie @rebel-held

#my writing #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #daddy!joel miller #joel miller smut

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 4 months

Text

Ravel

A Seams Christmas special oneshot | Moodboard

{ Part IV: Notch | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: T

Summary: Joel swings by yours with a little something before Christmas dinner at Tommy and Maria's.

Warnings: Unapologetic fluff and softness, inspired by this ask from @casssiopeia from the beginning of the year, no use of Y/N, very lightly edited

Word count: 2k

Notes: I'm so proud of writing up this little drabble. I've been in such a weird place with my writing, I'm just happy to end the year on a creative high. Obviously, I'm a few days late to Christmas, but better late than never!

There is a voice in my head telling me that this isn't good enough, that it doesn't hold up to what I was writing earlier this year. But I need to rewire my brain. There is no such thing as 'good' or 'bad' when it comes to fanfiction. All fanfiction is good fanfiction. This is our hobby, not our jobs, and we need to be kind to ourselves.

I am posting this at 11:59pm on New Year's Eve. Happy new year y'all, I hope Joel and Pin can bring you some festive cheer ❤️

Joel is this close to have a fucking breakdown.

He would measure out how close this is between his thumb and index finger if they were not currently tangled in webs of yarn, rapidly unravelling from from the bottom of what is supposed to be a sweater.

Your sweater.

The book that Lucy lent him months ago lies on the table before him, the pages yellowed and dogeared, open at the the easiest pattern of the lot to knit - a simple pullover in chunky yarn, in your favourite colour.

Well, it was supposed to be easy, anyway.

Despite Lucy basically holding his hand throughout the whole project, he’s had far less time than anticipated to work on it. Too many nights he finds himself at Tommy and Maria’s, elbow deep in dirty baby’s clothes and diapers, making himself useful for whatever needs to be done around the house.

Even Ellie chips in without being asked, often bringing back food from the canteen and making sure the severely sleep-deprived adults are eating, if not well fed. Joel honestly doesn’t remember how he did it with Sarah as a clueless twenty-something, with an even more clueless younger brother.

As he attempts to free himself from the quagmire of wool, he grimaces at the stiffness all over his body, feeling it especially in his back after sleeping in an armchair all night with a rapidly growing two-month old.

He’s too old for this shit - but there’s no saying no to the little rascal with Tommy’s nose and Maria’s eyes.

The knitting needles clatter to the floor when he jumps at the front door opening and slamming shut, a frustrated fuuuuuuck slipping past his gritted teeth.

Ellie’s voice rings out loud and clear as she scampers up the stairs, getting progressively louder until she’s outside his study. ‘Hey! Did you remember to put the potatoes in the oven? We have to leave for Tommy’s in an hour - dude, what the fuck is happening?’

‘What do you think is happenin’?’ he growls.

Crossing her arms, Ellie leans against the doorframe wearing a far too amused expression. ‘Maria said no gifts.’

Joel rolls his eyes. ‘It’s not for Maria.’

The teenager squints, perplexed, at the bits of wool in his hands. ‘What is that meant to be?’

‘... A sweater.’

Ellie bites her bottom lip, holding in a poorly concealed giggle. ‘I think a sweater is meant to have sleeves.’

‘You think?’

‘Want me to go get Lucy?’

With a heavy sigh, he mutters, ‘Fine.’

At the arch of her half-eyebrow, Joel adds begrudgingly, ‘Please.’

Ellie grins, sneakers skidding on the floorboards as she takes off. ‘Hang in there, old man!’

Despite the cold, his palms are sweaty, sticking to the kraft paper wrapped haphazardly around the even more haphazard package clutched tightly in his right hand.

The night air mists before him in puffs of white as he shuffles a path through the falling snow. His ears are tingling from the cold, and flexing the stiff, frozen tips of his fingers, Joel knows he should’ve worn his gloves. They weren’t in their usual place by the door though, and he was so frazzled that he barely got his shoes tied up before dashing out the door, sending Ellie ahead with the potatoes (that are definitely undercooked) to his brother’s.

Your cottage glows yellow and orange in the darkness, and your stairs no longer creak when he trudges up them, having fixed them just in time before the first snowfall.

He hears your footsteps come from deep within this house when he knocks. Your eyes are wide when your door cracks open tentatively, but then your lips curve into a smile - the smile that he takes with him and keeps him warm when he has to leave Jackson for days-long patrols.

‘What are you doing here?’ you ask, ushering him inside, not batting an eye at the snow he tracks inside. ‘I thought we were meeting at Maria’s.’

Pressing a kiss to your lips, he softens at the way you lift your face towards him to catch it, careful to keep the parcel out of sight behind his back. ‘Yeah, we were, but thought I’d see if you need a hand with anythin’.’

‘Such a gentleman,’ you tease.

A low fire burns in the hearth, the wood he chopped for you in the fall stacked in a tidy pile next to the mantelpiece. Sweeping his eyes across the living space, he spots the book with the cracked spine that he reads when he’s here on the coffee table, next to yours. On the other side of the couch is the Christmas tree that he cut for you, and he watched you dress it up in tinsel and fairylights one night after a quiet dinner and before hot cocoa under thick blankets.

He likes seeing himself at your home. In the things he does for you; in his things, casually scattered around - like they belong in your space.

‘The pies are in the kitchen, could you please put them in a bag?’ you ask. ‘I’ll just grab my coat and we can go.’

‘Sure, sweetheart,’ he answers, waiting until you’ve disappeared into the bedroom before setting down the present under the tree.

He’s leaning against the back of the couch when you pop back in, a few layers deeper than when you left him, the pies nestled safely in a carrier bag by his boots.

‘Shall we?’ you ask brightly.

Joel hesitates, wondering if he should wait until after dinner to tell you about the present. It only takes his eyes darting to the foot of the tree for the briefest moment for you to catch on. The slow smile that stretches your cheeks and lights up your eyes warms him from the inside out.

You cock your head to one side, playing coy. ‘What’s that, Joel?’

He shrugs, feigning cool. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and find out?’

His chest physically swells at the way you dash towards the tree, landing on your knees in uncharacteristic recklessness, the impact only softened by the rug underneath. You cradle the lumpy package to your chest like something precious. ‘You got me a present.’

He settles on the end of the couch next to you, his heart beating harder in his ribcage than he’d like to admit. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart.’

You frown at him. ‘Why?’

‘You’ll see, but I wanted to give it to you anyway.’

You open the package carefully, as if it was wrapped in the fancy paper people used to buy at the shop. Joel holds his breath when you peel it away to reveal what’s inside.

He’s far too inside his own head to hear your inhale that sounds a lot like wonder. You pick up the sweater gently, shaking it out, and Joel winces when he sees it in the flicker of the firelight.

Disastrous doesn’t begin to cover it. Lucy managed to connect the sleeves to the shapeless body in a last-ditch salvage attempt, but one is clearly longer than the other. The stitches are untidy, some have obviously caught onto something and pulled loose. Rough around the edges is putting it kindly.

Joel wants to reach out, grab it, chuck it into the fire and let the flames swallow it whole.

Finally, the silence gets the better of him, and he blurts out. ‘I’m sorry.’

You stare at him, stunned. ‘What?’

Under his whiskers, his cheeks flush in embarrassment, and he rambles, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinkin’. You deserve better sweetheart, here, let me -’

You almost lose your balance keeping the sweater out of his reach. ‘Don’t you dare, Joel Miller.’

Confused, he watches you rise to your feet, shucking your outer coat and another layer. ‘What are you doin’?’

Grabbing the sweater, you slide it over your head and thread your arms through the sleeves. The soft knit drapes over your curves, too big over your shoulders and the hem falling unevenly, higher on the right side than the left. One sleeve is long enough to cover half your hand, while the other sits right on the wrist.

And yet.

You’re beaming like you just picked up something at Bloomin’dales or whatever the fuck those department stores were called back then.

‘I love it,’ you declare, no trace of irony in your voice, as hard as he’s trying to find it.

He scoffs in disbelief. ‘C’mon, sweetheart, you’re just sayin’ it -’

You surprise him, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar and dragging him towards you to plant a firm kiss on his lips.

‘I love it,’ you repeat slowly, with conviction, as if willing him to believe you. ‘Thank you.’

He doesn’t quite still, but he smiles and kisses you back. ‘Merry Christmas, sweetheart.’

‘Since we’re doing this -’ you trail off, sliding out of his grip to reach around the back of the tree, pulling out a neatly wrapped gift. ‘This is for you.’

Joel pauses.

For him.

For the longest time, nothing had been for him unless it was soul-crushing grief and pain.

And yet here it is - his name on the tag written in your neat handwriting. Something he can hold in his hands. For him.

His fingers tremble when he reaches out. The package is soft, and the paper crackles under his grip. He all but tears it open, uncaring of the way the wrapping falls to the floor.

A laugh bubbles out of his throat, and you look relieved at his reaction. ‘You like it?’

It’s not quite a Santa hat. It’s a chunky dark red beanie with a white brim folded back, and topped with a white pompom.

‘My ears were so cold walkin’ over. It’s perfect,’ he says, pulling it over the crown of his head. Of course, it fits just right, sliding soft and warm over his ears. He adds with a wink, ‘Y’know what, I might just shimmy down some chimneys after dinner.’

‘As long as you shimmy down mine too,’ you retort, not hearing the euphemism.

Joel quirks an eyebrow at that, one large palm squeezing your backside through the layers. ‘That an open invitation, sweetheart?’

You duck your head, more out of habit than actual shyness, with mischief in your smile. ‘Don’t be so crude, Joel Miller.’

Adjusting his new hat so that it sits comfortably, he points at the pompom and jokes, ‘Shame I can’t wear this on patrols.’

Right on cue, you hold up a finger. ‘Funny you should say that.’

He chuckles when you pull out a second, plain black beanie, as if out of thin air. ‘You really thought of everythin’, sweetheart.’

You shrug playfully. ‘I’m smart like that.’

‘I know you are,’ he smiles.

‘Merry Christmas, Joel.’

His lips find yours again in a slow, lingering kiss that has you leaning into him for more when he pulls back. ‘Thank you. For everythin’.’

You hold his gaze - heavy with meaning, light with joy. It wouldn’t take more than a tilt of the head towards the bedroom to derail your evening plans, and you both know it.

In the end, you’re the one who stays strong. Taking one step back from his warmth, you reach for your coat. ‘We’re late, we should go.’

His eyes widen. ‘Wait - you’re not wearin’ that to dinner are you?’

‘Of course I am,’ you say, buttoning up your coat over the sweater.

‘You don’t have to, sweetheart,’ he almost pleads with you.

You grin, heading for the door, blowing out candles as you go. ‘Too bad, I’m never taking it off.’

Joel shakes his head with a wry huff. ‘Well, I hope not never -’

You have one foot out the door when you suddenly remember. ‘I almost forgot - you left your gloves here last time. They’re in the cupboard by the door.’

Ah, that’s where they went. He opens the drawer and pulls them on, one after the other, the leather, worn smooth with age, creaking as he wraps his fingers around the handles of the carrier bag.

Joel is about to follow you out the door when he pauses over the threshold. Glancing down at the black beanie in his grasp, he reaches up and hooks it on the coat rack, nestled among your clothes.

He hopes that when the time comes for him to wear it for the first time - maybe on a patrol that will take him away from you for a few days - it will smell like you.

Gorgeous dividers by @firefly-graphics ❄️

More notes: I hope I will return to the main series in the new year. I've missed these two lovebirds, I hope you enjoyed this little interlude! ❤️

#fuckyeahseams #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #goodbye 2023

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burntheedges · 3 months

Text

light in the rain

Joel Miller x f!reader | 2.3k words | 18+ mdni | my fic list | ao3

a/n: this is my entry for @iamasaddie's moodboard challenge! this poured out of me last night, no joke, so thank you for the challenge. it was fun! thank you @katareyoudrilling for reading it over 🫶🏻

tags/warnings: established relationship, banter, drink mention (coffee), fluff, smut, semi-public sex, no outbreak!AU, no ages specified, p-in-v sex, fingering, kissing, fondling, frottage, tit fondling, no use of y/n, reader has no description other than wearing a bra and having a vagina

...

Joel doesn’t notice it until the next time it rains.

He looks out his kitchen window, cup of coffee in hand, and sighs. It’s really coming down, and he knows this will just delay the work they need to get done on the site today. He takes a sip of his coffee and tries to appreciate the warmth he feels as it settles in his stomach.

He’s not looking forward to being out in this weather, but he needs to get going.

Sighing again, he turns and throws back the rest of his coffee before setting the mug in the sink next to Sarah’s dishes from breakfast. He shakes his head, knowing he’ll be annoyed at himself when he finds them there later, and leaves them anyway. He doesn’t want to be late.

When Joel opens the front door, he can feel the mist from the rain before he even steps out from under the front porch, clinging to his clothes and arms. He knows he’ll be soaked before he even reaches the door to the truck and the knowledge just increases his irritation at the weather.

Well, he thinks, nothing for it, I guess.

Joel takes a deep breath and makes a run for it.

Seconds later, almost soaked through, Joel slides into the driver’s seat of his pickup and slams the door closed. He shakes his head, watching as the water from his hair flies off and splatters against the dash. The windows are already fogging up. He starts the engine without looking, throws on the defroster, and leans forward to rest his forehead on the steering wheel.

Since when does it rain this much in Texas?

He can almost feel you roll your eyes at his thought, even though you aren’t here to tease him for it. He feels the corner of his mouth lift into the slightest smile.

Joel pushes himself back from the steering wheel and decides he should stop wasting time and get on with it already. He throws on his seatbelt, shifts into reverse, and turns to rest his hand on the passenger seat.

And that’s when he sees it.

He’s struck with the memory, foot on the brake, eyes wide open, staring at the rear window. Frozen in place. The windows are all fogged up from the rain and the heat, revealing a message left behind in the moisture, drawn by a graceful finger.

Your finger.

Despite himself, Joel starts to grin. He flushes, tracing the swooping letters with his eyes, remembering the exact moment you’d written it there the week before. The last time the inside of the truck had been stuffy enough to fog up the windows like this. He feels himself getting hard at the memory and runs his tongue slowly along his bottom lip.

After a moment he shakes it off and huffs a laugh at himself. His feels better, lighter, like the memory of you has rolled away the storm clouds that were plaguing him, even as the pouring rain continues to beat down on the truck. It doesn’t seem so bad after all, not really. It’ll be fine.

Unable to stop smiling, Joel pulls out of his driveway and heads to work with a grin on his face.

…

One week earlier

Joel crowded you against the side of his pickup, smiling into your neck. “Hey there, pretty lady,” he murmured into your skin.

You laughed. “Hey, handsome.” You felt him curve his arms around your waist as he pressed soft kisses up your neck.

“Goin’ somewhere?” He nipped at your jaw to punctuate his question.

“Thought I was goin’ home with you,” you teased, letting your head fall back against the window to give him more room to work. You were in the parking lot of the bar where you’d met Tommy and Maria for a casual double date, and you’d come here together, after all.

“Hmm, that you are, darlin’. But home is awful far.”

You laughed, again, charmed as always. “You got a better idea?”

He nodded against your neck, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone. “Why don’t you open this door and find out?” He reached behind you to tug open the door to the backseat of the truck and your eyebrows flew upwards.

“Joel, last time we did that you hurt your back.”

“Only tweaked it.” He huffed. “You callin’ me old?”

“I’m callin’ it like it is.”

He laughed. “I got an idea, sweetheart, just hear me out.”

You were already moving, had been since he opened the door. You didn’t actually need convincing, even if he did hurt his back last time.

“Tommy’s gonna make fun of us for being impatient, again.” You were laughing as you crawled inside the truck, feeling Joel climb up behind you and crowd you forward.

He grunted. “Tommy’s just jealous. His truck ain’t got a backseat.” You laughed again and turned around.

As soon as you were facing him, Joel grabbed you by the hips to yank you forwards. You yelped and he grinned.

“Hey there, darlin’. Fancy meeting you here.” He leaned in to encourage you to lie back against the seat, quickly following to hover over you. You could see the lights from the bar shining distantly through the back window, but you knew you were pretty far from the door.

You rolled your eyes. “Get down here, funny guy.” Joel listened and moved down to meet you in a searing kiss. You lost yourself in it, letting him carry you away with the heat of his tongue. Your hips thrust upwards and Joel thrust down to meet you. He grunted, and you smiled. You tugged on his hair to break the kiss.

“Joel Miller, I believe this is the exact position we were in when you tweaked your back last time.” You tapped his leg, the one that was folded up on the seat next to you, crammed against the door.

He huffed. “Maybe so.”

You ran your fingers through his loose curls, eyes darting over his familiar, handsome face. “Thought you had a better idea?” You pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth to encourage him.

He smiled and kissed you back. “I do. Let me sit back.” You maneuvered around each other again, following his direction until you found yourself perched on his lap in the middle of the backseat, straddling his hips.

“Is this for your back or so you’ll be at eye-level with my tits?” You pulled off your top as you asked and he laughed.

“Why not both, hmm?”

One of your favorite things about Joel was that he never seemed to get tired of watching you undress. He reacted like it was just as exciting as the first time, every time. “Look at you, pretty girl. Shit.” His hands came up to cup you over your bra and you sighed as you leaned forward into his touch. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

Joel tugged down the cups of your bra, watching with rapt attention as your breasts were revealed to him. He swiped his thumbs softly over your nipples and your breath hitched. “Joel–” You felt yourself get wetter as he teased you.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I got you.” He looked up to meet your gaze. “You look real pretty, sitting on my lap, you know that?”

You huffed a laugh and drove your hips down to meet his, feeling his cock hard in his jeans. “Mm, feels pretty good too, Joel.”

“Shit,” he shook his head, smiling. “Should’a taken our pants off already.”

You grinned and lifted up to do just that. “Are we rusty?”

“Hmm,” he mused as he moved to take his off, too. “Rusty?” As soon as you both were done he grabbed your hips to pull you back into place, and your breath caught as your pussy settled against his cock, skin against skin. “I wouldn’t say that.” He pulled your hips forward and you moaned as the head of his cock nudged against your clit. “Doesn’t feel rusty to me.” You cut off his smug grin with a kiss.

You rocked together, letting his cock slide against your increasing wetness, and licked into his mouth. He groaned and wrapped his arms around your waist. For a moment you both lost yourselves in the sensations, working yourselves up as you moved together. Every touch of his cock to your clit sent little lightning bolts up your spine.

“You feel so good on my cock, darlin’,” Joel murmured into your neck, nipping lightly at your bra strap. “So warm and wet and soft, shit,” he sucked in a breath when you ground your hips downward. “Can I slip inside you, pretty girl?”

“Yes, Joel–”

“Bet I can slip right in there, hmm? Still all open for me from earlier?” You nodded, knowing he was right. He’d crawled into bed beside you, just that afternoon, joining you for a nap that turned into, well. Not a nap. You could still feel it. Feel him. And you wanted to feel it again.

He grasped your hips again and moved you until his cock slipped perfectly into place, notching at your entrance. You hummed and he pulled you down into a kiss.

“Yeah,” he spoke right against your lips, almost whispering. “Let me in, darlin’.” He thrust his hips upwards and pulled yours down at the same time. You felt the head of his cock slip inside you, easy as anything, and closed your eyes at the stretch. “Just like that. Doin’ so good for me. Always do.” He praised you as you sank slowly and steadily onto his cock, as your breath came quicker and your chest heaved. Soon enough you were sitting flush with his hips as you both took a deep breath, taking a moment to simply feel how full you were. Like always.

Your hips twitched and he moaned. “Feels like heaven, sweetheart, fuck.” He dropped his head back against the seat and you followed, kissing his neck and nipping at his jaw. You tilted your hips forward, on purpose this time, and felt him slip just a little bit deeper. You both moaned.

“I swear,” he started, breath hitching as you shifted your weight slightly, “I swear this gets better every fuckin’ time.”

You smiled and lifted your hips slightly. He tugged you back down. “No, darlin’, just sit here for a minute. Keep me warm.”

You laughed. “It’s plenty warm in here already, Joel.” You gestured idly to the way the windows had fogged up around you, probably giving away exactly what you were doing in here to anyone who looked close enough in the dark.

“Not as warm as it is in here,” he winked at you as he drove his hips upwards, and you gasped, trying not to laugh.

“You’re such a dork,” you teased him, fighting against the urge to start moving your hips.

“Your dork,” he agreed, pulling you into another searing kiss. As he did, he finally released his grip on your hips, and you started to move. You moaned in relief, and he stole it from you with a smile.

You found a rhythm together easily, moving in a way you’d spent countless nights (and days) perfecting. Your body responded, attuned to his, always ready to meet him. It never faded, this feeling you chased together. This connection.

It was building inside of you and you could feel it there on the horizon, rushing closer. You knew Joel could feel it, too. He slid one of his hands down until his fingers ghosted lightly over your clit, and you gasped. “Yeah, darlin’,” he smiled, watching intently as your eyelids fluttered. “Look at you.”

He pressed harder and started moving his fingers against your clit to the same rhythm as his hips, and you whined. “Look at you. So fucking beautiful, stretched open on my cock. So perfect.” One side of his mouth lifted in a smile as he watched you race toward your peak. “Come for me, sweetheart. I want to watch.” You met his gaze again and gasped as he drove you over the edge.

You felt your pussy clench around his cock as you thrust your hips downward one more time and you cried out, wordless, unable to look away from him. He smiled and worked you through it. “Prettiest thing I ever saw,” he praised. You clenched again and he sucked in a breath. “Shit. Just like that, darlin’.” You smiled back and lifted your hips, breathless, thrusting down one more time as you felt him join you.

The way his face broke open with his orgasm was beautiful, every time.

You were both breathing hard, like you’d been running. You let yourself fall forward to rest your forehead against his, and he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

“Not so rusty after all, hmm?” You could hear the smile in his voice and you grinned in response.

You sat up and moved your hips, both wincing as his cock slid out of you. You could feel the mess that followed behind it and groaned. Joel laughed. “It really did get warm in here, huh?”

You looked around and realized the windows were so fogged up you couldn’t see anything outside, just the blurry glow of the lights from the bar. Grinning, you reached up behind him and drew bunny ears in the fog above his head, laughing when he tilted his head back to look upside-down at what you’d done.

He rolled his eyes. “And you say I’m the dork?”

You laughed again, and leaned forward to write a message in the condensation behind him. He waited patiently, didn’t look until you were done. You could feel his eyes on you, watching your face as you wrote. You sat back and he tilted his head back again, looking for it.

When he saw the message, he pulled you closer into his arms even before he turned back to you. He met your gaze with a soft look in his eye that you knew he reserved just for you.

“I love you too, darlin’. So much.”

...

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #tlou fic #x reader #my fic #✏️ game #✏️ game club #joel miller smut

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sketchguk · 7 months

Text

part time lover (moodboard)

➳ pairing: investigative journalist!jeongguk x daycare teacher!reader. alternatively, spy!jeongguk x assassin!reader

➳ genre: smut, fluff, angst, fake marriage au, dad au, spy x family au

➵ word count: 465 (teaser) / 30.8k

➳ summary: there is no crime more perfect than marrying jeon jeongguk. your relationship is nothing more than a ruse - while your friends pester you for being perpetually single, jeongguk desperately needs a wife to complete the pristine image of a family, fooling his way through the parent interview at the nation’s most prestigious private school.

only time will tell how deep your lies will run as you find home in one another’s minds. because untangled in the moonlight, he is but a spy, exposing a secret world of corruption, and you, an assassin, ridding the streets of danger one hit at a time.

➳ warnings: themes of parenthood, raising a child, reader and jk are both orphans, reader has a past where she struggled with financially supporting her family, eldest daughter trauma, reader is insecure, fears of abandonment, mentions of violence and m*rder (but not explicit), mention of weapons (guns, knives, grenades, poison), jk has a bruise from boxing, descriptions of an explosion, blood is drawn twice (via kitchen knife and shrapnel from aforementioned explosion), (1) mention of weight loss, jk changes his appearance in an attempt to fit in, mention of a minor car crash, social drinking, scars (surgical/knife, bullet wounds), characters are liars for the sake of the plot, side characters are misogynists (satire), food descriptions, pet names (hers: angel, good girl, princess his: love).

➳ publish date: saturday, october 14th 8pm EST

➳ a/n: thank you for all the love you've shown on the teaser. i really didn't expect so much support >.< i hope you're all as excited as i am though !! once again, this is part of the “industry baby” collab! please look forward to all of the other fics in the masterpost 💛

smut warnings below the cut!

➳ smut warnings: virgin reader, sexual tension, body worship, nipple play, marking, oral (f receiving), fingering, hair pulling, unprotected sex, jk has a big dick, praising, stomach bulge, spitting, use of the word slut, marriage kink(?) he loves his wife so much, reader wants to be bred, cumshot

“You can touch me if you want,” he offers.

You’re not as confident as Jeongguk, but oh, how you wish you were.

“Do you want to?” He senses your hesitation, yet you nod your head, affirming.

“I do,” you bite the inside of your cheek. “I want to touch you- feel you.”

Jeongguk wraps his fingers around your wrists, bringing your hands to rest on his broad shoulders. They’re muscular beneath your touch. You curse yourself for letting your mind wander and for letting your panties soak with arousal ー neither of which you can control.

Somehow, you resist the urge to look down at his physique. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to the elbows, revealing his strong forearms, adorned by the dark tattoos that coil up his muscles. Your gaze darts across his features, struggling to focus on the starlight in his eyes. You switch between the edge of his jaw, the dip of his neck, and the plump of his lips.

“My eyes are up here, angel.” The corner of his mouth draws into a smile ー so bright and devastatingly beautiful. He hooks a gentle hand beneath your chin, guiding you to meet his stare. “Tell me what you’re thinking about. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

Your voice is soft, just barely above a whisper. It’s nearly inaudible. “Thinking about what it would be like to kiss you.”

The innocence of your words makes Jeongguk blush. He’s never been the type to be so easily affected. After all, he’s the bold one in the relationship ー confident, decisive, dominant. But you make him weak in the knees.

“You don’t have to ask permission to kiss me.” Jeongguk inches closer, considerate hands squeezing around your waist. “You’re my wife.”

Why does the thought of belonging to Jeongguk make your heart stutter? You’re certain that this is nothing but pretend, yet the only thing that makes you believe this could be real is the soothing circles that Jeongguk draws onto your skin. He’s present. He’s willing. His lips are right there, right in front of you. You could take the leap of faith and close the distance, leaning forward to kiss him.

So you do.

Your eyes are half lidded as you murmur a quiet confession, “I want to kiss you again.” Normally, you wouldn’t dare to be so bold, but you feel drunk on his taste.

“You can do whatever you want to me.” Jeongguk draws you closer, dragging your core onto the apex of his thighs, thick and sturdy. “I like anything that you like. Kissing you. Holding you. Just looking at you,” he shrugs. “And if it wasn’t obvious enough… I like you.”

Jeon Jeongguk makes you absolutely breathless. “Ar- are we still pretending?”

check it out here!

#jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenario #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts imagine #bts scenario #bts fanfic #bts fan fic #bts fanfiction #bts fan fiction

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look-at-the-soul · 2 months

Text

Endless love

(Modern) Tommy Shelby x reader

✨ I wrote this for @justrainandcoffee Alfieversary! My dearest Flor who knew fanfiction and Peaky Blinders would cross our paths! Thank you for always being so kind and generous-and talented!-, becoming mutuals here for a short time and somehow it feels as if we knew each other in person. Cheers to many, many more Alfieversaries!

Summary: Y/N is “forced” to leave her husband and baby for the weekend, so join Tommy to sort parenthood by himself for a couple of days. How will he deal with everything? Including a fussy baby.

Word count: 2.5K

A/N: we know I try to make moodboards right? 🤭

“Okay, erm so there’s milk storage enough.” Y/N mumbled, taking one more look around the bedroom. “Emma’s nappies are in the first drawer, keep her bunny close to-“

“Her face, I know.” Tommy produced a small chuckle, trying hard not to roll his eyes as he had already heard his wife’s instructions for almost a week. “Love, just leave that there, take a deep breath and have a margarita for me, we’ll be fine.”

Looking down at his six-month old he found her big beautiful eyes staring at him.

Y/N blinked nervously, this was the first trip away from Emma, it’s was a natural thing to be nervous.

“I can’t drink a margarita, remember?” She pointed at her breasts for a clearer message. Although she really wanted one.

This was actually her first real going out in a long time, somehow her life had been turned upside down full of baby trips to the doctor’s appointments, quick trips to get the groceries, restless nights of feedings. Thats why when Tommy insisted she should make the trip with Rose and the girls, she thought it would be a good idea to have a little time to herself.

But suddenly, her phone started ringing and loads of messages arrived simultaneously.

“Are you su-“

Tommy cut his wife’s words. “Yes, now go before Rose comes up to take you.”

Y/N gave Tommy a worried look, she couldn’t help it.

“Say goodbye to mama,” he waved Emma’s little hand. “Buh-bye mam!” He imitated a childish voice.

Y/N felt her heart clenching inside her chest when she kissed her daughter’s chubby cheeks.

“If you need anything just call and I’ll be back.” She rushed to say before kissing Tommy’s lips. Stepping out of their home, she blew them a kiss.

Tommy finally felt confident enough to release the air he had been holding. He was beyond nervous for not having his wife around whilst taking care of their baby, he was actually panicking to do anything wrong.

As Tommy closed the door he saw Emma’s lip quiver and a second later, she let out a big cry.

“Oh no, no darling don’t cry.” Tommy tried to soothe her. Small legs kicking with such force that made him think of a small tornado. “It’s alright, mama will be back in a couple of days…” he mumbled tried to get his daughter to settle.

His phone started buzzing in his pocket, he tried to rock Emma, but her cries became louder. Pressing the green button so fast that he didn’t look at the name on the screen.

“‘Lo?”

“Is Emma alright? I heard her crying.”

Tommy gasped. “Yes, of course, it’s the television… there’s a baby crying.” He lied.

He noticed Y/N’s hesitation so he rushed to assure her everything was fine and encouraged her to have a great time with her friends. Then, Tommy searched the channel with calm music Y/N used to rock Emma to sleep, in an attempt to settle his baby.

“How can a little thing like you cry so loud?” Tommy sighed defeated. He was one step from giving up. “I don’t know how your mama does it.”

He had tried everything, absolutely everything. And nothing seemed to work.

Was his baby sick? Hurting?

“What is it baby girl?” He wiped away the tears from her eyes, long lashes wet, chubby cheeks red from the intensity of her cries.

A sudden flashback appeared on his mind and with long strides, he walked into their bedroom hoping to find Emma’s bunny in its place. It had been a birth gift by Rose, and his daughter didn’t seem to like anything else.

“Look… here’s your bunny.” He tried tickling her cheeks. “And let’s take Mummy’s blanket alright?”

Tommy felt on the brick of desperation, was he really a useless father? One who couldn’t make his daughter stop crying?

His heart was aching.

Tommy wondered how would they survive for the entire weekend without Y/N. He started seriously doubting his parental skills in that moment.

Wrapping his baby in Y/N’s blanket seemed to bring some comfort for his baby. Groaning he covered his face with one of the thin cloths they used to go outside, it was small piece that only covered his features partially but then he heard a small giggle and a raspberry from Emma.

Startled, he removed the sheet from his face and looked down at what was making her giggle.

“You liked your silly daddy?” He asked mimicking a ridiculous voice.

He tried the trick once more.

And to his surprise, Emma giggled again, there was a bit of droll on her chin, big blue eyes sparkling just for him.

“You like Mr. Napkin?!” He asked in disbelief. “Yes you do!”

Getting up, he got a larger napkin from the kitchen and after covering his face again, but he added his glasses.

“Mr. Napkin needs help to see.” He repeated what it seemed like the best acting performance ever. “Oh! I see a beautiful happy little girl.” He turned to face his baby laying in one of his arms.

Emma laughed uncontrollably and kicked her legs happily.

“You know what? Mr. Napkin needs a smoke.” He announced, producing a cigarette from its case. But once he added it to his performance, he noticed a small pout. “Oh no, no… that’s a bad habit, don’t do it.”

Once he got his little girl to settle again, he sighed relieved when he saw the big yawn she offered.

“Mr. Napkin would like a nap too.”

But before he could close his eyes, his phone started ringing and the sound woke his daughter up.

“Shit. Alfie what do you want?”

“Just making sure you’re in one piece still… heard the Misus are having the time of their lives.” Alfie announced.

“I know you’re miserable when Rose is away, but I’m busy here mate.”

“That’s exactly why I was calling, to offer some child support.”

Tommy snorted. “Alfie the last thing I want is you taking care of my daughter.”

Alfie didn’t took that personally, he knew as a matter of fact that he had the opposite effect in Tommy’s daughter. “When will you finally admit your daughter likes me?”

“She likes pulling at you beard and your dog.”

“Look we both know you’re going to make the girls come back earlier from their trip and the least thing I need is having Rosie mad at me at your fault, so meet me and Cyril at the beach.”

“That sounds like an awful idea.”

“See ya.”

The actual plan worked like wonders, Emma was thrilled to spend time with Cyril, because being honest, he got all protective over Emma, and despite his size he acted like a cotton ball, bringing her sticks. But Tommy wasn’t going to admit that out loud.

Of course Alfie teased him endlessly for acting over protective towards the baby just because he made sure his daughter wouldn’t suffer damage from the sun. Or any kind of damage for that matter.

“What are cha gonna do when your little pumpkin starts messing around with boys and-“

Tommy gave him a death stare.

“Wha? You can’t keep her locked mate…” Alfie pointed out as the girl grabbed some sand in her small fist.

“That’s not going to happen.” Tommy answered with a clenched jaw.

Just the mere thought of it, made his insides twist.

And to Alfie, to have the chance to tease Tommy it was like the cherry on top, it was something he wasn’t going to let it pass.

By the time they went back to their apartment, Emma was sound asleep in the back seat.

After changing his baby girl into a pajama set, Tommy walked around the place to set the alarm and taking the remote, he turned off the lights.

To his surprise, he got a message from his wife.

Missing you both like crazy! xx

We missed you too, Emma was thrilled to take a little trip to the beach xx - he replied.

Almost immediately, his phone started ringing and the photo of his wife holding their baby appeared on the screen.

“I know I said I wasn’t going to disturb you, but…” her sweet voice made him smile.

“‘S alright, I was just getting ready to sleep.”

“But it’s still early.” Y/N pointed out turning around to look the hour.

“I am exhausted.” He dragged the words.

Turning the call into video, Y/N noticed the bags under his eyes. The dim light cascading over his cheekbones.

“Looks like someone’s having the time of her life.” He complimented.

“We had a massage and I ordered a virgin cocktail.”

Tommy shook his head. “No booze? What’s the fun in that?”

“Stop temping me.” Y/N pouted. “I’ll let you’ve some rest, tomorrow it’s going to be a long day.”

Tommy yawned and wished his wife a good night.

****

A babbling sound make him open his eyes asTommy tried to fix his blurred vision.

Groaning, he got up. “Morning, sunshine.” He kissed the top of her head as he pulled her against his chest and went back to bed.

Instinctively, Emma started nibbling his nipple.

“Oh sweetie, you won’t find anything there.” Tommy explained with a chuckle.

But Emma wasn’t in the mood and a round of loud cries started right away.

“I get it, the milk provider is moving right away, give me a sec.” He got up and carried his baby towards the kitchen, to prepare the bottle for her. A few minutes later, Emma was sucking happily.

“Such a drama queen eh?” He stared at her soft features. Wondering what life had in store for her. “What do you wanna do today? We can go to the park, or the pub bet your uncles would love to see you.” He proposed as his baby was focused on her milk. That way he could get some help because everyone in his family adored his daughter.

Despite his wealth, Y/N refused hiring a nanny. She was adamant to be in charge of everything related to their daughter. And being completely honest with himself, he was grateful for being able to spend quality time with his first born, Y/N deserved all the credit for that, she helped him feel comfortable by giving his daughter a warm bath and helping as much as he could, being a present father.

She had already threatened him to include a hairstyle masterclass so he could learn to do braids and pigtails.

After a quick bath for him and another one for his daughter. He felt proud of managing to put an asthetic outfit for Emma, he actually went safe with clear colors God forbid that one time he changed her into a set that didn’t match, Y/N scolded and teased him endlessly. As Tommy was looking in one of the drawers for a clean sheet so he could place his baby on the floor, he found a small box where Y/N kept a bunch of things she said that were useless but you might need some day. The thought made him chuckle, but a sharp movement opened the lid and its content fell to the floor.

That’s when he saw something that caught his attention.

A playful smile spread on his lips and he rushed to the living room to set everything.

It took him a while to carry on with his idea, but once he was finished, he stood there proudly to admire his creation, the smile on his daughter’s face told him he did a good job. Oh, the things he’d do for that little Miss Sunshine. She had him wrapped around her little finger.

Snapping a photo, he pressed a few buttons to send it to his wife.

“What is that?!” Y/N asked raising her voice, excitement was evident.

Tommy’s chest expanded proudly as he looked at his mini-me in awe. “She’s being giggling nonstop.”

“This is the best idea ever!” Y/N sounded surprised, so he was still able to be one step ahead.

“Cheapest trick to keep her busy.” Tommy added, sending the photo to the Shelby’s chat group.

“I can’t wait to go back home.” He knew being away wasn’t easy for her, specially because she was so attached to Emma.

“The day will fly by and you’ll be back before you know it.” He tried to cheer her up. His eyes darting back to his daughter, still amazed by the balloons.

“Look at you, I leave you for a couple of days and you win the award parent of the year.”

“That’s what you get for abandoning us.” He joked.

“Hey!” Tommy heard Rose’s voice in the background. “Only emergencies! Is Tommy missing an arm?” He heard some weird noise and then she spoke clearly. “I hope you’re taking good care of Emma.”

“Of course.” He wasn’t sure if he should be more scared of his wife or Rose.

“Good, then were stealing your wife for another day and we’re already planning the next trip.” She warned, and this time around, it was Y/N turn in the background saying that she didn’t want to be away from her daughter again.

“Have a fabulous day, I gotta change a stinky nappy.”

Ending the call, he decided to order some food, the last thing on his mind at the moment was to prepare something. At least he got a great deal by keeping his daughter busy with the balloons and that granted him a few minutes to stand outside in the balcony to smoke a cigarette while keeping an eye on his baby.

And the rest of his day went just like that between naps, babbling and the little sounds his daughter made. Later he’d pick a book to read to her.

****

Sunday finally arrived and after driving for a couple of hours, the girls left her by the apartment lobby first, so she made the trip to her floor quietly and since she didn’t tell Tommy what time they were coming back, she took the chance to surprise him.

He didn’t know, but she had been watching him in the baby monitor app on her phone. As a matter of fact her heart felt full last night when she realized her baby wouldn’t settle and after a couple of minutes, she saw Tommy getting up from the bed and climbing the crib -big enough to fit him-, to sleep with his baby.

She knew he was the best father their daughter could have.

And another proof was that moment while he was feeding Emma and he started singing a Romani song and ever so gently he explained their baby he came from gypsies and she too, had gypsy blood running in her veins. Y/N wanted to bottle the two of them along with those moments that made her confirm her deep love for that man.

But Y/N was the surprised one when she stepped into her apartment and found Tommy sleeping on the couch with Emma lying on his chest fast asleep, his arm wrapped around her back protectively. Her small hand closed in a tight fist over her bunny’s ear.

The image was instantly tattooed in her heart as a lifetime memory.

And she knew, her heart was full and that this was an endless love.

Master list

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, remember your feedback is always the way to a writer’s heart ♥️✨

Oh! I almost forgot.. Mr Napkin inspiration 👇🏻👇🏻

Tag list: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney @onlydeadcells @gretelshelby @garrison-girl-08 @lespendy @fastfan @stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @forbidden-forest-witch @ange-thoughts @moral-terpitude @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @thenattitude @winchestergirl22 @zablife @elk96 @blondie-22 @imichelle-l-rigby @allie131313 @already-broken144 @peakyscillian @babaohhhriley @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @sydneyyyya @adaydreamaway08 @pono-pura-vida @kmc1989 @thomashelbyswife @darleneslane @lauren-raines-x @everythingelseisextra @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @lau219 @red-riding-wood

#That’s what Cill said #tommy shelby x reader #modern tommy shelby imagine #modern tommy shelby #tommy shelby x y/n #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #modern peaky blinders #modern alfie solomons #Alfie Solomons x rose

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sunshinesteviee · 8 months

Text

mvp - s.h.

summary: you think steve deserves a prize after his baseball game for being the MVP; baseball player!steve wc: 3.9k warnings: a bit of baseball, but it's honestly not too heavy on it lol. this is mostly smut!! 18+ only, mdni!!!! car sex, but they're in the middle of nowhere, fingering, handjob, unprotected piv (pls be smart); fem!reader a/n: alright this has been in the works for fuckin forever, but it's finally done!! i hope it lives up to the hype lol. huge shoutout to @harringtonswriting for the original idea forever ago, and to @stevebabey for listening to me cry abt this for the past month and a half lol. enjoy!!!

Masterlist

huge thank you to @inkluvs for this^ cutie and to @t-lostinworlds for this gorgeous moodboard!!

It’s a surprisingly nice evening for summer in Indiana. There’s a warm breeze that kisses your cheeks and keeps you cool under the late afternoon sun. Perfect for one of Steve’s baseball games. The last few you went to were unbearably hot, so even though it’s still warm, and you’re still sweating a bit, this is much better. Not that you’re paying much attention to the weather with how close this game is.

His team is up by two points in the top of the ninth, and there’s someone on base, but if they hold them off from scoring, they’ll win. Steve’s pitching, and you know he’s feeling a lot of pressure, especially since this is a pretty important game near the end of the season. But you also know that he’s totally got this. He’s been pitching so many strikeouts this game, and he can definitely do one more.

He stands at the pitcher’s mound, bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he squints at his catcher. He looks fucking beautiful, quite honestly. Tan skin glowing in the golden hour sun, the sleeves of his jersey tight around his biceps. Pretty hair tucked under his hat, the eyeblack he’d carefully applied before the game smeared across his cheeks. You might just have to jump his bones when the game is over.

Steve gets into position, presses the ball into his glove, and takes a deep breath. You stand from your seat on the rusty bleachers, metal creaking underneath you, to get a better view of the field. Someone behind you — probably Jessica, another player’s girlfriend — huffs in annoyance, but you ignore her, too caught up in Steve, and sending him all of the good luck you can. He moves into his windup position, takes another deep breath, and sends the ball over the plate in a perfect strike that the batter watches go by.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and whistle loudly, earning you even more dirty looks from the people sitting around you. Half of them are supporters of the other team, so you can’t blame them, but you’re not going to quiet your support for your boyfriend. You know he can hear you — his eyes flick to yours for just a moment when he hears your whistle, and his mouth pulls up at one corner almost imperceptibly. He winks at you, subtle enough to go unnoticed by everyone else, but the cockiness makes you flustered and causes you to roll your eyes at the same time.

The rest of the inning flies by with a pop-up to right field that’s easily caught by Steve’s teammate, and another strikeout pitched by Steve — one that the batter watches go by. You’d cheered again, even louder than before, and blew him a kiss as he ran off the field.

Now you’re waiting for him, not so patiently, on the bleachers. You usually have to wait a bit while the team debriefs, and while you don’t mind most of the time, you’re feeling antsy today. You want him in more ways than one, and you don’t know how much longer you can wait. Thankfully, due to a good game and short debrief, it’s not too long until the players start filtering off of the field. Steve is always one of the last ones out, but you stand up in search of him anyway.

“Harrington!” you shout Steve’s name as he exits the dugout, waving a hand in the air as you bounce on the balls of your feet excitedly.

Hearing the sound of your voice, Steve’s head whips in your direction, and the biggest smile you’ve ever seen is on his face. He gives you a wave before turning back to the teammate he’d walked out with, saying something you can’t make out as he slaps his back and then makes a beeline for you. After the game, his uniform is awry; jersey half tucked in, hat on backwards, and he’s so sweaty, but somehow, you don’t mind. His bat bag is slung over his shoulder, but it’s quickly dumped on the ground as he approaches you in favor of scooping you up into his arms, “Baby!”

You let out a shriek and throw your arms around his neck as he lifts you off of the ground. Your toes are barely an inch from the grass, but it’s enough to have you clutching onto him. He’s still sweaty, having just come off the field, but you don’t mind. “Steve! You did so good, baby!”

Steve sets you back on your feet, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead with another blinding grin, “Thanks, honey. All for you.” His hands are still looped around your waist, resting gently against the small of your back. “Heard you cheering the entire game.”

“Yeah?” you ask, returning his grin as your fingers trace along the neckline of his jersey. “Good. Matt’s girlfriend kept giving me dirty looks for cheering so loud, but I think she’s just jealous her boyfriend isn’t as hot or talented as mine. I’ve got an all-star. The MVP.”

Dark pink colors Steve’s face from his neck all the way up to the tips of his ears, even though he’s still smiling at you, “Stop it. I’m not—“

“Don’t even start!” you quickly cut him off, placing a finger against his lips, “If I remember correctly, it was you who pitched a bunch of strikeouts, and held them off in the last inning. I’m so proud of you.”

He wants to argue, but you’re staring at him full of pride, so he gives in. His cheeks are still flushed pink as he smiles at you, pursing his lips to kiss the finger still pressed to his lips, “Thanks, baby. Love you so much. Couldn’t do it without you.”

You know that’s not true — you show up to all of his games, and sometimes you pack him extra snacks and water, but that’s about it. He’s the one who puts in all of the hard work during practice, at games, and during all of the other time he uses to improve. You are really proud of him, in every single way, and you want to let him know. Threading your fingers into the damp hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, you lean up on your toes to whisper in his ear, “I think the MVP deserves a prize. What do you think, handsome?”

Steve’s eyes grow wide, hands spreading over your hips to keep your body flush to his. He stumbles over his words when he finally speaks, “Shit, baby, I-I… yeah, okay.”

Leaning up on your toes, you give Steve a grin before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “Should we go?”

“Oh, definitely,” Steve nods quickly, leaning into you for a kiss. He kisses you with just enough force that you bend at the waist slightly, giggling against his lips as you grasp at his shoulders.

“Okay, okay. Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you push at him gently, though you’re grinning when he pulls back.

He lets out a soft huff, eyes narrowing playfully at you as he grabs his bat bag and hoists it up over his shoulder again. He’s quick to start the trek back to his car, turning to face you as he walks backward with a cheeky grin on his face. His arms are held out to his sides as he calls, “You comin’ with me or what, babe?”

Not wanting him to get too far ahead, you jog to catch up to him, slipping your hand into his as your shoulders bump, “You don’t even know what the prize is, Stevie.”

Scoffing, Steve turns to you with a smug and knowing smile on his lips, “Oh, I know what it is.” Still, he’s gentle with you, giving your hand a soft squeeze and throwing a ridiculously exaggerated wink your way to make you smile. He dumps his gear into the trunk of his car, letting it close with a loud thud as he turns to you, arms caging your body against the side of his car. His breath is hot on your neck as he dips down so his lips ghost over the skin just below your ear, “The prize… it’s not actually a physical prize, right?”

You can’t help it — you let out a laugh, head tilting back as you wrap your arms around Steve’s neck to draw him in closer, “Depends on what you mean by physical…”

“Baby,” Steve groans with a laugh, taking advantage of your exposed skin by pressing wet kisses up the side of your neck and along your jaw. You want to reply with another sarcastic remark, but your breath hitches as his teeth graze your skin. So, instead, you cup his jaw in your hands and pull his mouth to yours for a kiss.

The sun is starting to smolder low in the sky, nearly sinking beneath the horizon to cast the sky in pretty oranges and pinks as Steve finally pulls out of the parking lot and heads for your shared apartment. His hand reaches over the center console to rest on your thigh, a warm, heavy weight on your bare skin. He’s already been causing trouble, with the way he’d kissed you against the car, and you have a feeling you’re not going to make it home in a timely manner.

Music is playing on the radio, something top 40 that Steve is humming under his breath as he drives. You’re having a hard time figuring out what the song is with the way his fingertips press into the softness of your inner thigh and brush up ever so slightly. Sucking in a breath, you glance in his direction, only to find that aside from the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly, he’s keeping any indication of what he’s thinking off of his face.

He looks so pretty in the golden light streaming in through the windows that it’s almost hard to believe he’s real. Reaching out across the gap between you, you tuck a few strands of his messy hair behind his ear and then drag the pad of your thumb across his jaw. You trace over a few of the cute moles scattered over his face and wish you could kiss each and every single one of them, but he’s a bit too far away. Letting out a dramatic sigh, you let a lock of his hair slip from your fingers back into its place.

At the forlorn sound, Steve’s eyes flick from the road over to you as he laughs under his breath. He twists just a little bit further to press a kiss to the delicate skin on the inside of your wrist, and though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer, he asks, “What, sweetheart?”

“I think I might combust if I can’t kiss you or touch you within the next minute.”

Steve lets out a laugh, breath hitching as your own hand drops from his hair to his thigh, “We’re like ten minutes from home, honey.” He’s trying his best to stay casual, but he’s feeling about the same as you, especially with your hand on him now.

“Can’t wait ten minutes, baby. Want you now. Don’t you want your prize?”

“Jesus christ,” he huffs out quickly, hazarding a glance to the hand on his thigh that’s creeping upwards before scanning the road, “Alright, okay, baby, just— just let me pull over. Fuck.”

There aren’t many perks to living in the middle of nowhere Indiana, but if you have to pick one, being able to pull over pretty much anywhere you want to fuck your boyfriend in the front seat of his car is definitely up there. It takes a moment before Steve spots a secluded area and pulls off of the road, dirt and gravel crunching under the tires as he rolls to a stop. The second his car is in park, you unbuckle your seatbelt and nearly launch yourself over the center console into Steve’s lap.

He laughs in surprise, but it’s cut off by your mouth on his, kissing him like it might be your last chance. There’s not much room in the front seat, and you huff as your knees press into the console and the door on either side of his lap, the skirt of the dress you’re wearing riding up your thighs. It’s not exactly comfortable, but you quickly become too distracted by Steve — his lips pressed to your neck in a bruising kiss, his hardening cock underneath you — to care. And the way he’s gripping your hips to pull you closer isn’t helping.

Your hips roll forward as you press closer to him, drawing stuttering breaths from both of you. It feels like his hands are everywhere, sliding up your exposed thighs to your waist, warm even through the fabric of your dress, before traveling further up your body to cup your breasts. You’d had to forgo a bra in this dress, and Steve isn't oblivious to this fact; he’d noticed right away, and was going to take advantage of that.

Wet kisses press to your collarbone as he dips lower, fingers sliding under the thin straps of your dress to tug them off your shoulders, “Looked so pretty in the stands today, baby. Y’always do, but this pretty little dress…” He all but groans, pulling the top of your dress down your chest. More kisses trail along your exposed flesh, the dull scrape of his teeth followed by another hickey pulls a gasp from you.

With his mouth on you, he’s making it real hard to form a coherent sentence, “Christ, Steve— we can’t— don’t have time for—“

A sharp tug to the hair at the nape of his neck finally gets his attention, and he pops back up with a huff, narrowing his eyes playfully at you, “Sorry. Sorry. Not my fault you’ve got perfect tits, honey.” He squeezes your breasts as if to make a point, not quite roughly, but not gently either, thumbs brushing over your nipples.

“Steve,” you admonish playfully with a roll of your eyes, slapping at his chest. You giggle, though, leaning forward to kiss him again. Your fingers work at the buttons on his jersey as you kiss. It’s not really a necessity, but you want to feel his warm, golden skin and the hair on his chest, kiss the moles that are littered on his torso. Your fingers trail down his chest, and you can feel it heave at your light touches, a stuttering breath as you inch closer to his pants.

After unbuttoning his pants and pulling down the zipper, the two of you shuffle around in the front seat to get his pants and underwear down enough to free his cock. Your hand wraps around the base, a gentle touch as you stroke up his length. Precum leaks from the tip, messy on your hand as your thumb rubs over his slit. Steve hisses at the touch, hips trying to push up into your hand, “Shit, honey—“

“Feel good?” you ask, a bit smug as you twist your wrist mid-stroke.

“So good. Need— ah— wanna touch you, too, babe. Lemme…” Steve trails off and one hand presses into the small of your back, reaching down behind you with the other one to pull the lever on the seat. The seat slides all the way back to give you more room, but it moves quickly, leaving you scrambling to hold onto Steve and his jersey. He laughs at your surprised expression, hands moving to settle on your thighs, “That’s better. More room.”

His palms slide up the lengths of your thighs, thumbs brushing against the innermost part until they slip under your flowy dress and bump into the fabric of your underwear. One finger slips just underneath the lacy trim at the edge, running back and forth lightly, “Can I?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, nodding quickly as Steve’s fingers press into the wet spot forming on your panties. “Please, baby.”

He rubs your clit softly through your underwear once, twice, and just before you’re about to complain, his fingers hook into the fabric and tug it to the side, tracing up your slit, “Already so wet for me, huh?”

“You– fuck– you look so hot in your uniform, baby, ‘s not my fault,” you huff, shifting your hips to try to get him right where you want him.

Steve’s fingers dip back down, circling your entrance in a teasing touch before two ease into your cunt. He’s slow with it, almost infuriatingly so, as he spreads you open. You gasp into the crook of his neck, only just remembering that this is supposed to be about him, and resume the slow stroke of your hand on his cock. The air is filled with soft breaths as you touch each other, Steve’s breath warm against your skin, and it’s all you can hear, even though the radio is still playing quietly.

When his fingers curl inside of you, pressing into the perfect spot, you whine, “Want you inside of me, Stevie. Need you.”

“Yeah?” he asks with a grin, bringing his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean. He hums around his fingers, pulling them from his lips with a small pop sound, “Taste so good, honey.”

Pleasure twists low in your tummy at the sight of his fingers in his mouth, at his dirty words, and you whimper. You can’t wait much longer, so you don’t, shifting up onto your knees the best you can in the tight space without bumping into the roof of Steve’s car. One of your hands slides over Steve’s shoulder, keeping yourself steady as you slip the other hand between your bodies to line Steve up with your entrance.

Warm hands rest at your hips, fingers splaying out wide to hold you as you sink down onto Steve’s cock slowly. You both moan softly, your thighs shaking as you lower yourself until he’s fully inside of you. There’s always an aching stretch, and it takes a moment for you to adjust, gasping into the crook of Steve’s neck, “Shit, Stevie, you– you’re so big, fuck.”

Steve laughs, a breathless sound, hands flexing against your skin as he fights the urge to thrust his hips up, “Y’sure know how to sweet talk.”

“Shut up,” you huff playfully, curling your fingers into the fabric of his jersey as you rock your hips forward once. Steve lets out his own strangled, gasping noise at the sudden movement and you grin, feeling smug.

You lift yourself back up slightly, a sweet, slow drag of his cock through your tight cunt, and then rock back down, grinding into him. Steve swears under his breath, hands moving from your hips to your ass to help you fuck yourself on his cock. It takes a moment, but you settle into a rhythm with Steve’s help, circling your hips against his, back and forth, up and down. Your thighs start to burn from the effort, but it’s worth it for the dazed look Steve has on his face.

“Christ, babe,” he mutters, squeezing your ass as he presses wet kisses across your chest, “ridin’ me like a champ. So good for me.”

You clench around him at his praise, moaning in a way that should be embarrassing, but you’re too far gone to care. Your fingers travel up from the collar of his jersey to his hair, curling into the strands at the nape of his neck under his cap, and you surge forward to kiss him. It’s messy, your lips sliding against his in an open-mouthed kiss.

It’s so hot in the car that between the warm summer air and the warmth radiating from your bodies, the windows of the car start to fog up. If anyone were to see the car, they’d know exactly what was happening, but thankfully, there’s likely no one around for miles. Sweat beads at Steve’s hairline as he begins to thrust his hips up to meet yours, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your ass hard enough that it might leave bruises. You falter as his hips smack yours with a filthy sound, pushing your face into Steve’s warm shoulder as you moan, “Steve, fuck— ’m close— oh god, I need—”

“I got you, baby,” he mumbles into your skin, his breath fanning across your shoulder, making you shiver. One strong arm hooks around your waist while his other hand finds its way between your bodies, rubbing your clit in time with the thrust of his hips. He’s babbling, praises for you spilling from his pretty, pink lips, “Look so pretty on my cock, baby, takin’ me so well, yeah? Fuck, I love you so much, you’re perfect. So fuckin’ tight for me, y’close, huh? Gonna cum for me?”

You can feel the way he twitches as you clench around his cock, your thighs tight against his hips, entire body tensing as pleasure washes over you. Your chest pushes into his as you tip over the edge, slick skin against slick skin, “Oh god, fuckfuckfuck.”

The thrust of Steve’s hips up into yours grows sloppy, but he doesn’t let up, thumb swiping over your clit as you ride out your high. He’s not far behind you, groaning your name into the crook of your neck as he cums hard. You have enough of a mind to continue to rock your hips against his until he’s spent, breathing hard.

His hand on your back pushes under your sundress, stroking up the curve of your spine gently, a soft and intimate touch. It’s silent as you both try to catch your breath, trading soft kisses on damp skin and parted lips.

You speak first, a small laugh as you push your sticky chest off of Steve’s, “Holy shit, it’s hot in here.”

“Yeah it is,” he says with a cheeky grin, giving your ass a rough squeeze as his gaze dips down to your breasts. He leans forward, pressing another soft kiss to the swell of your breast, just above the nipple, making you shiver. He all but giggles at your reaction and leans back into his seat, with a heaving breath, “Fuck, it is hot, though. Lemme open the windows.”

Reaching over with one hand, Steve opens the driver-side window, letting in the cool evening air. It feels nice on your warm skin, and you close your eyes, turning your face into the breeze. You can feel his eyes on you, and when you look back at him, he’s still staring at you, eyes a soft honey color in the last of the sunlight.

“I love you,” you say, quietly, almost shy.

“I love you, more, honey,” he replies easily, a grin breaking out on his face.

You kiss him one last time before pushing up off of his lap, wincing as he slips out of you. Shuffling backwards, you pull your underwear back into place, and tug the top of your dress back up your chest, adjusting the straps. Steve helps you back over the console into the passenger seat before fixing his own clothes. You’re still flushed, so you quickly roll your own window down and stick your arm out. Your fingers flutter in the breeze as Steve pulls back into the main road, turning the volume of the radio up.

Steve’s hand reaches out towards you, settling on your thigh once again, though maybe a bit more innocently this time. You rest your hand over his, your fingers curling between his as you tease, “Hope you enjoyed your prize, MVP.”

He laughs, head tipping back against his seat, hand squeezing your thigh gently, “Shit, babe, after that, I think you deserve the MVP title.”

a few other tags hehe

@underoossss @sattlersquarry

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x f!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #baseball!steve #baseball!steve harrington #baseball player!steve #baseball player!steve harrington #sunshinesteviee #sunshinesteviee writing

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minkyungseokie · 20 days

Text

第一章| Getting the Job

warnings; age gap love(R: 23, S:39, T: 50), gxg, throuple, controversial age gaps, random German and Scottish pet names,

note; first chapter! Idk how many chapters this’ll have. I know it’ll include moodboards, smaus, blurbs, and specials that you guys can request!

note2; I don't really like Bianca, so she won't be appearing a lot in this series. I don't hate her, but I don't like her either. If you have an issue, don't complain, just stop reading ❤️

Taglist is open, but only for 19 more people

note3; I decided to give her cochlear implants because I want too. She’s deaf now

fc; imleslie(on a Chinese Instagram app called Xiaohongshu)

Come Talk to Me | Driven by Destiny Masterlist

Autosports Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Toto Masterlist

I do not give anyone permission to change, copy, or put my work on any other platform. It will only be on top, so if you see it, please report it. Or let me know.

Susie huffed, looking down at the sheer amount of paperwork she had on her desk. She wanted to grab a bite to eat, but she had so much to do and she needed a lot more help than what the employees around her can provide. She pulled out her phone and texted her husband, Toto, for some advice. She was a strong independent woman, but even strong independent women need a bit of advice from their spouses sometimes.

And what she got from him was beyond helpful.

A personal assistant.

She was going to hire a personal assistant to help her around the Academy. The list of requirements wasn't long, but it was specific and the requirements that were listed were important for the assistant to have or they wouldn't work well together. Susie typed out the application furiously, making sure that all her requirements were stated clearly and made sure that whoever was filling out the application knew what they were getting into. She made sure they knew what they would be doing, an estimate about the schedule, and what she expected of whoever applied.

Susie finished up and posted it to the F1 Academy website. She also made a Instagram post about it that was a joint post with the official F1 account and the FIA account. With a sigh and a satisfied smile, Susie closed her laptop and put it in her bag.

Now all she had to do was wait for the applications to roll in. She didn’t expect too many since a lot of people were only interested in watching F1 or were, since the fans were mostly men, protesting against the F1 Academy.

Y/n looked at the link that her sister, Rachel, had sent her. Y/n had told her that she needed a new job after finishing college and Rachel had sent her a bunch of applications to different jobs. They were all just random jobs she had found on the internet, which led to where she was now.

She was staring at an application to be a personal assistant to some billionaire's wife who was the leader of some academy for girls who like driving glorified go-karts. It paid more than any of the other jobs that Rachel had sent applications for. Y/n mumbled on her thumbnail, pondering whether she should aim high and apply for the PA job or should she just go for what she knows that she would be able to get.

Y/n was deep in thought when she was startled by the loud sound of her FaceTime ringtone, which happened to be one the songs from her brother's group. "Ah, shit!" Y/n yelled, nearly falling out of her chair, "Who the fuck?!" The dark haired girl growled, grabbing the phone off the table. "Hello?" Y/n answered, "Hey, Y/n. What are you up to?" The deep voice of her younger brother exited the phone as she set it up so he could see her.

"Ah, baby brother! How are you? Loving the new comeback." Y/n said, standing up to grab a bottle of water from her fridge. "I'm great. The comeback has been good so far. Have you heard the entire album?" Felix asked, "Yeah, of course." Y/n answered, sitting at the table once more. The two of them sat and talked about her brother's most recent comeback before the conversation turned to her.

"So, what've you been up to?" Felix asked, shoving what seemed like a chip into his mouth, "When did you get those?" Y/n questioned, pointing to the box of fried potato sticks. "Ah, Chan bright them to me a bit ago." Felix answered, shoving another one in his mouth, "Well, I was thinking..."

"Uh oh."

"Shut up, Lix. Anyway, I was thinking that now I finished University, I should get a new job. One that fits my expertise better, you know? So I asked Rach to help and she sent me some applications she found online..." Y/n said, looking at the open webpage. "Yeah?" Felix spoke, urging her to continue her words, "She sent me one for some F1 Academy. It pays well and I fit the requirements, but..."

"But what?" Felix urged, "I don't know what the F1 academy is and it's in Monaco." Y/n sighed. "Where's that?" Felix questioned, "It's, like, right beside Italy, I think." Y/n answered, "Okay, so what's the issue? It sounds like a good opportunity." Felix said. "I don't want to move away from our parents and sisters." Y/n set her head on her hand, using it as a way to keep her head up, "I don't think mum and dad would want you to hold back for them. Neither would Rachel and Olivia. They would want you to go. They wanted me to go." Felix spoke up.

"Felix, that's because it was your dream. Your dream was to be an idol, so of course they weren't going to hold you back from doing it." Y/n groaned. "Y/n it doesn't matter whether it's your dream or not. It's a better job opportunity for you until you're able to start modeling the way you want." Felix suggested.

Y/n thought about it. It would be nice to make money until she finds a modeling agency that wants to sign her because waiting around for something to happen won't make her any money. She needed to pay rent and keep herself fed, plus, from what she researched about Monaco, they did not collect personal income tax or capital gains taxes. There were no property taxes in Monaco, but rental properties were taxed at 1% of the annual rent plus other applicable charges.

Monaco sounded like a dream. She really didn't think that places like that existed, but knowing that she'd keep every penny of her hard earned money sealed the deal. Y/n applied for the PA position and closed her laptop, "Okay, now to wait." Y/n let out a breath as she looked around her house.

There was no way she wouldn’t be getting the job. She was once an extremely popular Formula Two driver before she ended up quitting. She had met the likes of so many old Formula One drivers who were excited to see her race alongside them when she was ready, but she unfortunately couldn’t continue due to her mother not having enough money for her to have a seat and unfortunately no sponsers wanted to sponsor her.

Y/n stood up and threw her water bottle away. She hadn’t kept up with Formula One since she had left Formula Two and she was kind of curious how her friends from karting and F2 were doing. They were obviously doing better than her since they refused to keep in contact with her, but it’s alright. She could barely remember anything about them anyway so it didn’t matter. It did when she was younger though.

After she left and they stopped talking to her, she felt like everything was falling apart for her. She was living in the UK at the time, but decided to come back to Australia to be near her half siblings and step mother and start her career in modeling or something in the industry. Of course, her plans to model next to the likes of the Hadid sisters or other popular models, had fallen through and she had only become famous as the half sister of Felix Yongbok Lee, the freckled cutie with a deep voice of the famous Korean pop group, Stray Kids.

Y/n pulled out her phone and ordered some food, hoping that it wasn't a bad decision to put in only one application for a job that might be out of reach for her.

Oh well.

It had been a week since Y/n had sent in the application and she had been waiting for the call back. She was sitting on her couch, staring at the large flat screen TV that was playing a Sidemen Reacts video that popped up on her feed while shoveling hwachae* into her mouth when the sound of another song from her brother's band rang through the air. Y/n picked up her phone with the spoon hanging from her lips and looked at the screen.

It was an unknown number. Y/n didn't usually answer the calls of numbers she didn't know, but something within her told her to answer it, so she did. After pausing the video, Y/n hit the green button on the screen and put the up to her ear, "Uh, hello?" Y/n answered, accent thick. "Uh, hello. Is this Miss Y/n L/n?" A sweet feminine voice that was paired with a Scottish accent, asked, "Uhm, yes. This is her. How may I help you?" Y/n asked, setting the bowl onto the table and sitting up straight. "Yes, this is about the application you put in for the PA position at the Formula One Academy." The woman said.

Y/n sat there for a hot minute before her eyes widened, "Oh! Yes, ma'am. What about it?" Y/n asked, "I wanted to call and let you know that we are interested in having you in the position, but first we need to schedule an interview. Is there a specific time that you're available?" The woman asked.

"Uh, I'm currently living in Australia and not moving to Monaco until a next month." Y/n said. Truthfully, she didn't want to being that up, but she knew that it would be suspicious if she scheduled the meeting so far away. She knew that the fact she was living in Australia could possibly ruin her chances of securing such a good job, but she just didn't have it in her to lie to the very sweet sounding woman.

"Okay, um, I'll be right back. Hang on tight." The lady said, "Okay, ma'am." Y/n said. Once the woman put her on hold, Y/n put the phone on speaker, muted herself, and continued to watch her video until she heard something from the woman on the other line.

"Uh, hello?" The woman's voice spoke up. Y/n paused her video and quickly unmuted herself, "I'm here." Y/n spoke up. "Okay, so, we usually wouldn't do this, but we really think you'd be a good fit for the position, so I'll tell you what. Save this number. My name is Susie Wolff. Once you're moved into Monaco and finally settled down, give me a call." The woman, Susie, said. "Okay, thank you, Mrs. Wolff. I'll call you once I'm in Monaco." Y/n said, "Alright. See you then. Bye." Susie said before hanging up.

Y/n looked down at her phone with wide eyes before jumping up and onto her couch with a large smile, "I got it! I got it!" Y/n cheered loudly, jumping up and down as if she was a child on a super bouncy bed. "Holy shit, I have to let Felix know." Y/n said, jumping down from the couch and grabbing her phone, which fell out of her hand after she jumped up onto the couch. Instead of calling him, she texted him since she never knew his schedule.

누나- Noona? 아, 누구세요?- Oh? Who are you? 현진- Hyunjin 릭시에게 전화기 좀 주실래요?- Can you give Lixie the phone please

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎… ⋙

Y/n quickly went to the room that held the boxes that she would use to pack away her things and smiled. It was never too early to begin packing.

Susie cheered. She had finally found the person she was looking for after a week. She was super lucky that she had decided to continue searching through the online applications rather than giving up on looking at the mediocre applications and deciding to hold a hiring fair or something.

Not only was Y/n L/n the most perfect candidate for the PA position, but she had the most relaxing and attractive voice Susie had ever heard other than her husband's.

Susie cleared her throat and looked at the work she had on her computer. She had never been as excited as she was now other than the time when she found out she was pregnant, had Jack, and started the Academy. Okay, she had been this excited before, but this is different. She can tell that she was going to be good friends with Y/n and shoe couldn't wait to work with the younger woman.

This was going to be fun

↳ ❝ [Taglist] ¡!❞

@evie-119 @exotic-iris13 @alliwantisadonut @cheyxfu @xoscar03 @sunnylikesfrogs

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jobean12-blog · 9 months

Text

Dark Desires

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x reader (Demon AU)

Word Count: 700

Summary: Now that he's finally found you he's never letting you go.

Author's Note: Another one for @pupandkisasaesthetics Aesthetic's challenge! Thank you bunches to beauties @sgt-seabass and @rookthorne for hosting such an awesome challenge!💕 And thank you bunches to my beautiful Ali @flordeamatista for reading this over and supporting me always!💕 Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰The moodboard is by me and the photo prompt I was given is the very top picture. I've also included it on its own at the bottom so you can get a good look!

Warnings: some angst and tension but he's soft (maybe soft!d-a-r-kish if you squint) and definitely s-e-x-y.

In the deep, dark of the woods, where the moon’s pale light struggles to pierce through the dense canopy of trees, there is a thick silence other than the rapid thumping of your heart and the rush of blood in your ears.

Your feet catch on fallen twigs and branches, your skin scraped and torn but you don’t stop running.

Unseen eyes watch from the shadows, a presence so powerful you can feel it in your bones.

You’re being hunted.

Instinct fuels your escape but it’s futile as the forest seems to shift around you, pathways twisting and turning in a disorienting dance.

As you stumble over the ground and fall to your knees you suck in a deep breath, the whisper of wind carrying strange murmurs in a language you don’t understand.

Suddenly, you feel a cool breath at your neck, your hairs standing on end and goosebumps shivering along your skin.

You turn with wide, fear filled eyes but there’s nothing but the darkness of the woods pressing ever closer.

You stand on shaky legs and step carefully toward a large tree, pressing your back to the thick bark and searching for the source of the palpable force.

A tall and broad figure emerges from the shadows, it’s silhouette only something you’ve seen in books and as it moves closer, steps measured and deliberate, you can start to see the outline of huge wings.

You squeeze your eyes shut and will the image away, digging your fingertips into the tree.

The voice, when it speaks, is a whisper against the shell of your ear, powerful in it’s seduction and dangerous in it’s temptation.

A slow and deeply satisfied smile frames sharp teeth and his breath quickens when he inhales at the soft skin of your neck.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “My perfect Angel.”

Your eyes are still closed tightly as a single tear rolls down your cheek. He lifts his thumb to tenderly brush it away.

“Open your eyes,” he says softly.

Unable to resist you do as he says.

“There,” he says, holding his saccharine smile. “Was that so hard.”

Your lips tremble as you try to find the words to speak. His thumb, still pressed to your skin, moves lower, tracing the outline of your mouth until he lightly presses against it, parting your lips.

“Don’t be afraid,” he coos, spreading expansive wings the color of twilight until you’re surrounded only by his presence. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He tilts his head invitingly and holds your gaze, the horns that crown his head, twisting upward with artistic grace, glinting in the moonlight.

Your lips part further as something moves behind him, long and sinewy but before you can decipher what it is it disappears from sight.

“Wh…who are you?” you manage to ask as you finally let your eyes wander over the rest of his features.

He inches closer, his nearness creating a complex blend of emotions and sensations, blurring the lines between fear and desire in a way you could never have imagined.

His blue eyes are mesmerizing, their intensity both powerful and imposing but yet softened by an unyielding desire. Long but strong fingers continue to ghost over your face, his touch igniting a fire under your skin that spreads through your veins.

“James. You can call me James.”

You gasp out his name when you feel something slide along your calf. It’s touch is gentle despite the power you feel and as it explores the contours of your skin with reverent curiosity you become aware of what it is.

Each caress of his tail leaves a lingering trace of tingling sensations, awakening a trail of longing that seems to coil around your very being. He slides it between your breasts, lightly tracing the curve of your neck before he loosely wraps it around the delicate column.

“What are you going to do to me?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

His dark hairs falls forward, brushing your cheek as his soft lips caress your ear and his voice, like velvet, whispers promises that sink deep into the recesses of your desires.

“Everything Angel. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

@book-dragon-13 @hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @buckysdollforlife @blackwidownat2814 @late-to-the-party-81 @sebstanwhore @lookiamtrying @laineyreads @beccablogsthings @justkinsey @kmc1989 @littleseasiren

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #demon!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #demon!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #demon!bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #demon au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan #pup&kisasaestheticchallenge

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tightjeansjavi · 2 months

Text

The Rite of Movement | part three

“not an illusion”

A/N: this honestly might be the hottest thing that my sexy little brain has ever cracked up 🥵 a big ole fat smooch and thank you to @itsokbbygrl for letting me scream at her about these two, helping me develop my ideas, betaing, & this beautiful moodboard!!!💗

~word count: 5.2k~

Summary: it’s been one month since your first time filming with your new pornstar partner, Joel Miller.

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, light angst,dubious consent (light) due to consumption of drugs, consent is addressed, but due to the circumstances, it is implied, unestablished relationship, two idiots in love, (they just don’t know it yet) mention of the porn industry, unprotected piv, role playing, real intimacy, confession of feelings, oral (male receiving) semi public sex, high sex, creampie, cock warming, cumshots, praise kink (massive) pet names, conversations about controversial topics, mentions of eating, reader has no physical descriptions such as skin color or body type, no use of (y/n) reader is in her 30’s Joel is in his 40’s (unspecified), NSFW, +18 minors dni!

series masterlist

It has been exactly one month since you filmed your first video with Joel Miller. One that he chose to keep for yours and his own viewing pleasure, and not to be shared with the rest of the world's prying eyes. A solo shot turned into sensual, passionate, deep fucking. A mind altering experience that neither you or Joel had begun to even grasp what it meant.

He learned that you were better immersed in the mood when the scene started off with just yourself in the view. The anticipation of him joining the scene was palpable, desirable, and there was an obvious shift whenever his presence was detected.

The part of your normal-routined day that you looked forward to the most, above all, was getting to fuck Joel Miller.

The scene you were filming for today was set in Joel’s upstairs bathroom where you would be playing with yourself in the shower while waiting for your businessman husband to return home from a late shift in the office. You were most excited to see Joel all decked out in a proper businessman suit, while he was rather looking forward to seeing you all sudsed up with his body wash while he pumped you full of his come.

It was easy to forget the various cameras set up in the bathroom space when it was just you and Joel–the thick drag of his cock inside of you, stretching, pressing you open, his perfectly styled hair becoming undone and loose as the spray of the showerhead dampened the gel in his curls.

The scene ended with your right thigh hooked around his hip, his face buried against the crook of your neck while you used the cool shower wall for support against your back as he fucked up into you, kissing your cervix over and over again from this angle.

He pressed a sweet kiss to the tip of your nose as he slowly slipped out of your cunt, and his eyes flitted downwards to see his and your come slowly seeping out of your fucked out hole. He called you his baby love. Calling you baby just wasn’t enough for him, he had to combine the two together.

He gently washed between your thighs while you washed his hair, getting the remaining bits of gel residue out from between his salt and pepper streaked curls. He purred in mimicry of his own cat when your nails began to massage his scalp in a circular motion, and he looped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, and pressed sweet kisses against every bit of skin that was exposed to him.

And the cameras? Well, they were still rolling.

He left you to get dressed in privacy while he gathered up his discarded suit and disappeared through the connecting door to his bedroom.

He moved with a methodical care, catching his boyish grin in his mirror when he tugged a pair of sweats over his damp thighs and hips. He made his way downstairs, saying hello to Artemis, his black cat who was curled up in a little ball on her larger than life bed.

He grabbed two glasses, filling them with fresh water, guzzling down his own before making his way into his garage that was built off the side of the kitchen.

Joel Miller’s garage held history. It was where he filmed his first video for Miller-Co after leaving Brazzers and Los Angeles for good, taking a gamble on himself and a better future. The couch was right where he left it, dust leaving a fine coating over its worn leather, the memories faded with time, but never forgotten.

He grabbed his jar of weed, a rolling tray and papers, bidding the couch a silent farewell and headed back inside, flicking the light off on his way in.

He listened to the familiar sound of your footsteps padding down the staircase from where he was sitting on the cozy family room couch, Artemis now winding herself between his calves, meowing softly as he poured out a dabble of weed onto the metal tray.

He looked over his shoulder, eyes meeting yours just as Artemis trotted over to you, affectionately rubbing herself all over your bare legs.

“Hey, you.” He grinned softly, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Headed out so soon?” He teased, voice rasping as you crouched down to give Artemis the attention that she was seeking.

“Not unless you don’t want me to stay longer?” You teased back, eyes dancing with mischief and rare adoration that only seemed to make an appearance around him. You scratched gently behind Artemis’s ears, before ultimately deciding to carefully scoop her up into your arms and carry her over to the couch.

“Always want you to stay, baby love.” There wasn’t a lick of hesitation in his tone as he patted the spot next to him for you to join. “And I reckon Artemis does, too.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks from his words as you bashfully buried your face into Artemis’s soft black fur and pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “Yeah? You think so, Joel?”

He closed up the jar of weed, twisting the cap on and set it down along the coffee table before facing you fully. “I know so, baby.” He winked suggestively as hunched over the coffee table, his bare stomach rolls on full display and you felt the temptation to reach across and caress them.

He begins to carefully break up the little nuggets of weed granules between his thick fingers with a calculated precision that came like second nature. He hums under his breath, a familiar tune to your ears as he looks over at you once more. “So there’s uh—no pressure, of course. But I was gonna roll a joint n’then go sit out on the porch swing out front if you’d like to accompany me?”

“Mr. Miller,” you begin to tease, “is there truly nothing that you can't do?”

He blushes, cheeks transforming into a deep, saturated, rosy color as he clears his throat. “What did I tell ya about callin’ me Mr. Miller?” He scolds playfully, shaking his head and picks up one of the thin rolling papers.

“That it makes you feel old, but dude, you’re gorgeous. Have you ever heard of the term, Zaddy?” You scoot closer to him, your knee bumping his as Artemis proceeds to curl up in your lap, purring softly while you stroke her fur.

“Don’t believe I have, baby love. Somethin’ the kids are sayin’ nowadays?”

“Hey, Alexa?” You ask, the little smart device in the corner coming to life, “what is the definition of the term Zaddy?”

“A Zaddy is a sexually attractive man, especially an older one who is fashionable or charismatic.” Alexa’s voice chimed.

Joel’s blush intensified and he turned his face into his bare shoulder, coughing bashfully with a strained chuckle. “So, what you’re tellin’ me is that you think I’m a Zaddy? Mighty fine compliment comin’ from such a pretty girl.” He peeks over at you, brown eyes soft, eyebrows dancing playfully.

“Joel, baby, you are the literal definition of a Zaddy.” You giggle sweetly, leaning down to press another kiss to Artemis’s head. She’s fallen asleep in your lap, little nose twitching as she dreams. “But to answer your question, I’d love to smoke a joint with you out on the porch swing.”

“S’date then?” He drawls, eyes casting to the side out of fear of being too forward.

You smile warmly in his direction, heart skipping a beat, thump, thump, thump, at the prospect of this being a date, and getting to spend more time with him. “It’s a date, Miller.”

He preens at your response, lips tugging upwards to form a small grin as he returns to preparing the joint laid out in front of him.

You couldn’t help but watch the way he effortlessly licked the paper, packing the weed granules in and making sure they were nice and snug and tight.

He tucks the freshly rolled joint behind his ear, grabbing a lighter and a blanket off the side of the couch. “She’s out cold, baby love. Y’can leave her on the couch, okay?” He gestures to Artemis snoozing in your lap.

“Okay,” you whisper softly and gently maneuver her balled up fluffy form to the corner of the couch where it’s nice and warm still from where Joel was sitting.

He smiles, offering you his hand and helps you up, tucking his arm around your waist, lips brushing the side of your head and nudging you silently towards the front door. He smells incredible, like eucalyptus, rosemary, and a hint of fresh peppermint. You already want to bury your face into that broad neck of his, inhale his scent, lick and mouth at his pulse point while he stirs beneath your thighs.

“S’beautful evenin’, ain’t it, baby love?” He comments softly, padding over to the porch swing nestled at the back of the porch. The moon is shining, casting your faces in a soft glow. The wood creaks beneath his steps, crickets chirp, an owl hoots his nighttime tune. The Texan air is balmy, humidity clinging to your bare skin, but it’s not an unbearable temperature.

He sinks down along the bench swing, patting the spot beside him and you're quick to join him, adhering yourself to his side like glue. He drapes the light weight blanket across yours and his lap and lets his arm rest alongside the back of the bench, fingertips skating across your bare shoulders, forefinger looping under the strap of your thin tank top. He leans his weight back against the pillows, chains squeaking from the subtle movement.

“It’s a beautiful evening indeed, Joel. Summer nights have always been my favorite.”

He nods, reaching for the joint tucked behind his ear and grasps it between his fingers. He places the unlit end between the pout of his lips, reaching for his lighter in his sweatpants pocket, and lights the joint with ease.

For a moment you find yourself transfixed by the simple action, and the way the spark of orange from the lighter bathes his handsome face in warm light, before it’s casted in darkness once more.

He inhales, lungs expanding, stomach swelling slightly with the motion. The tip of the joint burns a bright orange as he holds the smoke in his mouth for a few seconds and then exhales upwards towards the clear night sky.

You’ve only just now taken notice of the color of the rolling paper; light pink. You feel the hint of a smile lift the corners of your mouth.

He relaxes further against the pillows and takes another deep inhale before removing the joint from between his lips. His arm moves in a languid motion, across the way to where you’re curled up against him.

He places the joint between your lips, eyes adjusting to the low light as he watches you inhale the smoke into your lungs.

“S’my favorite as well, baby love.” He finally replies.

You continue to lazily pass the joint back and forth a few more times, mind beginning to go hazy as your eyelids drooped and that warm, tingly feeling blanketed you like a hug.

“Hey, Joel?” You asked through the comfortable silence, and the nighttime tunes.

“Hmm?” He hummed in response, lolling his head to the side so he could look over at you.

“Do you think,” you giggled softly, trying to gather your weed induced thoughts, “do you think that if vibrators existed back then, you know, like, way back, that women would innately never need a man, thus making women rulers of the world?”

He pursed his lips together, rolling your question over in his mind before he answered, tone raspy, deep, and warm, “Baby love, if vibrators existed back then, women would 1000% rule the world. And I betcha we would have an all female government if that were to be the case. Women jus’—get it, y’know?”

As if this man couldn’t get anymore attractive.

“Well then I think you and I should figure out how to invent time travel just so we can hand deliver them vibrators, and a supply of batteries.” You said animatedly, using your hands to talk and get your point across.

Cute.

“Joel,” you continued, “just think of how many wars we could stop, how many lives could be saved, the earth would be this beautiful, safe place. Women would no longer live in fear for their safety! We could all just exist in harmony. But, if women rule the world, I’d want a man like you ruling by my side.”

“I agree with you, wholeheartedly, I do. I think that if there were more women in power, the world we live in would be a different one. Essentially, we could be like the Barbie movie.” The reference makes you snort a little laugh. “Women and men working together to make the world a better place. Think we gotta push all these old farts outta office, get some fresh, young, faces in there in order for some real change to occur. S’essentially why I strive to make porn for women. It ain’t gonna cause a drastic shift or nothin’, but I believe it makes this society we live in a bit less of a shitty place.” He adds thoughtfully.

“Yes! Like the Barbie movie. God, Greta and Margot and Ryan really knew what they were doing, huh? I’d kiss them all if I could.” You giggled. “Joel, it just takes one person to cause a shift in the chain. You’re teaching both your actors and viewers why consent and intimacy are important and that we should be freely allowed to enjoy our bodies. To you it might seem like it’s small in scale compared to the scope of the whole world, but to people like myself and others, it means so much.” You gush earnestly and his eyes feel glassy, irritated probably from the weed but also the weight of the conversation.

“Y’know I often think it’s so easy for people to not be assholes. I’m so tired of excuses bein’ made for people to be racist, homophobic, transphobic...all of that. To see men encourage other men with ‘locker room’ talk and objectifyin’ women. Tired of people callin’ women and anyone for that matter, a slut just because someone enjoys havin’ sex.” He breathes out, feeling himself getting worked up at the realization that the world is made up of so many judgmental pricks that he’ll never ever understand. You pass the joint back to him and he takes a deep pull, exhaling up into the thick summer air overhead.

“Joel,” you say softly, reeling him in from slipping off the treacherous deep end. He turns to look at you then and you cup his cheek in your palm, stroking his cheekbone softly, watching the movement of your thumb as it brushes over the fine lines near his eyes.“You were literally written by a woman, and if the world had more men like you in it, it would be a different place.”

You want to memorize this moment, cement it in your history. You move your eyes to his and find him already returning your gaze, something soft, warm and gooey found in the dark chocolate. The moment feels heavy, but not oppressive, and you wait for him to make the move you feel fizzling just below the surface. You’d wait a long time for him, you think, and the thought doesn’t scare you. No, it feels right, good. There’s no room for worry here, he’ll take care of you, just give him time.

He takes in your appearance, the softness in your eyes, the tender firmness to your words, and then he feels it: that invisible string tying him to you, and you to him. He doesn’t want the moment to end, for it to pass and be stored in his memory bank to flip through later. No, he wants to live it now in the present. And so he does, leaning in to close the gap, tilting his head to the side, aquiline nose brushing your skin, heartstrings winding together.

You can taste the weed on his breath as it fans your face, you can feel the moment flow, like a crystalline stream, or a warm breeze, and the moment his lips brush yours, slotting, melding together like molten iron, you feel it there, too.

And from that moment, he felt his heart forever welded to yours.

He inhales a shaky lungful of air, surging forward into the kiss and letting himself get lost in the raw emotions behind it.

“I think—” he pauses, murmuring against your locked lips, “I really like you, want you to be more than just my on-screen partner.” He confesses.

Your heart lurches out of your chest at his confession, and your already dizzying mind sways even more. Your lips slowly detach, a thin string of saliva connects you before dissipating into the balmy air.

“You’re just saying that because you’re stoned, Joel.” You whisper through the thick of it.

He shakes his head, brows furrowed in concentration, “No, I ain’t jus’ sayin’ it cause I’m high, baby love.” He clears his throat, nose twitching as he sniffs, “Been meanin’ to tell you for awhile—since I first met you, really.”

“You—you mean that, Joel? You aren’t just fucking with me, right?” So it wasn’t just me who was feeling it? You think.

“Course I mean it, baby. S’the truth. S’comin’ straight from my heart. You don’t gotta feel the same—I understand…” he trails off, determined to not let his assumption that you’re rejecting him hit him where it hurts.

You press your pointer finger against the pout of his lips, silencing his rambling and self deprecating words, “Joel, I feel the same way. I like you, and I want to be more than just your on-screen partner, too.”

No, baby, this is not an illusion. I’ve really got my heart out on my sleeve.

His lips feel wet and warm against the underside of your fingertip. He kisses it sweetly, breathing out a sigh of relief at your mutual feelings.

“So, wanna get burgers and milkshakes with me sometime?” He suggests, lips curving up against your finger in a boyish grin.

You smile, leaning forward and brush your nose against his, inhaling the scent of weed and him before giggling, “Yes, Joel. I’d love to get burgers and milkshakes with you sometime.”

He blushes, and the heat begins to rise to your cheeks in tandem.

“Well, baby love, ain’t no time like the present.” He chuckles warmly and you slowly slide your finger down from his lips, replacing it with a sweet kiss.

I promise I’ll take you out somewhere real nice for our official first date. Okay, baby love? He mumbles against your lips, kissing you back.

“I know you will, Joel.”

DoorDash is a godsend when the munchies hit, and you and Joel decide on ordering Shake Shack to satiate that craving. The order is confirmed and the eta for arrival reads: will be ready in thirty-five minutes.

The joint is passed a few more times, still burning strong, and thank fuck for that. Joel Miller sure knew how to roll the tightest joints.

There’s chemistry sizzling between your two bodies as your hands begin to roam freely across his skin, tracing across the various freckles and moles on his chest and shoulders. He shifts from your featherlight touch, cock beginning to stir to life.

“Can I fuck you, Joel?” You whisper as your hand drifts southwards, tracing along the hemline of his gray sweats.

He nods, Adam’s apple bobbing, holding the joint between his lips and watches with hooded eyes as you maneuver your soft cotton shorts to the side, revealing your bare cunt to his admiring gaze.

“S’yours, baby love. Take it.” he rasps, shifting his hips in an upward motion so you can easily pull his hardening cock free.

You clench at his words, feeling your cunt grow puffy and swollen with desire, dripping a droplet of arousal between your thighs as you gently throw your leg over his lap, straddling him in the process and pulling his cock free.

His hands move to caress you, grasping the blanket and situating it so that you’re both partially covered. He takes another long, languid drag as your palm wraps around the base of his cock and slowly ease yourself around him, sinking down till he's fully buried inside of you.

“Take it.” He requests once more. His hands roam from your hips up to the skin below your breasts as you slowly roll your hips forward into his.

His cock fully hardens inside of you, blood flowing southward causing him to swell. He feels the syrupy drag of your sweet cunt around him with each roll of your hips. He tilts his head back, jaw going slack as the joint dips down from between his lips.

“Put that out so I can kiss you, Joel.” You whisper, bringing your arms upwards to loop around his neck and to pull yourself closer to him. Your covered nipples brush against his bare chest, hardening into stiff peaks. He removes one hand from your hip, taking a final drag from the joint before he plucks it between his lips and reaches for the nearby ashtray blindly.

It may have fallen to the floor, but his mind is too intoxicated with you to care: he can deal with that later.

He holds the smoke in his mouth, letting his hand drift back down and splay across your lower back, pressing you further into him. He tilts his head upwards, finding your lips in a chaste kiss as he shotguns the smoke into your mouth.

A strangled moan is shared as you swallow the smoke down into your lungs.

“Good girl.” He praises and curves his hands around your covered ass, slipping his fingers underneath the soft fabric so he can feel your skin. He presses you forward, feeling you begin to slowly grind on his cock. “This close enough for you, baby love?”

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sudden closeness, the stretch of his cock grinding inside of you. Perspiration begins to bead at the back of your neck as your cunt flutters around him. You press your forehead against his, lips falling open, skin on fire from his touch and the steady drug coursing through your veins. “Mhm.” You whimper, “First time we're not acting, Joel.”

His hands guide you, molding you against his body as he tilts his chin upwards to catch your lips once more. “S’never been actin’ for me, not with you.” He whispers just for only you to hear.

“Oh fuck.” You softly cry out, feeling tears begin to flood the corner of your eyes and leak down the side of your cheeks.

“Every time, baby. Couldn’t help myself. every sound, every touch, every time I came, it was all you, all yours.” He continues.

He catches the glassy look in your eyes, the tear stained cheeks and he ceases your movements immediately. His caress is soft, comforting as his big palms hold your face, brushing away fresh tears. “Hey, look at me, baby. Look at me. It’s okay. I’m here. I got you.”

“Fuck—I’m so sorry, Joel. I don’t know why I —” you stumble over your words, not reaching his eyes in the midst of your emotions.

“Baby,” he tries again, “look at me.” His voice isn’t commanding, and neither are his words but the way he delivers them grounds you back to your senses and you meet his gaze finally.

“That’s it. There you go. Good girl, good fucking girl. Keep lookin’ at me with those pretty eyes, okay? Keep doin’ that.”

You card your fingers through the back of his hair, wrapping ringlets of his soft curls between them, yanking on his scalp gently as you begin to roll your hips forward once more. “I’m—okay, Joel. I’m okay.” You reassure him.

“Know you are, baby love. I know.” He hushes you softly before bringing one of his hands up to his face, spitting quietly onto his palm and drags his hand downwards between your connected bodies. He holds his spit-slicked fingers near your clit so you have something to ride into. He gives you full control while still being present to give you whatever you need.

“You gonna come for me, pretty baby? S’okay. Jus’ you, me, and the moon.” His freehand never leaves your face and stays cupped around your jaw, holding you close with his thumb continuously brushing against your cheekbone.

Your needy clit bumps and brushes against his fingers, stimulating your nerves as your cunt flutters around him. You both hear the sticky squelch, the lewd slapping of sweat stained skin. It’s just enough to send you tipping over the edge, and Joel is right there to catch you.

You stay seated on him as you both recoup from your shared orgasm. His voice sounds fuzzy, staticky in your ears as he wraps his arms around you, hugging you, shielding you almost. His lips mouth at the base of your neck as your hand stays locked in his hair.

Neither of you move a muscle until Joel hears an approaching car inching up the street, headlights flooding through the darkness. He whispers against your skin as he eases you off of him, tucking the blanket around your lower half as he slips his now softened cock back into his sweats.

Once he’s up from the bench, he cards a hand through his curls momentarily. “Munchies are here, baby love.” He tucks the corner of the blanket around you, wanting you to feel comforted before he pulls out his wallet.

The DoorDash driver rolls into the driveway just as Joel licks his thumb and flips through the stack of cash. He feels pussy drunk, and still a bit high as he approaches the driver.

There’s the lingering stench of sex and weed wafting in the air as Joel greets the driver, handing him a couple hundreds in exchange for the bag of food.

The driver looks confused as he looks down at the stack of hundreds in his palm before looking back up at Joel who simply nods and gives the man a gentle clap on the shoulder.

“Have a wonderful night, man. Drive safe, okay?” Joel’s words are genuine, sincere.

The man looks up and grins, “Definitely not gonna be as nice as y'alls. Thanks man!" He tips his imaginary hat in Joel’s direction and turns on his heel to walk back to his vehicle.

Joel gives the man a friendly wave before he heads back to the porch. The smell of the burgers is positively mouth watering as he approaches you. “C’mon, baby love. Let’s eat.”

You grin up at him from your slouched position on the bench, limbs feeling pliant and jello-like and you beckon him to meet you in the middle, “Joel, how much did you give him?”

He smiles, bending down to give you a quick kiss, “Enough to make sure that he has a good night.”

Your heart swells.

The burgers, fries, and shakes are wolfed down from the comfort of Joel’s couch. Artemis is awake and even sees her chance to steal a fry.

It’s domestic bliss as you and Joel sit side by side, knees touching and bellies full. He departs from the couch to throw out yours and his garbage, and when he returns, he notices you fidgeting, thighs pressed together and he raises a brow, crossing his big forearms against his chest.

“Whatcha fidgetin’ so much for, baby love?” He asks and you look over at him, lower lip taken between your teeth.

“I want to suck your cock, Joel.”

He raises his brows, cocks his head to the side in an endearing manner as he looks over at you. “What have I done to deserve a blowjob from ya, huh?” He teases, feeling a flush begin to creep up his neck.

“Because you’re a good man, Joel. Please, let me take care of you after you did such a good job of taking care of me.”

It’s not long before he finds himself on the couch, thighs spread with you sitting prettily on your knees between them. His cock lays soft against his thigh, still coated in a light layer of yours and his releases.

He’s still not quite sure what he’s done to deserve the feeling of your wet, warm mouth and tongue enveloping the velvet underside of his cock, dragging your tongue across one of the prominent veins all the way up to the mushroom head.

He tilts his head back, the soft curve of his nose catching in the faint light, the muscles in his neck straining as his mouth parts open, lips still bruised from kissing you. He lets out hot, wet breaths, a rumble of a moan as his hand drifts down to cup your face gently in his big warm palm.

“Baby love, why—fuck. What did I do to deserve this? Your sweet fuckin’ mouth.” He takes a shuddered inhale, stroking his thumb against the side of your neck, just below your ear.

You release him from your mouth with a soft pop, dragging your lips and tongue down the side of him and back up again, “You’re such a good fucking man.” You drag your lips lower, sucking one of his heavy balls into your mouth, massaging them with your tongue before pulling off, “Gave that man so much money…” you give his other ball the same amount of attention as his thighs begin to quiver, “probably paid multiple bills,” you continue, “just because you're kind, Joel.”

He’s seeing stars behind his eyes when you take him into your mouth once more, fitting what you could while deepthroating him. He listened to your little choked gags as you worked your hand around whatever you couldn’t fit into your throat. He lurched forward when he felt his balls clench like a fist. He choked out your name as you released him once more, “You’re such a good fucking man.” You preen, and take him down once more.

Holy fucking shit—ring, ring, I need a ring right fucking now, he thinks.

His impending orgasm is edged when he can no longer feel the warmth of your mouth around him and his eyes snap open.

“I want you to come on my face, Joel. Please. I want you to mark me, make me yours. You're such a giver, Joel. Can you give me this? Please baby, can I have it?" You're steadily pumping your palm around his cock just to keep him stimulated enough.

He grunts out a yes, unable to form a complete sentence because he’s off in another world.

His fist replaces your own as he paints your face in hot ropes of his cum, watching the blissed out look as your eyes flutter shut, and a dopey smile etches across your face.

He’s out of breath, and fully spent when you peek an eye open, dragging your finger through a trail of his spend on your cheek and bringing that finger into your mouth, winding your tongue around it and licking it clean.

“Take a picture, Miller. It’ll last longer.” You wink.

banners made by the lovely @saradika 💗

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renaiswriting · 9 months

Text

Under the moonlight

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol/Reader

Summary: Late-night adventures with the guy your parents hate.

Word count: +2.6k words.

Warnings: snicking out of your house, mentions of your parents not liking Seungcheol, kind of forbidden love (?), mentions of tattoos and dyeing hair being seen as something that criminals do.

Author's note: I had a dream like this probably a week before my birthday, and every time I heard the song "In the middle of the night," I kept remembering it, so I decided to write it down. It's cringy, so you're welcome.

Under the moonlight moodboard

Under the moonlight playlist

Masterlist

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Your reflection on the other side of the mirror looked back at you with the same intense sparkle in its eyes as yours.

You put on your favorite perfume once again. It was your favorite perfume. The one for special occasions

The one you avoided wearing at all costs because it was too expensive to buy again, but that you wore because it was his favorite.

You touched up your eyeliner one last time and your red lips.

There was a sweet melody playing in the background.

It was one o'clock in the morning.

The sky was invaded by thousands of stars and the beautiful moon that had watched you grow up since you were a little girl.

It was still early.

You approached your window, sighing as your eyes were mesmerized by such overwhelming beauty.

You could feel your stomach being invaded by the tingling of hundreds of butterflies.

As nervous as you were.

A small chuckle escaped your lips, the sound startling you and causing you to quickly cover your mouth with your hands.

You were about to do something your parents would punish you for if they found out.

And that scared you a little.

But you couldn't help it.

The feel of his arms around your waist

His lips on yours

The sweet words he said as his hands drew you closer to his body

His perfume.

His husky voice.

The way he laughed

The way he looked at you

It was all so addictive.

That every time you set out to end this weird situation you were in, it just left you craving more.

Waiting for the next time you see him.

The images of the last time you had met only made the warmth in your cheeks spread to the rest of your body.

You looked at the time once more, wiping your palms against your clothes, before stopping the song that had been playing until then.

The volume was barely audible inside your room, so you knew your parents simply couldn't hear it.

Seungcheol: I'm here.

Taking a deep breath and a last look in the mirror, you walk as slowly as possible and carefully down the stairs.

You could feel your heart beating a thousand miles per second, pounding hard against your chest.

Seungcheol's black car was parked behind some trees, the spot he always chose because it was almost completely dark in case your parents or some gossipy neighbor wanted to look out the window. They couldn't spot him at first glance.

Its windows were tinted, so you couldn't see inside.

You bit your lower lip, trying to keep the smile that threatened to appear on your face from being too obvious.

The light inside the car came on as you slid into the passenger seat.

Seungcheol had one hand on the steering wheel, and his back was completely relaxed against the seat.

"You took your time; I was starting to think you might have changed your mind." He greeted you; his eyes traveled from your face to your dress, smiling broadly. "Looking pretty, as always." His minty breath washed over you; it was so addictive.

"I know." You rolled your eyes, gently tapping him on the shoulder.

You loved the way his strong biceps felt under his black leather jacket.

"I thought you might have fallen asleep; it's kind of late already. I was looking forward to seeing you in your pajamas." He teased you.

"Me in my pajamas? For you? Never." I joked back.

"Aw, trying to look all cute for me?" He continued the joke, starting the car and starting to drive away from your house.

The further they drove away, the more relaxed you felt.

You rolled down the windows, letting in some of the fresh air from outside.

There were almost no cars; it was as if you had the whole night and the whole world to yourselves.

"Did your parents hear you?" He asked, not really minding the silence between you both.

"No, my dad was snoring last time I checked."

"I was ready to take an emergency escape route just in case." He replied, and while there was a teasing smile on his face, you weren't sure if he was joking or not.

Seungcheol hummed the song that had started playing and turned up the volume a little.

You smiled.

Carefully, you moved your face closer to the outside of the window, trying to get a better view of the dark sky and the stars.

"Enjoying the view?" Seungcheol asked, his voice deep and husky.

"Yeah," you sighed, moving back to your seat. "It's definitely way peaceful out here."

You closed your eyes against the back of the seat, enjoying what came to be this little taste of freedom.

Seungcheol's hand rested on your knee, holding it gently.

The warmth of his hand spread from your knee to the rest of your body, making you suddenly all too aware of every move Seungcheol made.

"I'm glad," he replied.

You wondered if he also felt as nervous and anxious about these little meetings as you did.

Your fingers began to drum against the inside of your leg, trying to calm your nerves a little.

Seungcheol's hand caught yours without needing to look away from the road. "Why so nervous?" He asked quietly.

And truth be told, it wasn't at all fair the way he seemed so calm.

When one look from him had you shaking from head to toe,

"I'm not," you tried to defend yourself.

"Such a terrible liar." Seungcheol replied.

"What's that?" you asked, when the reflection of a light shone on his wrist.

Seungcheol smiled proudly, moving his arm closer to you so you could discover it on your own.

Your hand carefully moved along the red skin and dark lines. "Do you like it?" He asked.

"It's beautiful." You breathed, taking a closer look at the little details. "When did you get it?"

"This morning." Seungcheol replied happily.

"Did you actually wake up early? Wow. Unbelievable." You teased him.

Seungcheol pockets out his tongue at you. "I actually fell asleep while they were doing it." He confessed.

Your eyes were wide open with this new piece of information.

You didn't have any tattoos, but everybody that you knew that had one always complained about how painful they were.

"I must say, it's pretty, but the one on your neck is still my favorite one."

Seungcheol looked in your direction, making eye contact for a brief second. You couldn't ignore the obvious glow in his eyes. "I can take you to the person who did it; maybe you can get one of your own." He smiled, biting the inside of his cheek.

"And get my ass kicked out of my house? No thank you." You laughed.

"Well, what if you have it in a more discreet place? Like your lower back or something like that? I bet it would look good on you."

"I would pay just to know how many times you have thought about me getting a tattoo there."

Seungcheol didn't reply, but he changed the song.

You grinned when your brain recognized the song. Seungcheol glanced at you, chuckling at your reaction.

"Oh, you still remember it." He laughed, his cheeks tinted pink.

"How could I not?" You replied, laughing, "How old were you, nineteen?" You asked him.

Seungcheol snorted a yes, looking out of the window to avoid your teasing eyes.

"God, you have always had such a cheesy music taste." You laughed but still sang every single line of the song Seungcheol dedicated to you after your first encounter.

"It's not cheesy!" He sulked. "It's romantic."

Seungcheol would never know how much you replied to that song, dancing around your room like a fool in love, the first time you read the text with the name of the song.

Seungcheol and you were not exclusive.

Never spoke about not seeing other people.

But truth be told, you weren't interested in anyone else.

Since the moment your mother told you to stay away from him, it has been as if you had only eyes for him and no one else.

The first time you both spoke to each other was when your teacher sent you to give back the exams. Seungcheol accidentally bumped into you, and he apologized.

If he liked you at first, he was not sure about you.

Sure, he did look in your direction here and there. But he didn't talk back to you for months after that.

And you weren't sure if it wasn't for that party one of your friends made you go to, things would have gone the way they did.

Seeing him was fun, and it made you stop thinking.

Something that you needed so badly because overthinking seemed to be the only thing you knew how to do well.

Hours felt like seconds, and you always forced yourself to stay in the moment because the night was so short that you didn't have much time in your favor.

But then you were back at your house, back in your bedroom, between the four walls, wondering if it meant the same to Seungcheol as it meant to you.

"Are you sure you didn't fall asleep there?" Seungcheol asked, his hand coming under your chin and moving your head in his direction. The physical touch brings you out of your thoughts.

"Still wide awake." You mumbled, but a yawn made its way out of your mouth anyway.

"You sure?" He smiled at you. Finally reaching your favorite spot and stopping the car

It had a name, that's for sure, but you never learned it. However, you called it stars. Since it was so high, you could see all the lights from the city and all the stars in the sky at the same time.

The sky seemed way bigger from there.

It was usually occupied by tourists during the day, but at night it was mostly just you two in there (except one time where there was a car with a couple doing god knows what inside).

You went ahead of Seungcheol, getting out of the car and rushing to the edge, looking at the beads of lights that were shining brighter that night.

Seungcheol turned off the car's engine, and now that the place was completely dark, everything seemed even more private.

Seungcheol got out of the car and walked to your side at a slow pace, his hands resting in the front pockets of his black jeans.

"It is so beautiful," you sighed, trying to take in every single detail of the view in front of you.

"It's the exact same view as always." Seungcheol replied, You didn't need to turn your head to see him smiling, "but I agree, it is beautiful." You could feel his eyes on you.

You hummed, taking in the fresh air of the night.

There was not a single sound.

Seungcheol leaned against the hood of the car.

His hands were crossed over his chest.

The cold air was moving your hair, and that got you fighting against the air to avoid getting your hair on your face.

"You cold?" Seungcheol asked, removing the jacket from his shoulders.

You didn't respond; instead, you took a few steps back until you reached Seungcheol, who, after gently placing his jacket on your shoulders, moved his fingers up to your chin, lifting it so you could look into his eyes.

His free hand moved a lock of hair that was falling over your eyes, leaving it behind your ear.

"Your lips are purple." Seungcheol frowned, bringing his forehead together with yours. His sudden closeness got the reaction he was looking for, causing you to close your eyes in anticipation of his lips.

Seungcheol mumbled something, but you didn't really pay too much attention to it; your brain turned off the second you felt his soft lips against yours.

Seungcheol's hand moved to your cheek, his thumb stroking it gently.

Your heart was pounding so hard against your chest that you were afraid Seungcheol was feeling it.

Seungcheol moved his lips so slowly that a fire was slowly forming inside you, sending a shiver down your spine.

You broke away first, taking a step back and avoiding looking him in the eyes.

This was the part you hated—the moment when you wondered whether or not these weird emotions you were feeling were mutual.

If Seungcheol noticed any strange expression that was reflecting the mess you had in your mind at that moment, he did not mention it.

You sat next to him. Neither of you were looking at each other, but Seungcheol bumped you with his shoulder, lightly shaking you with his shoulder, and laughed when he heard your insults.

"Asshole." You told him, giving him back the push he had given you but using your hands instead, trying to use more force because Seungcheol was as easy to move as a mountain.

Seungcheol laughed, catching your hands and moving you until you were sitting between his legs.

"There, there, stop struggling." Seungcheol shushed you as if he were talking to a puppy that wasn't obeying.

He rested his chin on top of your head, drawing you to his chest as another tremor swept over you, hugging you.

"Maybe we'd have to get back in the car," Seungcheol muttered, trying to use his hands to create more warmth in your arms, rubbing the cold jacket. "You're going to be sick."

"In a few moments," you replied, "I want to enjoy this view a little longer."

"When you wake up tomorrow and can't talk because of a sore throat, remember to tell me so I can say, 'I told you so.'" Seungcheol complained, but he held you tighter anyway.

"What did you do today?" You asked, moving your head slightly to discreetly take in some of his perfume.

"No much," Seungcheol replied, his voice vibrating against your back. You closed your eyes to the sensation, liking it a little bit too much to be surrounded by his scent and his warmth. "I woke up early to help Wonwoo repair one of his motorcycles, and then I went to get the tattoo."

At the mention of the tattoo, your hand went instantly to his arm, your fingers carefully touching it.

"For someone who swears that she loves my other tattoo more, you're surely giving it way more attention."

"Yeah, well. The place where the other one is makes the whole attention thing difficult." You shrugged, freeing his hand.

"I'm still insisting that a tattoo on you would look amazing."

"I'm not against the idea, but my parents would be so furious at me." You replied.

"But what can they do once it's done?" Seungcheol asked, holding your cold fingers once again. "I never asked my mother for permission for my first; she saw it around a month or two later, and by then it was too late anyway, so she couldn't really do much. I bet your parents would get around the idea someday."

"I'm not so sure about it," you replied, but my mother sometimes still holds ground whenever she remembers that my older sister dyed some of her hair blonde when she turned twenty-five."

"But she was old enough already for that." Seungcheol frowned. "I was seventeen when I got my first tattoo." He chuckled.

"Was it good?"

"Nah," Seungcheol said, shaking his head. "It was so cringy, I got it covered up by another one."

You laughed, moving to get away from Seungcheol's arms. You were freezing, and the warmth that the car could provide was now way more tempting.

"Don't you think your parents would change their mind once they see you doing stuff like tattoos?" Seungcheol asked.

"I honestly don't know; my parents think that things like tattoos or dyeing your hair mean that you're a criminal." You smiled sadly.

"I would love to know what they think about me." Seungcheol smirked, turning the car on and starting to drive to MacDonald's to buy something to eat in the drive-through. Your stomach was already begging for some food.

The rest of the night passed so quickly that when you started realizing that the sky was now filled with much more light, you started feeling disappointed.

"You keep it." Seungcheol shook his head, passing his jacket back to you when you tried to give it back. "Use it in front of your parents; maybe like that, they'll start getting the idea that you'll soon also become part of the criminal life." He joked.

"I'll see you soon." You asked, hoping that Seungcheol didn't hear the hope in your voice.

"Sure, Wonwoo wants to try his motorcycles tonight; you can join us. Who knows? Maybe next time you'll be robbing banks."

You laughed, remembering the time you told Seungcheol what your father had said about Seungcheol's friends and their motorcycles.

"Yeah, maybe." You joked back.

And then the cycle began again.

You were dancing around your bedroom.

Wondered if he was blushing in his bedroom thinking about last night as well.

738 notes · View notes

coquettetoji · 6 months

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{⚡️} GETO SUGURU MOODBOARD

★ geto suguru general hcs ★

— now how do i even begin with this fine ass man

— he’s 6’5, lean muscular with a mf 8 pack like those hawaiian rolls from costco, they’re so defined and just them + his pale skin is 😏

— towers over everyone, will do that arm next to your head leaning towards you against the wall type of thing just to get you acting up

— his hands are big, not huge but definitely really big, they’re bony and veiny but callous

— his ears are pierced on each side, he has a diamond stud on both ears. he also has a nose ring on the left nostril

— left handed mf, don’t ask why he just is **also wears silver rings, suguru isn’t a gold typa guy 🙁

— his voice is really smooth and deep, like it has a certain vibrato to it that just makes me wet go feral alongside everyone else

— genetically has perfect teeth, also has a tooth gem on one of his canines, his tongue is pierced too

— has a lot of tattoos, but they aren’t huge just small ones scattered throughout

— hair hair hair hair hair hair hair hair (it’s perfect) it’s jet black and wavy, pieces are always falling in-front of his face but it’s so hot

— only wears the color black, white, or any type of neutral tone color. you’ll probably never catch him dead in like a bright yellow shirt

—onto personality, this boy literally has puppy mentality

— like he’ll act super big and tough but once he’s around people he’s comfortable with he just melts

— has a very sarcastic sense of humor, half the time people don’t even know if he’s joking or serious now

— gym rat alongside gojo, they’re designated workout buddies

— loves physical touch as a whole and is definitely a golden retriever type of guy even though he looks kinda scary and mean

— his favorite hobbies are cooking and drinking, as for cooking he’s cooking at like a culinary chef level it’s scary

— also loves street racing, kinda illegal but kinda fun 😏

— has a very high tolerance when it comes to drinking, will probably get a bit tipsy after 7 or more drunks

— drives a bmw with black exterior and red interior, it also has skylights he installed himself (he’s a car guy)

— he’s a big partier when it comes to drinking and smoking but is so chill about it, like he’s so calm while the rest of his friends are just screaming

— has super fast reflexes? and it’s really hot? like really really hot?

— honestly always on his phone bc he’s a tiktok guy, he doesn’t post thirst traps they’re in his drafts but he just finds the videos entertaining

— listens to a variety of music but his top choices have to be keshi, and brent faiyaz ** hes also an apple music user 🤢

— definitely has a flirty personality but is super shy but people flirt back to him, honestly a cute guy stuck in a fuck boy’s body is what i’m trying to say

— extremely respectful to his elders, will gladly help a grandma cross the street any day!

— in all, he’s definitely a 6/10 on fuck boy scale, he’s just such a sweet and respectful guy and we love him #INEEDYOUSOBADPLEASEGETO

💌 new message from mica ‧₊˚✧

ive been procrastinating so much with posting i’m sorry to my 37 followers ( appreciate y’all ) 🙁🙏

the hair omfg 😫😫😫😫

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arafilez · 28 days

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ▰ ▰ ✶ WØRLD EPISØDE FIN: WILL ⪨

ㅤㅤ➛ ㅤviii.ㅤ EVERYTHING 𒉽 choi jongho❛ 𓇿

🥂̸̤ㅤㅤfluff forced proximity pg13ㅤ ✸ㅤthe last person you wanted to complete the mission with is jongho, well too bad he is the only optionㅤㅤ───ㅤㅤ w: fighting . one-bed trope ㅤㅤ»ㅤㅤ wc: 3kㅤㅤ𠈔ㅤㅤ moodboard

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❛ you're an asshole but i love you ❜

“Everything that comes out of your mouth is stupid.”

“Choi Jongho”

“Shut up.”

You both stop abruptly at the third voice and turn towards the captain but not without giving each other one last glare. Hongjoong takes a deep breath and looks at you two shaking his head wondering what he had ever done in his past life to get such a chaotic group of spies. Because they surely can’t act like one.

“Okay now that I have your attention span of five seconds, you two are doing this mission together,” Hongjoong speaks and doesn’t bother to look up already knowing what is coming.

“I am not going with him.”

“Again?”

You both shout at the same time earning an eye-roll from Hongjoong who merely states, “Yes, and you don’t get a choice.” Your mouth hangs open at his words and you try to protest only for Hongjoong to silence you and say, “Because you two are our best undercovers.”

“Well, I am, of course, but her?” Jongho asks, mocking evident in his voice and you snicker at the immature man beside you. Being the two youngest in the team you two didn’t leave one day where you wouldn’t bite each other’s head off.

“Of course, because you are the one who brought home the information in our last mission,” you say, plastering a sickly sweet smile on your face.

“Talk with respect, I was born first,” he bites back and you roll your eyes at the lame comeback before saying, “Don’t you mean hatched?”

“Dismissed,” Hongjoong says interrupting you two and giving a stern look that makes both of you shut up and accept it and leave. Walking outside you close Hongjoong’s door behind you and feel Jongho tapping your shoulder.

“What?” you give him a look which quickly turns into confusion as you see him shushing you and pointing towards the lab door where you see Wooyoung’s sister clinging onto Yunho.

You shrug lightly whispering, “Well Wooyoung oppa is going to be fucking over the moon,” and Jongho giggles at your response knowing his hyung in fact will be.

You look towards Jongho who has a gummy smile etched on his face and for a moment you let your mind tell you he looks cute in that smile with his crinkled eyes that look like a crescent moon.

“Too bad you don’t have a brother, let alone his best friend,” Jongho remarks and the record screeches and comes to a halt. You smile at him before showing your middle finger to his face and he sticks out his tongue making you scoff.

“It’s almost two, do you want to plan tomorrow or now?” Jongho asks suddenly and you contemplate a bit balancing out your odds and he takes the cue to continue, “What are you thinking so much, you don’t have anyone to go back to your room, unlike San hyung.”

You attempt to kick him, swinging your leg in the hair and he giggles running towards his room and you follow muttering curses under your breath at the little spawn of the devil.

The relationship you and Jongho had was interesting. You two were the undercovers of Ateez and being a team you two complement each other well, bringing information as well as eliminating bodies left and right.

But, there’s always a but, you two couldn’t stand each other. You found him obnoxious and annoying and he found you too hasty. At least that was the basic reason. There were a thousand other reasons which justify why you would kill him on a good day. One of them, was his big mouth that was never shut, annoying you whenever he could.

“What is your plan? Where do we start?” your thoughts come to a halt as Jongho’s voice infiltrates your ear and you look at him in the eyes that hold a boring expression.

You shake your head lightly and sit down on his bed, which you will never admit is very comfortable, and say, “We can just simply keep a watch on them and act accordingly.”

“We will not be in any disguise genius, what if we get caught?” he throws his shoes off his legs to the corner of the room and sits down beside you and you narrow your eyes at him.

“We will improvise like we have always done till now,” you shrug lightly. Honestly, this mission wasn’t a lot. Even though it has crucial information standing on the line you and Jongho have been on much harder missions and have been alive.

Even though you might have tried to kill each other while at it.

“Fine just don’t do stupid shit when we almost get caught, like that time you suggested beer pong,” Jongho grits out, eyes flaming with anger as he remembers how you had almost slept with an official if he hadn’t saved you.

“That was all part of the plan,” you dismiss him airily and he rolls his eyes muttering “Sure” which made you feel embarrassed as hell because it sure wasn’t part of any plan. Heck, you already have two people in your team for that job.

He yawns stretching out his limbs and you look at him and watch his muscles flex under the t-shirt he is wearing accentuating his arm muscles and you watch him intently.

“Good muscles, no?” Jongho smirks looking at you ogling and your eyes widen at getting caught and you cough looking away and say, “Yeah whatever, those are just for show.”

You even fake a scoff to hide the warmth radiating from your cheeks and he raises an eyebrow.

“They can show you a lot of things baby,” he purrs, his body slightly leaning towards you and you stare back at his eyes with equal intensity. You are pretty sure your cheeks are red by now, and you can feel his breath too close to you, and you might be hallucinating but you see his eyes travel to your lips for a split second.

Coughing lightly, you abruptly get up before you do something you regret and walk towards the door. Jongho also sits up looking away and you say a small “See you tomorrow,” and leave.

“You have got to be fucking with me!” you exclaim, a frustrated groan leaving with me as you eye the room you are to stay for the night. It is definitely a sorry excuse for a homestay, heck you have stayed in worse places but that isn’t the problem.

The problem is sharing the room with Jongho.

A room which has one bed.

No couch.

No mattress.

Not even two blankets in what they are calling a “double bed.” Double? It is more like a single and a half. Not even half, quarter.

“No thanks, I have better things to do,” Jongho’s monotonous reply brings you out of your trance and you glare at him throwing your backpack on the small table at the side.

The table creaks making you cringe and you slowly pick up your bag and keep it beside the leg of the bed. You are not paying for a broken table. They cannot even make more rooms, of course, they can’t afford a decent table.

“You’re sleeping on the floor,” you deadpan and Jongho laughs sarcastically saying, “How about you say that to your phone’s selfie camera?”

“Selfie camera? Really?” you fold your arms cocking your eyebrow at him and he rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah well there’s no mirror.” You scoff at his attitude and continue, “You cannot make a lady sleep on the floor.”

“Where’s the lady? I can’t see her,” he retaliates with a smirk adorning his face. You take in a deep break and shooting him a quick glare you plop down on the bed.

Jongho puts his bag down beside yours and glances around. His heart panics a little at the single bed but he quickly looks away. It is three days, he can do this.

You think it is for three days, you can go without killing each other, maintain a safe distance, and return safely to the base. You can do this.

You absolutely cannot do this.

Jongho has been shuffling for the last fifteen minutes and he doesn’t stop. His tossing and turning make you annoyed and you hiss in anger and turn towards him and yell, “Jongho just sleep for fuck’s sake.”

He turns towards you and whispers, “I am trying.”

“Well, try harder, and stop moving,” you finally shoot your eyes open and look at him. The proximity makes you falter quickly and you can see your noses almost touching, his eyes scanning your whole face.

Your eyes rake his face, over every mole, cute lump and his nose-bridge and then fall to his lips. You quickly look up at him and he opens his mouth and you brace yourself for the worst teasing of your life.

“You have really nice eyes,” your eyes widen in shock and your lips part but no words come out as you continue to stare into his soft, brown eyes. After a moment you collect yourself barely and say, “Go to sleep Choi.”

Why is this hotel room so goddamn cold?

“Okay,” he whispers back, his breath fanning your face your mouth a ‘good’ because you didn’t trust your voice and turn your back to him, trying to calm your heart.

Jongho eyes rest on your back trying to even his breath until his eyes close.

You wake up in the middle of the night, or rather your bladder urges you to try to move. Except you can’t when you see Jongho’s hand draped over your waist, holding you close. His soft breath dances on your neck and you stay awake for some time enjoying the warmth of his body that feels so strangely comfortable and you hate to admit it.

Okay no you really need to pee.

You wiggle out of his arms slowly, not intending to wake him up and he groans making you go still. “Why do I care?” you think to yourself but put extra care into placing his arms down and getting up.

Coming back you jump lightly as Jongho’s annoyed eyes match yours and he says, “Come back here.”

“Why?” your cheeks tinge a shade of red and you are glad the room is dark or else you would have never lived it down. You take a sip of water from the bottle, trying to shove the feeling down your burning throat but you can’t.

Jongho keeps watching your ministrations, getting impatient with each passing second. Why can’t you just come back goddammit? He speaks up before he can stop himself and says, “You are the only source of warmth in this stupid hotel, so come back before I get hypothermia.”

You smirk lightly at his bear-like features getting all riled up and shrug your shoulders nonchalantly making him huff and turn sideways away from you. You cannot believe Jongho being this needy.

Jongho never loses his composure. Except when he is with you, you make him do crazy things.

You giggle lightly at the pouting baby bear before you walk towards him and get inside the duvet and his eye shots up as you lie down. He instantly wraps his arm around you and you murmur to him, “I am only doing this because you are cold and you will get hypothermia or whatever, don’t take it otherwise.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” his sleepy voice reverberates in the room as he holds you tightly making your insides warm up. He is just cold, don’t overthink, you scold your mind before lulling back to sleep.

The next morning becomes unusually quiet, unlike your usual bickering. Both of you check your logs sent by Yunho and work on your tactical gears and weapons. Neither of you brings up last night’s incident, an unspoken agreement forming.

At the said time, you both leave the motel and arrive at the back door of the pub. You say the code and they let you two in and you search for your perp.

“There she is,” Jongho whispers and you quickly look over to his direction and spot her immediately. “You talk with officials, I will go talk with her,” you say and he nods before you part ways. You strut your way towards her and sit beside her at the bar, passing her a glance.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you look at Jongho who has a resolute look on his face as he sits down to play poker with the officials. You smile lightly at his undercover suit that makes him look like a businessman.

Jongho knows the official has a gun ready below the table and he sends a signal to Mingi who gets ready in his position at the back. Jongho smiles lightly and continues the game like nothing happened until he is on the last card and pulls out an Ateez card from his pocket turning it swiftly to the officers.

You knock over your drink on purpose, and Mingi walks towards Jongho. “You’re dead, darling,” you whisper as soon as you see Jongho firing the bullets and you smirk lightly holding her down and she fights back. “Oh shit,” you whisper when she jabs you on your forehead before you hold her down in a choking position.

With her free hand, she punches you on the lips and you feel offended. She did not just ruin your pretty lips, and you scoffed in annoyance before grabbing the spray from your waist and using it on her.

“Bitch, you could have hit any other place but these pretty lips?” you say before throwing her figure down for an amused Mingi to watch you.

The perp falls limp on the ground and you gesture at Mingi who gladly takes her back to the headquarters. You look around in confusion and Mingi shrugs as you see Jongho still shooting. You roll your eyes pulling him by the elbow and whisper, “Tell me you got the papers.”

“Let’s make a grand exit,” he grins cheekily and you look at him quizzically and pull him by the arm saying, “That doesn’t answer my question.”

He gives you a deaf ear shooting the fire extinguishing sprinklers as the water starts pouring. “What the actual-“ You don’t finish your sentence running out and looking at him in disbelief as he walks through the water like it is some sort of runway.

When he finally comes out after his “dramatic exit” you say, “I will be handling your CV to modelling agencies when we get back, just wait and see.”

He laughs and you scoff and stomp away as he follows you, the papers safely with Mingi sent back.

Back at the motel, he forcefully makes you sit down on the bed as he brings the first-aid kit out. You eye his ministrations and snicker when he accidentally pours some antiseptic on his fingers instead of the cotton.

“You should have told me you are hurt,” he says, lightly dabbing at the wound on your forehead first.

“Oh and stop your modelling, how on earth can I do that?” you fake a gasp and Jongho forcefully jabs your forehead and you slap his hand.

Jongho lightly flicks your forehead, his gummy smile etching his lips as he steps closer. He holds your jaw softly, turning your head up and your eyes follow his hands that busied themselves on cleaning the cut.

“Geez I am fine you big baby, I have got way bigger cuts than one on a forehead and a split lip,” you complain while Jongho carefully presses a piece of cotton between your lips. Your words get muffled and he smiles in a sinister way and says, “You are so much better when you don’t talk.”

You stick your middle finger at his face and he edges closer to you, looking down at you raises your eyebrows as you gaze back. “There are a lot more ways where I can make you quiet,” he smirks and continues, “Or make you scream louder.”

Your face flushes with warmth and reaches the tip of your ears at his words and your eyes widen. You look at your sides and see Jongho’s arms flexing as he holds the bed headboard. Fuck him and his apple-breaking arms, you think.

Fuck everything.

“Yeah?” you ask softly taking out the cotton from your lips and continuing, “Why don’t you show me the ways?”

Jongho raises his eyebrow dipping his head more and the closeness almost makes your noses touch and he asks, “You would like that wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe I will,” you speak, a mischievous smile tugging on your lips and before can count to another second Jongho’s lips press to yours in a desperate kiss. You stumble lightly from the pressure and hold his shoulders tilting your head. Your lips move in perfect sync and the kiss turns from rough and desperate to soft and sensual in seconds. His grip softens and he holds your hands while you caress his hair lightly. You feel him smile in the kiss and return it as you two part.

You love this about Jongho so much.

He smiles and you bite your lips feeling shy as he pecks your lips saying, “You were right, I am stupid.” You groan at him shaking your head and trying to cover his mouth but he continues, “Stupidly in love with you.”

“Oh my god, that is so cheesy,” you groan at him and he laughs before tackling you to the bed and kissing you all over the face while you giggle.

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