#square head. Square head. (chanting this)

[hoshizoralone]

happy almost amame birthday. enda family poasting

#square head. Square head. (chanting this) #ai nirvana initiative #amame doi #shoma enda #andes komeji #aitsf #aini #iris sagan #lonescribble

[gutsby]

Hating Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Celebrating your dad’s birthday at the yacht club becomes damn near unbearable when Joel Miller brings a date along too. Jealousy and hate sex ensue.

Warnings: 18+. Food fight turned hatefuck (don’t ask). Cockwarming and semi-public sex on the bridge deck. Oral (m! and f!receiving). Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Age gap. C*mplay. Katoptronophilia. Orgasm denial. One risqué Viagra joke. Drinking games. Descriptions of vomiting. Joel cockwarming you while smoking a cigarette <3

Part 1 | Part 3

"Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?"

You can. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he’s buried so deep inside you is a far harder task than expected, though. Especially when he’s so still.

Joel sees it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leans over your body and digs his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting a modicum of friction as he takes another drag of his cigarette. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulses like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes roll back.

An orangutan on roller skates would’ve had more grace.

A grizzly bear in hibernation might’ve been more lively.

A fucking cross-eyed octopus reciting Shakespeare would’ve been less strange, alarming, and painfully awkward to see than your father’s best friend the week after he’d railed you senseless in the front seat of his car.

Joel Miller had shown up with a date, for Christ’s sake.

Of course, you’d been three cocktails deep and playing stack cup with a random group of gentlemen on the bridge deck at the time, but that was almost immaterial. This was your dad’s fifty-first birthday party—one of the rowdiest nights the Austin Yacht Club had yet to see—and yeah, you planned on getting belligerently shitfaced on Dirty Shirleys and obscene amounts of catered food.

You’d never thought to bring a date of your own, though.

That was just distasteful and crass, all things considered.

Presently, you slammed your ping pong ball to the tabletop and watched it make a wide arc over your cup.

“Fuckfuckfuuuuuck,” you whispered low as the man four spots down made it in, and the man after him bounced the ball straight into his own on the first go. He moved the tall, swaying stack of red Solos immediately to your right, and you knew from the jump you were fucked.

Tommy Miller was a master at stack. You could already see the sly smile on his face from the corner of your eye.

Just as Mötley Crüe gave way to Hall & Oates on the speakers overhead, Joel’s brother crammed his stack of cups over your own and made a smug, triumphant bow.

“All you, kid,” he grinned and slid the second to last cup in your direction.

You could’ve cursed his whole bloodline, Joel included.

There was no way in hell you were getting stuck with death cup again—the last, cruel punishment for the loser of the game a mix of three different types of liquor, soda, and a spritz of Natty Light. Filled to the brim and waiting to be downed by whoever didn’t sink the final shot.

You squared your shoulders and locked the fuck in.

Bounced the ball once. Twice. Christ, this was hard. The man to your left was struggling too, but he seemed just as determined and twice as skilled, and you were pretty buzzed. A second later, he made it in and, of course, slid it right back to Tommy, who was practically overcome with laughter.

“MILLER! MILLER! MILLER!” Men were not creative when it came to chants. Or beating fists on furniture.

“Quit shakin’ the shit!” Tommy roared, tapping his ping pong ball deftly onto the table’s surface.

You blinked a few hazy, anxious thoughts out of your head and tried with everything in you not to miss this shot. The instrumental bridge of ‘Maneater’ was sinking its teeth in your soul and taunting your nerves to no end.

You took the ball, swallowed hard, watched the cup, and flicked your wrist, at last, from a singularly perfect angle.

The ball was a millisecond away from making it in.

Tommy Fuckstick Miller managed to stack you first.

A chorus of obnoxious, wholly drunk howls rang loud in your ears, and suddenly, the attention was back on you, the unhappy victim of the game’s most gruesome drink.

You didn’t hesitate. You pinched your nose and guzzled from the cup before the torment could go on any longer.

You did well at first.

Opened your throat like a pro and cleared it down to the last fourth of the drink, to the point where you could see the slick white bottom side of the cup clear as day.

Your mouth had just flooded with the final draught of death cup when a familiar guitar riff caught you off guard.

You weren’t sure why it had to happen that way, but after being forced to listen to the song some five thousand times on your road trip with Joel, the tenor of Billy Joel’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard to you now. Grating. Nauseating.

Vomit-inducing.

Swiftly, you ran to the nearest railing and lost your last drink—and your whole dinner—over the side of the boat.

You yakked into Lake Travis like you never had before.

And, just as that stupid, forever-tainted song surged on, you heard footsteps approaching. A moment’s pause. Then a hand on your back. Patting gently and, seconds later, lowering a cup of water to the side of your head.

Your face was still dangling upside down off the yacht. You didn’t want to be touched.

“Go to hell, Tommy,” you muttered.

“You first,” he said, chuckling.

You didn’t sit so much as slump back onto the deck with your head in your hands. The whole boat had gone sideways in your mind, and Tommy’s outstretched arm looked more like a bubbling lump than a friendly gesture.

You groaned at the sight of the cup and shook your head.

“I’m alright, okay. I’m good.”

Then, when the cup didn’t waver:

“Can they change the fucking song already?!”

Tommy cocked a brow and squatted down next to you. He set the water aside.

“Got a problem with dad rock or somethin’?” he smirked.

You shook your head no—it wasn’t the music that was making you sick but the man Tommy called his brother that made you wanna vomit again. The thought of that man tangled up with a svelte brunette who looked fresh off the cover of Sports Illustrated when he couldn’t even be bothered to shoot you a text after the condom broke last week. Like he just didn’t give a shit if you were alive, dead, or pregnant with his child. Unfortunately, you had nothing more to throw up, and your eyes were on fire.

Tommy slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. Took a handkerchief out of his pocket.

“No more Dirty Shirleys for you, young lady,” he chided, dabbing lightly at the tears that had trickled out.

“No more men for me,” you grumbled quietly.

You couldn’t see it then, but you could feel him trying not to smile. He tugged you closer.

“Boy trouble, huh?” he said, “Whose ass needs kickin’?”

Your brother, actually. Curb stomp that fucker, please.

You shrugged instead.

“Some guy from school.”

Tommy nodded, waiting for you to elaborate. When you didn’t, he just assumed you wanted to keep it to yourself—which you did—and squeezed your shoulder softly.

“Well…you know you’ve got your dad, me, and Joel to beat the shit outta any guy, any time, any place, right?”

You wished it were that simple. You wiped your nose and nodded all the same.

“And…” Tommy started again, working slow to get you back on your feet, “Most guys your age don’t know their ass from their fuckin’ elbow, honeybun. Don’t take it too personal if he’s dumb enough to lose a gem like you.”

The corners of your lips twitched slightly at his words. Almost smiling by the time he had you up on your feet.

“Thanks, Tommy.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

You might’ve rolled your eyes when he pinched your cheek, but the water he held back up for you to drink looked far too appetizing, and you knew he meant well. You took the cup from him and started to chug.

Again, you’d almost made it through the whole refreshment when a sound threw you off. Abruptly.

“Where have you two lovebirds been?!” Tommy chirped.

You lowered your water and almost regurgitated again. Bile jumped up in your throat, and you just narrowly managed to keep it all down with a cough and a sputter.

Joel and Ms. Centerfold were at the far end of the deck.

Joel was tucking his dress shirt back into his pants.

Are you fucking kidding me?

“Gettin’ nasty on her daddy’s yacht? That’s bold,” Tommy cackled, nudging you playfully.

Your face was bloodless. Every last ounce of pretense and decorum had spilled out with your dinner, before, and now you were just staring at Joel blankly. Numb.

You watched him shove the last clump of his shirt under the waistband and straighten up slightly. The woman at his side flashed you and Tommy a blinding white smile.

“Might say the same for you,” she called back. She seemed to be eyeing you both with a half-curious look.

Tommy made a face as if to say ‘yuck—what the fuck?’ and threw his arm around you again, shaking you lightly.

“She’s like my little sister, Ashton. You’re fuckin’ gross.”

Little sister. Nice. Like a knife twisting inside your gut.

If Joel took any notice of the comment, he didn’t show it. He just stood there, dull and impassive as a loaf of bread. Every coarse lineament of his face was unreadable—just as bleak, bland, and uncaring as the eyes staring out of it. Then he fished around in his back pocket and pulled out his lighter and a pack of American Spirits. He passed the latter to Ashton and leaned over to give her a light.

Throwing yourself off the boat seemed like the most logical next move out of anything available to you.

That’s when you knew you were off your shit and needed to leave the bridge deck—immediately.

“Need a drink,” you mumbled, starting off the other way.

Tommy was hot on your heels, following fast after you.

“That’s— that’s actually the last thing you need, I think, sweetie. How ‘bout some lemonade?”

“Can you spike it with bleach?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Tommy followed you down the staircase straight through to the galley, past the throngs and pockets of partygoers crowding the main dining area. Hitting the bar was a bad idea—wait staff knew you well enough to sense when you were utterly trashed, sad, or both—so you slipped toward the wine cooler and quickly sidestepped Tommy.

“No! No way. Nuh-uh.” He was still trying to block your access to the fridge when you grabbed hold of the door.

“Hair of the dog, Thomas.”

“That’s not a thing. That’s— you just projectile vomited off the deck, dude. You need a breather.”

You stopped just long enough to let Tommy pry you off the refrigerator handle and back to the kitchen island. You were pissed off, sure, but also not nearly prepared for another drop of alcohol if you were being honest with yourself. Your head was still spinning when you sat down on the counter.

Once you were settled, Tommy got to rifling through the cabinets, and you pressed a hand to your forehead.

“So how long’s that been going on?” You couldn’t help it.

“Wha- oh, Joel and Ash?” Tommy hummed from deep inside a cupboard. He came out with a small blue box.

You winced at the nickname. Watched him go from the pantry to the sink, fill a glass halfway, find a spoon, and tear the box in two, along with a couple chalky tablets.

“They’ve been…weird.” The sentence was punctuated with a pinch of his brow and a frown. He started stirring.

“Weird how?”

Your feet were dangling over the edge of the island; you pretended to gain a sudden interest in a smudge on the toe of your shoe.

“Weird like…I don’t know,” Tommy tossed the spoon in the sink and turned back to you. Holding out the cup, “They’ve been ‘friendly’ for years—Ash is a coworker of ours—and Joel swears it’s nothing more…but I dunno.”

He ended his speech again with that weird intonation and grimace, like he wasn’t so sure if he believed what he was saying himself, then shook his head and shrugged. He watched you take a sip of the Alka-Seltzer and urged you to get the whole thing down. It tasted like shit.

“Christ, that’s salty,” you coughed.

You didn’t want to keep going, but Tommy tipped the glass back in your hand and made you finish.

“It’ll help with your stomach,” he said before strolling over to the caterers’ fridge to look for bland food options.

“So if they’re not a thing, why’d he bring her here?”

You didn’t care what Tommy thought of your questions. He knew you were eager to hear the tea in any situation.

You watched as your friend procured a hand of bananas and some bread. He gave the fruit to you and took the bread over to the toaster, where he dropped in two slices. You couldn’t quite tell if he was contemplating an answer, didn’t want to spill, or hadn’t heard the question at all. He snagged a plate and a butter knife while you peeled apart your snack, silently dying to know the truth.

At length, Tommy shrugged. Again.

“‘Cause Joel’s a goddamn drama queen and doesn’t know what he wants, I s’pose,” he said.

Ain’t that the truth.

Then, after a minute:

“Had his panties in a wad ever since he went to Boston.”

You stiffened hearing that. You couldn’t pretend to be invested in your shoe scuff, the floor, or the food in your hand any longer. Your eyes flitted up to Tommy to see if his expression had shifted any.

It hadn’t—he was just looking for strawberry jam.

“You hitched a ride home with him then, didn’t you?” he asked casually.

You swallowed and nodded. You watched Tommy retrieve the two freshly-warmed pieces of toast that jumped up to greet him and, having found the jam he wanted, slapped them both on a plate and lathered them up. You muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ as he slid them over.

You were almost too scared to ask more questions, but you knew you had to find out. About Joel, Ashton, anything Tommy might’ve gleaned about your trip home from Boston. You found you could hardly sit in one place and had to step off the counter to eat your food.

“Joel’s been, uhh…how do Gen Z’s say it? Trippin’ balls?” Tommy reached for a banana himself and started in.

“Tweaking,” you corrected him.

“Tweakin’, yeah. Joel’s been a real fuckin’ tweaker lately.”

“In what way?”

“Just…shuttin’ himself in is all. Wouldn’t talk to me or your dad or anybody for days after he got back. Didn’t show up for our monthly Bingo matchup at Mando’s—and he hasn’t missed one of those in almost six years.”

You pursed your lips, equally mystified. You knew just how seriously your dad and his friends took those games—how rare it was for Joel to turn down any opportunity to drink, play Star Wars-themed Bingo, and shoot the shit with his buddies over Coors Light and cheese curds. You took another bite and waited for Tommy to continue.

“And there’s— there was this…thing he— I dunno.”

Suddenly, it seemed your friend had lost the power of coherent speech, and he was rubbing the back of his neck, flashing a half-sheepish smile, and shaking his head. Contemplating whether he should share something with you and ultimately deciding against it.

You raised both eyebrows.

“What?”

“Nah, it’s dumb, really.”

“Tell me.” You took a far-too-large bite of your banana and had some trouble getting it down.

“Well, he…” Tommy trailed off, shifting his gaze from yours to take a look at his own shoe, for a second, “When me and your dad were riding with Joel to a work site…we, uh…found a box of Plan B in his glove compartment.”

Half-chewed banana and toast almost flew across the room while you spluttered and choked and just barely managed to cover your mouth to keep it all in.

“Right? Threw me for a loop, too,” Tommy grinned as you beat your chest with a fist and fought to keep yourself breathing, “Your dad damn near had a baby when he picked that little box and those booty shorts up himself.”

When he what?! You wanted to scream, just picturing your straight-laced, conservative father flipping a Plan B box between his hands, in shock, and then…your shorts—when the fuck had you taken your shorts off again?

Right, when you were busy trying to scoop some more of Joel’s jizz from your cunt as he raced you both to CVS.

Good times.

You held your hair back and leaned over the sink, spitting two more chunks of banana and bread down the drain. Tommy reached around behind you for the spigot and filled another glass with water as he tried not to laugh.

“Easy, now,” he said, patting your back like he’d done for you before, “Joel didn’t happen to mention this lady friend to you now, did he?”

“No,” you choked. You wiped your mouth clear of any spit and food residue and slowly blinked down into the sink, feeling an old wave of nausea begin to settle over you. Accepted the new glass of water from Tommy and hoped he wouldn’t notice the tremor in your hand as you did.

The man seemed completely oblivious. Still standing close behind you, Tommy rubbed circles in your back and leaned a little closer.

“Death cup really got ya, huh?” He smirked, and you realized then that he very much was like an older brother. This whole situation with Joel was fucked on so many levels and would be fucked tenfold if Tommy ever found out.

You turned around and felt yourself steadied between two warm, broad palms—‘Wanna sit? Lie down?’—and then you were shaking your head, reaching for another banana and trying like hell to seem semi-composed, though every neuron in your brain was firing away at a million miles per second and your legs were feeling like scrambled eggs.

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah?”

Suddenly, one of Tommy’s hands had moved up to brush a few strands of hair from your face, and you felt your skin radiating raw heat. A deep-seated anxiety, too.

He’s going to find out—what if he already knows?

What if Joel tells Tommy?

What if Tommy tells dad?

Your mind was reeling, on fire, still working in earnest to find something to tell your friend to say you were fine, just dizzy, and definitely not fucking his big brother.

Your brain was drawing blank after blank after blank.

Just then, a clatter sounded nearby. Both of you jumped.

When you shot a look to the source of the intrusion, you nearly folded into Tommy from secondhand humiliation.

“Nice hands, feet,” the younger Miller called over to Joel, who was currently trying to recover the dozen-odd pots and pans he’d knocked over at the threshold of the room. You stared at the two in a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and disgust—the latter reserved exclusively for Joel.

You set your drink down, held your hand over your stomach, and pretended to head for the bathroom.

“Be right back,” you muttered, brushing past both men.

You knew you wouldn’t be back at all if you could help it.

Still clutching your banana in one hand and your raucously churning tummy in the other, you climbed the galley stairs fast to get back up to the bridge deck. You almost tripped over both your heels trying to make it up the steps so quick, desperate for solitude and quiet.

Another hair metal hit from the ‘80s was playing overhead, but fortunately, the deck was free of people. You stumbled over to one of the catering tables, looking helplessly for something that might settle your belly, but no, this sickness was coming straight from your head—from that insufferable munch of a man, Joel Miller.

You gingerly approached the railing behind the table and prepared yourself for another round of dry heaving.

You rested both elbows on the metal, looked out toward the dark, glassy water beneath you, then hung your head in abject defeat. You slid your tongue across the roof of your mouth and waited for the vomit to come.

The only thing that followed were footsteps.

Heavy, thunderous sounds making their way up the stairs.

“Stay back, Tommy. Please.” You raised a hand to the man approaching softly behind you, not turning your head, “That Alka-Seltzer stuff didn’t work for shit.”

“Shoulda stuck to water, sweet pea.”

That made you pivot.

Not a quick tilt of the head or a twist to the side, but a full-fledged 180-degree spin on your heels, hand to your gut, what-the-FUCK-are-you-doing-here turnaround.

You stared ahead and felt sicker than you had all night.

Then, pointing one crooked, accusatory finger his way without thinking, you hardly knew or heard what you were saying before the words came out. It sounded a little something like, “Joel, you goddamn fucking idiot.”

Joel didn’t flinch.

In fact, he seemed supremely unfazed.

He just held your fuming gaze and frowned.

“You tryin’ to fuck my little brother or somethin’?”

Your hand had closed around your banana on the table before his words had hung in the air for even a second. You flung the fruit full-force at his head, enraged.

Unfortunately, you were drunk and your aim was shit. Your yellow boomerang-like weapon of choice barely made it within three feet of its target before it glanced off a light fixture and struck the ground with a thud.

Accuracy be damned, you weren’t quite done.

“You left the fucking Plan B out for my dad to find?!”

Just when Joel tried to answer, or perhaps hurl another accusation in your direction, you stuck your hand in the closest catering tray you could find—a serving of green peas, as it was. You lobbed a handful at the man as he started to draw closer, and this time, you managed to land a pretty hefty spray. Joel only rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t leave it there—you did,” he retorted.

“My shorts, too?!”

You grabbed another fistful of peas and threw it. Joel was able to dodge it right before making it to the other end of the table. He gripped the edges of the wood in both hands and stood stern—imposingly—opposite you.

“Your shorts, your fuckin’ problem, sweets.”

Just when you reached for another green pea projectile, he surprised you and made for the tray right beside it.

Shortly, a glob of garlic mashed potatoes struck the front of your dress and slid slow, almost sluggishly down the pristine pink silk fabric before falling at your feet. Joel’s aim was evidently much better than yours.

You brushed what chunks of food you could get off your chest and pinned him with a wide, incredulous look.

“You’re a Grade A fucking asshole, you know that?”

“You’re a bit of a shithead too, potato tits.”

“FUCK you!”

“Already DID!”

You would’ve flipped the whole table if it were in your power to do so. Would’ve toppled all the tables, kicked the chairs, took a lighter to the curtains and sent the goddamned yacht down in flames if you had to—that was how much you despised the man in front of you.

Instead, you threw your hands up and stormed off.

“Maybe I will fuck Tommy!” you barked as you started toward the stairs, “I’ll fuck your brother’s brains out, and you can screw Ashton all you want, how ‘bout that?”

You’d made it about two feet before Joel grabbed hold of one of your wrists and yanked you back. You didn’t hesitate to throw a gruff—and ultimately fruitless—punch that hit him square in the chest. He didn’t budge.

“You don’t mean that,” Joel sneered. He shook your whole frame with one simple flick of his forearm.

“I’ll tap your whole bloodline like a keg, Miller. Try me.”

Again, you tried to shake him off, but the hand only constricted around you tighter. Then it was walking you backwards, slowly, almost carefully, until your back was to a wall and your eyes were searching his, angry as ever.

“You’d break your daddy’s heart with that one,” Joel said just above you, voice lowered considerably.

“Yeah?” you challenged, “Maybe if I was less of a shithead I would care what my dad thought. But I’m not. So I won’t.”

“Wasn’t talkin’ about your father, darlin’.”

Joel was good.

He was an insufferable ass and he was good.

Then you remembered the radio silence over the past seven days and the fact that he may or may not have fucked someone else earlier that night—possibly right where you were standing—and he lost all appeal real quick. You shoved him hard in the chest once more.

“Don’t play that shit with me. You, of all people—” You made as if to read him the riot act but cut yourself short, deciding it wasn’t worth your time explaining human empathy to a man who believed bootcut jeans and all things Ely Cattleman were peak fashion, and just learned what ovulation was last week. Then, sliding along the wall and trying to head to the stairs again, you felt Joel’s leg slot between your own.

“What did I do?” he said, curious.

Before you could answer, his thigh had stirred in place, grazing lightly over the spot the hem of your minidress had exposed to him. You ignored it.

“Doesn’t matter,” was your non-answer.

Joel seemed intrigued by the ambiguity and only lowered his head to get closer to yours—‘Then why’re ya so mad you’re throwin’ dinner food at me, darlin’?’—puffing warm breaths on your neck and only smiling when you flinched back. He took your response as a cue to keep pressing, both figuratively and physically.

“Just wanted attention or somethin’? That what it is?” Joel’s voice was as saccharine as it was taunting, words paired with a hand circling light across your thigh. He wasn’t moving in, and it was tearing you to shreds inside.

“Fuck your attention, and fuck you, Joel.”

Words hardly reflecting how you felt internally.

Swiftly, then, the hand at your leg was raised to your face—cupping it with a bit more force than you expected. Joel’s grin stretched even wider.

“Attention and discipline,” he mused aloud, “Two things dad never gave his little girl growin’ up, I see.”

Before you could reply, he was squeezing your face even tighter and nodding his head, as if already anticipating your answer. Then, somehow lower, “Such a filthy mouth on her, too. Never knows when to keep it shut and how to be polite to someone who fucked her so nice already.”

You might’ve whimpered if you didn’t also want to throat punch the motherfucker and knee him in the balls. When Joel started stroking your cheek, you groaned instead, and you hoped he would hear it as chagrin, not arousal.

“I can help with both of those, y’know—” His thumb rubbed a little harder, and his leg moved up. You pressed your hands flat to his thigh to keep him from teasing, but the man would do no such thing to oblige you. In fact, he just shifted his leg back and forth…and back, again. A ripple of bliss from the friction sparked low inside you.

“I can give you attention, and I can scrub that mouth clean if that’s what you really need,” Joel continued, “Just say the word, darlin’.”

“Fucker.” That was your word.

And it worked well enough for Joel.

In the next instant, he had you half-carried, half-dragged across the deck and thrown onto the table where you’d lost that dreaded game of stack. Solo cups still littering the surface, and puddles of beer soaking in through your dress, you made a sound of disgust and tried to thrust yourself up, just to fail. You squirmed and swatted at the man standing in front of you, who easily kept you pinned to the surface with one palm laid calmly on your belly.

He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and retrieved his lighter and cigarette pack.

“Someone could catch us,” you hissed, helpless, unsure of what else to say to show you weren’t giving in just yet.

Joel lit up in four seconds flat. He sucked in a breath.

“I roped off the stairs coming up,” he replied.

He what?

You moved back, slowly, on the surface when Joel worked a hand to his belt buckle, and you heard half a dozen plastic cups fall to the floor behind you.

You would not be his date’s sloppy seconds—ever.

Joel yanked at your thighs and pulled you back to be straddling his hips, shrugging his pants down; you couldn’t bear to keep looking when he lowered his briefs.

He took another drag and eyed you hungrily, happy to see you all sprawled out and pretty before him. The tight fabric of your dress had cinched over your hips and left you bare to just panties, making him grow even harder.

“Joel.”

He worked his dick out of his pants and moved the head to trail slow along the seam of your barely-clothed cunt. Even through the lace, he could feel how wet you were. He notched the tip at the space where your panties had parted just slightly to the side and felt your arousal pool even wetter around the end of his member. He grunted.

“Joel, I—”

“Daddy’s gonna give ya attention, sugar. Hold still.”

You couldn’t. Wouldn’t. You splayed your fingers over the hand that was trying to guide his cock into you and clenched your jaw—every carnal fibre in your being telling you not to do what you were about to try anyway.

“You fucked her didn’t you?”

Joel flicked the ash off his cigarette, “No.”

“You brought her here.”

“Had to.”

Your face was flushed and likewise flooded with smoke, curling slow from Joel’s lips before it painted the air an opaque, muddied grey above you. You wriggled your hips away from his, and for once, he didn’t try to stop you.

“I saw you tucking your shirt in. Tommy said you fucked!”

“Tommy’s about one fry short of a Happy Meal, honey,” Joel puffed once more, “He’s always sayin’ shit like that.”

Incredibly, he’d managed to use about a dozen funny words in that old Texas lilt and still say so little to actually answer your question. When the pinch in your brow told him you weren’t quite satisfied, Joel let out a sigh.

“Ash spilled pebre on my shirt. I had to change.”

Oh.

“And you—” you started.

“—have no fuckin’ right to know, one way or the other, because you’re the one who said we’d just ‘fuck and forget it,’ remember?” Joel interrupted, reminding you of your own curt words from your Bronco boning session.

Again, you tried to speak and found yourself spoken for, Joel carrying on as casual as ever as he sucked the last life-breath from his cig and stared you down, cynically.

“Your dad’s the one who made me bring her tonight. Said I seemed ‘down’ since the last gal I fucked wasn’t around—I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his daughter—and here we are,” Joel smiled, wryly, and flicked his cigarette into the lake. You would’ve liked to tell him littering was a crime that trashed us all but refrained.

You were too busy staring at his lips, wondering why he hadn’t kissed you yet. You reckoned all the pea flinging, swearing, and swinging might’ve played a small part.

At length, Joel slid a new American Spirit out of its pack and wrangled you back to his hips as he lit up again.

“Happy?” he said, after a beat.

You weren’t sure whether to nod or cross your arms. Beckon him in with both hands or kick his bunched-up pants, belt, and boxer briefs away altogether and keep the bratty act going. You didn’t like being wrong.

At any rate, it didn’t matter. He’d called you on your bluff.

Still smoking, still smiling, still happy as a clam at high tide, Joel pressed his length straight up to your folds and watched you squirm on the wood underneath him.

“Gonna listen now?” he hummed.

“Uh-huh.”

Good, his wretchedly deep brown eyes seemed to say. Good that you were here, good that you were spread wide and supine beneath him, good that you’d gone all soft and pliable under his touch and were watching him now with a look that said you’d let him do just anything.

Good that he could fuck you.

Great that he wasn’t planning to—not fully, anyway.

Joel wasted no time taking your answer in the affirmative to slip past your panties and push deep inside your sweet cunt. When your walls stretched and cried all around him, he sighed and gripped your legs even tighter. He gritted the cigarette between his teeth and brought your ankles to rest over his shoulders, sinking in even deeper. Then he had to hold steady inside you and keep you flat on the table in front of him, and just when you whined to fuck me now, Joel, fuck me right now, daddy, please, he stilled. He took a big, long drag and didn’t move an inch.

He’d teach you some discipline one way or another.

“Joel, please,” you groaned again, hands bracing the table to start fucking up and down on his shaft, before he put a stop to that fast and held you firmly in place, “Please, Joel, I need you so fucking bad, daddy, please.”

Joel tapped his ash to the side and ignored your pleas.

He felt your walls contract around him and tried not to grunt. He focused instead on the smoke overhead.

“Wanna say that nicer?” he asked, deadpan. Then, staring expectantly down at you, while you flushed and struggled to stay still, “Keep that mouth a little cleaner?”

Fuck, did he have that father-figure tone down to a T.

You laid there before him and almost forgot his cock was wedged inside you for a second. He seemed so sincere.

“I wan— want you to move, daddy, I-I-I don’t know how else to say i— FUCK!” Your pussy spasmed around him when the tip of his pubic bone grazed your clit. That squeaky clean mouth of yours was nowhere to be seen.

“Mhmm,” Joel nodded anyway, pretending to be observing your behavior as he might for a clinical trial. Like he was testing a new drug, not his dick inside your cunt, practically clenching in Morse code around him.

“Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?”

You could. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he was buried so deep inside you seemed to be a far harder task than you could’ve ever expected, though.

Joel sensed it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leaned over your body and dug his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting some modicum of friction. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulsed inside you like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes rolled back.

“Fucking shitsucking DICK BITCH CUNT! FUCK!”

Sounding every bit the uncouth novice in a COD lobby chat circa 2009, you knew you didn’t have the faintest hope of earning Joel’s strokes now. You hated yourself for it—and Joel, too, for subjecting you to such cruel and unusual punishment for just needing to fuck him hard.

You were desperate and heated. Five seconds away from yanking your sex off of his and going to town with your own fingers, you felt a palm press down on your tummy.

Damn Joel and his super-sized hands.

You could barely breathe, much less pry yourself off.

Joel was quiet and calm. Stuffing you full and puffing away at his cigarette the whole time. He smirked.

“Ain’t that difficult, honey,” he said, hardly losing his will or his sympathy when you shot a raw glance his way, “Stay still on this cock and ask daddy nicely, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

He could tell by the look in your eyes you couldn’t stand to play nice—but needed to cum. He watched you swallow your pride, soften your eyes just a bit, and when you felt you might implode from all the feeling, whined,

“Please make me feel good, daddy, please, I need it.”

Joel breathed and eased back just an inch, lowering his hand to thumb softly at your clit. You keened.

“That’s my sweet girl.”

Still just rubbing that bundle and looking down while you came unraveled, Joel thought you perfectly sublime. He’d kill to keep you there like that, eyes rolling and skin soaking the table beneath you both in sweat and arousal. He stared down at the place your bodies were connected—a sliver of his cock visible and soaked with your juices—and he felt a wave of desire crest over his mind. Panting, quietly, he brought one hand to your hip and kept the other working furiously over your clit, trying to ignore the urge to rut inside you. It was self-discipline for him, too.

He wouldn’t let you know that yet, though.

He crushed the cigarette between his teeth and kept still.

“Ya like that, sugar? Like daddy stuffed inside this pussy, makin’ ya beg real pretty for me?” His husky Southern drawl ran like molasses off his tongue, thicker now when he was balls-deep and half-drunk off your cunt.

You watched his mouth, intrigued, and saw a long line of spit drip deliciously from those pretty, stubbled lips of his to your lower ones, making the spot more filthy and warm as your fluids mixed together. Still, Joel didn’t move a thing more than his thumb—but the sounds from you both were growing louder and more desperate.

The gentle squelch of spit, sweat, and arousal running all down your pussy, paired with those noises you made when you were feeling this good and squeezing him tight, was enough to send Joel straight over the edge. Now he didn’t have the strokes or any motion to focus on before him, just you—he flicked his cigarette away the second he sensed you were getting close yourself.

“Sweet little thing,” he cooed, still rubbing in circles, “How’s my baby feelin’?”

You clawed at the table beneath you and knocked your head back once or twice on the wood, humming a quick, ‘Good, daddy, good’ in the most hoarse and pathetic voice you’d ever used, and Joel smiled. You hadn’t cursed out loud in a minute and seemed to be taking his touches well. He’d have to give you some form of reward.

Gently, Joel pulled back and made a shallow thrust inside you. Both your body and his jolted with pleasure.

“FU—n stuff, fun stuff,” you hissed, trying hard to mask the expletive.

In truth, Joel was struggling too. Just one stroke inside you and that coil inside him was about ready to burst.

“Fun, huh?” he teased, keeping his motions down to quick pistons as he laid his palms flat on either side of your head, “Daddy make ya feel fun-ny, does he?”

“Yeah, he does, he— ah, SHIT right there, right there!”

Evidently, he’d found your G spot.

Joel stilled inside you as soon as the foul word escaped.

You whined. Loud. Almost tempted to burst into tears.

“Nononono, that doesn’t count, Joel! That doesn’t—” Your voice was shortly supplanted by a whimper when the man went back to thumbing your clit, hips rendered still once more and cock wedged deep inside your core.

“What’s it gonna take to make you behave for me, huh? Do I have to talk to your daddy again?” Joel seethed.

You shook your head quick and felt him circle your clit even harder, more punishing now. Your body craved the friction from his cock but could barely contain the words that were coming out now. You pinched your eyes shut, feeling your orgasm creeping closer and closer, and whimpered gently, desperately, ‘Fuckfuckfuuuuuck.’

Whether it came down to making terrible plays at stack cup or getting your clit torn apart by Joel’s thumb, you simply could not keep the filthy language at bay.

You weren’t going to listen, that much was clear.

Joel had no choice but to make you learn a different way.

So, prying his fingers and his cock from your cunt, he reached across for your hips instead—pulling you off of the table and pushing you down to the floor, at his feet.

He smoothed a palm over the top of your head and fisted your hair in one hand, his cock in the other, and brought his hot, swollen, slick-coated length within an inch of your face, stroking fast.

Your gaze flitted from the sight in front of you to Joel’s eyes, back and forth, stunned and in utter disbelief. As you felt your own climax crumble and recede from you at once, the sound jumped up your throat before you could stop,

“What the FUCK is your problem, Joel?!”

“There it is,” Joel just flared his nostrils as he jerked himself above you, “There’s that nasty fuckin’ mouth.”

He pulled your head even rougher and tipped your chin back to meet the scowl on his face. Pleasure had almost swallowed the man whole, yet his expression scarcely betrayed a trace of it, eyes cold and jaw clenched tight.

“If that mouth can’t be good for me, can it open real wide and show me how a dirty slut does it?”

You were beside yourself. Holding his gaze like a bomb might go off in his brain any second—something you’d be happy to see—you scowled as well. Begrudgingly, and knowing Joel wouldn’t ease off of this punishment until he’d made you pay for your language, you nodded.

“What’s’at?” Joel snapped, stroking himself even faster, “What do ya want me to do, sugar?”

You gritted your teeth and silently wished they were crushing his balls to powder between them.

“Want…you…to cum…on my face.”

“Little louder, sweet pea, can’t hear ya from up here.”

The sound of his palm working over his cock again and again, shimmery and slick with your arousal soaking it, was almost too much to bear. You watched, forlorn and silently boiling with rage as Joel stared down at you, as merciless as he’d ever been. Mocking, almost, it seemed.

“Want you to…cum on me, please.”

“One more time, darlin’,” Joel pressed, pupils blown wide with desire, “Be real sweet and say it one more time f—”

“I WANT YOU TO CUM ON MY FACE, YOU FUCKER.”

That sparked the first real smile on Joel’s lips you’d seen in a while, and then he was watching you cockily, nodding.

Before you could even think to blink, stand up, or storm off again, you felt a fat, sticky-wet glob of warmth hit your cheek. Then another. Then another. Then another. You winced and flinched back, but Joel held your head in place, in front of his cock, and gripped you firmly as he unloaded rope after rope of his cum all over your face.

By the time he was finished, your skin was glistening. Coated in the stuff and still blinking through strings of the hot, sticky mess as Joel stood over you, chest heaving fast as he pumped himself through his release.

Must be fucking nice.

When the downpour had slowed to a trickle, two thick fingers swiped at a dollop of cum on your cheek. Then, wordlessly, they moved down to your mouth.

“Open,” Joel commanded.

You’d barely parted your lips a quarter of an inch when he pushed both digits inside. Swirled them around in your mouth and made sure to cover every soft, wet contour and crevice before pulling out with a pop.

He wiped at your other spend-streaked cheek and repeated the action, plunging his fingers in and out of your mouth to make sure you cleaned him thoroughly. This was more of an act meant to tease than anything else, you knew, almost demeaning in the way he stood there and nodded his head while murmuring, ‘’Atta girl.’

You hated how much you liked that stupid show of dominance—and, even worse, how good he tasted.

Joel brushed your tongue with another fingerful and watched you bob your head in time. He hummed his approval and scanned your face for any spend left over.

There was a lot. He paused, as if considering something.

“Drop ‘em.” Joel motioned to the straps of your dress.

You did as he said and pulled both bands down at once. When your breasts spilled out of the fabric, you watched Joel lower his gaze and, fixating on the spot you’d just exposed to him, take two—no, three—careful fingers to collect the remainder of himself and spread it downward.

Joel took his cum and smeared it all over your tits.

He was equal parts meticulous, gentle, and gratuitous in doing so, and he took pleasure in every second.

With a heavy-lidded, glossy gaze trained unwaveringly on your chest, Joel rolled each nipple between forefinger and thumb and fell into a trance. Rubbed you up and down every inch he could find and groaned at the sight. Glazing your skin all over with him and savoring it.

You couldn’t deny the feeling of being marked in a way so degrading, dirty, and adoring at once had a dizzying effect on you, too. The look in his eyes, and the soft brush of his fingers, almost quelled your rage entirely.

Almost.

When Joel pulled your spaghetti straps back into place—and you, in turn, back onto your feet—you yanked away. Forcefully. While Joel straightened up, silently cursed his bad back, tucked his dick in his pants, and started to reach for your waist, you jabbed the fastest, fattest, fuck-your-whole-family middle finger in his face and took off.

“Honey—”

“Don’t.”

“But I—”

“Have some goddamn fucking nerve.”

You’d nearly made it to the staircase again, heels turning to start down the first steps, when Joel sidestepped at lightning speed and blocked off your passage. All you saw then was the front of a starch white dress shirt and a light patch of chest hair peeking out from the highest button, crowding your vision, moving in time with every manoeuvre you tried to make around him. He smelled like sweat and fresh citrus. Perhaps a hint of vengeance.

You wouldn’t meet his gaze when he grabbed your face. Tried to shrug him off when he made as if to pull you into a hug—‘Are you off your shit?! Are you?! People are right downstairs’—and Joel just smiled. Grinned like a jackass eating briars, about five times too smug for his own good, and drew you into his chest by gentle turns.

You weren’t sure why you recoiled when he kissed you.

Hell, you’d done it a dozen times before—albeit a bit more frantically, in a way to say ‘I need to fuck you’ when words just wouldn’t suffice—but this one was different. Deeper. Joel was gripping both sides of your face and still grinning as he kissed you, feeling your muscles slacken some and your frame meld gently into his.

You hated it.

“I missed you,” Joel murmured between kisses.

Hated him.

“How’s my baby been, huh?”

Oh, you know, just waiting. Hating you a little. Hoping we didn’t inadvertently create a baby ourselves, courtesy of your prehistoric condoms.

“I missed you.” Gently. Again.

You tensed in his hold when his lips trailed down to your neck. You felt a low flutter. It was like your feet had been glued to the floor and your tongue left wholly immobile; you let Joel caress, kiss, and whisper down your skin like every cell beneath his touch wasn’t seething en masse.

Your stolen climax. Broken condom. Close call with your father and Tommy. Radio silence ongoing for days.

You couldn’t wrap your head around any of it, or him, or how grossly inconsistent the man’s every move upon you now seemed to be with the way he’d acted all week.

Joel slowly descended your body.

“Like I said, honey…you fuck with my head,” he said soft against your dress, then your legs, then the space in between them.

“Makes two of us,” you grumbled back.

You braced your weight against the railing over the stairs just behind you when he slipped your panties to the floor. Then he tucked them snug into one of his back pockets and brought his face to your wet, aching core.

“Discipline doesn’t come easy, does it?” It sounded like something trapped between a question and a declarative coming out from the side of Joel’s mouth.

Fortunately for you, he didn’t try to clarify which of the two he meant, or do much else at all except eat your pussy from that point on. He kissed your thighs, gripped them tighter, then wedged his face between them while you held fast to the metal behind you. You stifled a moan when his tongue traced over the seam of your cunt.

You didn’t have to like the man to love what his mouth could do for you, you silently reminded yourself.

Love it you could—and would. Without shame.

Granted, you were still sensitive as all hell from your last almost-orgasm of the night, but Joel knew how to work his lips and tongue around it. He swiftly lapped between your folds, teased a finger at your hole, and wrapped his warm lips around your clit to suck once or twice, and you were damn near ready to spiral in seconds. You fisted the soft salt-and-pepper hair at the top of his head and rutted your hips in short, shallow motions against him.

“Good girl,” Joel crooned, welcoming each thrust with another swirl of his tongue, “That’s my sweet baby.”

“Joel.”

You traded expletives for the simple repetition of his name, not wanting the pleasure to stop. Joel hummed and sucked and held your legs around him even tighter.

You sighed, almost whined, and dug your fingertips into his scalp, feeling your climax building quick inside you.

Joel’s mouth was working faster, sucking harder, drawing smaller and crueler circles, lapping eagerly against your arousal and giving it everything he had, it seemed, to work you up to your release. He grunted when you yanked hard on his hair but didn’t stop.

In fact, the bastard just kept trying to talk you through it, fluid movements of his own tongue and lips be damned.

“Doin’ so damn good for me, sweet pea, keep goin’.” There was an apology in there somewhere, working hard to atone for the orgasm he’d denied you right before.

Four more flicks of his tongue and a gentle endeavor to pump his fingers in and out, again and again, right above that soft, spongy pad of pleasure deep inside had you teetering over the edge of a cliff.

You tore your gaze from Joel for a second, preparing for that sweet and lusty consummation, when your head turned to the side just slightly. You almost groaned.

Your own hot, flushed, and fucked-out reflection was the first thing to greet you in a sliver of a mirror on the wall. Just beneath you, as you could’ve expected, there was Joel—kneeling between your legs with his chin tipped up, beard coated in moisture and pleasure and warmth. You weren’t sure why the sight from this angle had such a strong effect, but something about the full view of your bodies in motion gave your stomach a pinch. A burn. You ogled the glass and made a sound audibly higher in pitch than a whimper as Joel suckled and tongued at your clit.

You came just like that—gripping the rails, fisting his hair, rutting your hips, and staring implacably at that mirror.

When Joel resurfaced, you were still fully transfixed.

Gawking at how fucking nice he looked between your thighs. How filthy it all was to be seated on his face and cumming for his tongue while the rest of your father’s dinner party mingled blissfully unaware downstairs.

When you saw Joel rise, you jerked your head back.

You weren’t sure why it felt like being caught, but it did.

Just as you began to murmur some half-assed apology his way, you felt hands on your hips and a rock-hard bulge at your rear as Joel spun you round in front of him.

He shoved you flush against the mirror so your tits were pressed up to the glass. He gave you a quick once-over.

Slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders and shimmied the fabric down your chest, once again.

With your breasts splayed out in front of you and your hands pressing hard on the mirror—as if letting up the slightest bit might send you straight through it—you tried to crane your neck. You felt the sticky squelch of cum and fresh spit painted over your chest, muddying up the glass with every movement you made. Your chin dug deep in your shoulder as you cocked your head to the left, eyes searching for Joel’s behind you.

You heard the clink of a belt, followed by a rustle of fabric. Then a hand slamming close beside your head on the mirror, while another worked industriously to free his cock from the confines of his trousers once more.

“Joel,” you breathed, still tender from your climax.

“Hm?”

He was gruff as he rubbed and smacked your bare ass with his cock. Let it rest on the soft, fleshy shelf between you two and teased his length over that space.

“Did someone take his little blue pill today?” you teased.

“Fuck off.” You saw a flicker of a smirk in the mirror.

No way Joel Miller was getting a full-fledged erection twice in the same ten minute span. That shit didn’t happen outside the realm of porn flicks and a woman’s wildest fantasies when it came to men Joel’s age. He knew it just as well as you but tried to feign indifference when he pressed the head of himself to your folds. He did, however, suck in a breath at the new sensation.

He could do this.

He could cockwarm you raw, tonguefuck your cunt, ravage and render you all but brainless on the surface of that mirror, and still have the wits about himself to take another breath. He could show those shit-for-brains college boys he’d been battling for days in the depths of his mind how much better he could fuck you than them.

Really, Joel was just manifesting at this point.

He hadn’t busted a nut and fucked this quick since Bill Clinton had been in office. All hat and no cattle whatsoever for this pussywhipped cowboy.

“Better hope I go easy on ya, sugar.”

“Best believe I won’t.” You would’ve winked if you weren’t so bone-crushingly aroused and fresh off your peak.

Joel had just chuckled, more than a touch nervous, and began rubbing your warmth to coat himself in it—angling his slightly apprehensive penis up to your cunt when you straightened some. Rather than keep your tits to the mirror, you chose to press your back against him, ass snug to his front and eyes roaming wildly over the reflection of your two forms. Both of you flinched when the head of his cock hitched around your entrance.

Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat just over your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your skin.

“Gotta be the sweetest thing I ever seen,” he whispered into your ear. Meeting your gaze in the mirror and lifting his hips just so before breaching your folds.

He hoped you’d take it for sweetness and not just a vicious strain of anxiety or weakness as he prepared for the first thrust. He’d need a second, a minute—maybe a goddamned hour, if he was being real honest. You were too damn pretty to be fucked by a two-pump chump.

Joel nudged his nose against your ear and tried to stall. Pausing a beat.

“Never been humped and dumped before, yaknow.”

Wait—the fuck?

That came out wrong.

You cocked a brow and tilted your hips. You didn’t seem keen on talking but had no choice but to humor him.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” you hummed.

Joel balked at his own stupidity, trying, and failing, to remove his foot from his mouth and remedy his words.

“I mean, I— I get it,” he returned, too fast for his liking, “I’m no texter myself, I just…thought, uh, maybe—”

“Miller. Spit it out.”

Your body was all but leaking arousal before him and the man was trying to divert the conversation to…phones?

Joel winced.

Felt his member deflate with embarrassment just a bit.

NO! No. No. Just…fuck. Stay hard. Please, stay hard.

He’d done it to himself. Tried to hamper sex for a second too long just to give his dick a fighting chance at survival and ended up mucking things up supremely. Per usual.

“You never texted me back.” He sounded blunt now. Rushed.

Joel watched you raise both eyebrows.

“Texted you back?” you scoffed.

“Yeah…texted, called, snipchatted, whatever.”

Your face didn’t change despite the glaring Gen X error.

“You never texted me, Joel!”

What?

Suddenly, the dick wedged between your legs and hovering over your cunt seemed to be the last thing either of you could be bothered to worry about.

“I’ve…been texting you all week. Called a few times too.”

“Like hell you have. You ghosted me and went off the grid this whole fuckin’ week—Tommy said so, too.”

Joel cringed again to hear his brother’s name brought up in this context and shook his head. You were wrong.

“512-867-5309. Been trying to talk to you all goddamn week, see how you were, and you never responded,” he said, indignation creeping into his tone against his will.

At last, your expression dropped.

From furious to frowning to just fucking annoyed. Your lips were drawn tight in a line across your face.

“My number is 512-867-5305, dipshit.”

“Huh?”

“5 at the end, not a 9.”

“…No.”

“Yeah…”

Shit.

Joel Miller had made his fair share of flubs in his life, but fucking up the phone number of his best friend’s daughter whose pussy he’d accidentally cum inside the week before seemed almost criminal. Too fucking asinine and rookie-level dense to ever recover from. He blinked.

“Thought you…hated my fuckin’ guts,” he confessed.

You threw your hands up in disbelief, frustration. Fury.

“I do— believe me, I do,” you snapped, “But not for that.”

‘That’ meaning the last time you two bumped uglies. Joel wasn’t sure whether to take heart or step back.

“What’s’at mean?” he asked.

You pushed your feet a little further apart on the floor and pressed back into Joel. He took that as a decidedly good sign and reached for your hip. Then took his cock, again, which had invariably twitched and swelled up at the smallest motion from you.

“Means we’ve got plenty of reasons to hate each other, but fuckin’ ain’t one of ‘em,” you shrugged, angling your ass in the perfect place for penetration. Joel was just about back to full-mast and buzzing as you spoke, “I can get over the whole…old dude taboo—you being dad’s friend and all—I just couldn't stand the thought of you leaving me in the lurch when shit got weird at the end.”

‘Weird’ meaning risky. Virulent. Damn near catastrophic if it ever came to be that one of Joel's swimmers had latched onto one of your eggs and knocked you up. The fear of pregnancy, and every bloodcurdling, awkward conversation to ensue, had been amplified tenfold by the thought that Joel didn't even care one way or the other and couldn't be bothered to text, call, or otherwise show that he didn't totally regret what you'd done in his car. You could handle a clean break, but leaving it on such uncertain terms had been torture. At length, you sighed.

Joel was nosing behind your ear now, a bit less tense.

A little more laid-back and warm this time around, as he, like you, had gotten to exhale a breath of relief realizing that neither of you had deliberately tried to fuck the other over, or ghost, just yet. You'd been pissed at him all night, and he'd been busy barraging a perfect stranger somewhere in Austin with strings of texts and calls all week, but the two of you were ultimately OK. For now.

“But you still hate me, huh?” Joel spoke low against your skin and felt you soften just a little.

You nodded, careful not to slacken too much.

“Mhmm.”

Now Joel was almost glad to have taken that brief, heated detour, because his dick had made a complete comeback and was aching to tease you some more. He grabbed the base of his length and slotted it slow as ever between your folds. Rolled his hips forward and pushed you both a little closer to the mirror. One of your hands flew up to steady yourself, and Joel’s hand followed. He laid his palm over the back of yours and pressed in.

“It’d be a real shame if you do,” he said, smirking as he notched the tip of his cock just within the tight ring of muscles at the groove of your cunt, “For a second there I was starting to think you might’ve liked fucking me, too.”

In the next second, Joel was easing inside you. Feeling you arch into the motion and grabbing hold wherever he could across your front, he pulled you into his chest and felt a streak of coarse pleasure lick up the full length of his spine. Your walls were squeezing him in a brand new way, a novel position, and he was starting to fear there wasn't any place he could fuck you that wouldn't send him veering for release within his first two strokes inside.

He bucked his hips a little something like an amateur, he thought, getting used to taking you like this. You were moaning, holding his fingers between your own atop the mirror as you squeezed your pussy tight around his cock, and he hoped that meant you hadn't minded the few stuttered, desperate strokes he'd delivered at first.

“I love…fucking you, Joel,” you seethed at last.

Then, wordless as it was pointed, finding his gaze in your reflection, ‘I still hate you, Miller. There’s a difference.’

He slammed into your ass and quickly got the sense that you liked it this fast—loving, lusting, or despising him otherwise. Almost needed it a bit frantic and rapid-fire when he was fucking you from the back, he reckoned.

Joel looked you in the eye from his view behind you in the mirror and saw it clear as day. He almost grinned.

You were wildly fucked out and in need of quick release.

For once in his life, he could oblige you on that, easy.

He slid his cock in and out, rutting much quicker than he ever thought you’d want it, and he grunted. Slipped a hand between your thighs and felt you pulse around him, involuntarily, when his fingers found your clit. He could tell by that grip, and those febrile little whimpers, that you were loving this just as much as him and probably were as close, if not closer, to a new, shuddering climax.

Joel plunged deep inside your cunt and drew you closer.

Taking your throat in one hand, he nudged your body into the glass and smirked, drunk with the feel of you.

“Ya like it when I fill this pussy, huh? Love feeling me deep inside this needy little hole?” he murmured, slow and taking care to draw out the syllables in each word.

You nodded that you did. Rocked your hips back to meet his thrusts and moaned.

“I love it, daddy,” you managed weakly, “Love it so much.”

The fingers at your clit increased in speed, and Joel rutted into you even harder, relishing the soft squelch between your bodies as he moved. Then he reached for a fistful of your hair and, instead of pulling back like he might normally have done, he pushed in. He pressed your face in the mirror, turned to the side, and pistoned his hips even faster. Felt your moans spill out across the glass and mix with his own, and he couldn’t help but let a raw, primal impulse take over his thrusts—and tongue.

“You make the prettiest fuckin’ noises, y’know that?” Joel breathed, hunched over and close to your ear.

Before you could so much as acknowledge his praises, bob your head, or moan in response, he shifted the hand in your hair again. This time turning your face toward the mirror, he brought your lips within inches of the glass and made you watch him fuck you, again and again.

You trailed your gaze over your full reflection and almost whined out loud, ripe with desire and ready to cum just seeing how good he looked as he took you from behind.

With his brow furrowed, pupils blown, hair a fucking mess, lips parting slightly with the strain of every grunt and moan, and hips rolling repeatedly, furiously into your own, Joel looked about as handsome as you thought you’d ever seen him. You felt the soft nudge of his tummy behind you, the tightened grip on your hip and in your hair, and within seconds, you were nearly there.

“My pretty. fuckin’. girl—” Joel managed through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a thrust, “—and her pretty. fuckin’. moans.” Then, bringing his beaming, sweaty expression right next to yours in the mirror, “Ready to cum for me, pretty girl?”

You curled your toes into the floor and nodded, slotting your fingers through his own when he planted a hand above you again,

“So— so close, daddy.”

Joel squeezed your fingers back. Kept your faces damn near side-by-side in the mirror and relished the marked change in your features when he grazed that spot inside. You let out the filthiest, fuckdrunk moan and didn’t need another stroke—you came around his cock with a tight, pulsing spasm, seizing his hand, rocking your hips back into his hard as the pleasure washed over your body.

Joel’s cock absorbed every last delicate throb, hot and heavy enough to send the man spiraling himself. He braced his front tight against your body and kept fucking you through your release, groaning a vicious, desperate bout when he felt that deep-seated urge to spill his seed.

Fuck. He’d have to pull out. Now.

Just as his own climax was close at hand—close as he could ever, or should ever feel it while still inside you—Joel reached down for your hip to pull out and cum all over your ass, but he was brought to a stop. Swiftly.

To his surprise, it was you pulling off of him—sliding off his cock and dropping to your knees as if to take him in your mouth.

Thank fuck.

Joel grabbed his dick as quick as he possibly could and moved to start stroking himself over your face, when your hand closed around his own. Stopping him. Again.

You grinned.

Feeling the slightest twinge of retributive pleasure at seeing him like this, just like he’d had you, your smile stretched even bigger. Joel could’ve wept at the sight.

You brought your lips to his cock and grazed it, barely.

“Wanna try something fun?”

He knew better than to let a moan slip at a time like this.

Not when he was sitting at the dinner table; not when he was surrounded by the people he knew and loved the most. Not when he was celebrating his best friend’s fifty-first birthday, and certainly not when that man’s daughter was currently perched between his thighs, out of sight from every eye at the party but his.

Joel lifted the tablecloth. He almost came on the spot.

This was your idea of ‘fun.’

Payback by any other name would’ve smelled as sweet.

Seeing your mouth open wide and your lips curled tight around his hot, throbbing member, Joel couldn’t help but ache for reprieve, or else a split-second lapse of judgment—one where he forgot all sense of decorum and simply went to town on that pretty little face of yours. But, as it was, the rest of the party was totally oblivious to your absence, and he didn’t want to draw attention to it, or him, by roughfucking your mouth.

That would come later.

No, now he would let you glide your mouth gently over his shaft, leaving trails of thick spit and hints of a shiny pink lip gloss in its wake. He’d let you bob your head softly—self-assured in a pace you got to set—and he wouldn’t lay a finger on your face or let a thrust of his get in the way, because this was all about you giving him the pleasure. Maybe making him squirm just a little, too.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t steal a glimpse every now and then and pin you with an expectant look when he wanted something done his way. The room was dimly lit and everyone in it drunk; Joel would gladly take the risk.

‘You can go deeper than that, sweet pea.’

‘Nope, three-fourths ain’t enough, I need your mouth around me whole.’

‘You did wanna make daddy feel good, didn’t ya, sugar?’

He didn’t have to speak a word of it out loud for you to know what he meant. What he needed. You loosened your jaw and stretched your lips even wider, whining just a little when the head of his cock grazed your tonsils.

“Fuck that feels nice,” Joel said aloud.

You froze.

Then, without missing a beat, you heard him continue just as comfortably, speaking to the people around him,

“Y’all feel that breeze comin’ in?”

Sick fuck. You continued to suck him anyway.

One hand braced tight against Joel’s leg and the other moved shamelessly between your own, and you tried not to moan, but the sound escaped anyway. No one heard it, but Joel felt it reverberate down his shaft, and he gripped his glass of Merlot like a vice. Your dad shot him a curious look from across the table but said nothing.

“Can’t get enough’a her, huh?” Tommy grinned beside him.

“What?” Joel faltered. Set his drink aside carefully.

Down below, you dragged your mouth just far enough to take his tip between your lips and suckle. Joel grunted.

“The wine,” Tommy said, still smiling, “You must love it.”

Joel let out another strangled breath that he tried to pass off as a chuckle and nodded.

“Got me on my fuckin’ knees,” he admitted.

And that was the truth. Starved for air and blinking through tears as you knelt down to blow him, it was still you with the chokehold on Joel, and both of you knew it.

Try as you might to convince yourselves otherwise, the man was enrapt. Too spellbound to turn down your offer of sucking him dry under the dinner table just minutes after he’d almost cum all over your face, Joel was in it, and he was in it deep. It was just that small matter of you being his best friend’s daughter that made him loath to admit it. At any rate, he had your tongue licking strips up his cock and felt a sudden, sharp clench in his stomach.

He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Neither would you.

Joel couldn’t see it then, but you’d practically soaked your own hand from how hard you’d been rubbing your clit—ignoring his orders not to touch yourself there—so turned on from just sucking his dick and needing to feel relief while you selflessly, secretly pleased him beneath the table. While Joel reached for another draught of wine, you brought one hand to his balls and kept the other at your cunt, triple-tasking like the efficient little slut he needed you to be: sucking, cupping, and rubbing all at once to get the two of you off in one minute or less.

You guided him down to the furthest place in your throat, then pushed him even deeper. You gagged just slightly and felt a hand reach down for your cheek. A thumb began to rub at the tears welled up at the corners of your eyes.

‘Sweet thing hasn’t felt a man this deep before, huh? Wanna swallow some more?’

You nodded that you did. Couldn’t actually hear him now, or see much else besides the soft tufts of hair on his belly, but you could feel a light, heady warmth seep into your brain.

You rutted your hips and just hoped no one dropped a fork nearby. Bucked desperately into your hand and felt the heat start to swell to a whole new feeling, and suddenly you were whimpering, whining on Joel’s cock from under the shade of the table and cumming all over your fingers.

Joel returned a quick smile from your father and cracked a joke about the Super Bowl. Raised his hips just the slightest bit and wiped one of your tear-soaked cheeks.

‘Almost there, hon, keep that throat open for daddy.’

All you could do was cry and try your best. Wild feelings from both the slow, deep facefuck he was giving you and the flurry of euphoric aftershocks coursing all throughout your body made it almost impossible to bear, but you obeyed your sweet and strong and steady-handed Joel and sensed a blossoming desire crop up for something else.

You wanted to taste him as he blew his load in your mouth, flooded your tongue with his spend, and painted every inch of your insides with that hot, sticky stuff.

You needed him whole.

Your Joel.

In tune with your thoughts—or perhaps just overcome with a need to see you before he reached his peak—Joel raised the tablecloth the slightest bit when Tommy wasn’t looking. His gaze locked on yours, and his tongue darted quick between his lips. He cocked a brow. Brushed his thumb again and looked down as if to say,

‘Ya want this, darlin’? Want all of me?’

You gave a soft nod, and that was all he needed.

No sooner had you given him the green light than his cum went pulsing out in ropes, coating your throat and eventually your whole mouth as you held still and took it all.

There was so much more than you thought. So much of Joel that had been waiting to give your mouth a proper fucking glaze that once he’d started he just couldn’t stop. Above the table, your dad shot a pointed look in his direction—‘You good, man?’—and it took every ounce of strength in Joel’s body to grit his teeth tight and nod.

He’d filled so much of your mouth it was spilling out.

You tried to hold steady, keep your movements extra slow. You’d heard your dad’s voice and just knew there’d be a lot more on the line than Joel’s dribbling seed if either one of you fucked up now. Your breath caught in your chest, and you felt too afraid to even swallow.

“I just…came,” Joel started, and your head almost cracked on the wood surface from how abruptly you flinched back,

“—to the realization—”

“—that you…are so…motherfuckin’ old, my friend.”

Your father’s laugh was the first you heard, followed by Tommy, his friends, and a dozen other party guests.

The next thing you felt, to your complete and utter shock, was Joel’s cock brushing your cheek. Then your lips. Then your tongue. He slid his still-hard member through the ‘o’ your mouth had made in awe and started to move in gentle motions back and forth, like a man all but aching to get a feel for your wet, sodden walls.

A man who couldn’t risk a glimpse now, but wanted more than anything to see the mouth he’d just filled.

Your father’s words hadn’t even cooled in the air.

Joel Miller, you sneaky, freaky fuck.

As the laughter subsided, and Tommy scooted back in his chair to take leave of your table, you felt a spark ignite. Whether it was yours or Joel’s or both your perverted minds suddenly alight and insane with the same thought, you couldn’t be sure, but you could make out the sound of a tablecloth flipping back up above you.

Joel slipped his dick out of your mouth and grinned. Took a firm hold of your face under the table so his fingers were coaxing your jaw to unhinge before him.

It was the lowest, slowest, menacing sort of sound you’d ever heard from him before, but it was his all the same.

Speaking to you now, softly, “Show daddy, darlin’.”

You thought you might like to see him that way forever.

Eyes honey-soft and glazed, thumb toying at your lip. Chest heaving up and down in time to your own breaths and growing ragged as you opened your mouth to him. He was sated and somehow unfulfilled—a bottomless pit of raw prurience as he stared down and held your gaze. Hair tousled, pants unbuckled, cock resting comfortably against your cheek, the man looked wonderfully undone and half in love with your sweet face peering up at him.

You couldn’t deny you loved doing this, too.

You’d just wished he saw Tommy before Tommy saw you.

#C*MPLAY IS BACK IN A BIG WAY #IT NEVER LEFT #joel miller smearing it on YOUR FACE????? IN THIS ECONOMY??? #i would never shut up #i already never shut up but especially then #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you #dbf!joel

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 In the Ring

♡ featuring: boxer!wriothesley x manager!reader

♡ summary: its hard managing a boxer full time. maybe it's time you relieve that stress. wc: 6.8k+ (???>":>?)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of trauma, mentions of violence, rough sex, overstim, face-sitting, size kink, unintentional edging, hair pulling, mentions of choking, argument, confessed feelings, slow burn, kinda toxic?

notes: can u tell how down bad i am for wriothesley. also do yall like the smaller text cause I do. jing yuan fluff next :)) art by sxnalien on twitter! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

For a second, the crowd stills. Bright intense lamps illuminate the sweltering squared circle, buoyant under the nimble movement of the boxers. They trade blows, bobbing and throwing each devastating hook with an even deadlier counter. No one took a hit for the past minutes, and the audience scoots to the edge of their seats at the sheer stamina of the two. Both dripping sweat, barely holding on between the merciless clock and their steadfast opponent. You can almost hear the breeze of swift jabs cutting wind against their jaws. The one with blue gloves can barely manage to guard himself, with a swollen face and wobbly legs, while the crimson gloves deal relentless punches. The crowd shouts. Unintelligible echoes, some that pray for the win, others grieving the money they’re about to lose. He’s caught on the ropes, and attempts a wild swing to save himself, to save his career. Red gloves weaves effortlessly and delivers a brutal crush to his bloodied nose and possibly busted mouthpiece. The crack is resounding, it makes the commentators cringe. His skull flies back, and he comes crashing down from his dizzying tower. The head-first fall vibrates beneath the feet of investors in proximity. 

DING DING DING 

Mass uproar ensues. They jump out of their seats, flailing their arms, joy and pain in equilibrium. 

“And he is out! It’s all over!” the commentator yells. Confetti floats golden dust from the ceiling. The victor stalks the ropes before hopping on them, his gloves raised in the air. Glistening, high off elation, but somehow composed in his attitude, akin to a wolf. 

“A savage knockout from the untouchable world champion, the king of the ring, Wriooothesley!” 

“Wrio, Wrio, Wrio!” they chant. You’re standing near the ropes, already identifying which joints you’ll need to observe after his victory lap. It’s hectic, and you’re jotting down the state of his figure. Past experiences sew through each deep scar carving his rugged biceps and abs, the bruises display early signs of discoloration. He’s tall on the unseen throne, it feels like you’re there with him. A million eyes in that vast stadium, and yet, those midwinter eyes ebbed in silver only look at you.  

Your beginnings as a manager were tumultuous. You could barely comprehend how out of your league you were working for a renowned agency fresh out of college. Though you found quick success in your ability to grab the attention of investors through public relations, you weren’t equipped just yet with the hindsight in preparing for scandals. The other athletes you worked with served no problem, and so you never had to worry about their appeal. Higher ups praised your extensive portfolio, and at such a young age, it was even more commendable. You earned it, fame and respect, interviews and gossip—a delicate dance. You were always busy, assisting your clients throughout the day and maintaining their presence while they slept. It was hard work, but you loved doing it. 

That was until you worked with amateur boxer, Childe. 

A snappy, overconfident lightweight fighter with no regard for anything or anyone. He had an unmistakable void in his eyes, but you fought for him ceaselessly, to prove that he wasn’t the cold person he portrayed himself as. You bore with his flirtatious compliments and innuendos, the need to focus him whenever you documented his afflictions, and he’d not-so-subtly flex his biceps. Childe was unnecessarily violent with underhanded tactics. The media knew this and did everything to amplify that bellicose story. You’d combat it, negate it, but he only fed the flames with threats of retaliation. Taking his phone wasn’t enough, and you couldn’t get through to him. It was only a matter of time before he went off the deep end.  

The day you slept, you discovered a restlessness you’d endure indefinitely. The flickering glow of your device woke you at midnight as hundreds of notifications congested your screen. 128 missed calls from your agency, 50 from news sources, and none from Childe. When you processed the damage from his deplorable stunt, you nearly hurled your phone out the window. He posted revenge porn, and evidently turned off his phone. Surely, there’d be a way to fix this. The chances seemed to dissolve with each text turning green. You started pacing, battling with morality and loyalty and anger. What he did was disgusting, but it’s your job to save him, right? Is he worth saving? You spoke with 4 managers at once, switching through motives and bickering until morning. As you flipped through the television, another emotion struck you. 

There he was, on a tasteless gossip channel. An interview you didn’t arrange, with a man you’ve never seen before. And he was...crying? The sob story emitting from his deceitful lips was almost impressive. Childe went on about how “demanding and horrible” you were backstage. The crocodile tears dried up through dodgy anecdotes, but it was enough to have people hooked. You were allegedly physically and emotionally abusive. He was too scared to speak up due to your position and he just couldn’t bear it any longer. Then he dropped the bomb; he blamed you for his post. You forced him to do it, jealous of his previous partners, emphasizing how enamored you were of him. The questionable tears began to fall again, but this time he covered his mouth, withholding the duping smile crawling on his face.  

You were filled with blinding rage, unable to control the fury at which your remote connected with the screen. It was everywhere now, social media websites booming with live opinions. He had no reason to slander you, and you couldn’t pinpoint why he chose to hurt you like this. You cried for him, shared stories of childhood and family. The knife you used to protect him was firm in your back, twisting and digging with each disgusting message in your inbox. You had no game plan to conduct, and no tears left to cry.  

Within a week, you finally understood how cruel this industry could be. Within a week, you were no longer on top. You lost clients fast. It spread like wildfire and not a single outlet spared an ear for your side. People you called friends, coworkers, hadn’t replied to your messages. When you got back to work, the rooms were silent as you passed. You could feel their judgement, whispers rattled with rumors and accusations. They waited for the tiniest slip-up and pounced like hyenas—you were eaten alive by their pitiful stares. You attempted to tell your truth multiple times throughout the week, but it was consistently rejected. The headlines were eye-catching: 

“Manager From Hell: Childe Tells All!” 

“He Cries: A Story of Love and Jealousy” 

Your stomach churned to the magazines being shown. Despite the great amount of loss you suffered, you were thankful for the one person that believed you, your boss. 

“Childe is a lying little snake. The media knows that, too.” 

“Then why is this happening?” 

“Money. That story is making bank right now. But I know for a fact you wouldn’t do this” he reassured.  

“Thank you, sir. But...I lost everything; I just don’t know what to do.” The weariness was heavy in your voice. 

“I have someone you can manage. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.” You were unsure of yourself now, and he continued.  

“You’re one of my best. If you want to climb out of this, now’s your chance.” Yes, you were unsure, drowning in doubt. But if the only way to get above water was to keep swimming, you wouldn’t give up so easily. 

Wriothesley wasn’t exactly known for his kindness. Crude, cocky, maybe even spoiled were descriptions that circulated in the tabloids. He had a knack for pissing reporters off by not answering questions or humming over their voice with a shit-eating grin on his face. Women loved him, however, throwing bras and phone numbers written on scrap as the condemned “bad boy” departed post-game. They screamed his name at once, and he’d done nothing to deserve it. He relished infamy—that way, it was much harder to pry into his private life. 

It had to be a coincidence that it was someone you fangirled over. In college, your eyes were glued to the screen every Sunday, waiting for Wriothesely’s post-conference and behind the scenes interviews. He didn’t speak often, but just the sight of those inky strands streaked with ash made your heart flutter featherlight in your chest. 

When you first approached him, he was just as arrogant as you’d expect. 

“Good evening!” you beamed. You caught him outside the gym, and he still had his headphones in. Full volume and blankly staring as you went on about the opportunity, silent under the blaring music. He took one earbud out when you finished. 

“Hm? Who’re you?” 

You were slightly annoyed. “Let me reintroduce myself, I’m (Y/N). Your new manager.” 

“No. Bye.” He began to walk past you without an ounce of care. You couldn’t lose it like this. 

“Ah, wait!” He turned half-heartedly. 

“Listen, I get it. You don’t want to be bossed around. But honestly, your reputation is shit. That can’t be good for business.” you persuaded. He towered over you, the figure of a Greek giant peeked through the compression top as he lazily watched you. 

“So? Why do you care?” he remarked. 

“I’ll help you. Sponsors, advertisements, whatever you want. You’re good, but you can be so much better. Let’s make money together.” You held your hand out, awaiting a handshake of approval. He merely glanced at your limp wrist. 

“Help? You’re obviously not doing this for free.” 

“Of course not. Give a little, take a little. I don’t do charity cases” you shrugged.  

He groaned, raking his fingers through his thick mane. At the very least, he hadn’t walked away yet. “I'd prefer for my life to be private.” 

“Then I’ll guarantee your privacy.” 

“Really?” he scoffed. “What can you give me besides empty promises?” 

“Anything you desire. Work with me, and I’ll make it happen.” That offer enticed him. No one had been this persistent with him yet, he scared off any manager that dared succor him. It was slightly entertaining, the way you burned ambition in your eyes, you were so easy to read. Most people wouldn’t look directly at him, and here you were, ready to follow him home if that’s what it took. He chuckled, and his massive hand reached for yours. 

You shook hands, and your fates were sealed.  

That was a year ago, and ever since then he’s been a thorn in your side. Nonstop drama and rectifying consumed your life. You didn’t think a man who spoke so little in public could talk so much around you. Whenever you argue—which is a frequent occurrence—his smirk grew wider at your frustration. You weren’t sure why you ever liked him in the first place. He only puts in effort when it comes to sparring, but you’re determined to ameliorate his standing, and in turn, yours.  

The minute you open the doors to the hall, the sound of pummeled sandbags, clanking metal, and sneakers skidding across the floor roars in your ears. Some men are dialed in on abusing the inanimate objects, the rest tense through repetitions of dumbbell curls with a hiss. You're in quick strides, the phone arm's length away from you as the sponsor on the other end screams. Another petty drama surrounding Wriothesley grabs the attention of the internet. Luckily, you have thorough experience remedying this. 

“What are you going to do? You’re fucking with my money!” you hear the faint voice. You bring the phone back to your ear. 

“Don’t I always deal with it? He fights, I make up for the other half. Give me a few hours.” 

“I’m not going to wa-” You hang up at the response. 

You propel the double doors free into a large room with a boxing ring in the center. A group of trainers swarm the perimeter, you can barely see through.  

“Don’t be scared!” one of them taunt towards the sparring partner, who has an unthinkable panic creeping in goosebumps dotting his skin. Each sloppy dodge tilts him more and more off balance against the strikes. Wriothesley has a powerful stature, with his back curving in a way that accentuates the rough muscle shaping his spine. You drone an annoyed sigh at the commotion and push yourself through them.  

“Move it, move!” you yell, before jostling your way to the front of the ring. 

“Wriothesley! Times up.”  He turns his head to the side, unintentionally sparing his partner and glares at you. 

“Two minutes.” 

“No. Now.” you command. He looks up at nothing, as if considering his options if he cusses you out. Then he begrudgingly drops the gloves and pulls himself under the ropes. The group disperses from the lack of action and he’s mere inches from you now. Sometimes you forget how to breathe in his half-naked presence.  

“What the fuck is your problem?” He mumbles while drying his head with a towel. His colossal forearms are raised over his head, highlighting the happy trail thick down his abdomen and tufts of hair on his armpits.  

“You. How many times do I have to tell you not to train during recovery?” you seethe. 

“Damn. Must’ve slipped my mind.” He doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest. 

“Well then, I’ll be sure to remind you hourly.” 

“Nah, I’m good. Hearing you once a day is enough.” He tosses the towel to you like his dutiful servant and grabs his water bottle. The liquid drips down his chin and on his shorts, hanging below his v-line. 

Your eyebrow twitches from withheld vexation. “If you don’t want to hear me twice, I suggest you do what I tell you. We need to talk.” A heavy sigh leaves him as he stretches, and he passes you the water bottle. If you had the strength to collapse the bottle with one hand, you would. “Lead the way” he goads. 

Wriothesley follows you through the backdoor of the gym to a secluded alleyway. When you get there, he immediately pulls out a cigarette you didn’t know he had. You were aware he smokes occasionally, but seeing it physically coaxed a strange worry in your gut. You twist your phone to him, to display evidence of him instigating an argument with Childe on social media. He reads in silence, briefly laughing at the recollection of his own comebacks, then lights the cigarette. 

“What’s this? Didn’t I say keep a low profile?” you reprimand. 

He drags in a deep breath of nicotine, and you eye the foul scent with distaste. He blows it above your unhappy face. “Calm down. Once a month thing. That fucker's testing me.” 

“This can’t happen again, Wriothesley.” He ignores you to continue his mumbling. “I should break his neck like a twig. He’s lucky he didn’t say that shit to my face, fucking punk.” he grouses. You're struggling to gather your thoughts, the cigarette compacted between his thick fingers irritates you. 

“We all appreciate your restraint, however-” you get closer, and yank the stick out his hand. 

 “No-!” Before he can finish, you promptly smudge it underneath your shoe. You aren’t sure how he’d react, but you didn’t expect him to sulk like a puppy. 

“You aren’t doing this shit while I’m here.” 

“Oh my god” he pouts, throwing his hands into his face and pulling them down.  

“You’re lucky I don’t report it to the doctor. None of this, ever again.” 

“Fuck, alright just...” he lets out a defeated sigh. “What do you want me to do about it? Apologize publicly?” You need him to do nothing; neither agency wants controversy, and it’d most likely be swept under the rug in just a couple days. You point his water bottle to him. 

“Nope, I’ll handle it. Just sit there and be pretty.” you reassure. He leans down to your height with a sweet smile and even sweeter gaze. 

“I do that well, don’t I?” he quips. 

“You manage.” He latches onto the water bottle, and drinks from it in your hand while looking at you. A soft heat envelops you beyond words that never reach your lips. 

“Listen to what I’m saying. Low. Profile.” Wriothesley comes up from thirst, dragging his tongue along the straw to the top, and licks his blushed lips. He delights in your flustered reaction. 

“Low. Profile.” he repeats in a sarcastic drawl. 

Later in the week, you receive a call in your office. It was fairly busy today, with coworkers constantly “checking in”, more so to see Wriothesley sitting across from you. He had no reason to be here, and you were surprised at his arrival. Be it boredom or a certain longing, a dull swell pulsed in his chest once he saw your overworked smile. 

“Hello, this is (Y/N) of Boxe Association. May I know who I’m speaking with?” Wriothesley’s ears perk up at your sudden professionalism, and he mimics your cadence. 

“Good afternoon, it’s Isadora.” Isadora was an event coordinator you previously worked with before your controversy. You understood that she stopped communicating to protect her business, but the pain lingered. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers, and meet eyes with Wriothesley, who’s laid back in the chair, his arms behind his head. 

“Oh. Hey, it’s been a while.” you say. You turn your swivel chair away from him to continue the conversation. His eyebrow twitches slightly with an unconscious scowl, and he walks towards your chair. 

“It has. I’m calling because I have a proposition that might interest you. I believe a meet and greet would be appropriate for your client. A large chunk of his fanbase are young adult women, however, he’s also popular with children.” He spins the chair around with a firm hand and presses his cheek against the phone. 

“That’s true.” You side eye him, and without skipping a beat, mush his nosey face away. His hot breath on your digits makes your skin tingle. 

“Who is that” he mumbles. You'd never seen Wriothesley interact with children, and you have every reason to be hesitant. 

“Hmm...any positive activity with children is good publicity. I’ll consider it. I’ll let you know by tonight.” The second you hang up, you release his face. 

“Why are you being annoying-” 

“Who were you talking to” he chides.  

“Isadora. She’s an event coordinator.” His clenched jaw unwinds. “She wants to do a meet and greet with you and a few kids. If we go through with this, I’ll have a camera crew and some reporters there. It’ll be good for your image.” 

“Okay.” he agrees. That was quick.  

“...Are you sure? Kids are loud and obnoxious a lot of the time.” 

“So? Fine by me. I can teach them how to fight.” Your skin crawls at the thought of Wriothesley launching a child through a wall. “That won’t be necessary.” 

“It’ll be fun.” The more he assures you, the more uneasy you feel. 

“Wriothesley, I’m serious. Don’t screw this up” you plead. He holds his pinky out. “I won't.” His loose interpretation of promises was dubious at best, but you had no other options, and this might be your only opening. You curl to his word. 

After parleying the finer details, you broadcast a raffle for young fans to meet Wriothesley. The traffic to the website was overwhelming, and you quickly began sorting out tickets for the favored winners. 

 Fortunately, the next couple of weeks were par for the course. 

It’s the night before the event, and you’re getting ready for bed. You sit at your desk in a big T-shirt and do your daily review of personal data. As you're scrolling through and identifying what needs improvement, you get a notification on your phone. 

“Breaking News: Boxer Bar Fight!” Curious, you open the tab to a video. It makes your breath stall, sweating frantically. You can’t think clearly, and your shaky hands can barely increase the volume. Unidentifiable noises and wobbly camerawork made it impossible to catch anything besides those familiar inky black strands, throwing punches in a drunken stupor at a defenseless man. Your previous conundrum flashes through your memory in a horrific stop-motion; the duping smile on his face. 

No. It’s happening all over again. Why is he at a bar? You messaged him before he went to bed. He never goes to bars. Why now, the night before the event? It’s late, he doesn’t go anywhere without telling you. 

He promised. 

None of it made sense as you threw on any sweatpants in your drawer and ran out the door. You can’t wait until morning. Disaster punctures and tears any rational decision you contemplate. Shouting silently within your mind, a crashing rage—or sadness—boils in your nervous stomach. You’re tunnel vision in a taxi on the way to his address. 

When you get there, you bang on the door with a fury that vibrates throughout the archway. His home is extravagant, with two cars and an expansive driveway. You bang again. 

“Wriothesley!” He finally opens the door. He’s still half asleep, pajama pants low on his waist, groggily leaning against the arch.  

“(Y/N)? Uh, what’s up?” He slurs in a deep slumbering voice through heavy eyelids. You barge in without saying anything. “Make yourself at home, I guess.” 

The interior is just as opulent as the exterior, it almost looks untouched. Every corner has a case or shelf stacked with ornate trophies and medals of excellence. It was the home of someone who achieved peak perfection and reveled in it. He follows you to his living room, bewildered at your furious expression. You play the video in front of him, and he watches with that same puzzled attitude that makes you angrier. You try taking deep breaths to compose yourself, but they halt shallowly. 

“What the fuck is this?” you accuse. 

“What? I don’t know.”  “Like hell you don’t know, this shit is on every homepage. Are you serious?”  

The cranky boxer pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. You show up at his house, and it’s to badger him about a rumor. Your temperament only heats the smoldering ember fueled by incessant claims. He covers his mouth, physically stopping the involuntary response. 

“Okay” he says, and blurts a facetious chuckle. Your heart thumps in your chest and ears.  

“Oh, It’s a fucking joke? I bust my ass to save your career and you’re laughing?” you snap, voice increasing in volume until it reaches a broken peak. He returns with the same energy. 

“When did I ask you to fix anything? Did you ever think that maybe I don’t fucking need you-” 

“You can barely control your smoking habits you pompous ass-” 

“I would if you didn’t nag me all the time. Whining and complaining, it’s fucking annoying!” he yells. Neither of you meant the words spilling out the bubbling surface, but your tongues were solely seasoned with the next spiteful jab. 

“Yes, whining! Because all you need to do is be on the straight and narrow, but you take nothing seriously, Wriothesley, and that’s exactly why-” 

“Exactly why what? Why your career went to shit so you’re piggybacking off mine?”  

Your battle stops. You can’t find the words to rebuttal. All the opinions of your colleagues, the media, Wriothesley, and yourself coagulate into a lump that fills the tightening throat. Pride comforts tears brimming your eyes. 

He pauses, as though he came to reality. An apology attempts to form on his lips, but it never manifests. “(Y/N), I didn’t-” 

“See you in the morning” you choked. You walk to the door, and he reaches out to the infinite space thick between you two.  

You didn’t sleep the entire night. It’s morning, and you’re exhausted. You consistently replayed the quarrel in your head through the taxi ride home, and when you strived for rest, it plagued your mind. Your coffee is untouched during your morning routine, a movement comparable to zombies. You don’t bother to confirm if Wriothesely is at the building—either way you owe it to the event holders to be there. 

You arrive just before the children file into the training room. Thankfully, Wriothesley is there in the center. Live cameras from reporters and parents border the walls; if something were to occur, it would be irreversible. Your head suddenly hurts. 

Perhaps playing it up for his reputation, the smile stretched across his face is a sunny warmth you’ve never seen from him. He waves to them, and they erupt with screams. To your astonishment, he gets on his knees to be eye level with them. They all jump into his arms at once, and he topples over onto the mat.  

And he’s laughing. This grumpy asshole fighter is laughing. A hearty, genuine laugh as he wraps his sturdy arms around all of them and picks them up at once. He whirls them around and they orchestrate high-pitched giggles. “Ready to have some fun?” he chortles. They say yes to varying degrees of excitement, and the meet and greet proceeds. 

You can’t help but smile when he frolics with the kids. They chase him with boxing gloves, he pretends to fall dramatically. Dogpiling him, he lets out a shrill scream of defeat. He manages to work in proper defense techniques while they jump him like a test dummy. He tosses each kid in the air whenever they ask, and never tells them no. You receive another call from Isadora amid your admiration, and you step outside. 

“Hey! Good news, these views are off the charts and the internet is really in his favor right now” she congratulates.  

“That’s great...what about the video from last night? Did you see it?” you ask. 

“Video...oh, that! Don’t worry, it’s confirmed fake.” What? Oh no. Immediate regret stirs in your blood, and you force the phone away to catch your breath. You feel utterly stupid. 

“Hello?” You quickly bring the phone back to your ear. “Yea, sorry. I have to go; I’ll call you later.” you insist. You can’t facepalm any harder. You make your way back to the training room, where the kids decorate his gloves with iridescent stickers. Wriothesley occasionally looks at you, but you can’t bear to show your guilty face. 

When the event is over, you both make sure to hug every child on the way out and thank the parent for coming. You’re sorting through mountains of requests people made to see Wriothesley again, and you mute your phone over the influx of emails. Peeking at the broadcast, under the footage in bold letters:  

“(Y/N) Back from the Dead?”  

It wasn’t the most flattering title, but it proved that public perception was salvageable. You emit a sigh of relief, for you and Wriothesley. As you’re packing your things to exit, he blocks the door with his body. 

“Can we talk?” You were dreading this discussion, but agreed, nonetheless. The ride to his home is silent, you grapple with a proper apology. 

You lean against the kitchen bar, while he’s laxing on the couch. Sleep deprivation torments you, causes you to wander as you fill in papers from sponsors. You can’t see the way Wriothesley steals glances at your slack figure curving to the marble. He eventually spoke.  

“So, um.” 

“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. You did a good job today Wriothesley, you should be proud.” You flash a meek smile. He fumbles with his thumbs uncomfortably. 

“I am. Aren’t I the best?” he boasts. 

“You are” you say. The lack of sleep beckons you to a spur of honesty as you scribble. “You have stunning form, perfect accuracy, and immeasurable talent. Not just anyone can do that.” you return. He gazes at you, that dull swell pumping in his veins again. The cozy radiance of lights brightens your tired eyes. 

“You’re a big fan, huh?” he chuckles.  

“Of course, I used to watch you in college. I had a major crush on you” you snort. “Everything you are is amazing, but you know this. So cut it out.” He sits on the armrest, swallowing your confessions. The room is entirely too hot, he needs alleviation—he needs you. 

“Sorry. For what I said.” 

“Forget it. It's my fault, I was careless. I apologize.” you admit. 

“You know I didn’t do it, right?” 

“I know.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“I know.” you reassure.  

“What if some other bullshit controversy comes out. Then what?” You stop writing to give him your full attention. 

“Then, I’ll trust you. We’ve gotten this far. Even if no one else does, even if for some reason I lose my job and I’m not your manager anymore, I’ll trust you, Wriothesley.” you reveal. He doesn’t move. Wriothesley knew he wasn’t deserving of trust, and he’d made a plethora of mistakes throughout your arrangement. You had every right to leave him long ago. Nobody gave him the time of day or cared for his wellbeing like you did, but he couldn’t reciprocate. Even so, here he kneels, at the feet of an angel that shows him undying mercy. 

Wriothesley stalks at you, but you remain. He looms over you, pinning you to the counter with both arms, inches from your face. It isn’t a threatening force, but one that begs for confirmation. That slated storm searches for a specific craving, you feel his chest rising and falling laden with yours. 

“You’re too close” you quiver. The bitter musk and vanilla enveloping your senses makes you foggy, it lingers through the whole house. 

“Tell me to leave.” His mouth slants to you, and he waits expectingly. You ogle his features, the scratches of a warrior celebrated across his hardy torso. His hair brushes against your forehead, imperfect and uniquely beautiful. Why were you mad, again?

“Tell me to back off, (Y/N)” he pleads. The pads of your fingers lightly caress his ear, then his jaw. 

“Please” he whispers. Your thumb grazes his bottom lip, and he succumbs to the urge. 

You collide fervently, lips coated in definitive desire. Dancing with rough, bruising kisses that don’t make space for air. It smears on your face, dips down your neck and swiftly returns to your lonely mouth. The pressure of the counter bar burns across your lower back from his weight, but those mind-numbing kisses soften any injury. You bite his lip when he pulls away, and he groans. Suddenly, he lifts you effortlessly with his hands on your ass, and you clash teeth and tongue in a passionate challenge. He demands entry, and you moan into the wet mass intertwining through sloppy kisses. It explores your mouth, sending throbs to your nerves and subdues any control you have left. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, but you yearn for deeper contact. He licks up the organ, and spots moist, hungry kisses on your jaw. You both take a fleeting breath before converging again. You find passage in his hair and suck staining rose-colored marks on his neck while he carries you to the bedroom. 

“You’ve been waiting for this, hm? Slutty groupie” Wriothesley moans. You drag kisses along the shell of his ear. He tosses you onto the fluffy bedding and haphazardly strips to his underwear. The wide mirror opposite his bed gives you a glimpse of his thighs and shapely bottom hugging the briefs. You’re supposed to be undressing, but that thronging bulge made for a titan makes you nervous for what’s to come. He palms the erection to soothe the ache and climbs over you. He’s somewhat gentle, careful with the bulk of his body as he cradles your face for more kisses. The way he looks at you, a covet softness or misted lust tantalizing the wetness pooling in your panties. He moves to your neck, French kissing down your throat and on your collarbone. You feel like a virgin again, heart racing from every graze of his fingers and lips. His calloused digits grope the plush fat of your thighs, and gradually reach the hem of your skirt. You snake your hands over his pecs and abs and read the muscles. Moaning into each other's mouths, indulging every part of your bodies as you’ve wanted to do for months. He pulls your skirt off and you hold your button-down over your exposed panties. Heat spreads in your body, and he amuses at your sudden bashfulness. 

“Oh…you’re shy?” he teases, before popping the buttons off with a brutal rip. “Wrio!” you yelp. That’s the first time you called Wriothesley a nickname; he must’ve died and went to heaven. The lace gift wrapped around your breasts taunts him, and he buries his face immediately. He nips the sensitive skin and snaps the clasp off. “Cute. Need to feel you” he husks. He twirls the bud in his mouth, while manipulating the other between his girthy fingers. Alternating among loving hickies and harsh tugs of his teeth on your nipple. You whine, and his laugh tickles your raw skin. He flips over on his back and steadies you on top of him. Discards the rest of your top, and let’s out a shaky groan.  

“You’ve never been this speechless” he says. You smile and kiss his puffy lips, your hands kneading his chest. “You’re so pretty” you coo. He huffs while rubbing circles on your waist, eyeing your inner thighs covered in juices.  

“Then come fuck my pretty face.” He slips under the waistband and tweaks the fabric, but you grip his wrists. “Wait! Let me shower first- “ 

“You said you'd give me anything I desire, remember that? Keep your promise." He yanks the thin material down your legs in your weak clutches, trailing a string of drool that sticks to your labia. “C’mere” he grunts and lifts you towards his face. Your thighs are soft on either side of him, and you still in his grasp. He lolls his tongue out, but you’re reluctant to fully sit. “I’m heavy” you murmur.  

“Shut up.” He embraces your body, and you have no choice but to settle in his warmth. He keeps you flush with his flat tongue, swiping up and down the squishy flesh molding to his mouth. You writhe in his grasp, but he continues to lap at your clit with a starving lust. Wriothesely soaks in your velvet skin and perfumed essence dribbling down his chin. He doesn’t come up for air, and your brain is mush over him, his lips slurping your quivering cunt. A buzzing intensity courses through your twitching stomach. You rut your hips against his mouth, and he maintains his position while you use him. You’re grinding on his tongue, absent-mindedly biting your lips and mewling endlessly as you bring yourself closer to climax. He hums while sucking the nub and the vibrations make you cry out.  

“Wrio, ‘m coming” you whine. You hump his mouth until you come undone in a pulsating finish. His hands restrain you, greedily devouring the newly found honey as it pours out. You ride it through while he curls the tip of his tongue at your opening. Without warning, you feel the pink muscle push in your recovering vulva. “S-Shit, Wrio” you whimper, trembling on him as he drives inside. He seizes the back of your thighs and begins to bounce you up and down the mushy appendage slowly stretching you. The sensation is overwhelming, his nose skims your oversensitive clit each time you drop, and you sob. Wriothesley moves faster, your hands entangle in his hair. You babble please’s repeatedly, gazing sensually at each other as the coil winds in your gut. More, more. Then it snaps, an abrupt shock, clenching on his tongue as you cream. He raises your lower half; the wetness collecting in your convulsing heat makes his cock strain more than it already suffered.  

“Such a cute slut” Wriothesley husks. Your numb legs can’t navigate on their own, so he places you on your stomach. “We’re not done.” He springs his throbbing length free. The veins are consistent, prominent up his shaft to the angry red crown—9 inches begging to be inside you. Fresh precome trickles down his tip and he sighs at the bloated pain in his hefty balls. You arch your back, presenting yourself to his awaiting size. When he doesn’t enter you turn to him impatiently and he smirks. 

“Put it in” you whine. Wriothesley spreads your backside, and watches you clench around the ghost of him. He glazes himself with your slick, and moans from the feeling of your puffy lips cuddling his cock. “It’s not every day a fan gets to sleep with me. Be grateful.” he teases. He pumps through your squashed thighs, the head prodding your nub while he forces your chest flush with the bed. After he thoroughly coats himself, he nudges the bulbous tip to your entrance. 

Wriothesley sinks into your sex. You’re gripping him like a vice despite the searing soreness of your body accommodating the scale. The fevered sleeve nearly makes him crash to the hilt, but he stutters gradually to relieve your discomfort. He hits the base and shudders. You feel unbelievably stuffed, as if it’s squirming in your cervix. Then he starts at a savage pace. He’s using you like a flesh-light, balls smacking your overwhelmed tender nub with a carnal impulse. His moans spill uncontrollably as he watches your rippling ass and viscous webs blend together, clinging to his cock and forming a cloudy froth at the base. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets; you can’t think or feel anything that isn’t him, core surging with intense want. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gonna snap my dick off. Ah- gonna make sure you can’t walk t-tomorrow. Then- hah- then you won’t be able to find anyone who fucks you like this, who makes you come like this.” He’s rambling and stuttering, completely incoherent the closer he gets. He glances at the mirror, then at you. You feel your hair jerked back by his massive hand, and lock eyes with Wriothesley in his drunken haze. “Stop, it’s embarrassing!” you slur. You’re both sheened with sweat, disheveled bodies satiating the hunger in any way you can. 

“Shh, you hear that?” The squelching slam of passion echoes in the room, sopping down your leg through his pummeling thrusts. Your back bends unnaturally as though it were folded in half. “You’re so fucking hot, so needy for me.” His veins adorn your walls, you start to tear up from the mixture of pleasure and pain. He notices your tears and holds you up so that your back is flush with his chest. 

“It hurts?” he questions, stalling his movement. You feel him twitch. “No, feels s’good Wrio. More” you mewl. He chuckles, and gently wraps his hand around your throat before pumping again.  

“Too good? Am I the best you’ve ever had? Say it.” He moves faster, free hand rubbing your clit. Your knees buckle and eyes roll back to your skull, he takes in the scene of your convulsing figure in the mirror. “S’best I’ve ever had, please ‘m so close!” you rasp, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He chases his high, panting animalistically in your ear.  

“Shit- look how desperate you are. Want me to come inside? Y-yea, I bet you fucking do”

“‘M coming!” you babble.

“Good. Make a mess.” he commands. Fire trails up your limbs, and you tighten before falling apart. Fluttering around him, taking him deeper while you come on his sack. Wriothesley pursues his sputtering hips, spurting thick globs that paint you white. He whimpers as you milk his spasming length dry and presses tired kisses along your shoulder blade. When he comes down from his apex, he turns you over on your back. It’s hard for him to not be proud of your boneless existence sprawled on his bed. You’re both breathing hard in silence, and he leaves for a couple minutes. You’re stunned when he returns with a damp rag to clean you up, and some dark substance in a mug.

You find the strength to sit up while he wipes your lower areas. “Where are my clothes?”

“...For what?”  he mumbles.

“To leave?” It seemed like common sense to you—boxers usually don’t go for long-term relationships, and so you assumed it to be a one-night stand. You dip over the edge of the bed and locate your skirt, but Wriothesely hops up and snatches it before you can. “I’ll put it in the wash. Relax.” 

“I didn’t know you were so hospitable. Do you do this for every girl?” you tease. He gets visibly upset, and shoves the cup from the dresser in your hands. “Don’t piss me off. Now, drink. I’ll order food.” 

Multicolored sunset flaking through the sheer curtains frames his stature while he’s on the phone. You sip the tea, it’s a vile grainy taste. For a moment you imagine what life could be like with him by your side—poor quality tea and an awful temper. In your pleasant aftermath, it doesn’t seem bad at all.

#genshin smut #genshin au #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley headcanons #wriothesley #fontaine #genshin x reader #genshin impact

[lovebugism]

"we’re arguing when the ball drops on new year’s eve, and decide to kiss and shit i don’t think i hate you anymore"

with eddie and grumpy!r pls

ty for requesting! :D — your new years kiss ends up being the loudmouth, metalhead, wild-haired boy you can't stand (enemies to lovers, grumpy!reader, 1.5k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Another year passes in a blink, and suddenly everyone around you is chanting “new year, new me” like it’s not just some overdone mantra destined to be forgotten by mid-February. 

It’s not surprising that you and Eddie are the only two not participating in the holiday theatrics. It’s also not surprising that the two of you are spending the entirety Steve’s New Years party bickering like a married couple on the couch.

You both got dragged here — you by Robin, and him by Dustin — and the two of you are acting like total grumps about it accordingly. And even though you can’t stand being in the same room as each other, you’ve been shoulder-to-shoulder in the living room all night.

You’re sitting pretty in a black dress beside him, scowling like a storm cloud while Eddie scoops a handful of pretzels in his mouth. Seemingly noticing your side-eyed glare, he starts to chew more audibly because he knows how much you hate it. The slow and rhythmic smack smack smack makes the chatter around you sound more distant as your skin begins to crawl.

Eddie smiles when you tense — wider when you glare at him.

“Sometimes I wonder why I hate you, and then you do stuff like that, and I think to myself, “oh yeah, that’s why.”

He grins with all his teeth, pretzels crumbs and all. “The feeling’s mutual, princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” you grumble with a roll of your eyes.

You shake your crossed leg to the music playing softly overhead and try to focus on the television in front of you. The staticky film of Times Square isn’t quite as distracting as the boy beside you — and not just because he’s purposefully trying to annoy you. 

He has no right to be this pretty, with his wild hair and black button-up and smudged eyeliner. It’s hardly fair.

“Don’t act like one, and I won’t,” he retorts, muffled through the food in his cheek.

“Don’t talk with your mouthful. It’s disgusting.”

He doesn’t say anything, just gives you the widest smile he’s ever looked at you with. The bits of chewed-up pretzel in his teeth make you grimace.

“You’re a child,” you deadpan.

Eddie laughs — a pretty little sound in a scoffed-out breath. 

He sits the half-empty bowl on the coffee table, then pushes his sleeves to his elbows. His arms are pale, lanky, and tattooed. Some of the ink is faded and messy, obviously not done by professionals. You think those intrigue you the most. You’d ask about the stories behind them if you even cared.

Eddie rests his elbows on his knees and looks at you over his shoulder. His smile is pink and made of honey — his eyes dark and made of fire. 

“You can act like you hate me all you want, but everyone here knows you’re obsessed with me,” he teases with a scrunched nose, motioning to the room with his pointer finger. 

No one’s paying either of you any mind. They’re too focused on their own conversations to care about the ones you and Eddie have had a thousand times over. You try to act as disinterested as they do. You think you’re playing the part pretty well, honestly, but Eddie’s looking at you with a twinkle in his eye like he can see right through it.

“That’s very presumptuous of you, Munson.”

“Just calling it like I see it,” he huffs and leans back again, spreading his arms across the back of the couch. 

The sudden proximity isn’t lost in you. Neither is the smell of nicotine and sandalwood radiating off of him. It stirs a velvety feeling in the pit of your stomach that you try hopelessly to shove down.

“You must be completely and utterly blind, then.”

“Uh-uh,” he hums with a shake of his wild head. “Twenty-twenty vision, baby.” He leans in close to croon the words in your ear, and your heart lurches into your throat. You shove him off with a half-hearted hand anyway. 

“Get off me!” you groan, face scrunched in a childlike annoyance. “And don’t call me baby.”

Eddie settles back beside you with a subtle pout between his brows. “If I can’t call you princess and I can’t call you baby, then what am I supposed to call you?”

“Nothing!” you shout, like being called baby hadn’t stirred something foreignly pleasant behind your ribcage. “Don’t call me anything! Don’t call me at all—”

“Guys! Come here! The ball’s about to drop!” Dustin shouts over the chatter to get everyone’s attention, a bit too loudly. He stands in front of the television along with the rest of the small crowd, ogling at the bad reception of the Times Square Ball and a flashing countdown.

“Sounds like me in middle school,” Eddie jokes, making Steve snort out a laugh when he walks in from the kitchen. You shoot the wild-haired boy a squinted look of disgust and he chuckles. “Oh, c’mon! That was funny, and you know it.”

“Ten!” the crowd begins to chorus.

“You’re an idiot,” you grumble.

“And you’re the one who’s obsessed with the idiot, so… Who’s the real weirdo?”

“Nine!”

“Still you.”

“Ooh,” Eddie lilts, plush lips softly pouted. “So you are obsessed with me?”

“Eight!”

You scoff a bitter laugh. “You love putting words in my mouth, don’t you?”

“Like I said,” the boy hums with a smug smile. “Just calling it like I see it, honey.”

“Seven!”

The dumb name shouldn’t make you melt like it does. You turn into a puddle before you can come up with another comeback. You forget how to form words and get lost in how soft his lips look, pink and delicate like a flower. God, he’s so pretty, you hate him.

“Six!” your friends continue to chant, the only sound in the expansive living room. “Five!”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed about, honestly,” the boy assures with an absentminded shrug, tilting his flushed cheek to his shoulder and flashing you an unkissed grin.

“Four!”

“You’re not the first girl to fall head over heels for me, and you won’t be the last.”

The corner of your lip curls into a quiet smirk. You squint at him, eyes twinkling with mischief and a sudden longing for him to eat his words. “Is that so?” you croon lowly.

“Three!”

He leans in like he’s about to tell you a secret. The nicotine-whiskey concoction on his breath brushes your cheek. Screw the alcohol in your abandoned cup — you’d sooner get drunk on him. 

“I’ll make sure to let you down easy, alright? I promise,” Eddie hums with a feigned seriousness.

“Yeah?”

“Two!”

He nods, bushy brows pinching softly together and petaled mouth gently pouting. “Yeah. I’m not in the heartbreaking business, you know? I don’t wanna hurt your feelings, princess, but you should there’s no way in hell that I’m ever gonna—”

“One!” the house chants together, louder this time as they shout, “Happy New Year!”

You blink, and suddenly everyone’s grabbing onto somebody. 

Robin and Vickie share a quiet peck you don’t miss in the corner of the room. Mike and El smack a more obvious kiss in the very center of it. A newly grown-up Dustin tries his chances with Nancy, glancing at her with a silent smile she shakes her head at — “Not a chance, kiddo,” she says with a soft pink grin. Even Max leans over to brush a kiss to Lucas’ cheek, right before scowling at him, “This doesn’t mean we’re back together, Sinclair.” 

So you feel it’s only right, that in a room of kissed mouths, you get kissed, too.

Eddie is the perfect victim. Mostly because he hasn’t stopped yapping since he sat down beside you, some hours ago now. You reach for him, splaying your hand across his warm jaw (that grows somehow hotter beneath your touch), and pressing a kiss to his blabbering mouth. 

You swallow all the half-hearted insults he spews at you because he thinks you really hate him. In Eddie’s mind, if being mean is how he gets closer to you, then when you go low, he’ll go all the way to hell. 

You don’t kiss him like you hate him, though. You kiss him like you can taste stars in his mouth. Like the rest of your whole life is sitting on his tongue.

Your mouth locks with his for a moment, kissing the breath from his lungs, only to pull away a second later.

Eddie’s totally frozen when you’re gone. The loudmouth boy — who you decided to hate if you couldn’t love — is left so suddenly speechless. He blinks at you with heavy, velvet eyes and grieves a thing he didn’t even know he could have.

A grin pulls at your freshly kissed mouth. It feels good to have the upper hand again.

“You’re never gonna what?” you tease, tilting your head like you’re innocent.

His mouth parts for an answer. Nothing comes out.

Your smile widens. “That’s what I thought. Honey.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: blurbcember

[flowerandblood]

The Gate of Salvation [1/3]

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

[ warnings: sexual tension, angst, anxiety, manipulation, doubts related to faith, chauvinism ]

[ description: During the conclave, a new pope is elected, but to everyone's surprise, he does not intend to show himself to the crowds waiting for him. His ideas terrify the cardinals, and one of them convinces his niece, who is studying marketing, to talk to the new head of the Catholic Church in his presence. Main theme: sexual tension & holy touch. ]

A mini-series created as a thank you and celebration of my 2'500 followers. I initially plan that it will have about 3 chapters.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Aemond as a Pope Edit

Series Characters Moodboard

Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

What happened after the conclave took everyone by surprise and caused complete chaos in the Catholic Church; she was one of the people who watched the live coverage from St Peter's Square.

She prayed in spirit that her uncle and her mother's brother, Cardinal Reene, would not become Pope.

Admittedly, it was thanks to him that she was living in Rome, and without his financial support she would not have been able to study, however, her uncle was a person who did nothing selflessly.

He recalculated to himself that if his niece wanted to study marketing at University then he would help her, reminding her at times that he would count on her help in the future, to create a good, sympathetic image of him.

She had the feeling that listening to him she was even losing her faith, which, despite her many internal disputes and doubts, was strong in her. She returned to the bosom of the church of her own free will when she was in high school after years of not attending Mass; she discovered that she felt attached to this tradition, as well as to God himself, whose presence she subconsciously felt all around her.

She knew that her uncle would certainly try to bribe other cardinals and she guessed what his pontificate would be like, so she begged God in her prayers not to allow such a man to become head of the church in his name, and heavens, as always, heard her prayers.

When she saw the white smoke on the screen she let out a loud breath, closing the textbook she had just been reading – she heard shouts and applause of joy coming from the television; the bells rang out, the solemn moment when the new pope comes out onto the balcony to greet his faithful was about to begin.

This went on for an astonishingly long time and she wondered if something had happened or if the votes had been miscounted, however, she heard the cheers of the crowd again as the doors opened. What stepped out was not a procession, but an ordinary priest in a black cassock; she recognised in him the secretary of the late Pope, who was certainly not a cardinal.

He seemed tense and frightened; he approached the microphone and said only two sentences.

"We have a Pope. The Holy Father, who has taken the name Pius XIII, asks you all to pray for him." He said in a trembling, uncertain voice, all pale, and then disappeared back behind the door – voices of disbelief and disappointment spread throughout the square, the gathered people, like her, were shocked.

However, all the internet portals published the name of the cardinal who had been elected; it turned out that the new pope was Cardinal Targaryen, a very little-known, withdrawn and shockingly young priest.

He was only two years older than her.

Journalists despaired that there were no official or unofficial photos of him, no statements from him, as if he had lived for years locked away in some monastery and never stepped into the light of day.

The world was confused and anxious – the young pope had not stepped out onto the balcony of St Peter's Basilica even once despite the crowds gathered in the square below chanting his name day and night.

She wondered if, in this way, he wanted to focus the world's attention even more on himself by standing in the absolute centre of it, and thought that if so, it was not a good beginning to his pontificate.

Two days later, her uncle paid her an unannounced visit at the flat he was renting to her, dressed so that no one would recognise him, just like the other cardinals still hounded by journalists and paparazzi.

"I need your help. The matter is very delicate." He said quickly, handing her his coat, which she hung on one of the hangers, looking at him over her shoulder in surprise.

"Me?" She asked with her eyes wide open, wondering what was going on there that required the help of someone from outside the Vatican.

"Pius XIII is a cripple. He lost his left eye as a child. He insists that if he is to show himself to a crowd, it should only be with his artificial eye, but not an ordinary one, one that resembles the real one, but a completely white one. He thinks this suits his attire and position better, but we think it will create additional confusion about him. Additionally, he wants to keep the Pope's public appearances to a complete minimum. He has fired all the Vatican marketing people with years of experience. This is some madness. Can I have a coffee?" He finally asked after his verbosity, sitting down in a chair at the living room table, placing his black wide-brimmed hat on the tabletop, sighing heavily.

She nodded, snapped out of her reverie and the shock of his words, pulling a mug and black coffee from her cupboard. Her uncle drank coffee made from three heaped teaspoons without milk, and although she didn't know how he could swallow something so disgusting and not have a heart attack in the process, she made it the way he liked it.

She swallowed loudly, pouring water into the kettle, putting it on the burner and turning the fire on under it, analysing everything he had told her.

"It sounds like he has a very low and a very high opinion of himself at the same time. How could I help here, uncle? I'm just a student." She said in dismay, shrugging her shoulders; her uncle nodded his head as if convinced that this would be her answer.

"You are young, you have a fresh outlook. He doesn't want to listen to us old people, he thinks we're out of step with the world and what it needs, whatever that means." He said with a sneer, looking out of the window, spreading himself comfortably in his chair with a creak of wood.

"I'd like you to try to talk to him, to understand what he means, what his vision is. Guide him to the idea that young people too want peace and predictability, not perpetual rebellion. I told him I could introduce you, that you are very talented and he agreed." He said finally and scratched the back of his neck – she heard the kettle whistle and turned off the fire under it, feeling that she had simply run out of words.

"− what? − I − oh God, uncle, I don't know − what if I make things worse and you lose in his eyes because of me? −" She muttered, feeling adrenaline start to bubble throughout her body; she poured hot water over the coffee in her mug, grabbed it and set it in front of him, then started walking back and forth across the room, panicking in some kind of way.

"This would just be a consultation − two young people want to change the image of the church to, let's say, a more welcoming one − this could be your big chance." He said, lifting the mug to his lips, taking a sip from it and murmuring contentedly, apparently finding that his coffee was exactly the way he liked it.

He persuaded her for so long that she finally agreed, but she regretted it as soon as he walked out.

She was inexperienced in discussions with this world, with such people, and was afraid she would make a mistake, do something against protocol and embarrass herself.

Her uncle sent her a message on the day of the meeting saying that she must dress modestly, preferably in white or black her dress must end at least past her knees, her toes must not stick out of her shoes, her shoulders must be covered. Sharp, defiant make-up was not acceptable.

She was to address the Pope as Holy Father or Your Holiness, keep the proper distance, not sit with her legs crossed, not put her elbows on the armrests, not lean or crouch in front of him, approach him only if he wanted her to kiss his ring.

The amount of information she received overwhelmed her; she took a quick look in her wardrobe and found that her simple black dress with white embroidered collar and cuffs was the perfect length – it had no cleavage, it looked elegant, innocent and girly at the same time.

She decided to wear flesh-coloured tights with it and sleek black shoes, which she had previously polished. She styled her long dark hair in a braid around her head, keeping it in place with pins, short, unruly strands on the sides of her face.

She used only mattifying powder and mascara as her make-up, deciding that this was enough, around her neck a necklace with a small gold cross that she had been given once by her grandfather.

At the appointed hour, a black car pulled up in front of her townhouse; she got into the back seat and greeted the driver, who, however, did not answer her, driving off without a word.

After several minutes they were already in the Vatican itself; she looked through the car window at the crowds of people spilling out of St Peter's Square, saw a group of men and women holding cardboard sheets in their hands with the handwritten words:

Our Pope does not love us.

She lowered her gaze, silently contemplating all that was happening, and shuddered as they stopped in front of the gate – a Swiss Guard officer dressed in colourful historical attire with red, yellow and navy blue stripes stopped their car.

Her driver showed him his ID and the man nodded – the gate opened and they drove inside into a small courtyard that she saw for the first time in her life.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the figure of her uncle waiting for her in his full, opulent cardinal's robe, a cross on his chest of pure gold, adorned with rubies and diamonds.

He greeted her with a broad smile and joy, with a gesture of his hand inviting her inside – they ascended the baroque staircase to the corridor, the view of the interior of the entire complex took her breath away.

She was surrounded on all sides by paintings and sculptures by the great Italian masters of the Renaissance, Baroque and Classicism; she felt a solemn mood, though she did not know why, as if she had in fact entered the truest home of God himself on earth.

The guards as well as other men passing her looked at her intently – she thought with horror and shame that women, with the exception of nuns, were a rare visitor to this sanctuary and aroused curiosity mixed with distrust.

Here, what Eve did in paradise according to the Bible, because of whom sin possessed man, was never forgotten.

They climbed the stairs to the upper floor and then stood in front of a large white door, high up to the ceiling, with two men in the same colourful garments standing in front of them. Her uncle sighed heavily, as if stressed himself, and looked at her comfortingly.

"I'll do the talking, you keep quiet for now." He said lightly, surprising her completely – she had no time to reply as he nodded and one of the guards opened the door for him.

Her uncle moved ahead, so she moved behind him, entering a spacious, bright room with six windows overlooking St Peter's Square – to their right stood bookcases filled to the brim with books, and to their left a huge wooden desk.

Only after a moment did she notice someone standing by one of the windows; his back turned to them, looking out at the crowds knowing they couldn't see him, a white cassock on his body, his short hair looking elegant and carefully styled, pulled back, almost white, glistening in the sunlight.

"Holy Father. As promised, I bring before you my niece, who I hope will allow us to come to an agreement." He said in a light, cheerful tone, as if addressing a friend, but they were answered by an uncomfortable silence.

She swallowed loudly when he finally turned to face them, her heart stopped for a moment when she saw how sharply shaped his face was – his cheeks and jaw were clearly outlined as if someone had carved them with a chisel, his mouth full, a pale scar running across the left side of his forehead to his cheek, his artificial eye completely white.

She felt that she was looking at him with her lips slightly parted and some sort of concern, so she lowered her gaze, reminding herself that she shouldn't do that.

"Hm." She heard him hum under his breath, as if he was thinking hard about something.

"Leave us alone, Cardinal." He said finally, turning his face towards the window again – she and her uncle looked at each other horrified, for this was not their plan.

She was only going to be an accessory, he was going to be the one doing all the talking.

"Your Holiness, I…"

"Get out."

Her uncle pressed his lips together and grunted, bowed his head and left, not even bestowing a glance on her despite the despair written on her face, leaving her to her fate.

She swallowed loudly as the door closed behind him and intertwined her hands in front of her, not knowing what to do, where to look, a cold sweat on her back.

"Do not be afraid, child. I know your uncle's nature. If I didn't let him bring you here he wouldn't let me alone." He began reluctantly, as if the very fact that he had to talk to her made him very tired; he moved with his hands entwined behind him ahead, walking along the windows, his profile illuminated by the sun.

She lowered her gaze, feeling a wave of shame surge through her, understanding that he knew perfectly well what her uncle wanted.

That it wasn't just about his image, but that he, as a cardinal, wanted his favour and the high position, money and comfort he could give him.

"What do you think of my decision not to show myself in public?" He asked finally; she raised her eyes at him, surprised, horrified that she had to answer. She swallowed loudly and licked her lips, dry of stress, thinking intensely about what she should say.

"Go on. You're supposed to know it, after all, it's an image issue." He growled and looked at her with an anger that sent a shiver through her; she stared at him in disbelief and fear trying to decide what kind of man he was.

She wasn't sure this was how a pope should behave.

"Driving here I saw people holding cardboard sheets saying: Our Pope does not love us. I felt sadness at the thought that many people feel rejected by your decision, Holy Father." She said at last, feeling that involuntarily her voice trembled and broke; she saw him tighten his lips, his nostrils moved nervously in accelerated breathing.

"Is love a perpetual vying for attention, standing in the centre? Is love only the deeds that can be shown, that anyone can see and name?" He asked frustrated, and she felt a squeeze in her throat, her lower lip quivered. She shook her head.

"People are afraid of what they do not know. You don't let them meet you, Holy Father." She whispered, and he snorted, turning back, going the other way, as if thinking over her words.

"So you think I should speak? Go out on the balcony and give them what they want?" He asked dryly. She let the air quietly out of her lungs, feeling her body tense all over – she had the feeling that she had adopted a defensive posture, as if ready for him to hit her.

"No. But I think it is necessary to find a way in which they can see you, Holy Father. To feel that you are in their lives physically as well. They need a guide, not another invisible God." She said finally and fell silent, lowering her gaze, feeling that her last sentence might have been too far-fetched.

She noticed with horror that he stopped hearing what she had said.

"You think I'm doing this out of vanity?" He asked in disbelief. She lifted her gaze to him, for some reason feeling that she was on the verge of crying.

"I don't know, Holy Father. I do not know you, nor do any of your faithful. We are sheeps who do not know where to go and where is their shepherd. Do you think we are too sinful? That we don't deserve to see you?" She asked finally in a trembling voice, his healthy eye fixed on her.

Our Pope does not love us.

She shuddered, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart as he moved towards her with a slow, lazy step, not taking his eyes off her, towering over her. She didn't know what she saw in his gaze, proud and cool; she felt heat in her lower abdomen as the pleasant scent of his masculine perfume filled her nostrils.

She thought he had approached her far too closely.

She froze and swallowed loudly as he lifted his hand; she thought for a moment in horror and disbelief that he would touch her breasts, however, he grasped her golden cross in his hand and turned it between his fingers, looking at it thoughtfully.

Something about him she found disturbing, even though she was surrounded by whiteness and daylight it seemed to her that the room had gone dark.

"I am not a hypocrite. There is no greater sinner in this world than me. I am vain. I am proud. I am cold. I am eternally, eternally thirsty." He murmured softly and looked into her eyes, her lips slightly parted in disbelief.

She felt panic begin to overtake her body as her insides throbbed wonderfully hard at his ambiguous, unsettling words.

"Do you believe in God?" He asked, still playing with her necklace, however, he did so in such a way that once in a while his fingers rubbed against the material of her dress lying between her breasts, each time a wonderful shiver ran through her spine.

She was only able to breathe and look at him, nothing more.

There was something evil, menacing, lewd in the way he asked the question, in the way he acted and the way he looked at her and she knew it, she was horrified by how strongly her body reacted to it.

"Yes." She whispered, as if she was admitting something she was ashamed of, something that was her secret.

He hummed again under his breath, as if accepting her words – his hand let go of her necklace and returned to the other, placed behind his back.

"I'm hiring you. You will be my image specialist. I expect you here tomorrow at 8am. That's all. You may go." He said indifferently, turning away as if nothing had happened; she sighed quietly, terrified, and nodded with a rapidly pounding heart.

"Holy Father." She mumbled, then turned and walked out.

Her uncle ran after her asking her what they were talking about and what had happened – he made the sign of the cross with some kind of relief on his face when she told him in horror that he had hired her.

"What did you say to him about me? I'm only in my second year of university, I don't have the right experience yet." She muttered in a trembling voice; her uncle sighed, correcting his glasses on his nose with his pointing finger.

"He doesn't care about your experience." He said amused, and she looked at him in disbelief.

It suddenly dawned on her what her uncle had been planning all along, and what she had gotten herself into because of her foolishness and naivety.

There is no greater sinner in this world than me.

I am eternally, eternally thirsty.

She felt a squeeze in her throat, tears filling her eyes again as she moved forward, covering her mouth with her hand, distraught, humiliated.

Her uncle didn't want her to be his worker.

Her uncle wanted her to be his lover.

_____

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[probablyasocialecologist]

It’s become a real challenge to keep up with every Palestine protest and action happening in this country, but I am going to round-up some of that have occurred in recent days in case you missed them. Over 75 activists shut down and blocked all entrances to Boeing Building 598 in Saint Charles, Missouri. The facility manufactures the Small Diameter Bombs (SDBs) and Joint Direct Attack Munition (JDAM) bombs that Israel is using Gaza. “We are joining millions of people across the United States and around the world in demanding an end to Israeli’s brutal assault on Gaza and its decades-long occupation of Palestine,” said Ellie Tang, a member of the anti-war organization Dissenters, in a statement. “We urge Congress and Biden to hear the calls of millions of us living in this country, and push for a ceasefire. Until Congress blocks the bombs, we will.” After shutting operations down for 2 hours, the facility canceled its deliveries for the day. 500 protesters with Jewish Voice for Peace (JVP) took over the Statue of Liberty’s platform, dropped banners, held a sit-in, and chanted for a ceasefire. “HAPPENING NOW AT THE STATUE OF LIBERTY: Hundreds of Jews and allies are holding an emergency sit-in, taking over the island to demand a ceasefire in Gaza. We refuse to allow a genocide to be carried out in our names. Ceasefire now to save lives! Never again for anyone!,” tweeted the organization. Oakland protesters blocked a ship from leaving its port for hours. The boat was headed to the Port of Tacoma to pick up arms destined for Israel. Hundreds of protesters are currently occupying that port and at least one worker is refusing to take the cargo after learning about its use. At a Get Out the Vote rally, Democratic candidate Senator John Fetterman (D-PA) was confronted by a protester calling for a ceasefire. “4,000 plus dead children in Palestine. 9,000 plus dead civilians, get off the stage. … Get off the stage. I don’t care … get off the stage,” he yelled before being escorted out of the building by police. Tens of thousands gathered in San Francisco to demand a ceasefire. “I can feel the momentum of it and that’s why we had to get out today,” one told the local CBS station. “My son’s in Trafalgar Square right now or he was earlier today. Same deal. People who just feel the injustice of the world.” A speech by Senator Cory Booker (D-NJ) in New Jersey was interrupted by activists calling on him to back a ceasefire. He quickly exited the stage. Rhode Island Senators Jack Reed and Sheldon Whitehouse were disrupted at event by protesters calling for a ceasefire. Rep. Grace Meng was confronted by protesters asking when she will back a ceasefire. She remained silent and her staff told them, “There’s a time and place for this.”

#palestine #israel #USA #us elections #antizionism

[msnanu]

Libertine 09 | JJK

Libertines put value on physical pleasures, meaning those experienced through the senses.

❧ Series Masterlist ❧

⏤summary ❧ He has a reputation for being the most promiscuous man on campus, and you, well, you are basically him in women’s pants. It will be the very first time that Jungkook is faced with someone who is gonna make him question his feelings and actions.

⏤𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 ❧ f*boy jungkook x f*girl female reader

⏤𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦 ❧ fluff, smut, angst, slow burn, teasing and lots of sexual tension.

⏤𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 ❧ mature language, NSFW🔞

❧ banner by: @dojakoo ❧

Suddenly you felt shy and flustered under his gaze, his deep voice, that low tone always made you feel things. Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched Jungkook leaning closer and closer to your face. The only thing in your mind right now is how stupidly handsome he is. How perfect that scar in his left cheek looks on him and how you could get lost in that galaxy he seems to own in his eyes.

Anyone that would pass by your side would definitely sense the lust, the yearning and the tension between the two of you. It was as if there was some kind of invisible string always pulling you closer to each other.

“That depends. If I let you in, would you fuck me properly?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows shot up, taken aback. He should be used to your sincerity by now, but you still somehow manage to surprise him every single time. He ruffled his hair, heat rising up his neck and down his sweatpants. A dark look in his eyes that had lust written all over them.

“Haven’t I fucked you properly, Y/N? As I recall you were chanting my name over and over, both times.” He said as he ran his thumb over your lips.

You gasped and tried to maintain your composure. “You did. But you can do a lot better than that Jungkook. Don’t you think?”

Incredulous and thinking he hadn’t heard right; his eyes went wide again. You were challenging him. The wheels in his head seemed to have suddenly start to turn as he assimilated your words.

In a whisper-soft voice he continued “You really seem to enjoy provoking me.” Jungkook gave you his smuggest smile, which hit you square in the belly, sending butterflies fluttering in your lower regions and shooting tingly feelings straight between your legs.

Oh, you really want for him to fuck you so bad.

“I really do,” You stated, thrusting out your chin boldly, a tiny smile playing around your lips.

Your heart’s drum rolled a nervous beat, you felt your pulse quicken and that overwhelming brutal tingling returned with force.

Jungkook appeared to have noticed. He noticed all day how affected you were by his touch or even his words and it made every part of your constant teasing even more enjoyable. He watched you, his gaze sweeping up along your throat, lingering on your lips for an endless second, before he licked his own, tucking the bottom one, issuing a soft growl. He gave you another hungry smile that reached his eyes.

“Well, you might not be able to walk afterwards but with you I’m always down for it, baby.” Then he winked at you.

Rolling your eyes at him and laughing at his cockiness, you turned around and finally opened the door to your apartment leading your way in.

Jungkook was pleasantly surprised at the tidiness of the space. He recalled that once you’ve said that you had a roommate and living with someone else can be a little bit messy sometimes, especially when you are going through college, and you don’t have that much time to clean up. You seemed to have a large space in your two-bedroom apartment, not as big as his own but it had a nice homey vibe.

“Seems like your roommate isn’t here. Much better, we can be as loud as we want” Jungkook began as he inspected your living room.

You met his eyes, he had that look, that lust in his eyes, you could sense how much he wanted to have you right now and there, and you could also feel heat rising to your cheeks now.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered suddenly nervous again.

What the hell is he doing with you? Since when do you get nervous? Stop stammering!

Jungkook was enjoying seeing how flustered you were. What a show.

“Awww, look at you being so cute, blushing.” He stepped closer, reached out to tuck a lock behind you ear.

He then started caressing your face. You didn’t even flinch, but he could see you gulp as you said almost in a whisper, “I’m not blushing.”

Always so stubborn.

“Yes, you are, Y/N.”

He couldn’t keep up with his dominant act for too long because fucking hell, those eyes of yours made him weak. His fingers stroked the sensitive skin just below your ear lobe, where your pulse point throbbed, and you closed your eyes involuntarily. You were truly beautiful.

Your skin flawless, soft and warm, your lips perfectly shaped. Your hair amazing as always, tumbling down your back. Jungkook felt like he was the luckiest man alive at that moment.

Today you’d decided not to wear any make up. Jungkook had no idea he’d find the lack of it so attractive. It made him want to touch every inch of you, feel all of your bareness beneath his fingertips. He felt his cock stir and grow hard and fast; you were making him lose all control of himself without even touching him.

Your eyes fluttered open when you felt his thumb slightly stroking the very edge of your bottom lip, the skin so sensitive there it sent shivers down your spine. Your eyes were locked.

He reached out and with both hands simultaneously touched the soft skin of your shoulders, drank you in, slid his hands over the thin straps that held up your top, his fingers gently moving along your collarbones to meet at the notch. His eyes were feasting on you, every inch he inspected.

His gaze locked on your lips that had slightly parted, clearly begging to be kissed. Holy shit, Jungkook thought. This was a whole other level of exciting. His cock twitched. He swallowed hard once again. What had he gotten himself into? His heart hammered in his chest; his dick was throbbing in his sweatpants imploring him for release. His mind was completely blown as if it were his first time fucking you.

Slowly, trying to hide the trembling of his fingers, he began moving down to your breasts. He wanted to see them again so badly that he wanted to tear off that damn top. Easy, Jungkook, he warned himself.

His hands cupped your firm roundness. A small whimper slipped your lips, then you moaned as he pinched your nipples, hard and pointy, wanting to be freed and played with. He rolled them between his fingers through the fabric, sucked in a breath and groaned.

As your eyes met again, your head was spinning. You couldn’t wait for this hunk of a man to fuck your brains out. Tall and lean, though muscular, and strong. Those lips… they were really doing things with your mind. His bottom lip, plump and so very kissable. You could hardly contain yourself. Your heart hammered in your throat. Sparring was over.

Desperately you surged towards him, throwing your arms around his neck, pushing your hands into his hair, pulling him into you. Jungkook groaned and received you gladly, his hands moving immediately down your back grabbing onto your perfectly round butt, pushing you into him, while the other hand securely held your neck as your lips clashed and your tongues found each other, moans rising and falling.

That damn top needed to go too. He needed to see again and again what had felt so good. He slid his hands up your waist and ribcage and under that flimsy little crop top, pulled it off you, your hair releasing more of that intoxicating scent he’d noticed since he met you for the first time.

You smelled of sun kissed lavender with underlying hints of lemon, so exotic and like nothing he was used to. He needed more of this. He couldn’t believe how fucking needy he was for you. For your scent, for your lips, for your pure skin.

Breathing hard Jungkook tenderly dropped his forehead to yours, watching how your chest rose and fell, your perfect boobs finally his to take in. His pulse racing uncontrollably, his hands quivering once again as he reached to touch and massage those firm round, luscious breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers. You mewled and panted harder again, bringing your lips to his.

You were riling him up like no one before. You tasted so good, and those tiny noises you made as he roamed with his tongue all over your mouth were driving him fucking nuts. He never ever wanted to let go. Your sneaky hand moved to cup his erection, which had been so deliciously bulging and the ridge clearly visible in his sweats.

“Fuck,” he breathed as your lips pushed and pulled, your tongues playing and teasing. “Yeah, keep doing that, baby. Make it thick and hard…” He kept kissing you, moaning in between as you continued to rub his cock that was begging for release.

You smiled into his lips. “I wanna suck you off so bad.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah… You’ve got a nice big cock, Jungkook” You whispered, rubbing him harder, pecking kisses on his lips and Jungkook groaned. “I’ve been thinking about sucking you off all day long.”

“I can see that…” Jungkook panted, pushing his hand down your back into your small clothes once more, squeezing your butt. “You like a nice big cock like mine to fill you up?”

“I-I do” you whimpered.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“What else do you want, baby? Tell me”

You wrapped your arms around his neck again, pushing yourself into him, feeling his rock-hard erection pressing into your belly.

“I want your tongue all over my cunt…” You said between lusty kisses. “I’m interested in that, too.”

“Are you now?” Jungkook smiled, returning your kiss eagerly. “You want my tongue to lick you?”

“Yes…Fuck” You moaned. “Yes, I do.”

“Lick you until you cum on my tongue?”

Your breath hitched. “Yes, please”

“Good. I’ll make sure that you cum on my tongue today, baby.”

At this point you couldn’t stop kissing each other until you pulled back a little and caught his gaze; your lips were moist, dark pink, slightly parted and swollen from his delicious abuse, you gently bit your bottom lip, gave him a mischievous grin while you took off his shirt, ranking your hands all over his abs and then winked at him while you slowly slid down his body. You squadded down to his cock’s level, looked up seductively and wet your lips.

Jungkook sucked in a breath and an “Oh shit!” escaped him.

With a deep moan you slowly pulled down his sweatpants and whispered a satisfying “Fuck yes”

Stunned by your eagerness, by your obvious hunger and thirst for him, his hands flew up to the back of your head. He looked down and watched in amazement, as you took him into your hands and stroked his shaft with a tight grip; sizing him up, circling your thumb over and around the sensitive skin of his beautiful head, then smacked your lips and greedily licked the drop of precum off the tip and then finally, after what seemed an eternity of torture to Jungkook, put him in your mouth.

The moist heat surrounding his dick made his breath catch and he grunted as his hands pushed into your hair as you took him deep, nearly to the root but not completely because he was too deliciously big, you went back and forth, licking, sucking, feeding off him. Satiating your hunger for that perfect cock. He tightly gripped your hair as you moved, while his hips went along fluidly with your rhythm, savoring the tightness of your throat.

Jungkook's moans rose making you more wet by the minute, he sounded hot as fuck. He threw his head back and closed his eyes for a second. He could hardly believe what was happening to him. Fucking hell, you were sucking him off like no one else had ever done it, and what a damn joy it was to watch you while doing it too. Holy shit!

His hands holding your hair in a ponytail, his hips thrusting in sync with you, your hand grabbing his thigh so tightly, the other between his legs on his tight ass, pushing him more of him into your mouth even though you couldn’t fit anymore of his cock. You were a moaning mess with his cock filling your mouth, and the vibrations of your moans were making him stupid. He was close to cum already.

Fuck! No. No… he couldn’t allow you to do that. Not today at least. Though he wanted to. Fuck, how he wanted you to. Take his cum in your beautiful mouth, swallow it. Swallow all of his creamy seed as it would squirt down your throat, drink him up… he groaned.

Reluctantly and with the greatest of efforts, costing him all his will power, he slowed his thrusts. “Baby” he soothed, “Y/N…” and eased out of your glorious mouth.

What a fucking shame, he thought, as he stepped back trying to catch his breath. Such a fucking shame.

But you’d asked to be fucked properly. By him. Pride swelling in his chest once more as he pulled you up and into a sloppy kiss, tasting himself on you and relishing it.

Yes, he was going to give you what you’d asked for. He was a man of his word after all. Not that he’d promised anything… But he was eager as if it was his first time with you, as if it he was going to learn what your clit tasted like, what your pussy felt like.

You quickly pushed your shorts and underwear down and kicked them away. Jungkook’s sanity went out of the window as you, shamelessly naked in front of him, breathed and almost sounding like a plea finally said, “Fuck me, Jungkook.”

You turned back walking towards your bedroom as Jungkook followed you behind and planted kisses all over your shoulder and neck.

As you approached your bed you made him look at your eyes while saying “I need you… to fuck me, now.”

Well, fuck, Jungkook thought. That’d also never happened before with other girls. You literally ordered him. And he fucking loved it! Sure, he enjoyed sex with the others, they got him off well enough. But this here was an altogether different experience.

The others never voiced their needs or wants. They let him take what he needed and allocated what he thought they’d like. It never felt equal. Satisfying, yes. Equal, no. And you being so bossy was making his cock twitch.

“Yes, ma’am!” Jungkook did a mock salute and you both started giggling like idiots.

You swiftly closed the distance between you two and push him into your bed while he also pulled you on top of him. You shrieked but quickly recovered, pushing up onto your hands, straddling him.

“Wait! Condom?”

Jungkook hadn’t even realized that he was about to fuck you raw until you voiced it out.

“Fuck. I didn’t bring any here with me.”

He saw you hesitate for a second before you spoke again.

“Well, I'm on the pills and I'm clean. Are you?”

“Yeah, I'm clean too.”

“Okay, then fuck me already.”

Jungkook had never seen anything more beautiful than this gorgeous bundle of enthusiasm, confidence and lust sitting on top of him, now lifting your bum to reposition yourself. Your hair brushing your nipples, perfect little rose-colored buds they were, standing stiffly to attention; your lips slightly parted with small noises issuing. He could feel your heat and wetness on his lower belly.

You were so wet for him, so ready to take what you asked for. It made his heart hammer even harder in anticipation thinking that he was gonna finally fuck you raw and he felt his cock twitch as you shifted backwards, looked down and reached between your legs to guide him in.

Jungkook watched with growing need, needing to shove himself deep into your slick warmth, his patience dwindling, his breaths growing ragged.

“Put it in,” he huffed and shimmied towards your opening.

A fit of giggles came out of your menacing mouth. You were such a tease.

“You want this, don’t you Jungkook?” You freaking smiled, then touched his tip with your wetness and shrieked in surprise as Jungkook immediately thrust his hips up.

“Fucking yes!” Jungkook snarled, his hands grabbing your hips pushing you into him and you throwing your head back taking his rams willingly, needily, your boobs bouncing as he kept pounding upwards into you.

Moaning loudly, you let him take the lead, rigidly kneeling above him to take his assault on your sex, soaking up the pleasure he was giving you like water on hot desert rocks. You loved that feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you, couldn’t get enough of him hitting you so perfectly, finding that spot that would grant you that much needed climax.

You could feel it build up, needing to chase that tingly feeling deep inside. You lowered yourself down onto him, feeling him deep within you and began moving your hips frantically, back and forth, pushing your clit into his lubricious groin, rubbing yourself against him with such need, that it only took you a few seconds to be so close you thought you were about to burst. Your breaths grew ragged and high-pitched as you chased to catch your release.

Jungkook could feel your muscles tense, clenching around him, “Come on baby, cum for me,” he panted. “Cum on my dick”

His hands on your hips, he helped slide you against him, watching your sex move against his, urging you on, then your breath caught, your lean body shuddering, falling apart in his hands, whimpering and slowing your moves, pushing hard onto him, trying desperately to prolong the exquisite feeling between your legs.

“Good girl, Y/N,” Jungkook whispered as his hands moved behind you, held your bum and quickly flipped you onto your back.

You again screamed in surprise, but happily received this new position, his hands all over you now, his lips kissing every inch of your bare skin, ravenously moaning, whispering tiny curses, biting, nibbling, pinching your nipples and massaging your breast until you writhed underneath him, then finding his way up to your earlobe, breathing “There’s more where that came from.”

“Yes, please, yes. Keep fucking me,” you wailed and tilted your hips up, trying to find his cock once more.

“Fuck. I love how you’re always so wet for me, Y/N” he groaned, reached for himself between your legs, slid the bulging head carefully up and down your juicy dripping pussy, then eased in and let you have it. He rose to his knees, his hand around the base of your throat, his thrusts hard and fast, panting, sweat dripping on his tight abs.

Your heart hammered a most delicious beat, loving every second of it. This was exactly what you had asked for, what you had wanted, needed. Jungkook seemed to know all your spots and tended to them expertly.

Here now, in this moment with him, you didn’t even care that your walls were thin as hell and your neighbors might hear you, as a matter of fact, you relished in it.

Jungkook felt your tightness close in on him, he wouldn’t last much longer. Your pussy being so seductively sweet and juicy, your vigor so alluring, threatening to take him sooner than he liked. He wanted this to last for so much longer. Especially now that you were pulling him down to him, your lips finding his again, pushing and pulling, breathing life into him.

Then suddenly you gasped, your legs spreading even further for him, pushing yourself against him, he knew you were going to cum again.

His heart skipped a beat, this was his chance. He had wanted you to cum on his tongue, he had promised you that. So, he slowed, pulled out, leaving you exasperated “No! Don’t stop!!”

But he got to his knees in front of your bed, pulled you to the edge, buried his face in your pussy and you shrieked once again in surprise.

“Oh fuck!” you moaned, and your hands grabbed his hair, pushing him into you as he lapped your mingled moisture on your folds, pushed his tongue into the hot opening of your pussy, then circled your clit, lapped at it like a cat greedy for the last drop of milk.

“Yes, Jungkook! Oh, fuck yes!!!” You shrieked as your shoulder lifted off the mattress, your abs crunching, pushing his face hard into you.

“Jungkook!!” you panted as you shattered beneath his tongue, throbbing, climaxing hard and your legs quivering; Jungkook’s heart gave a fantastic start at you calling out his name so very loudly for everyone to hear. He could cum just by hearing you moaning his name.

As soon as you relaxed your grip on his hair, he flipped you over once more, forcefully pushed your legs apart with his knees, then grabbed your wrists and brought them together behind your back, restraining you.

Holding your wrists with one hand, while the other held a firm grip on your shoulder, Jungkook fucked you hard and within a few thrusts, he felt his own release edging closer. While you cried and moaned with pleasure, Jungkook’s insights turned to fire, pooling at the base of his cock, bubbling underneath the surface to be soon released.

Growing pressure built in his groin, he would burst. Tightness grabbed his hips as he thrusted, sliding in and out, you compressing around him so deliciously, hot and slick. He groaned, the pressure consuming his crotch as he grounded into you deep, so very deep, your mewls music to his ears.

It was building again, you could feel the flame of desire in your belly creeping up your spin, lighting your skin on fire as it went, stealing the breath from your lungs. His cockhead was battering against your g-spot, causing the corners of your vision to go white. Jungkook had been close to cum for a while now, but he needed to make you come undone in a particular manner before he could truly be satisfied with himself.

No man had ever fucked you like this before. The pleasure you were feeling was extreme.

It felt like a star exploding inside you when it started. There was a warmth deep in your bones, spreading out through every vein of your body and fluttering up through your skin. Your cunt spasmed around him, gripping him so tight his hips slowed so that he could savor every ridge of your cunt and commit it to memory.

He gave you two more solid strokes to your sweet spot before stilling completely, he lifted his hips as he settled himself in you, knocking his cock head into your g-spot and keeping it there. With that you were crying out as you begin to gush around his cock, squirting all over it. Slick spurted forth and coated the hairs growing at the base of his cock, mixing with the sweat already dripping down his body.

Seeing you squirting all over his cock was the final straw that broke the camel’s back.

Jungkook squeezed his eyes shut. He tightened his grip on your wrists and shoulder to keep you from moving away, so he could push all of himself into you, every last inch buried deep in your glorious pussy. He felt his cock grow to its ultimate size and with one more thrust he exploded into you with raging force; he leaned forward, growling with every squirt, pushed into you tightly, held on for dear life, every muscle tense, his teeth biting down on the perfectly sweet and salty skin of your shoulder blade.

He shuddered and as the last wave of orgasmic rivulets ebbed away, Jungkook loosened his hold of your wrists. You moved your arms to the front to push yourself up on them and looked over your shoulder to watch him. Spent, he relaxed his bite on you, his forehead still between your shoulder blades, kissing your moist skin as he tried to slow his breathing.

“Fuck. That was so...” You managed to say, fluffing your hair a moment later, as he pulled out.

You couldn’t even finish your phrase, but Jungkook knew exactly what you were thinking. Amazing.

“Yeah, I know, it really was.” He said trying to catch some air.

Both of your thighs were trembling, finally giving in to fatigue as you collapsed into one another. Once you did, Jungkook didn’t waste any time kissing your lips once again, as if his life depended on it.

He was fucking enchanted with you. Every time you had sex, every time you talked, every time he saw you, he’d end up with overwhelming feelings that flooded his mind, confusing him more and more. He blew away those thoughts this time, trying to enjoy the moment, trying to enjoy having you in his arms.

Limbs entwined; you laid there for a while. A whine leaked out when your lips finally parted making him smile, but you were grateful to be able to breathe more freely. Jungkook kept pressing kisses along the curve of your neck in between breathes.

It would be best to stretch out your muscles after such strenuous activities, but you’re not ready to move just yet.

“We should take a shower.”

“Mmhmm”

The mumbling coming out of Jungkook who had his face against the crook of your neck made you giggle. “Are you falling sleep, Jungkook?”

“Just a little nap, please.”

“Okay, a few minutes of nap and we’ll shower afterwards.”

Truth to be told, you wanted to take a nap too. You were almost certain that your legs didn’t work anymore, and your eyes were begging to have some rest. It didn’t take more than a minute before you both were peacefully asleep.

A few minutes turned into hours of sleeping holding each other. You were the first one to open your eyes and you couldn’t help to smile seeing Jungkook by your side with his arm around your waist, holding you as if you were going to escape or something. He had the cutest pout in his mouth as he slept safe and sound. That really made you want to kiss the fuck out of him.

Wait. Since when you think Jungkook is cute? - you thought before Jungkook’s low voice woke you up of your overthinking trance.

“Are you one of those creepy people that like to watch others sleep?”

You giggled.

“No, it’s just that you looked too innocent and peaceful. Nothing like the real Jungkook”

“Screw you” he said laughing as he rubbed his eyes and stretched himself in bed.

“Well, already did that earlier.”

“Oh yes I did, and we can repeat that now that I’m fully recharged.” He smiled as he started kissing your neck slowly. It was incredible how a few kisses were enough to start a fire between your legs. He was addictive.

“J-Jungkook.” You pleaded with a shaky voice, and you don’t know where you got the strength, but you stopped him as he whined like a baby. “C-come on, we should take a shower and I should change these sheets too. We’re both sticky.”

“Okay, but I don’t have any clothes to wear.” He said as he sat against your bed frame. “Oh! Unless you want me to be naked, I don’t mind.” He joked and winked at you.

Rolling your eyes at him and trying to avoid taking one minimal look at his sculpted body, -because you knew you were going to lose it - you stated, “I might actually have something in my closet for you to wear.”

“Don’t tell me it’s one of your ex’s clothes.”

Scrunching your nose as if he’d said the most disgusting thing in the world. “God, no. It’s my best friends clothes, he stayed here a few weeks last summer because he was renovating his apartment and left some clothes behind. I always forget to give it back to him.”

“Best friend, huh?” He lifted your face, making you look him straight to those beautiful doe eyes. God, how difficult it was to be around him. He was making you feel things in your tummy and a little more south too.

You tried to maintain your composure without showing any reaction as you explained how you met Hobi.

“Yes, Hobi and I…we met through Jihyo, they share the same classes and we’ve been buddies for years.”

“And have you ever two….?” Jungkook asked, seeing you smiling.

Is he jealous of Hobi? He cannot be real. This was beyond funny for you.

“Had sex? No, never. He is like a brother to me; we don’t see each other that way.”

He must be blind- or gay-, Jungkook thought. Is not possible to be around you and not seeing you in that way. You’re mesmerizing. He didn’t know why but he felt relief when you said that you didn’t sleep with your best friend.

“Good.”

“Good?” That took a proper laugh of you. “Okay mister, enough with the interrogation, I really need to clean myself.”

He groaned as he watched you getting up while putting a silk robe you had on the side of your bed and went straight to your bathroom.

You’d turned on the shower as he followed you in, and let the hot water run over your bodies for a few minutes as both of you cleaned up each other.

Being right next to Jungkook when he is all wet, naked and cleaning himself is not good for your health. You were already losing it when you were in bed earlier, you wanted to kiss him and ride him until you couldn’t move anymore.

You definitely didn’t have any more strength to hold on when you finished cleaning your body and shoved Jungkook against the shower wall as he gave you a smirk and stepped in, letting him encircle you with his arms, feeling his hands drop to your butt.

You moaned as he squeezed, going a bit rough, but as close as you were, you could feel his dick squashed in between you two, twitching against your lower belly.

You were insatiable, you couldn’t get enough of him, and the good thing was that he felt exactly the same about you.

Jungkook kissed you, pressing his mouth against yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth, where it danced with yours, and his hands continued to massage your ass. Then you pulled away.

You grinned and dropped to your knees, and you wrapped both of your hands around his cock in front of you. Jungkook moaned loudly, closing his eyes and leaning back, when he felt your hands disappear, and then a warm, wet sensation as you slid his cock into your mouth.

You took as much as you could into your mouth, letting your tongue roll around it, before you started to bob your head back and forward. Jungkook let his hands entwine through your hair as you sucked hard.

He felt your hands come back up, one reaching around to grab his ass, while the other massaged his balls. Jungkook looked down and saw your eyes staring up at his face as you let his dick go with a loud pop.

You smirked up at him and gave the tip of his dick a little kiss before standing up.

This must be heaven, he thought.

"My turn," you said in a sultry voice, putting your hands on Jungkook's shoulders and swapping places with him so that you could be now the one leaning against the wall.

Jungkook smirked and kissed your mouth again, pushing you harder against the wall. He then let one of his hands slide slowly down your body until reaching your pussy. You shuddered and spread your legs as Jungkook's fingers rubbed against you, alternating between the clit and teasing at the entrance.

Just as his middle finger slipped inside, his tongue also pressed into your mouth. Your tongues fought each other, until Jungkook surprised you by putting in another finger.

You gasped into his mouth, and he pulled away with a smirk. Your hands, which had been against the wall, came down to Jungkook's hair, and pushed him down. Jungkook laughed a bit and let you push him to your boobs.

He kissed in between them first, going down the middle, before slowly moving kisses towards a side. He kissed slowly and circled the stiff nipple that you had tried to push his head towards, but the teasing, and the hand between your legs, meant that you didn't put too much effort into it.

Jungkook's head then pulled away, and you growled at him, before he went for the other side, going straight for the nipple. You gasped again as Jungkook sucked hard, letting it slide from his mouth, before rolling his tongue around it. He bit gently, just grazing his teeth against it, making you squirm a bit more.

He let your breasts go, and started to trail kisses even further downward, down your chest, then dropping to his knees, and across your belly, before arriving at your folds. You spread your legs a bit more for him and looked down to watch his tongue press against your clit.

You closed your eyes at the pleasure, leaning back as he had done, and let him kiss and suck at your clit.

“Fuck. You’re so so good.”

“Yeah, baby? Show me how good, be a good girl and cum all over my tongue.”

Fucking hell. He was going to kill you and your pussy with his dirty talk.

Jungkook pulled his fingers out of your pussy and let his tongue push inside you. It didn't go in much, but you did feel the pressure, and squeezed his hair.

Jungkook continued to lick, and you felt yourself going closer and closer to your orgasm. Then he sucked at your clit, and thrusted three fingers inside you, curling them upwards, and you lost it. He took out of you the most pornographic moan, your fingers pulled at his hair, and your thighs almost clamped together as you let your body win.

When it died down, you let your thighs unclench, and Jungkook pulled his fingers and tongue away. He stood up and kissed you slowly.

“It drives me insane how good you taste, Y/N.”

You looked at him in awe and grabbed his face kissing him harder, letting him feel what you wanted. You pulled your mouth away, kissing along his jaw, until you got to his ear.

"Fuck me," you whispered. Jungkook grinned, and you felt the shower water start pressing against your ass, letting you lean back a little more, and spread your legs much wider. Jungkook grabbed his dick and rubbed the tip of it against your folds for a second before pushing it in. You both sighed in pleasure as his entire length filled you up.

He went slowly at first, letting your body adjust, but quickly began speeding up. You wrapped your legs and arms around him, pulling him deeper, and hoisting yourself up. Jungkook grunted and pressed your back against the wall as he fucked you. You let out moans and gasps and started to use your own body strength to go harder.

It didn't take long before you started to feel Jungkook's thrusts becoming more and more erratic. You moaned extra loud at the thought of being filled by his seeds again, and pulled your body harder against Jungkook's, pulling him in deeper.

You heard him gasp, and then felt his cum explode in you, felt the heat as Jungkook filled you up. He shuddered, and you let your legs drop. Jungkook's dick slipped out of you, and, with a quick kiss on his lips, you dropped down and once more returned your mouth to his cock taking him by surprise. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

You sucked and licked him up until his cock was clean extending even more his orgasm as you felt his cock twitching in your mouth, and he kept mumbling curses and gasping for air. When you finished you stood up again, showing him your tongue, proof that you swallowed it all.

You smirked seeing his big Bambi eyes widened in surprise and spoke "You know, it really drives me crazy how good you taste too.”

Jungkook was amazed, you were perfect, you were gorgeous. And you were there with him. "God. You’re so fucking hot, Y/N.”

You grinned throwing your arms around his neck as Jungkook's hands went around your ass and he smiled you back. "And who knew you could be so sexy while soaking wet, Jeon Jungkook.”

“No offense but don’t you have anything less colorful?” Jungkook said sitting on your bed wearing nothing, but a towel wrapped around his hips while observing the yellowish shirt that you pulled out from your closet. You had already changed into new fresh clothes.

“Um. No, sorry, Hobi really loves bright colors. He didn’t leave anything black or white here.” Clearly hinting at the colors that Jungkook usually likes to wear.

“It suits you though.” You say as you see Jungkook hesitating.

“You think?”

“I mean, with that face and that body you might as well use a clown’s outfit and you’ll still be the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.” You said without a filter.

He tilted his head, surprised to hear something like that coming from you as he smiled widely. “And here I was, thinking you were incapable of giving someone a compliment.”

“That's because you have a prejudiced mind.” You bit your lip laughing. “I can give a compliment anytime I want, sweetie. I just thoroughly choose who deserves to hear it.”

“So, that means you think I deserve to hear it?” He finally put the shirt on and came closer to where you were standing next to your closet with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Well, you’ve been a good boy today. You gave me a fair number of orgasms. I think this time you really deserve it.”

“I can give you more of those today.” He said as he put his arms around your waist and caressed your face. You automatically closed your eyes enjoying his touch.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Jeon Jungkook.”

As you opened your eyes again, you saw something in his eyes. Something that made your heart skip a beat. He was looking at you with such intensity, with a longing that even seemed like love. You felt nervous at the thought of it and quickly tried to brush away whatever you were feeling.

“W-we should eat something. I’m starving”

Not saying anything else, you freed yourself from his hold and turned to your kitchen to see if there was something left in your pantry that you could use to cook something for you both.

You heard Jungkook steps behind you. As you were looking something to cook, he sat in a stool next to your kitchen island.

“So, when is your roommate coming?” He asked with curiosity. Hours had passed by, and you were still all alone. Not that he didn’t enjoy it, not at all. In any case, it was better, you could enjoy yourselves without thinking about someone else being there.

“Oh yeah, about that, I'm living on my own now. My roommate moved out this past weekend.”

“Really? Did something happen between you two?”

“No, not at all. She was cool, but she already spent most of her time with her boyfriend and barely stayed here so she decided to move to his apartment. It made a lot more sense” You explained as you grabbed a box of Italian pasta from the pantry. “You like pasta? I can make some for us.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Later he slurped two plates of pasta as you watched him fondly and giggled, whoever heard the sounds coming out of him right now would think anything but he’s eating. “You always moan when you eat?”

“When it tastes this good, yes.” He simply said shrugging.

Afterwards he fought with you over who was going to wash the dishes – he wanted to do it, but you were refusing – PS: he won.

“You’re really good cooking” said Jungkook as he finished cleaning the dirty dishes.

You scoffed. “Why the tone of surprise? Didn’t think I was able to cook?”

Jungkook laughed along with you. He couldn’t stop thinking how much he was enjoying being here with you. Today he felt like this was the genuine Y/N. The one that just your close ones would be able to enjoy. A nice, beautiful and cool girl that could have the most enjoyable conversations.

You continued to talk for a while and then ended up watching TV in your sofa, both sprawled, your head laying in his chest as his arms surrounded your body. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spent this much time with the same girl and smiling at the same time. Maybe this never had happened him before.

Jungkook was slowly realizing that his dad was probably going to be waiting for him at his place, at least for a few more hours, just as he had said before when you left the restaurant with him. He really didn’t want to deal with his father again today.

After having such an amazing time with you, it didn’t feel right to go back to his home and listen the same old preach about being more serious with college, that his father was paying for. Jungkook wasn’t even studying something that he had choose to.

You lifted your head sensing that something was bothering him. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that my father must be waiting for me at my place at least until night, and I really don’t want to deal with him today.”

You don’t blame him honestly; you wouldn’t want to go back to your home and deal with someone like his father either.

“Then don’t. You don’t have to deal with him today if you don’t feel like doing it.”

Seeing Jungkook’s face was enough to know that he was still overthinking about his father and how suffocating it was to even have a conversation with him.

“Let’s go.” You said as you got up and grabbed his hand.

That phrase of yours made him stop overthinking instantly as he furrowed his eyebrows. “Where?”

“To my spot.”

“I didn’t even know this place existed.” Jungkook said as he enjoyed the most beautiful view of the city. “I mean, I came to Namsan Tower a few times before, but I never knew about this garden right next to it.”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I always come here when I need time to sort my thoughts. It’s always so quiet and you still have amazing views.” You said with a smile plastered on your face. You loved this place. Whenever you had too much in your mind, it will always bring peace to you.

A few seconds of silence followed your words. Both of you sitting on a rock, surrounded by the botanical garden watching the amazing lights of Seoul that brighten up the sky when you suddenly decided to break the silence.

“I’m sorry that I lied to you.” His eyebrows furrowing when you looked at him, he clearly didn’t know what you were talking about. And he was even more surprised that you were apologizing to him. “About my dad.” You sucked in breath and took a second before saying “I lied to your dad too, you know.”

Okay, now he was lost. You didn’t say to him that your dad was dead, but you did tell it to his father. What were you lying about then?

“My father is alive.” His eyes widened but not fully understanding where the hell are you going with this. You understood his confusion, so you continued to explain yourself.

“He left my mom when he found out she was pregnant with me. They were really young; they were dating while still in college. He said he didn’t want a child at that moment. My father’s family is a very wealthy family and being part of the high society, they had huge expectations for him. His son had to finish his studies, get married and then have children. It couldn’t be any other way; it would be a disgrace for them if it did.”

Jungkook was soon regretting the way he felt when he heard that your dad was dead, and that you choose not to tell him. He didn't think that the background story could be this deep.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He didn’t know what else to say. What do you say in this type of situations? You finally were opening up to him, and he had no words.

“Don’t be. It’s better off this way honestly.”

“Do you actually know who your dad is?”

“I do; yes.” You nodded as you kept your eyes in the sky above you. “My mom was always straight forward with me about it. She told me the truth about my dad when I was a kid, she never lied about who he was and what happened. But his family made her suffer a lot, they even offered her money to make sure she wouldn't contact them again. Of course, she didn’t accept it. Mom always told me that if I wanted to know anything about my dad, that I should just ask her. She made it very clear that she didn’t want for me to try to reconnect with him or his family.”

“But you did try.”

You nodded again. “Yes, years ago, right before moving to Seoul. I had the stupid hope that maybe after all these years my father would somehow regret his decisions back then.”

“What happened then?”

“I showed up at his office, said my name to his secretary, I knew he was gonna know who I was. He is the CEO of a big publicity company back home, it’s my grandfather’s company.”

Jungkook nodded as he listened attentively.

“He told me that if I ever showed up my face again there, he would find the way to sue me and my mom for harassment and make sure to take everything away from us. That he made very clear to my mother that he didn’t want anything to do with us.” You took a breath and almost chocked with your next words. “A-and that he even told her that he wanted her to abort. That last part was the only thing that my mom never told me. That's when I completely understood why she didn't want me to contact my father, she was just protecting me.”

And Jungkook thought his father was the worst. What a turn of events.

“That’s so fucked up, Y/N. How could someone be like that with his own daughter? What an asshole.”

You huffed. “Well, he doesn’t consider me as his daughter. Funny thing tho, when I went to see him, I saw a portrait on his desk of his real ‘family’. His wife and two kids. He has a daughter and a son.”

Jungkook felt so bad for you. How could it be possible for someone to reject his own blood? And just to maintain a certain social status. So fucked up.

“Listen, I’m not used to tell anyone about this because it’s just so fucking pathetic and embarrassing. Only Jihyo, Joy and Hobi and well, now you, know about it.” You said looking at him. The sadness in your eyes made Jungkook feel a lump in his throat.

“That’s why I lied to you and your dad. Every time someone asks me directly about my father, it’s always easier to say that he is dead. Which he is, at least for me. So, I’m sorry for lying to you about it.”

At this point, he just wanted to hug you and not letting you go. He now understood why you had always that defensive attitude. Not only your dad abandoned you and your mom, but he’d also threaten to sue you if you ever reached out to him again. The pain you must’ve felt was unimaginable.

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders pulling you closer to him as he planted a kiss in your forehead. “You don’t have to be sorry, it’s okay. And you shouldn’t be the one to feel embarrassed. The only one who’s pathetic and embarrassing is your father.”

 “You’re right about that.” You said as you were resting your head in his shoulders with a little smile on your lips.

“Hey” He said softly as he looked at you. You turned your head up to look at him too. “If you ever need someone to talk, you know you can count on me Y/N.”

Your heart was pounding so hard. Your hand reached out to his face, caressing it with so much tenderness “I know. Same goes to you.”

He smiled at you and grabbed you by the chin connecting his lips against yours. He had never felt this close to anyone, ever.

Jungkook never was one to believe in silly things like karma. "What goes around comes around." Or destiny. If things like that were real, the world wouldn't be such a terrible place where bastard CEOs made billions and destroyed those beneath them then got to lounge by pools with billions of dollars.

He'd adopted a mindset of "don't hate the player, hate the game." He was never deliberately an asshole. Not once did he ever sweet talk a girl promising her a relationship and eternal love only to dump her as soon as he got laid.

Granted, some people may call him an asshole for getting women into bed then never talking to them again. But really, that wasn't his problem. If the girls wanted to get their feelings hurt over some dick, that was on them.

He didn't really believe in love.

At least, he hadn't before.

It was weird. Usually, he was ready to move on to the next woman as soon as he'd gotten laid, but Jungkook just wanted to see you again. Fuck you again. Pull you close underneath the sheets and enjoy the warmth that you radiated. Have you kiss his cheeks, his lips, his temples, his body.

He was so bad at feelings. Was it fear or was it pride? Was he ashamed of the fact he was scared of the new feelings he was experiencing? Either way, he didn’t know how to handle it. He didn’t want to admit that there was more to it than just the best fuck of his life.

Jungkook had been avoiding you for quite a while now; well, you hadn’t talk since he left you in your apartment that night after going to Namsan Tower. That was only two days ago, and he knew you were swamped with college stuff so maybe you didn’t even realize about his sudden lack of communication.

He wasn’t sure exactly why he was avoiding you; it wasn’t like you had done anything wrong, it was as if something was mentally blocking him after getting so close to you, it was too close for him. He wanted to go over to you and talk to you, tell you why he had been avoiding you but he couldn’t.

He spent these last few nights thinking and thinking before shutting off. He is not someone that could make people stay. Numerous girls had explicitly said that. The notion of ever finding love with his kind of personality? The possibility is probably zero.

It wasn’t complete rocket science that he held you in high remark, he admired you sure but love? He wasn’t fully sure; he was in denial. But how does someone even know they love someone? 

Maybe he was spending too much time with you. Since you’ve started sleeping together, he unconsciously stopped sleeping with other girls. Maybe that was the issue, he needed to sleep with someone else and maybe all those intrusive thoughts would disappear.

Jungkook being Jungkook decided to deal with it the best way he knew how. He didn’t want to be an asshole, but he was about to be one.

It was easier to fuck another girl than deal with his feelings about you. So, he grabbed his phone and called the first one of the many girls that had sent him a message to hook up in these past few days.

Something felt wrong, but he did it anyways.

He needed to take you out of his mind for a while. Or at least he had to confirm if maybe these new feelings he was developing were just a product of you two spending too much time together.

What a fucking day. Your Philosophy essay didn’t go as expected. You had worked so hard and yet you failed.

"I'd like to talk to you after class, Ms.Y/L/N" Professor Baekhyun said to you as he slid your essay onto the table in front of you, you gulped seeing the big red F in the corner, the third one that month. All semester you've been failing his class getting more depressed with every sad glance he threw your way; every paper had that big red F in the corner, and you had just given up before he approached you.

You couldn’t even understand what was wrong with your essays at this point. You started to think the professor had some kind of grudge against you. Even if he didn’t have any reason to in the first place.

After class, you headed to his office steeling yourself for whatever he might say to you knowing it would be anything but good news. You stepped into the room seeing your professor sitting behind his desk, he gestured for you to sit in the seat in front of him.

"I'm guessing you know why you're here." You nodded gripping the hem of your skirt and looking down. You heard your professor sigh as he typed something on his computer.

"Well, the problem we have here is that you currently have a D- in my class and you need at least a D+ to pass, but I have some extra credit you could do for me." You looked up with hope in your eyes only to see your professor gazing at you with a dark look in his eyes.

He stood behind his desk making his way over to you, stranding behind you he ran his hand over the back of your chair before spinning you around to face him.

"Would you like to do the extra credit?" He lifted your head up making you look him in the eyes. Far from freezing in your spot, you got up instantly and you made your way to the door ready to run if it was necessary.

“What the hell are you implying, Professor? This is inappropriate.”

Sadly, you had heard stories about this professor. Everyone over the campus knew he had a reputation of being a disgusting libidinous man, but for you it was just that, stories. At least until today.

He also was the son of the dean which made it almost impossible that any accusations towards him were taking seriously. You’d tried to ignore the times you caught him staring at your cleavage or the times he’d got too close of your ear to talk to you over something related to the class.

Hearing the tone that you used to respond, the professor clearly understood he wasn’t going to get anything from you. His demeanor changed within a second and he furrowed his eyebrows, acting as if he didn’t understand what all the fuss was.

“I wasn’t implying anything Ms.Y/L/N. I suggest you calm yourself or I’m afraid you won’t have any chance to pass this class.”

You motherfucking pervert, you thought. You took a deep breath, just because you knew you had to do everything in your power to pass this class and never again deal with this pervert.

“Could you please tell me what I have to do to earn the extra credits?”

“Of course, you will have to redo the last three essays that you failed. By next week.”

What a pain in the ass. But anything is better than getting stuck in his class once again.

“Will do. Thank you, Professor.” You said swallowing your pride as you opened the door and left, almost wanting to barf at the falseness of his smile. It was disgusting.

By the time you were arriving to your building entrance, you were already with a unsufferable headache, and you were blinking away some tears. You had such a shitty day; you couldn’t believe the nerves on that pervert, and you were angry thinking that he has done this to other girls too.  

You needed to relax, or else you were going to explode. Your mind went to straight Jungkook and his words the last time you saw each other.

“If you ever need someone to talk, you know you can count on me Y/N.”

Well, maybe you could hang out with him. You haven’t been able to have fun for the last two days since you were studying and working on your essays so hard. And it didn’t even pay off. You grabbed your phone as you sat in a bench outside your building and looked for Jungkook’s contact.

As you waited for him to pick up, you dried the tears on your face with the back of your hand, you didn’t want anyone to see you crying.

You were about to hang up when he finally picked up the call. He sounded a little bit out of air. “H-hey, Y/N. What’s up?”

“Hey, by any chance are you at your place?”

“U-uh, no. I-I’m on the campus.” More exactly, on the backseat of his car. With a girl on top of him that he doesn’t remember her name, sucking his neck, drawing hickeys all over it but he wasn’t going to tell you that. “Why? Are you okay?”

No.

“Yeah, I just- Um, I thought maybe we could hang out, but maybe I’ll better go to Jihyo’s.”

You did not sound okay. Not at all. He could sense something was troubling you.

The girl moaned loudly as she rubbed herself on Jungkook’s groin. Hopefully you didn’t hear that.

Your eyes widened as you heard what you were pretty sure it was a moaning from a girl. You felt like an idiot. You instantly regretted calling him.

“Where are you now?” Asked immediately Jungkook, putting his hand on the girl’s mouth to shut her up.

He didn’t even get a response from you, you just hung up the call. Whatever or whoever he was doing, you didn’t want to hear anything more.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This hadn’t been a good idea, thought Jungkook. It didn’t feel good either. He stopped the girl’s hands that were roaming all over his body.

“I have to go.”

The girl looked at him puzzled. “What?” She tried to rub herself again on Jungkook and kiss him, but he stopped her immediately. She tilted her head saying “Don’t you want me to suck you off? Come on, you’ll enjoy it.”

“No thank you, now please get the fuck out of my car.” He said roughly, he knew it was the only way to get this girl out of his car.

“You are such a dick.”

“Yeah, I know that.” He mumbled as the girl left and he got to the front seat of his car. He just wanted to go and look for you.

You were staring at the floor, spacing out since you hung up the call with Jungkook. No more tears streaming down your face, but the headache was growing stronger. You just wanted for this day to be over.

“Y/N?” You suddenly heard a male voice near you. You lifted your head to see who the person was talking to you.

You knew this guy. Wait, no! You slept with this guy. And of course, you forgot his name.

“Mingyu, remember?”

Ohhh! That guy!

“Yes, Mingyu! Right.” He smiled at you, and you smiled back, not as widely as him but you did smile. Gosh, you forgot he was this handsome. “Sorry, I’m not the best when it comes to remembering names.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t mean to intrude but are you okay?”

“Actually no. I have a massive headache that I think it might turn into a migraine any time soon. College is draining my brain.” You said with a light chuckle as he nodded and chuckled too, you not wanting to go any further with details. “What were you doing here anyways?”

“I was on my way to the coffee store; I just finished a study session with a friend of mine that lives in that grey building over there.” He said pointing at the building right next to yours.

You think you remember something that he said the night you slept together, about him knowing this area because of one of his friends. Or maybe you’re just imagining things.

You nodded and stayed in silence while rubbing your temples, the headache was slowly increasing.

“Listen, I have some Advil here if you want. I always have some with me, every time I finish with exams, I end up with huge headaches from the stress.”

“That sounds so relatable.” You say as you chuckled again. “Um, yeah, if you don’t mind, I’ll go with you to the coffee store and buy something for myself, I really don’t like to take those kinds of pills without a drink.”

“Sure.” He said as you both started walking towards the coffee store, it was a few meters away from your building.

“What do you wanna have? My treat.” Said Mingyu as he looked at you.

“Oh, no, no, I’ll pay for myself.” You refused profusely.

You really didn’t want him to pay your drink. He might get the wrong idea. Or he might end up asking you out on a date. Oh, the headache is not even letting you think straight.

“It’s not a big deal, it’s just a drink, Y/N.”

Okay. He’s just being friendly. Okay.

You nodded. “An iced americano, please.”

“Sit here” He said pointing at the bench outside the store. “You should take some fresh air. I’ll order and bring it to you.”

This is so weird. This guy was being incredibly gentle with you, especially having in consideration that you had made a false promise of calling him back that morning after you slept together. You almost felt guilty of accepting his treat. Clearly you didn’t deserve it.

You were feeling your head was about to explode, so you got up and walked to the restroom inside the coffee store to wash your face with cold water, in the hopes of feeling a little bit better.

On the way there, you saw that Mingyu was already finishing paying for your drinks so you told him to put the Advil inside your drink so it would be diluted by the time you got back from the restroom.

Ever since you were young, you hated to swallow big pills because you always got this awful feeling like they got stuck in your throat, so you’d always put them inside a drink to make it easier for you to take it.

Jungkook had arrived at your place right before you got up from the bench and watched all the sequence of you talking with Mingyu and then going to the coffee store with him.

Who the fuck is that guy? Was all he could think of. Jealousy invading every inch of his body.

He saw as you entered the coffee store, said something to this guy who seemed to be in the counter ordering – whoever he is – and then walking towards the restroom.

The guy sat in a bench outside, opened one of the lids of the drinks he was holding and dropped a pill inside of it that he had taken from his backpack.

Jungkook’s brain started to make connections. Could that be a roofie? What if the guy wanted to drug you and take advantage of you? No, it can’t be. Maybe it’s just his drink.

As soon as he saw you approaching this guy again and that he was holding for you the drink where he dropped the pill, Jungkook got out from his car. You had started to walk away with the guy towards your building entrance and you were about to have a sip of the drink in your hand when all the sudden Jungkook appeared out of nowhere, hitting your plastic cup and spilling all its contents on the floor.

Mingyu observed dumbfounded the scene unraveling in front of him.

“What the actual fuck, Jungkook?”

“I saw him putting something in your drink.” Jungkook sounded so proud of himself as if he had just saved you from a pack of lions trying to eat you.

“Yes, because I asked him to do it.”

Huh? You asked him to put a pill in your drink?

“What?” Said Jungkook almost in a whisper.

You huffed and then gave Mingyu the most apologetic look, who clearly had a question mark all over his face, “Thanks for the Advil and the drink, Mingyu. I owe you one.”

Luckily, Mingyu got the memo pretty quickly and as he took one last look between the two of you, he said “No worries. See you, Y/N.”

As soon as you saw Mingyu was already a considerable distance away and you had enough privacy to talk, you gave Jungkook an stern look as you crossed your arms in your chest. “Were you just following me?”

“No, I was-” He cut himself, frustration growing inside of him. “You didn’t sound okay when you called me, so I came to look for you.”

“Well, I’m okay as you can see, you can go back to whatever you were doing, I’m sure you were busy.”

Jungkook ignored completely the way you implied you had listened the sounds over the phone coming from the girl he was about to screw.

“Are you screwing that guy too?” 

You cackled. “Are you fucking serious right now, Jeon?”

Jeon, not Jungkook but Jeon. You were mad. And him, being petty as fuck, instead of letting the water calm, he kept pushing it.

“Is that a yes?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just asking because instead of thanking me for taking care of you, you thanked him while acting like a bitch towards me.”

“Excuse me? Thanking you? I don’t need for you to take care of me, I already told you this before. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.” You said angrily.

The audacity of this man. Not even half an hour ago, you heard a girl moaning while you were talking on the phone with him, not only that but he also has his neck full of hickeys that you know they weren’t there last time you saw him, and he has the nerve to ask if you’re screwing Mingyu or not. You couldn’t take anymore the hypocrisy of his words. He was free to do whatever the fuck he wanted but so were you, so why was he interrogating you?

The next few words came out of you with too much anger. “You’re not my boyfriend Jungkook. So, stop acting like you are.”

Okay that sounded so much better in your mind. You didn’t want to sound that rough.

You saw him gasp at your words. He was about to say something but stopped himself, closed his eyes for a second and then looked at you again without any emotion on his face “Yeah, you’re right, I’m not your boyfriend.”

You didn’t mean to hurt him with your words. He was just concerned about you, and you snapped at him. But the fact that he was the one doing a scene after what you heard over the phone, was exasperating you.

You weren’t made of stone and even though you didn’t make any jealousy scene, you did feel a pang in your chest when you heard that girl over the phone. You hated that you were feeling all these kinds of things that you never felt with your other hook-ups.

You hated that this happened two days after you finally decided to open up with him. You didn’t want to, but you felt betrayed. You knew you had no right. But he was pushing your buttons, acting as if he was the one jealous when you did nothing with Mingyu. You were already too mad about what happened with your professor earlier and now this. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Ugh, Jungkook… It wasn’t my int-” He cut you off roughly.

“Fuck off, Y/N. I don’t need this kind of bullshit; you are just a good fuck. I shouldn’t be wasting my time with you.”

Eyes widened as you saw him leave, astounded because he never treated you like this before. It crossed your mind for a split second to stop him, but the moans started replaying in your head non-stop as your headache turned finally into a migraine, it was even hard to keep your eyes opened. You just turned around towards your apartment and huffed. “Asshole.”

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⏤ author's note❧ Well, this chapter took longer that I thought! 😅 But as I said before, I want to give you my best, guys. This chapter is by far my favorite one yet of the series, hope that it is for you too 💜. Please, let me know what you think! Don't hesitate on leaving your feedback, reblog, send asks, whatever you'd like. 🥰

⏤ tag list❧ @chimsworldsstuff @ahgasegotarmy116 @whoa-jo @aloverga @coralmusicblaze @ericawantstoescape

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jjk #bts smut #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts fanfic #bts fluff #jjk fic recs #jjk fic #jjk smut #bangtan #bts au fic #bts au fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #networkbangtan #jungkook fic recs #bts #bts fanfiction #bts fic recs #bts au

[throwaway-yandere]

19th Century YANDERE!WANDERER x F!Reader idea:

You were once a well-liked farmer in a remote village. Despite owning a small library of your own, which was a massive social symbol of wealth at the time, you experienced no discrimination from both the rich and the poor. Each side treated you with respect for you grew the finest of fruits and vegetables at such a cheap price. Go any lower, and they'd think you were positively doing charity work. Every poor man and noble maids would line up each morning for a chance to buy "Lady (Y/n)'s produce".

However, you faced your peaceful life's turning point when a hooded young man opted to cut the line. With grace, you approached him and politely told him to follow the rules. You see, if he cannot respect others, how can he respect the food you've grown with such kindness and care?

That's when WANDERER's interest piqued. He understood little of the North's customs. Where he's from— most transactions can be accelerated with the help of a Fixer. When (Y/n) raised an eyebrow at the sight of his bribery, he understood that he royally messed up. He didn't apologize, but he admitted that he was wrong and left the marketplace. But that was when he knew, there might finally be a place for him after all the traveling he had done.

If the village thought your prices were near charitable, your approach to befriending the WANDERER certainly was saint-like behavior. You visited his inn and presented him with a bread basket. With a hearty laugh, you uttered hopes that you were not bothering him as you watched him fix his bed-head. The dark-haired man could only watch perplexed as you motioned to the chair and asked to sit down. You asked for his name, he didn't comply. You asked if you could call him "Iris", just like how you'd assign flower petnames to close friends, and he only replied with a morning grunt and a pinkish hue on his cheeks.

Iris Ensata, in the royal gardens, meant "a gentle heart". Whether you knew floral languages or not, each time you called him by that name, his chest tightens as though he has one.

He's grown fond of your conversations, but his travels cannot cease. WANDERER's goal had always been to find an ancient artifact his mother preached. Attaining it meant he would be the next to rule the land, for he was secretly the Crown Prince. He was vague whenever he talked about his troubles to you, but you instantly related to his musings. You yourself managed the farm because you wanted to please your father. He saw you as a lesser human, and decided that to prove your worth, you needed to manage your own small "empire". His mother was the same. Both of you were tested, and you are now standing on the same crossroad. To be a slave to a kin's whims, or to carve your own path? He had yet to decide that for himself...

Hence, when stress had taken its toll, he pulls out his map to find his way back to you. Moonshines later, he reached the point where he no longer required one. His soul knew where you were. Where home was. Stopping by the village just to see you was always a lull before the storm. And he was incredibly excited to tell you that his adventure is now finished, and the crown now rests on his head.

But what if he was too late to salvage what was left of such a natural disaster? What if the lull was eerie? What if the lull was a silent void he could never get rid off?

In his return, he found not a storm, but a rain of fire. There, at the center of the square, was you. The smell of singed hair defiled his senses, and your face burned in his mind. He saw you everytime he closed his eyes.

"BURN THE WITCH!!! BURN THE WITCH!!!"

The mob drags on. And on. And on. The chant does not stop. He stands there, petrified.

When only the lull remains, he pulled down his hood and looked over to the stake you once stood.

"It's just ashes..." He muttered. "Nothing left but a-ashes..."

He chuckled, humorless. His voice was once a small crackling sound, like the fire that took you, until it erupted into a full blown laughter. His eyes were wide, and his grip on both your ashes and the earth you once tended to and loved made his knuckles white. The WANDERER— no, The CROWN PRINCE laughed hard in his mind, but that was not what the townsfolk heard.

What they heard was the alarming anguished screams of a lover who had everything he had stolen away.

He will be merciful, for he knew you still loved your friends and neighbors even when they had tied and burnt you to crisps. He will make their deaths brief. As brief as his soldiers could make this whole village burn and purged off all its filth.

Maybe when the spring comes back, so too will you return. Maybe once he had purged off all the filth in this village's wreckage, he'll find his home.

But until then, there is no longer any sense of gentleness in his own heart.

#ansy-drabbles #yandere scaramouche #yandere wanderer #yandere scaramouche x reader #no beta we die like demetrius-

[madelynraemunson]

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ plz

strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer! main character

Chapter 012: Vecna’s Curse

Eddie is scared to commit to you? That’s fine. You have a lap dance to treat Henry to anyway — in the infamous red set that EDDIE bought for you.

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013** , 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*

somewhat smutty = * , smutty = **

word count: 4k words

NSFW — blindfold kink (*cough* henry), lap dance, grinding, moaning, henry is the whimpering type, shy girl using henry to get off, eddie’s RAGING jealousy

TAKE IT AWAY, JAMIE 🥁🙌🏼

I Put A Spell on You (Jamie’s Version)

“The hooded cultists chant…” Eddie narrates. “Hail Lord Vecna. Hail Lord Vecna. They turn to you, remove their hoods… you recognize most of them from Makbar. But there is one you do not recognize…”

— excerpt from Stranger Things 4: Chapter One: The Hellfire Club.

♡

Eddie is too busy playing D&D with the boys to have any idea what you're up to. It’s just what you wanted, though. Means everything is going according to plan.

“I put a spell on you, because you’re mine.”

Excitement brews within you as you slip on the red DEVIL WOMAN set from Nocturna. When you're done, Max helps to straighten your hair, maintaining it with a generous amount of hairspray, while Chrissy helps you set the final touches of your makeup into place.

"What's up with the blindfold?" Max inquires, nodding towards the piece of cloth tied around your wrist.

"Part of my act," you explain ominously. "I plan on using it on Henry for the first part of my set. He's a...sensitive guy, to say the least."

"You are way too good at this," your sister shakes her head in disbelief, brushing through your hair one last time.

"Intense emotions spark creativity," you shrug, admiring the vixen that is you in the vanity. "No man is leaving unscathed tonight."

It all rings true. Tonight, you have the power. And all of Hellfire is going to know it.

"Well you look absolutely soul-snatching," Chrissy hoots as she takes a good look at you. “You’re gonna have him on his knees.”

You bite your lip in anticipation. " Who? Eddie or Henry?"

"Both," she shrugs. "But since we're on that topic, I just know Eddie is going to come crawling back."

The three of you share a malicious giggle with one another, thinking about all the ways Eddie is going to crumble, seeing another man enjoy you in the set that he bought. He had his chance to commit to you, but now he has to face the consequences of what happens when he doesn't man up on time.

The dressing room door opens. By instinct, you turn to see who it is. In struts Nina, counting the dollar bills in her hands as she just emerged from doing her set at the tip rail.

"Oooh look at you go!" you whistle. "They're loving you out there, mama."

"I'm literally so shook," Nina raves, tucking her bills away into her bag. "This is my best night thus far."

When she's all squared away, Nina makes her way over to you and envelopes you in a warm hug. "You look so fucking sexy! Go kill it out there, girl."

You smile at the compliment, heart fluttering in a room full of girls' girls.

"Thank you, sweetheart," you respond to her, rubbing her back with the utmost adoration. "You too."

Chrissy helps you don your cloak, shielding you from giving away the trick you have up your sleeve. After one final check in the mirror, you're ready to put on a show.

"Ready," you announce with a mischievous grin.

“Go get him, tiger,” Chrissy pats your back.

“You better stop the things you do, I ain’t lyin’. No, I ain’t lyin’”

Your heels click with intention across the cool floor of the club as you strut towards your victim. He's smiling and laughing with all his friends, unsuspecting of the stake you're about to, figuratively, drive through his heart.

"Good game, gentlemen," Eddie concludes as he and the boys wrap up their campaign. "I’ll see you all next week for Rise of Kas. Try not to die in that one, yeah?"

You watch as the younger guys scatter to prep for the rush. Steve and Eddie stay behind to clean up the area. When Steve sees you, he offers you a tender side hug before issuing a kiss hello to your forehead.

"Hey you," Steve smiles.

"Hey," your eyes gleam up at him. "Didn't know you play D&D."

Eddie's eyes travel up to you the moment he hears your voice. He freezes in place the moment you meet his gaze. If he reacted this way to just you with your cloak on — exalting and apologetic — you can't even begin to imagine the look on his face when he sees what you have under it.

But until time brings you to that point, you settle for feigning dissastisfaction while he attempts to strike up a casual conversation.

"He doesn’t, I was just showing him the ropes,” Eddie chuckles, nervously resting his hands at his sides. “He’s doing great though.”

You nod absentmindedly, diverting your attention to Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington instead.

"You look beautiful, Hargrove," your boss attempts. "More than usual, I mean. Absolutely stunning.”

You can tell he’s already regretful about how he worded things a couple nights ago. The guilt on his face is like no other. But with the guilt comes those eyes. Those charming eyes that will get you to fold every time. Tonight is the exception.

"Thanks," you utter emptily to him.

"You got main stage tonight?"

"No, I've got a semi-private dance," you respond as-a-matter-of-factly.

"Semi-priv..." Eddie tries to figure it out. "What do you mean by that?"

"Hello, hello," a familiar voice greets you guys.

Right on schedule.

Henry makes his way over to you all with the biggest grin on his face. It's weird seeing him in outside clothes. He's dressed in a white t-shirt and black leather jacket, tight black jeans, and black combat boots. The blonde deity flashes you a seductive look.

"Days bleeding into one another again, Creel?" Eddie questions. "You're not on today, remember?"

"Oh yeah, I know," Henry shrugs. "I have a dance today with one of our special friends."

"Oh shit!" Eddie exclaims, going over to give him a celebratory fist bump. "Chrissy agreed to give you one?"

"No, not Chrissy," you chime in. "Me!"

Eddie's eyes widen. Steve's eyes widen.

"Holy shit!" Steve says. "Creel is actually getting a lap dance! That's so out of his comfort zone."

Steve's arms wrap around your waist as he pulls you in front of him. You feel his hardened cock sneak up against your ass.

"And from Shy Girl too?" Steve's voice deepens, rasp factor at an all time high. "You're in for a treat."

"Wouldn't expect any less," Henry blushes.

Henry’s voice is soft, but there’s a hunger in his gaze. Eddie tries to conceal how bothered he is. You see him frantically scanning the club for a sort of scapegoat, a way in delaying the nightmare that is about to ensue.

“Actually…” Eddie clears his throat. “Now that I think about it, we might get busy within the hour. You mind clocking in for a bit to help Jim out front?”

Henry cocks a puzzled brow. “Jim was playing Candy Crush when I dapped him up at the door. Mans is fine.”

“Yeah, the man is fine, Eddie,” you jeer. “And Henry’s been working sooo hard, it’s the least I can do for him.”

Your boss’s jaw clenches when he realizes his plan has fallen through. He’s got no scapegoat, you're dressed like revenge overdue, and his friends are insistent on watching this dance…

He’s screwed.

"If you insist," Eddie mutters sharply. “Tip her well, Creel.”

“Of course, man.”

Eddie excuses himself but remains in the area like a fly on the wall. He scrambles around, greeting regulars with a handshake and dusting off tables, anything to look busy and unbothered by the idea that his presence doesn't affect you the slightest.

But he is seething. Troubled. He can’t read you or your next move and it’s driving him mad.

While you coordinate your routine with the DJ, Argyle escapes from the kitchen. You hear him eagerly yelp when he discovers that Henry is getting a dance, followed by a determined, "I've gotta watch this".

And now that everything is going to plan, you take a moment to gather yourself backstage.

Before you head out, Nancy meets you by the curtains with extra bobby pins that you requested. You assume Chrissy spilled all the beans, judging by the words Nancy whispers in your ears before you head out,

“Give that man hell.”

(he sounds so much like jamie)

HELLFIRE: hell·fire

/ˈhelˌfī(ə)r/(noun): The torment and punishment of hell, envisaged as eternal fire.

"Alright, Shy Girl!" you hear Argyle shout from the pit of VECNA'S LAIR. "Henry is ready when you are."

You give the DJ a nod to start the song. Let the show begin.

“YOU put a spell on ME, I’m losing my mind”

You start your set at the pole, walking a slow circle around it before beginning your dance. Though a dance for Henry only, a crowd outside your immediate circle starts to gather around. Henry is sitting on Vecna's throne, watching inquisitively while you do your introduction. And Eddie follows suit, floating around like a lost puppy.

“You better stop these things. It’s a matter of TIME🕰️”

*DING* a grandfather clock chimes, a sound mixed in by the DJ as he makes the set his own.

The crowd cheers as you strut your sexy self down the stage, smirking to yourself as Henry timidly grips the armrests of Vecna's throne.

Your gaze pans to Eddie. You watch as guests attempt to have a conversation with him in the lair, but he is just not tuned into what they're saying.

Eddie is hypnotized by you, spellbound by a curse that he got himself tangled up in. Oh, how pitiful. To dig his own grave...

“Before I hunt you down..."

Poor Eddie. He has already lost.

"...grab your chin...and kiss your lips…”

You stroke Henry's face as you walk past him, stopping behind him close enough to see the goosebumps and baby hairs rising at the nape of his neck.

You tug on the corner of the blindfold and the knot undoes itself. Henry beams up at you with his eager ocean eyes as you hold the blindfold in your hands. You bend down behind him, exploring his chest with your delicate hands, before tying the blindfold snugly around his eyes.

You check in with your friend. “Are you doing okay?”

“I’m doing just fine,” Henry answers. “Thank you, Shy Girl.”

“Of course.”

“And you bring me back, I lay you down and grab your hips”

Eddie’s claimed a seat now, somewhere towards the back. Though it's harder to see him now, you just know he’s eyeing your technique intently, watching as you slither back to the front of Henry, stroking the bouncer’s face before lowering yourself onto his lap.

Henry’s breath trembles upon realization. He leans back and spreads himself across the chair so you can take up all the space that you needed to make him feel good.

He sucks in a breath.

“Breathe out, Henry…” you encourage him. “Steady breaths… there you go. Relax those shoulders now.”

Henry exhales, sinking his shoulders into flaccidity as he allows you to navigate his lap.

Eddie’s tapping his feet profusely, likely as an attempt to self-regulate. His folded palms rest below his chin as he studies you, attempting to construe whether or not this is something you are genuinely enjoying.

“And we lose all control. And before you know…”

And Eddie should know, that indeed, you are enjoying yourself… and Henry very much.

Henry's hands explore your ass now, and you use this position as leverage to grind yourself against him, your hips rotating to the shape of your stage name spelled out in cursive.

Shy Girl

A soft whimper escapes Henry’s lips as you grind, your ego inflating as he tosses his head back in pleasure.

“What’s the matter, baby boy?” you ask him. “Too much for you already?”

“No,” Henry smiles, seemingly up for a challenge. “I just wanna see your pretty face so bad.”

“Do you now?” you quip.

“Yes I do,” he nods. “Pretty please.”

“Well since you’re being so polite…”

“I put a spell on you, now you’re mine. I’ve got a hold on you, at least for the night.”

Your fingers return to the back of Henry’s neck to rid him of the blindfold you menacingly decided to tease him with. When it collapses, you meet Henry’s starstruck eyes, making sure they process you grinding your hips, exploring his chest, his shoulders, the sensitive parts of his earlobes.

“Fuuuck,” Henry whines. “How are you so good at this?”

“How are you such a good client?” you counter. “So well-behaved for me, Henry.”

Steve and Argyle make their way to either sides of him, showering you with dollar bills because Henry’s hands were occupied. They were exploring your thighs, hovering over your ass, rubbing your back while his mouth praises your every action, your every attribute, your everything.

“Goddd DAMN!” Argyle roars, incentivizing you further.

“What’d I tell you, Creel?” Steve smirks. “Ain’t she something?”

“Fuck yeah, she is,” Henry’s voice is but a barely audible gasp now. “And to think we’ve just scratched the surface.”

He tugs at your cloak pleadingly. You giggle at him, admiring his pretty puppy dog eyes that he’s put on for you.

“You know I can’t help myself when you ask tenderly if I’d dim the lights as your hand brushes me.”

Eddie glares sharply as he watches Henry continue to tug at the strings of your cloak, practically begging you to start stripping for him.

His misery is waiting behind that very garment.

“Wanna show me what’s underneath?” Henry incites.

The lights of VECNA’S LAIR begin to flicker and the classic yellow spotlight quickly changes to red. That’s your cue.

“Thought you’d never ask,” you giggle.

“And the floor swallows your clothes”

You undo the knot of your cloak that tied everything together. Slowly, to the beat of the song, the cloak slips off of you, revealing the beautiful red set.

“Oooh”s, “ahhh”s, and “wooo”s fill the air as the cloak sinks to the floor.

“And your silhouette puts on a show”

From the corner of your eye, you notice Eddie sit right up.

You try to figure out if he recognizes your set or not. But judging by his flustered face, and envious gaze, he sure does. There’s a pain in his eyes as his brows form a sullen arch. You watch as Eddie’s nostrils flare as he jams his fingers into his thighs, digging the balls of his feet into the floor in rout. He can hardly keep himself contained, he’s so angry.

And like a bull at a rodeo, Eddie sees red.

Meanwhile, Henry falls deeper into his state of arousal.

“Wow…” your patron beams. “That’s such a beautiful set, Shy Girl.”

You blush. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Henry insists. “It fits you perfectly. You did a good job.”

“Yeah,” you chime. Then your gaze travels to Eddie who is trying his hardest to conceal his jealousy. “I did do great, didn’t I?”

You allow Henry’s hands to explore all the set’s finest little details, from the little gems to the intricate seams. Henry traces your figure by following the pattern of the set, humming in pleasure to himself at the sight of you.

"That set is gorgeous, baby," Steve coos as he admires you from head to toe. "Did you pick that out yourself?"

“I can’t remember,” you turn to Steve as he rubs your shoulders. “It’s been collecting dust in my closet for a while so I figured I’d wear it today.”

“That was a good choice,” Steve’s voice deepens. “This is my favorite set on you so far.”

"Mm!" an unexpected moan escapes your mouth.

A crinkle in Henry’s pants from his thigh region rides up a nerve ending along your clit. Your mind short circuits from the sheer pleasure of it all.

Soon you forget about the lap dance and start subtly immersing yourself with friction, rubbing harder and harder against Henry’s tense quads as he lets you.

Aside from you, only Henry seems to know what’s going on.

He smirks, the most sinister grin you’ve never seen come from him before. “Find what you’re looking for?”

You nod rapidly, encouraging him to stay in place while you continue to pleasure yourself. He laughs to himself, watching you chase your high on top of him, knowing he's the one who has the reigns now.

“That’s right,” he fawns. “Take what you need from me, baby.”

"Yes Master," you say to him, knowing it's a kink of his. You feel him harden underneath you when he hears those words come out of your mouth.

Curious on whether or not he's still watching, you can’t help but get a glimpse of Eddie. And past the layers of all the strobe lights of VECNA’S LAIR, you meet his eyes.

“You put a spell on me. I’m LOSING my mind”

They’re twinkling. But not in the way you’d want. Soon Eddie's hand aggressively swoops across his eye, as he quickly wipes — what looks like — a teardrop away.

You continue to watch him as he excuses himself from the crowd, pulling his entire weight with him as he drags his feet towards his office.

It's enough to make your cold heart melt. When you see the way his shoulders sulk and how slow he seems to be walking in the busy atmosphere of Hellfire Gentlemen's Club, it dawns on you that you may have taken it too far.

Henry sees your eyes wandering, dwelling on Eddie as they become rather glazed themselves. He directs your focus back to him with his fingers at your chin.

“Why do you cry for him, Shy Girl?” Henry observes. It’s like he can read your mind. “After everything he’s done to you?"

You swallow hard as you struggle to find the words.

"...You give me fever, and drive me insane"

Fuck Eddie. Fuck Eddie. Fuck Eddie.

You've been hurt countless times but you still love with your heart on your sleeve. Why couldn't Eddie do the same?

Sure, his father was abusive and absent. Yours was too. Sure he found his mom dead at the hands of his father and drugs. That was also your childhood experience. Sure he had to grow up rather early just like you did, putting all his needs last while taking care of other family members because no one else would step up. And sure, the only woman he loved enough to marry framed him for a crime he didn't commit, with the idea of inheriting his assets on her mind. You've felt that used before too.

So what if all the people he's ever cared about stabbed him not only in the back, but in the front as well?

...just like you're doing right now.

It really dawns on you this time. You're not any better.

Fuck, you're an asshole. The answer is so clear to you now, you don't understand how you could have been so selfish before. You're both different sides of the same coin, it seems.

"Hm?” Henry tuts when you don't respond. "You think you need Eddie, but you don't. No, no... you don't."

Henry then starts to buck his own hips upwards, grinding along with you.

You feel guilty that Henry feels so good, taunting your clit mercilessly with just the fabric of his dark jeans alone. To distract yourself from all guilt crashing down on you, you start to envision that it's not Henry, but Eddie whose underneath you.

You miss Eddie. You really, really do. You miss his laugh, his random outbursts of energy. You miss how he instantly drew in a crowd no matter where he went. His presence was electricity, sending shockwaves down your body with the slightest skin-to-skin touch. You missed how his fingers felt pulsing in and out of you, curving themselves as he looks you dead in the eye because your pleasure was his utmost concern. You miss his periodic check-ins, how he wouldn't relax until you made it clear that you were okay. You miss how dirty and magical he made you feel, but ultimately how sexy and loved were and felt in his presence, even on the rocky days.

Fuck, Eddie.

"You keep me going in circles with potions and bottles... And I can't escape... I can't escape..."

Fuck, you fantasize. Eddie. Fuck, Eddie.

"I'm lost in your ways... I can't escape, baby."

There's a part in the song that gives you an 'out' from your routine. You wrap up your dance there, completing it with a tender kiss to Henry's cheek as he smiles up at you. The crowd goes wild, and Steve and Argyle continue to spoil you with ones, fives, and tens, enticed by how sultry you made everything look and feel with such little effort.

"Thank you, darling," Henry coos as he rubs your back one final time.

"Any time," you say to him. "I hope I helped alleviate some of your stress."

The boys help you collect your bills while people from all around swarm you with compliments. Eventually, Maxine and Chrissy make their way over to you, ambushing you with hugs and fangirling over your entire performance.

"You did amazing, sis!" Max squeals as she jumps up and down. "You should've seen the look on Eddie's face. Oh you so won!"

"Yeah..." you mumble absentmindedly as you search the club for Eddie. "Yay me..."

--------

It's the last call now before closing and you're helping everyone shut down their stations. You'd typically be back in the dressing room counting your bills by now, but the inner server in you can't help but stay behind.

"Hey!" Argyle speaks up. "Since all of us are off tonight, anyone wanna go barhopping?"

"I'm down!" Steve agrees. "Night's still young and that was the plan last time we were all together, yeah?"

"Shy Girl, you wanna come with?" Jonathan asks.

"Uh, I gotta count my tips and then get to bed," you say, turning the offer down. "I can close the register if you want, Jon so you can catch up with everybody."

"Oh really? Thanks!"

The group invites Max too, promising they would take good care of your little sister. Chrissy offers to be her DD, since she knows that Max drinks. All of you did, when you were her age.

"Please, sis?" Max begs. "All my discussion posts are done and I wanna turn up before midterms."

"Fine," you mutter, rolling your eyes. "But remember, if it smells weird or stinky..."

"Do not drinky..." Max rolls her eyes as she reaches to grab Chrissy by the hand. "Done deal. Thanks again!"

And soon the group vacates the area, leaving only you behind to shut the place down for the night.

When you're done closing out the register, you gather all your things to start packing up. Suddenly, you hear the locks to a distant door jingle and the doorknob turn slightly to doublecheck.

Eddie's still here.

You hear him start to make his way towards POTIONS, his worn out converse making quiet taps against the stone floor.

The natural light from the windows near the ceiling illuminates into the dark space, revealing Eddie's face and the pained expression that still rests upon it. His eyes are puffy, his demeanor hard to read.

You clear his throat at him.

"I thought you left."

"Nah," he shakes his head. "I like to stay behind for a bit sometimes. Make sure I got everything I need."

"I see..." is all you say.

"Told you that set would bring in a lot of tips."

"There you go again, being right about things," you say in a forfeiting tone.

"I'm not always right."

You can't look at him right now. Not when you've caused him so much distress and he's still choosing to speak to you. You gather your belongings and hold your head down in shame, excusing yourself from the narrative and Eddie's presence indefinitely.

"Whatever you say, Eds," you try to smile. "Goodnight."

Nervous now, you put your cloak back on and make your way out of the bar. You nod to Eddie goodnight and start towards your dressing room to prepare for your drive home.

However, it stuns you again as Eddie turns his heels and follows suit...trailing ever so closely behind you... to the dressing room as well.

🏷️ tag list: @battymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @hideoutside , @motherfckerr , @jxps i , @munson-magic , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @justinelittlewoodsworld , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123 , @redbarn1995 @angietherose @kiyastrf94 , @purplewitchcauldron @kellsck

#henry creel #henry creel smut #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #henry creel x reader #reader x henry creel #jamie campbell bower #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #jealous!eddie x reader #vecna's curse #i put a spell on you #001 smut #SoundCloud #Spotify

[kscheibles]

e la vita ch. 2

~ ch. 1 here ~

content warnings: f! reader, fluff, smut, semi-public sex, oral sex (m receiving), smoking, religious trauma, bisexuality

word count: 7.1 k

When I meet Matty the following Thursday, it’s in the city center. Feeling nervous and awfully out of place, I cover my eyes with my hand as a kind of mock-visor and search briefly for his familiar face in the square that’s packed with older gentlemen gossiping and families blowing bubbles each bigger than the last. I take a seat on a bench near the middle of the piazza when I don’t see him, hoping I’ll be somewhere he can spot but not as awkward-looking as I might be if I stood still watching the scene like some sick, American voyeur.

Matty walks up with the gait of a bad Mick Jagger impersonator. I can see now that he’s all limbs though not in a bad way; in a way that exaggerates his movements and announces his presence to the world around him. He seems comfortable with the reality that people will look at him. I suppose it makes sense, given his choice of career, but it still mesmerizes me.

I watch him as he walks towards me. He’s wearing a fitted t-shirt that exposes his arms to me for the first time. They’re golden and covered with a variety of tattoos in different styles; from his biceps all the way down to his wrists. Eventually, he notices me looking and his face breaks out into a smile. He nods up to the cathedral to my left as he approaches me, giving me a quick, fraternal hug.

“How do you like it, then?” he asks, eyes trained on the holy building.

“Matty, that’s a church,” I state plainly, “I spent my childhood in places like that, and I’m pretty sure I’ve learned that God doesn’t like girls like me.”

“If God exists, I promise you’re one of his favourites,” he laughs as he says it, as if it’s not one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me in my life.

“What do you know about God?” I ask.

“Oh nothing, really,” he concedes, “Just that he’s the most vicious, generous bastard in the world.”

I eye him as he says the words. I suppose that must be true for him. I resent the idea that our accomplishments and qualms are all consequences of our virtuous or sinful behaviors. It’s asinine. But if God is real, he’s certainly blessed Matty – with beauty, intelligence, love, money. 

If God is real, he’s cursed me to be something immutably unlovable. Damned to rot from the inside out for the rest of my life. I don’t believe what Matty says, even for a second. There’s no way I’m one of God’s favorites. 

Matty waves his hand in front of my face, snapping me from my thoughts.

“We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to. I didn’t consider that you might have…religious trauma or something,” he assures me.

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” I say, though truthfully I’m less sure than I say. I wonder if entering the cold, marble palace will transport me back to my youth; to standing primly in church as a child, scared to make a wrong move. Scared to think a sinful thought. Considering each older woman around me, their beautiful hair covered by cotton squares in a performance of modesty. I envied them, how easy they made it look to live by the rules. How little they seemed to struggle with keeping their mouths shut and their shoulders covered and denying themselves the indulgence of imagining another woman’s warm, sweet lips on their own.

Matty seems to clock my hesitance. He takes my hand and leads me in and I was so wrong. 

It’s not cold inside, it’s breathtaking in a way that makes me feel welcome. On the outside of the central atrium are alcoves, each decorated more elaborately than the last. My senses are overwhelmed by the smell of incense, the sounds of hypnotic Latin chanting, the sight of refracting, colorful light. It feels Heavenly. I suppose it’s meant to. 

Matty draws me towards one of the scenes that’s painted on the perimeter of the nave. It depicts a woman washing Jesus’ feet. Her head is bowed in submission, focused completely on the task at hand. In her hands is her long, black hair, which she uses to wipe at the top of Jesus’ feet. The chiaroscuro of the scene illuminates the action; everything else is noise. All that exists is her devotion.

“She was a sinful woman,” I say, “A prostitute, I think.” Matty raises his eyebrows in consideration.

“Was it like a punishment or something? Making her wash his feet?”

“No,” I breathe, “She did it to show him that she knew who he was. Knew he was worthy of being revered.”

“So her taking care of him was a sign that she understood him? Or what? Loved him?” 

I shrug. “Isn’t that what we all do for the people we love? If we’re loving them right?”

“I suppose so,” Matty turns his head to look at me. He must see something on my face – a flicker of an emotion or a thought – that he recognizes because he adds, “But it’s no one’s fault if they haven’t been loved right. It doesn’t make you unloveable. It makes the other person a bad lover.”

“Well I suppose we can’t all be as easy to love as Jesus, can we?” I sigh, moving away from him, towards the center of the church.

I sit in one of the pews towards the back. In front of me are tourists and locals; people of all backgrounds, colors, and ages approaching the altar. Some of them have brought candles, hold rosaries. They appeal to God, beseeching his benevolent will. I empathize with them, even though I have serious reservations about the efficacy of their methodology. It’s beautiful how much they care about their fellow man.

When you see a woman wearing sheer tights, gray hairs combed perfectly into an updo, and kneeling on the cold tile floor with her hands pressed together, twins conjoined in supplication, you know that her motive cannot possibly be her own wellbeing. As selfish as we humans can be, it would be blasphemous to come to God’s house and light a prayer candle for yourself.

Matty sits down next to me, close enough that our legs are touching: his corduroy pants to my bare legs, pebbled by the cold air. I remember sitting in church with my crush as a girl, feeling wretched for wanting to inch closer to her. When I finally let our legs touch through layers of wool fabric, the excitement of touching faded instantly, giving way to the all-encompassing shame of the sin I’d committed. I reject the shame now, gently pushing my thigh further into Matty’s to prove to myself that it’s something I’m allowed to do, even in church. I’m allowed to touch him. I’m allowed to look at him and be distracted by his handsomeness. I’m allowed to think about his lips, plump, rosy, and left open wantingly. I’m allowed to think about his hips, how easily they swayed to the music the night I saw him in the club, and how deeply the rhythm seemed to be embedded in him. I’m allowed to think about his sculptural arms and nimble, calloused fingers. I’m even allowed to lust after him, to daydream about how good he could make me feel, if he wanted to. If I wanted him to.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, breaking my train of thought. 

“I don’t know,” I shrug, trying desperately not to feel caught, “You?”

“Thinkin’ about the people who made this place. All of the gold light fixtures they had to weld. I mean fuckin’ hell look at this,” he points to a sconce on the wall. It’s carved in the shape of winding vines and inlaid on the front are mother of pearl accents positioned in the shape of a cross. “They did it with much more primitive technologies than we have as well.” I nod along. 

“The devotion,” I muse. 

“What’s that?”

“Think about the devotion they must have had to God in order to create such a beautiful thing for Him. It would show if the constructors didn’t believe. They would have phoned it in; cut corners on the carvings in the pews and the intricate architecture of the dome,” I tilt my head to get a better view of the dome in question. Inside of it, windows filter perfect yellow light into the building and angelic sculptures stand guard over the heavens. 

Matty throws his head back completely, looking up towards the sky like there’s something up there that will save him or give him a more profound understanding of the place where his feet dwell. It’s misguided; I’ve spent enough time looking up to know that. There’s nothing good God can teach us that we can’t learn on our own. It’s nice to imagine sometimes, though: that if you look a little harder or listen to the silence on your knees for a minute longer, all of a sudden the answer to your problems will be revealed. 

With his head towards the sky, Matty’s neck is open and vulnerable to me. A strong vein is prominent on the right side of it and his Adam’s apple protrudes, a silhouette that’s so thrillingly masculine. It feels intimate that he would let me see him like this: all awed and curious and unguarded, like a dog that’s rolled over to offer me his belly. I’m flattered that Matty feels safe getting lost in front of me.

I admire how open he is to the beauty of it all. It’s because churches aren’t places that make him instinctively put his guard up. On the other hand, churches for me are places where I was fed lies, Sunday after Sunday. Where old men seized upon my innocence and insecurity and forced poison down my throat until I swallowed every last drop. I’d had to go through withdrawal when I finally got the antidote. It was arduous, sweaty, painful. I learned to question everything a little too well. I don’t believe in any kind of magic anymore; I can no longer believe anything that’s not right in front of my eyes. God took that from me. Matty is lucky God didn’t take it from him, too.

I look up, following his eyes. It’s all so beautiful it almost loses its meaning. Everything is marble or silk or stained glass. It’s too much all at once. I can tell it’s all spectacular but in the flurry of everything, each individual marvel loses its luster. As I tip my head further and further back, I get a little dizzy and the colors that float above me begin to bleed into each other in a kind of kaleidoscopic haze. I snap my head back up; back to reality. I reach out to hold on to Matty’s arm.

“Can we go now?” I whisper to him, still wanting to preserve the sanctity of the place for the other patrons. 

He nods in wordless understanding and leads me out.

–

The scorching heat of midday eventually breaks and yields a brisk night. When the sun sets, my skin remains sensitive, showing temporary, pale markings when I press my fingers into it. It hurts a little; a reminder of the fun I had that made me forget to reapply my sunscreen.

I sit at a table with Christina, Nina, and her friends. Some of us indulging in an aged wine from the region and others vying for an Aperol even though the sun is long past set and the orange bittersweet liquid now looks opaque.

“You know the best way to get over someone is to get under someone new,” says Nina, grabbing another glass of the chianti. 

“Like I’ve never tried that before,” I answer. It comes out meaner than I’d expected; though how could it not? I’m not a teenager dealing with a first kiss who pied me off for a blonder, more popular girl, I’m an adult who built a life with someone and rearranged my guts to fit her into every place that was important to me. Who introduced her to my parents and friends and was now having to wait for the dust to settle in an explosion that blew the whole thing to pieces. 

There are so many life-or-death questions that remain unanswered: Which friends will take my side, and which will take hers? If I have a fling with a toned Italian Adonis this summer, which of our so-called friends will stop inviting me to Dyke Night at Ginger's? Which of them will forget I exist just because I’ve left the city?

No, getting under someone new won’t help any of that, I decide. 

“Sometimes we all need a distraction,” remarks Nina. “Look, the truth is that a breakup uproots your whole life. You don’t know which way is up, you don’t know which places are safe from them, especially in New York. I remember when Mason and I broke up, I didn’t go below 16th Street for a whole month, just because I knew I’d be safe from him if I stayed uptown. My point is more that you don’t have to worry about any of that. You’re in fucking Italy and she’s gone back to Michigan while she figures out her next move. So do exactly what you want for once, it’s not as though you can do that when you’re in a relationship.”

Exactly what I want. The words echo in my mind as the savory wine causes my neurons to sing. What exactly do I want?

–

It’s just past ten when I meet Matty at a cafe near our homes. A late night up with the girls means I’m cursing myself for not arriving early enough to order a cappuccino. Matty is leaning up against a chair with his sunglasses on, looking down. He holds his phone in both hands, a cigarette between the index and middle fingers of his right. He exhales some smoke from his lungs and looks up to see me walking towards him.

“Y/n!” he smiles, immediately putting his arm around my shoulders and kissing me on the cheek, “How are you, darlin’?” I can feel my cheeks getting warm due to our proximity and his openness. 

He has a European self-assuredness to his movements. I’m not stupid enough to think that all of Europe is the same, but there’s a facility with which he takes my hand. Whereas, if I were to touch somebody, I would pause and hedge and overanalyze before reaching out. Even more so if it was someone I liked—which I’m slowly realizing I do.

“I’m good,” I smile at the dark lenses of his sunglasses. I hate those little pieces of plastic for keeping me from seeing his brown irises in the sun. I bet they would sparkle. I want to steal them from him and hide them so he can never wear them again and I’ll always be able to see the magic that happens in his eyes. Maybe it would hurt him, maybe his crow's feet would become more pronounced but I don’t care even a little bit. I want to know what it feels like to look into his soul again. 

“So what’s the plan for today?” I ask.

Matty nods toward a light pole a few meters away. Propped up beside it is a shiny black Vespa. 

“Thought we’d take a little day trip to the lake,” he says.

“Oh no, I can’t,” I say out of instinct. 

“Oh,” he deflates a little, “why not? Have you got somewhere to be?” I look at him embarrassed. 

“My mom would kill me if I got on a motorcycle,” I say. Truthfully, I’m scared more by the feelings that bloom in my stomach at the thought of holding onto his waist than the thought of riding the vehicle itself. He breaks into a toothy smile and crinkles sprout at the edges of his eyes.

“Your mum’s not here. How old are you, again?” he asks. I decide that doesn’t deserve an answer, instead opting to roll my eyes pointedly at him. “Besides,” he continues, “it’s a Vespa, not a motorcycle.”

“Do you have a helmet?” I question, timidly. He reaches out to my tote bag – embroidered with the familiar emblem of Shakespeare and Company – and tugs my silk scarf from it. His hands move tentatively towards my head, face questioning softly if he can touch me. I give an imperceptible ‘yes’, and soon his warm hands are cradling me. He places the scarf lightly on my head and then moves his attention down to my chin, tying it in place delicately. He reaches out to caress my jaw.

“There you go, princess,” he coos. The nickname doesn’t have the sting of taunting it once did. It feels sincere; like Matty really believes I should be treated with the utmost care. As soon as I can begin to smile up at him, he’s gone again, throwing his leg up to straddle the bike. With his Wayfarers covering his eyes, slicked-back hair, and tan skin, he looks every bit the rockstar Nina’s friends say he is.

I find myself skipping to him and straddling the bike behind him. I can’t see his face but I imagine it must be twisted into that ridiculous, self-assured grin I witnessed on the first night I met him. Where it once produced acrid bile that stained my throat with hatred, it now endears me to him. It’s indicative of a boyish playfulness, a thrill-seeking tendency that I so admire. Girls can’t afford to be silly and I’ve been surrounded by them for so long. I want to walk around in Matty’s skin for a day and learn what it feels like. 

What does it feel like to him when he walks home alone at night? It must be how I feel when I walk during the day. No– it’s even more free, it must be. Even during the day, I cringe imperceptibly away from every man I pass on the street, no matter what part of town I’m in or whether I have my headphones on. 

When Matty meets a girl and chats her up, he must not feel any of the apprehension that I do. No poking and prodding to see if she’s the one straight friend that’s tagged along to the gay bar because she’s just “so tired of men” or the sweet, bi-curious loner who’s looking for her first girl-on-girl action. He can just approach them without pretense and genuinely try to get to know them. He can entrance them with the arcane physics of his adorably curly hair and the spellbinding timbre of his speech.

When he speaks up, people must listen to the deeper, commanding pitch of his voice. They must be piqued by the melody of his Mancunian accent. They must believe him, perhaps even when they shouldn’t.

Do I want him? Or do I envy the ease that seems to come with being him? 

Do I want to feel his insides? Or do I want to feel him inside of me? 

I snake my arms around his middle, trying not to dwell on the soft cotton and lithe muscle that cover his torso. I clasp my hands together just under his ribs.

“You ready?” he asks. I press my cheek to his back, bracing for impact. I nod against him.

“Yeah,” I whisper. He chuckles at my hesitance and hits the accelerator.

And we’re off, bumping down old cobblestone roads, bathing in daylight, and meditating to the sounds of the city – babies crying, birds chirping, music playing, meat mongers yelling like showmen – and it’s not scary. Matty is solid underneath me, resilient. He runs a hand through his curiously straight hair like it’s nothing to him. 

On our way to the lake, Matty slows down at a fruit market packed with old ladies haggling with one another. He puts the kickstand for the Vespa out, twirls the keys around his hand, and pockets them. Then he strides over to the gaggle of nonnas greeting each of them in due course. 

“Come stai, Matteo?” 

“Come sta l’america?” 

“Che rockstar!” 

They clamber for his attention like he’s a grandson they haven’t seen in several years. 

“Tutto bene, grazie,” he manages, his English tongue contorting around the Italian. He still sounds anglophonic when he pronounces the words, but they cheer and coo all the same. Matty beckons me from the bike over to the fruit stand. “What do you want, darlin’?” he asks when I arrive next to him. 

I look down at a ripe selection of fruit that’s bursting at the seams with juice. Apricots the color of the sunrise, jewel-toned berries, and peaches: fuzzy, soft, and yielding – not unlike human flesh, I think. My thoughts wander to Matty’s hands and cheeks and thighs. What would they feel like if I touched them? Would they give? Would they warm me? Could I squeeze him hard enough to make him burst?

“Andiamo a Lago di Garda,” Matty explains. The nonnas grab a paper bag and begin pointing to the selection of fruits. “Albicocca, pesca, frutti di bosco,” they gesture to each in turn. Their voices undulate and vary in pitch as they describe the fruits. It sounds like verse to my ears: romantic, melodic, and exquisitely idyllic.

Matty turns to me, “They want to know what you want.”

I look at them – their pink noses and wiry eyebrows and floral aprons – and smile. I mime how many of each I’d like and they pack our bag to the brim. They pass the fruit to me as Matty pays what he owes, bidding them farewell. He runs up behind me as I approach the Vespa and takes the bag from me, setting it at his feet. Then he reaches into his pocket and fishes out a pack of cigarettes. He grabs one with his teeth and lets it stay there, nestled between his lips. My eyes remain trained on his every movement and he notices, tossing me a lighter as he starts up the bike.

“You light it for me, sweetheart?” he asks. My hands fumble with the lighter, bringing it to the end of the cigarette and idling there while Matty inhales. When it doesn’t light right away, he brings his hands up, cupping them around the end and they graze my fingers on the lighter. We look like two school children telling secrets and the moment feels as intimate if not more. How I’d love to know his secrets, each and every last one.

I release the lighter and Matty lets the cig hang languidly on his bottom lip.

“You want one?” he asks.

“I’m good,” I say. 

“Too right you are,” he replies, “hold on tight darlin’.”

–

Matty drives calmly down the motorway as I clasp my hands together as hard as I can. The breeze whips against my face and chaps my lips but I don’t mind. With the sun on my face and Matty underneath me, I feel unreal, unstoppable. As we reach the lake, the trees become more abundant. They flank the roads that lead to the beach and smell like fresh-squeezed lemonade, refreshing and revitalizing.

We finally slow down and sit on the rocky shore. Matty hands me a basket of berries and I immediately pop one in my mouth, enjoying the sweet juice that explodes on my tongue. 

Next to me, Matty bites into a peach. The juices run down his chin and he uses the back of his hand to wipe them off. 

The sticky juice glistens on his hand as he puts it down on the rocks to support himself. I’m mesmerized by the way the sheen that covers his hand catches the sun. I’m like a magpie drawn to anything shiny and ripe and sweet, not content enough with the fruit that’s bursting in my own mouth. I need to have his too.

“Can I try it?” I ask. Matty turns to me mid-bite and hands the peach to me as he chews the bite in his mouth. With the fruit in my hand, I inspect the marks his teeth have left, the place where his tongue has been. The thought that the tangy, sweet flavor will be laced with the taste of Matty’s mouth is absolutely delirium-inducing. It intoxicates me like a drug: the thought that I want him inside of me, that I could have him inside of me if I only lick the spot in front of me. I take a bite out of the yellow flesh and suck the juice into my mouth before passing it back to Matty. 

It’s better than I expected. Warm from being outside, not cold and refrigerated and sterile like the fruit Claire and I used to buy in New York. It’s soft, yielding easily to my teeth and tongue. And it’s sweet, sticky. The surface of the flesh is covered in Matty’s saliva and it seems to make me hungry, truly hungry, for the first time in months. I want to devour the peach and then the berries and then every other perfectly imperfect food I can find. It tastes like vitality. It tastes like desire. 

“That’s really fucking good,” I declare. 

Matty inspects the dents I’ve left in the fruit. Then he runs his tongue over the fuzzy skin and yellow flesh before biting into it. My skin burns from the sun and the eroticism of the situation. We’ve each been inside of one another now, him in my mouth and me in his. I want to taste him properly, from the source.

“How come your hair is straight today?” I ask, reaching my hand out to touch a strand that’s fallen over his face to partially obscure his eyes. It’s stiff and crunches beneath the pressure of my fingers.

“My natural hair would have fallen in my face and gotten us into an accident, especially given the fact I have to drive on the right side here,” he answers, leaning back on a boulder on the beach. I consider his face, trying to imagine his absent ringlets. 

“I wanna see your curls,” I say. I kneel next to him to get a better vantage point. From above, I see each gray strand of hair that invites the light into his mop of curls. I hold his gray streak up to the light and let my hand linger as it falls into his hair and then down to his face, feeling the rough stubble beginning to form on his cheeks.

“Yeah? You like my hair curly?” he teases, a blush gracing the tops of his cheeks as he looks up at my face. 

“A lot,” I nod. 

“I’ll never wear it straight again,” he says to mollify me.

“Good,” I state. I stand up and take my sundress off so I’m standing before him in a white cotton bra and underwear. Matty’s eyes go wide as I remove my clothing and hold my hand out to him.

“Come on then,” I encourage. He stands up smiling, unbuttons his shirt, and removes his trousers, leaving him more naked than I am. 

I thought I was beginning to know Matty, but seeing his bare chest reminds me of how much I have left to discover. It’s littered with poems and phrases, crests and colors. His shoulders are broader than mine and they’re covered in sturdy muscle that continues down to his pectorals and upper abdomen. I’m staring, I’m sure of it. He’s hard in all the places I’m used to softness and wide in the places I’m used to encircling in my warm, small hands. I grab his arm and drag him towards the lake, submerging my head in the cool water as soon as it’s deep enough. When I emerge, I push my hair back and toss some water in Matty’s face.

“Oi! What was that for?” he exclaims.

“You said you’d never wear your hair straight again,” I remind him, “Come on, I’ll help you.”

Matty kneels before me as I scoop handfuls of water onto his head until he’s totally soaked. It feels thrilling, having a man on his knees before me, at my mercy. I’m not used to gentleness from boys; only jeers and catcalls and hands obnoxiously placed at the small of my back in clubs. But I don’t want to use my position for anything other than sweetness. I rub his curls lightly, removing the gel from each strand. Matty looks up at me as I massage his head watching my eyebrows scrunch.

“Your hair is soft,” I tell him. He smiles up at me and moves his arms around my hips to hold me as I continue my ministrations on his hair. He breathes through his nose and I feel the warmth that emanates from him as it seeps into my skin. He’s centimeters away from my core, no doubt feeling my heartbeat wildly in my chest and smelling the faint, musky aroma of the wetness that’s beginning to gather between my thighs.

“Thanks,” he says, lips kneading the soft flesh of my tummy as he does. It tickles and my eyes snap to his, gasping. His gaze remains trained on me as he moves his mouth to kiss me there. He uses only his lips at first, pecking and rubbing at me, but soon he grows impatient. He leaves open-mouthed kisses just above the waistband of my panties, sucking the skin below my navel, nipping at it, and smoothing his tongue over to soothe it. He moans into my stomach as he does, letting out a sound muffled by my belly.

I whine in response, grasping tightly at his hair to keep myself steady. He jerks back quickly.

“Ah!” he hisses. 

“Oh fuck, sorry,” I duck down to him, holding his face to make sure he’s alright.

“I’m fine, sorry,” he shakes his head. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“It’s okay,” I say, “actually, you’re all good now if you want to, um, rinse off.”

Matty ducks into the water, smiling brilliantly at me when he meets my eyes again. I crouch down, reaching out to him, wringing out his curls, and scrunching them up onto the top of his head.

“Better?” he asks, standing up. Beads of clear, freshwater pool in his collarbones and race across his torso down to his hips. They catch on the sunlight and make him glisten. I want to lick them off his body, trace their path, and make him whimper.

I smile and nod, standing up to more or less even our heights. He wraps his arm around my neck, looking down at my body once we’re close enough that I can’t follow his eyes. I tremble. My arms are decorated with goosebumps, my breasts are peaked from the cold, and my white undergarments are soaked, plainly revealing what lies beneath them. 

“You chilly, huh?” he asks. I nod into him. “Let’s get you warmed up.” Matty drags me back to the rocky shore and covers me in his button-down shirt, beckoning me to sit between his legs. He envelops me in his arms like my own personal human-sized blanket and holds me until I stop shivering. 

–

“Oh shit, have you ever been in one of these?!” Matty shouts. He doesn’t need to yell to be heard, I’m right behind him on the Vespa. But he’s so excited at the thought of the old 35mm photo booth that stands tall on the side of the road. He leaps off the Vespa and digs around in his pockets for the 10 or 15 cents he needs to get it to work. “This is so fucking sick!” he exclaims. “Y/n! Come over! This is amazing!”

I dismount the bike more methodically than him, taking care not to get my skirt caught on the seat. I push the velvet curtain to the side and am met with a very eager Matty. He grabs my hand and pulls me onto the bench, instantly winding me up in his arms and tickling me. I’m caught off guard as the bulb in the center of the wall flashes, CLICK. I push Matty off playfully, turning back around to him – CLICK. I look at him, chest heaving for a moment – CLICK. It draws his attention and Matty’s eyes flit to my breasts, I notice – CLICK. I launch my body towards his, unable to contain myself anymore. His lips catch mine as I bring my arms up and around his neck – CLICK. Matty’s hands reach around my shoulders, feeling my bare skin, warm from the sun. I move my mouth hard against his, eager to taste the leftover juice from the fruit, tobacco from his cigarette, anything. Anything as long as it’s Matty. I reach into his soft frizzy curls and hang on to them to steady myself and push further toward him until he’s completely up against the wall of the photo booth. Matty’s hands find the smallest bit of my waist and pull me into his lap. His hands fall to my knees and rub all the way up my thighs, caressing the velvety flesh and stopping only when he’s reached the top to grab two handfuls of my ass. 

“Fucking hell,” he breathes as he releases me slowly. 

Using my newfound leverage, I push his head back onto the wall and attack the exposed skin on his neck and chest. I lick his Adam’s apple and kiss the ink peeking out from under his button-down.

“Fuuuuuuck, y/n,” he moans, lifting his head up to watch me as I unfasten each button on his linen shirt. His abdomen is hard under me and it feels so divine; almost painful but in a way that I deserve, that I revel in. I caress each tattoo on his torso with my tongue and his hands fly to my hair, massaging my scalp. I look up at him when I reach his ‘we are kings’ tattoo, partially concealed by his trousers. My tongue darts out to wet my lips as my eyes question him. “Please, go ahead,” he says, needily. His pupils are blown out and his hair sticks up in places it shouldn’t.

I hook my fingers under the waistband of his trousers and boxers, feeling giddy and nervous with anticipation. It’s hardly my first time – boy or girl – but it’s new in the sense that I’ve been used to one person for so long. How she sounded and tasted. Seeing his cock spring out, hard and red, makes me feel like a schoolgirl. I’m intoxicated by everything I don’t know about him and what I’m about to learn. I move his clothes down below his knees and tentatively kiss his inner thighs. The skin there is thin and warm and it smells musky. I reach my hands up to touch the hair that grows at the base of him. Then I lean my head towards the same spot and kiss the skin there. I run my tongue around the bottom of his cock, wetting him as much as I can and kissing him everywhere as I make my way to his tip. When I get there, I look up at him. His head is backed up against the wall and he’s sat on his hands, surely in some semblance of politeness. I move the left one up to cup my jaw. 

“Show me what you like,” I plead, “I wanna make you feel good.”

He groans through his lips as he pushes his thumb into my mouth. I wet it the same way I wet the rest of him and then I suck on it, just a little, moaning as I do.

“That pressure’s good,” he tells me. I nod and he takes his thumb out of my mouth and rubs it against my cheek. “Honestly though I really wasn’t expecting this. I don’t think it’s gonna be an issue for you.” 

“Is that your way of saying you’re turned on?”

“Very,” Matty chuckles.

I smile at that: an innocent, sweet, reassured one. His words give me the confidence to cover his tip with my mouth, my right hand falling to the base of his length and encircling it. 

Matty’s hand flies to the back of my head, under my hair and grips it like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. My eyes fly up to his face as I take him further in mouth until I meet my hand. I move up and down on him, relishing in every whimper and squeeze and twitch he unleashes.  

I begin to feel Matty stirring under me, and I look up at him, surprised at what I see. His eyes are open watching me with religious devotion. His right hand travels down my shoulder, blindly searching for the straps of my dress and bra and pushing them down until my breasts fall out, spilling down my chest. Matty wastes no time grabbing a handful of one as I continue my pace on his dick. He squeezes me gently but soon opts to pinch my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it out teasingly and keeping time with me. It feels fucking delicious and spurs me on. I remove a couple fingers from him and take him down further, hollowing my cheeks and moaning around him as he twists my nipple with sadistically erratic pressure.

“Please,” I groan around him. It’s possible he doesn’t understand what I’ve said, but he gives me what I want anyway, touching me rhythmically and gently fucking my mouth as he chases his orgasm. 

“I’m almost there,” he pants, reluctantly bringing his hand to my face and pushing it off of him, “You can stop.”

I keep his tip on my tongue and shake my head side to side. 

“Please?” I look up at him begging, “Want it in my mouth.”

“Fucking hell, okay,” he breathes, manouvering himself back inside of me, fucking my face harder than last time but still shallowly enough that I can take it without gagging. I need him. I don’t know why or what I even expect to gain from it but his release is the only thing on my mind. It consumes me. I move my hand from his thigh and squeeze his balls gently, then cradle them in my hand. I taste him not long after, salty, warm, and pooling on my tongue. I can feel him pulse in my mouth, giving me more and more. Though the load gets smaller, and each burst further apart from the last, I find myself hoping it won't end. I feel content, consumed by pride and pleasure.

I hold him in my mouth until I’ve caught every last drop, savoring the feeling of him filling me up and the flavor of him on my tongue. I swallow and lap at his tip and shaft to clean him up, and then I tiredly lay my head on his left thigh. It's been a long time since I let someone drip down my chin and licked them up, desperate to get every last drop. It feels good to need someone like that. Like water. Like medicine.

 He leans over just a bit to cradle my head with his hand, pushing the front pieces of my hair behind my ear, dragging his thumb to my lower lip, and lingering there. I breathe heavily while my eyes pierce his, mouth wantonly open. 

“Fuck, that felt so good, thank you,” he breaks the silence. I take his thumb in my mouth in answer, sucking at it delicately. I release him and kiss the pad of his finger gingerly. Matty takes hold of my hands and lifts my body back to his, holding me in a hug for what seems like an eternity. Time stops for a moment in the booth – it could be the year 3000 or the 80s, there could be a parade outside or a silent street that echoes with each of our breaths – it’s just the two of us, chests pressed against each other, the air thick with elation and longing.

Eventually, I have to peel myself off of him. Matty stands and stretches his arms above his head, displaying his toned triceps and delts. He bends at the waist to retrieve the strip of photos, fingers over each frame as he admires them. He folds the strip just before the last still, hiding the photo where our lips are meeting. Then he rips it off completely.

“There you go, princess,” he places the film with the first four photos gently in my hand. I look up at him confused and just a little sad. “This one’s for me,” he amends, tucking it into his back pocket. “So that I know I didn’t dream it.” He holds my face between his hands as I gaze up at him.

“Angels usually only visit me in dreams.” I roll my eyes and try to avert my gaze from his. He doesn’t let me, tilting my head up toward his by putting his finger under my chin. His eyes search mine with a fervor that would scare me if it came from anyone else. He closes them as he slowly leans forward to catch my lips in a slow, sweet kiss that tastes like goodbye. 

“Don’t make me leave,” I mumble into his mouth.

Matty wraps his arms around my back, pulling me further into him, and rests his head on mine. He’s warm and wet and smells like sex. 

“Why did you want to do that?” he whispers into my hair.

“I don’t know,” I say. I don’t really. It wasn’t logical, it was more instinctual than anything, a natural progression of my feelings and of the direction in which I was kissing him. I wanted to kiss him there; it felt natural.

“It wasn’t to, like, get over your ex or something was it?” he pulls away to look at my face as he asks, “I’m fine if it was, but I just want to know if you like me or if you’re just going through something.”

“I try not to make a habit of blowing people I don’t like,” I tell him teasingly. He chuckles, rubbing his nose against my cheek, tickling me with his five-o’clock-shadow. He kisses the edge of my face, right next to my ear.

“I like you, too.”

For a moment, I allow my mind to run free with the knowledge of his admission. To imagine date nights and naps on his bare chest on the sun loungers at the villa. My stomach flutters. I want it so badly.

I reach my arms up around his neck and touch my lips to his. 

“Will you take me home, now?”

#matty healy fanfiction #matty Healy fanfic #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x reader #matty healy fluff #matty healy smut #matty Healy

[starchaserwrites]

@jegulus-microfic / march 14: choice / word count: 558

Stab it, strangle it, scoop out its gut, throw it off a cliff... it repeats over and over in his mind. 

Four chains, three double crochet, three chains, repeat four times...

The first few times Pandora tried to teach him how to crochet were a total failure. The wool got tangled, the stitches were either too loose or too tight and picking up the crochet hook was a problem on its own. But since he learned to crochet, Regulus takes his knitting wherever he goes. 

Today in particular, he has taken it upon himself to bring extra balls of wool, as he intends to be productive in the nearly three hours it will take him to travel by train from Liverpool to London to visit his estranged brother after nearly five years. And no, of course Regulus isn't nervous. That he's gripping his crochet needle tighter than necessary and knitting furiously has nothing to do with it. He doesn't even notice when the seat next to him is taken. 

One, two, three... nine double crochets, his hands move skilfully creating new rows.

He has been trying to finish this tote bag for an eternity and... What the hell is that?

There are no mistakes in knitting, only design variations, the voice of his best friend echoes in his head.

Well, clearly Regulus made a mistake several rows back that's making his granny square look more like a rectangle, and there is no way to make it look intentional. With a huff, he has no choice but to start pulling the wool to undo his failed progress.

"No!" an urgent voice protests from his right side, leaving him confused.

Regulus turns his head slowly, scowling and ready for a confrontation, which is quickly forgotten when a pair of warm, honey-brown eyes open wide and stare back at him. Regulus frowns even more deeply.

"I'm sorry! I swear I didn't mean to intrude, but it's just that you were doing something beautiful and you took it apart so fast I couldn't help myself and-" the man continues speaking hurriedly but Regulus is more focused on the way a lone curl of brown hair covers part of his forehead, and his hands itch eagerly to touch it to find out if it's as soft as it looks. 

"Yeah, never mind," is all the answer he gives before resuming his knitting slightly flushed.

Three chains, three double crochets-

"Where did you learn how to do that? I mean, crocheting. It's really cool, you got me hooked, you know what I mean?"

Regulus stares at him for a long moment refusing to let the ridiculous phrase have any effect on him. 

The right corner of his lips betrays him and rises against his will.

"My name is James. Oh, and I need your surname to know-" Regulus merely covers James' mouth with one hand and his own face with the other.

"We'll see about the last name. I'm Regulus, and please stop saying all those embarrassing things."

It's safe to say that Regulus invested his nearly three hour journey very well getting to know this now not-longer-stranger... but once again he didn't finish the bag. 

And well, big is their surprise when they find out that they are going to the same place to see the same person, but that's a different story.

In case you are wondering about the crocheting chant

#ode to my own uncompleted tote bag #jegulus #regulus black #james potter #starchaser #sunseeker #james x regulus #jegulus microfic #microfics #marauders #len writes

[ladystarksneedle]

Darkly, delicately

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Character

Warnings: Minor character death, mentions of period typical crimes and their punishments, prostitution, implied smut.

Word count: 4.7k

Summary: All her life Meynara has struggled to belong. Captured and taken to a land far away she's made her place in the world of Westeros with allies she can count on one hand. With the siege of Duskendale by the army of King Aegon II, she finds herself facing odds that change the course of her life once again, weaving her fate to the tune of the dragon in a dance hidden through time, as the war between the blacks and the greens rages on.

Link to read on ao3: here

She hears the bell ring twice as the castle erupts in chaos. “Noom, Narrah, Nyel” she chants to herself as the third dong reverberates through the wind drowning the screams around her before she's shoved hastily to the safety of the dingy cellars below. The scent of sweat fills her nostrils as she navigates the musty cramped quarters, filled to the brim with anxious ladies clasping their hands in prayer as they kneel together trying to stifle their whimpers. Lady Meredyth wrings her hands nervously as she stares into the distance, somber in demeanor. A moment of recognition seems to pass through her eyes as she spots her near the hastily barred door, before she turns abruptly to question her ladies maids’ who bow their heads in response. She finds her place near one of the walls, turning away from the woman reprimanding those around her to assess the scene in silence. Ever since the war began she knew the siege was inevitable. The family of the dragon had torn themselves in two embroiling most of the realm in their chaos and it was about time they too were hit with the consequences of their support. One of the dragons would soon grace their skies, she only hoped it wasn't their queen. Rumors of the kinslayer had wafted through Duskendale these past few moons. Round the winding harbor and the cobbled streets, onto the market square threatened over a bargain gone wrong, passed around taverns along with a drink in hand all up to the Dun Fort and it's gates in hushed whispers carrying over inwards to the pale walls enclosing winding threads weaved together for their lady, his name had evoked fear, disgust and surprising wonder alike. As the clashes of metal drew nearer to them she wondered how long it would take for him to finally reach his mark.

Seven blows was all it took to bring down the giant gate of the Dun Fort. The irony of the number isn't lost on her as they are rounded up in the central courtyard by noon. Captives surround her in haphazard lines along the posts and below the outer gate manned by armed men in green, their banner of the three headed dragon glinting maliciously in the sun. Some of the women struggle to stifle their sobs as they watch their husbands and sons being rounded up for slaughter before being hushed with a shove and a sharp word. She cranes her neck to see an older man at the head flanked by two heads of silver around a familiar face kneeling in chains.

“People of Duskendale, you face the price of your betrayal! Lord Darklyn has condemned you all but the King is just and merciful. Whoever wishes to make good on their vows again and pledge allegiance to the true heir to the Iron throne need only speak it now and his grace shall consider their folly pardoned” booms the older man, his tanned skin streaked with the blood of the burning ports. She hears a few whispers of indignation and fear before a handful of knights step forward to pledge their allegiance. It is a meager number which she realizes dissatisfies them deeply.

“Very well then” murmurs the King before they hear a shrill roar near the top of the castle. There in all his glory, perched atop the highest parapet, she sees a beast so beautiful, unworthy of the carnage it has wreaked, yet as it growls and makes its way towards them with its scales of shimmering gold she feels the true power that the men before her yielded. More of the folk around her now rush to bend the knee, hastily murmuring their pleas and apologies as the men in green smile haughtily. A lone eye, stern in its gaze, catches her unmoving. She suppresses the shiver that runs through her as she curtsies in response. The urge to live has long outlasted whatever moral code runs through the heart of the realm and it does not fail her today. Somewhere to the side she hears a familiar scoff of distaste. “It won't be my head on a spike when they're done with us” she thinks as she stares at her rival in defiance. Lady Meredyth scorns her in response as she's dragged off to witness the event of the day. Lord Gunthor kneels a few paces before her, locking eyes with their captors before turning to face her with hurt and disdain. She sees him gaze at her for a moment before offering a few words of comfort to his wife along with affirming his allegiance to the Queen with pride. She feels a quiver of fear pass through him, a cry of anguish a few feet away and an unrelenting stare on her as he's beheaded. A hush falls over the courtyard as the deed is done and the guffaws resume their way to the main hall shoving all in their path. Somewhere in the distance her heart leaps, far away across the fishing villages dotting the skyline towards the ruins of Hollard castle near the fork of the Crownlands. Duskendale would face a similar fate tonight.

She wastes no time in making herself scarce. She trains her ear on the whispers clinging to the walls as she makes her way downwards. They have been sacked by a little under three thousand men amassed during their journey through Rosby and Stokeworth that are to stay on till further word from the King. The lower kitchens and the halls are filled to the brim and are easy to blend into as she hurries towards her destination. She finds herself taking the familiar flight of stairs past the makeshift bakery to wind down to a hidden door below. Exactly three knocks later it opens to reveal a harsh face staring right at her.

“You are late”

“Forgive me for trying to stay alive” she huffs in return.

“Did they hear you?”

“Not yet”

“Let us keep it that way then.”

She knows he means to assess the threat before them both before feeding her to it. That is how it has always been, her body for the price of their safety. For all her bravado she hasn't been able to escape the clutches of home and the thread that ties her to it remains the one that cuts her the most.

“I know what I have to do”

“You move on my command Meynara, not before, nor after. We've made a decent life for ourselves here, do not go ruining it now.”

“I suppose the head of the lord staring at us as we walk through the hallways is enough of a hurdle in our path” she retorts shakily.

“As if you were ever fond of him”

“No, perhaps I wasn't. Doesn't mean I wanted him dead either”

“Life and Death are right around your corner”

“Faith shines the ability to prevail in both” she finishes turning away from him. Those were his father's words, ones that he'd told her on the boat to Westeros as they lay together shackled and starved. She remembers his eyes shining with a promise in the dark, willing her to forgo her fear. It seems a lifetime ago yet the man before her stares at her just the same. It is her gaze now which is filled with apprehension rather than the faith she's long left behind and no feelings of ardor can bring back the naive trust she has lost.

There is a feast to be held in honor of the King as Duskendale had yielded with ease, unprepared and caught off guard. Perhaps if Gunthor had insisted on better fortifications and riders rather than her religiously mounting him each night, his head wouldn't be hollow and unattached at the moment. She finds herself slinking into the shadows, with that thought, trying to keep an eye on the party at hand. The ale flows freely in the lower halls with the men getting handsy with the serving girls despite their indignation. Her only option is to reach the upper halls unnoticed hoping the stronger wine would dull them long enough to be done with her faster. She spots him in the distance as she makes her way up. He stands still near a burly man, eyes as empty as the dead hanging outside. A brief flicker of warning passes through to her before he's consumed to his farcity. Faith shall have to suffice for both of them tonight.

The main hall is decorated with banners of gold yet much sparse compared to the mess below. Anyone with a title should occupy the benches ahead of her, some newly appointed lords and generals, who all sit jesting and drinking below the dias as the men of the hour watch on. She watches the King engrossed with the head cook’s daughter fully partaking in the merriment. She sees her blush and smile coquettishly turning a lock of her hair as she entertains him and wonders how much persuasion it took for her to be offered up on a platter. Freshly plucked and naive, innocence was always coveted first at the altar, of worship and sacrifice alike.

Next to him sat two men with equally stern faces. She recognised the first with the booming voice, still in his armor refusing woman and drink alike, surveying the crowd for an imminent threat yet the man flanking the King's left drew her attention the most. To see him in person after their loss at noon made her skin tingle and the rumors had not done him justice. He sat poised, with his hair still braided for battle, eye lazily surveying the crowd like the elder man next to him, sipping from his chalice at ease. His gaze seemed unfocussed, unwilling to seek out anything in particular yet she saw through the haze. A predator responds only when it spots a worthy threat.

“What's a pretty thing like you doing all alone” she hears someone say before being grabbed by pudgy hands. The man near her reeks of nauseating sweetness. Arbor red she discerns as he leers close to her.

“Apologies my lord, I was on my way to serve the King” she lies promptly.

“Perhaps you might serve me first then. His grace would not refuse his loyal subjects tonight” he spoke earning a few jeers.

“Wait” she hears a crisp voice break through the crowd. “That one is mine”

There is no room for argument as she's pulled by two armed knights towards the dias, under the eye of the dragon.

“My my brother, you've caught a pretty one. A shame she's too old to be plucked” smirks the King playfully biting the girl on his lap.

She sees the prince ahead of her regard her with interest before beckoning her forwards with his finger. It isn't long after his appraisal that he takes her by the arm retreating to the sounds of muffled cheers. She feels him make his way around the castle assuredly, neither in haste nor at leisure, before he pulls her into the nearest chambers he can find.

“What can you do for me?” he asks abruptly, leaning against the door as he surveys her again.

“Whatever you desire my prince” she responds, as demurely as she can muster.

“I do not wish for pleasantries”

She balks at his refusal as she stands before him, tilting her head to observe him closely.

“I meant what I said”

“Are you a whore?”

“I am what you want me to be”

“If I wanted a whore I'd find one more willing, you may quit your farce”

“And what if this isn't one” she finds herself saying.

“Then I have wasted my time and I do not wish to be proven wrong”

She stares at him in bewilderment and defiance meeting his gaze as he turns to pour himself another cup of wine.

“I can entertain you to your heart's content”

“I am not a man who revels in the pleasures you seek to offer”

“You are hard to please, as any prince should be, yet I am not one to yield. Allow me to show you instead” she says confidently walking towards him. He looks at her skeptically, before his eye widens slightly upon hearing the clinks that follow her. He lets her lead him to the chaise nearby, raising an eyebrow at the sound that clings to her while she smiles at his astonishment, ready to finally play her part.

She keeps her gaze on him as she begins her routine, serpentine and sinuous, twisting her arms above her head with precision entrenched in her bones. She feels his eye take in her form, the flow of her wrists twisting like waves to the swell of her breasts rising and falling with each turn, moving in tandem with her hips all while the room jingles with the ring of threes; Noom, Narrah, Nyel. He continues his trail along her frame trying to match her pace and she sees him relax through her lids, taking in his enraptured face.

“Is this to your liking, my prince” she smirks as the ringing comes to a halt, the chanting of her soul, awake at the appraisal in his gaze. She finds her answer soon in the nights to come.

“You move to the sound of the gods” he says as they lie together, sweat clinging to them as the wind wafts through the open windows. It is the second night under the new command of Duskendale and all seems to be at rest, lying in wait for the bells to strike.

“Do you believe in them?” she whispers back, turning to regard him with mirth “I thought the Targaryens fashioned themselves as gods”

“The blood of Old Valyria leaves little to imagination.”

“But Valyria is gone and all you have left in this strange land is the power you wield through the skies” she continues stroking his bare arm.

“Which strange land should I thank for gracing me with such beauty tonight” he whispers, turning a lock of her hair between his fingers as he gazes into her eyes.

“Norvos, across the narrow sea”

“Norvos” he repeats, rolling the syllables around his tongue regarding her with awe. “Are all Norvoshi so,”

“So?”

“Quiet”

“I thought you found my chatter incessant”

“I never heard you” he stops her, “Not once as you crept around the castle all the way into my bed”

“You wish to know my secret?” she asks him playfully “Perhaps my blood is as special as yours”

He scoffs in turn earning a crease to her eyebrows which does not go unnoticed. “We are not so different, you and I. We both seek to soar far beyond what fate plans for us”

“Your riddles can exhaust a man far more than your movements” he huffs petulantly.

“You are only displeased because you cannot decipher this one” she hums thoughtfully earning her a pinch to her hip which she swats away promptly.

“Careful, I am not fond of that wayword tongue of yours” he warns her with a smirk.

“Why when it has given you such pleasure? What is the use of depriving yourself of such an investment” she finds herself giggling in return to the bashful pout of his lips.

It has been long since she's been so enamored with a man. There have been a few, young and beautiful, not immune to the charm she summons at will but none so rigid yet tender that makes her heart want more.

“Dance for me” she hears him say as he lies back, hair splayed around the pillows like a halo.

“As you wish your grace” she responds devilishly, slinking away from his embrace to twinkle under his eye.

Their nights continue with well practiced rhythm as their days stretch on. She finds herself at the precipice of good fortune, confined mostly to his chambers as his prize, content to stay hidden till she's displayed with pride. The King she learns takes offense to her growing presence in his brother’s life yet is dissuaded to take action by his elder hand, his disapproval making itself known in its own way.

“My lady, the prince is betrothed to Lady Baratheon of Storm's End and is to be married in a few moons”

“With the tide of the war changing ever so often I feel it best to practice restraint Lord Hand. I'm playing my part just as everyone, as a loyal servant to the crown won't you agree?”

“As I am certain you are” he responds with distaste.

“The prince seems quite sated does he not? What then I wonder, merits such growing concern. As long as your plans come to fruition I am sure a woman such as me should hardly pose a worthy obstacle” she bites back eager to send him away from her new chambers. Victory in the face of adversity tastes almost as sweet as the dreaded wine she brings to her lips, sipping at it with mock delight as she watches the commotion enfold out her door. As he walks to give way to someone, she hears a familiar scream of anger grace the threshold. Lady Meredyth barges in, red faced and fuming. She finds her predicament almost hilarious were it not for the state she's in. Dressed in mourning for a neglectful husband who managed to give her a daughter too young to give away for the dwindling power she now tries to hoard, she tries to muster whatever pity she can find for the woman, before she opens her rotten mouth.

“You seem mighty pleased with your situation, finally living up to your true potential as the whore you are”

“Widowhood suits you my lady. The black brings out your eyes” she responds back sarcastically.

She sees her spit at her feet before she's escorted away, spewing curses through the halls. There is no greater joy in watching the old crone claim her late husband's chambers where she rode him to death while she lounges on her very own bed waiting to be taken in the arms of pleasure at night.

“What did I tell you about that tongue of yours” he retorts as he pulls her into an alcove at midday.

“To use it more often” she whispers, running her lips along his jaw. The walk she'd managed to take away from her confines had proved to be a welcome change after that harrowing ordeal in the morn.

“You wanton thing. Do not vex me outside of these walls”

“You have my word” she says flightily resuming her course along his neck.

“And much more” he breathes, palms burning through the blue she's clad in. She finds herself smiling as she pulls him closer, enjoying his proximity during the quiet of the day. Perhaps nights are not the only thing to look forward to anymore.

She feels his presence in the hallways later, long before she turns the corner, trying to rid herself of the evidence of her dalliance.

“You've lost your faith” he remarks somewhere behind her.

“I've simply found it around another corner” she replies, turning to face the judgment in his dark eyes. There are bags underneath them, weary with doubt and the wisdom he seems to wield like a weapon.

“He is a dangerous man to be around. Someone who kills his own is not one to be trifled with”

“And yet we've faced far worse”

“Worse than treason?”

“Tell me you don't mean to support yet another foreign queen”

“You've grown slow” he states glaring at her. She finds herself at a loss of words. Her old self would have caught on to what was spoken almost instantly with an equally sharp retort in tow. Shame creeps up on her at being caught off guard, vulnerable and at his mercy.

“I will not fail you” she says, turning to avoid his eyes, tears glistening amongst her own. “I am only doing what I think best”

“And therein lies the problem”

“Lady Meynara” a voice cuts through the silence suffocating her as she turns to face the source of her shame. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back regarding her companion with distrust only for her to turn around to find him gone.

“Do all of you possess such talents of evasiveness” he questions her as she sighs and makes her way towards him.

“It has served us well”

“On the contrary, it makes you noticeable. The very thing you are ever so keen to avoid”

“I think you happen to have a keener eye than most, my prince. Do not fault the entire realm with the same flaw you possess.”

“I would hardly call it that”

“A flaw?”

“More of skill honed and fortune bestowed” he smirks leaning towards her.

“Something that earned you your birthright” she questions back impudently. “I've heard the rumors”

“I didn't think you'd put much stock in them”

“One tends to learn a lot through tales, true and false alike. Besides aren't rumors as such keeping your plan afoot”

“You know far too much to be jesting as such. Do you not fear for your life?” he asks her, eye glinting in the light.

“You'd have me hanging near the gate by now if I was such a threat”

“By your feet” he replies, watching her face darken. “You needn't worry as long as you serve me.”

“That is a threat my prince, far worse than what I'm accustomed to”

“Good, my intentions must be made clear then.”

“And what exactly might they entail”

“Your faith for a price” he says regarding her in earnest. The promise of more lingers on her lips as he leaves her wondering what it is she plans to do about it all.

“You mean to leave” she asks him on the third night they're together, with the moon at its height bathing them both in its embrace. He's reclined on the bed, one arm resting behind his head as he listens to her, eye closed in sequestered bliss.

“Rumors can only serve their purpose with cause to back them”

“You are to leave at dawn then?”

He hums in response as she fidgets with the sheets around her.

“Do not fret, I shall ensure your safety for your word”

“That is a hefty promise”

“And one I intend to keep”

“You will tire of me soon enough.”

“Perhaps,” he says, opening his eye to look at her. “Yet I'm certain it won't be so soon”

She feels the sheets pool at her feet as she rises to sate him for the night, eyes trained on him as she watches him cock his head in piqued interest. There is an unspoken understanding between them as she glides by the bed, running her fingers over the wood to stand in the center of the room, the light from the candles illuminating everything she wishes for him to see.

“Not tonight” she murmurs, running her hands over her hips.

“You'd deny the man who holds your fortune” he asks incredulously.

“I'd offer him something far sweeter”

“And what is sweeter than your company my lady”

“Joining me in ways a man would take his woman”

She sees the bed dip with his weight as he rises, moving with agility to stand before her. She cranes her neck to see him peer down at her, eyebrow raised at the game she wishes for him to play.

“In Norvos, we move like this to show our feelings. For emotion sometimes is best expressed through something tangible” she says reaching forward to steady his arms.

She feels him follow her movements with ease, twisting and turning with surprising accuracy never letting her out of his sight.

“You are a trained warrior”

“So are you, it seems. This is much like swordsmanship”

“All art is said to be inspired”

“What inspires you tonight little soldier” he rasps as he spins her around, arms enclosing her as she stares ahead. She feels his breath against her neck, her back pressed against the ridges of his body leading her to exhale before she writhes in his embrace.

“I do not wish to be a piece in the war you play at”

“We are all pieces to be moved about, each for a different purpose”

“It seems you've mastered my tongue in these past few days”

“I've only claimed what's mine” he says running his hands along her waist.

“Your plan will only work on trust, something the people here lack in abundance. Faith, which you scorn me for holding on to, is only meaningful if adhered to in earnest”

“I don't begrudge your faith” he whispers, turning her around to face him. “Just who it's tied to”

She finds herself mesmerized by the blue of his eye, so still yet violent, unrelenting yet open to the words that spill from her lips. “He is what connects me to who I am”

“To cherish something so deeply is a suffering in itself that I've come to accept. I think you understand that very well, Aemond.”

She feels him stiffen at the mention of his name, fingers clasping her arms tighter before he turns her around in a pirrouette, bowing before her as he ends their performance.

“Always your way, yes” she responds breathlessly.

“I do not wish to mold you Meynara, only to make you realize how well you belong. I can offer you something far more than the life you wish to subject yourself to”

“Wealth and power?”

“Purpose” he says with finality.

“Then I ask one thing of you. Bare yourself to me, in good faith” she whispers, watching him carefully “and I shall do the same.”

“Haven't I seen all of you?” he questions, removing the barrier across his face.

“Not without adornment” she says, reaching down to remove her restraints. “They are as much a part of me as this is of you” she finishes reaching up to cup his face. The sapphire glistens brilliantly as she stares at the angry scar accompanying it, intensifying his beauty.

“Is this what you've heard of” he remarks, gritting his teeth at her request.

“Indeed” she replies, reaching up to stroke his face. “We wear our shame and pride on our sleeve. It is time to embrace it together for the purpose you so wish to achieve”

“It will require much more than I've since asked from you”

“I think it is time I left the chains that bind me my prince, yours will have to suffice for now”

They wake again at the crack of dawn to the domestic bliss of togetherness. There in his chambers she experiences what it means to be a wife at last. The euphoria of nurture, she'd long dreamed of since she was a girl, envelops her in a sense of longing and nostalgia. As she bathes and readies him for battle, she finds herself gazing at him wistfully.

“I shall return soon”

“I am aware. I did not forgo my bindings for a lie”

“You wished to soar did you not.”

“You know, the Norvoshi do not trust a man without a beard. They say one as such lacks the honor to defend and the foresight to lead” she responds by running his blade across his face as he turns away from her.“You have your own honor though”

“Many would disagree. I am said to be cursed ”

“One man's curse is another's blessing. You shall return a King”

“Because I've given you the freedom you desire?” he jests “Your faith is truly boundless”

“As is your routine. Hold still while I finish or they'll have to wait the whole morn for you to ride out with glory”

It is an hour later after she meticulously braids his hair and secures his armor, over his eye and body that she finds herself truly bogged down with the weight of his departure. He kisses her temple as he leaves, the act too chaste for her to protest before he's gone. As she sits ruminating on her time spent with him, she hears the flap of the great wings of Vhagar, leathery and forceful as she rushes to spot her out of her window. A shadow falls over the Dun fort as she flies past, giving way to three rings of the great bell of Duskendale, thrice for the sound of freedom that soars through her heart.

Taglist: @arcielee @succnfuccubus @barbieaemond @watercolorskyy @paprikaquinn @witheredoffherwitch

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x fem!oc #aemond targaryen x ofc #fyeahhotdocs #aemond x oc #aemond x fem!oc #hotd fics #zae's fics #aemond fics #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x original character #aemond targaryen x original female character #hotd fic #fyeahgotocs

[helluvapoison]

Hiiiiii HP, it's me, your favorite Adam simp, here with something different actually-

Could I request some Alastor headcanons with a male reader? With the reader being an entertainer or performer in cannibal town who Rosie introduces him to. Or something along those lines. Go wild with it, I just need more x male content ;-;

- Kotte <3

• Alastor’s never doubted Rosie’s taste before (excluding tea) so when she all but dragged him along to a show in Cannibal Town, he remained unperturbed

• Cannibal Town had, in Alastors opinion, the finest events. From the biggest parades, fairs and pageants to a simple song and dance in the town square’s gazebo!

• It wasn’t until he saw you, dapper and suited on stage, that his interest was genuinely piqued

• And finding oneself on Alastor’s radar can be a dangerous thing

• The crowd you’d drawn in was invited to clap and chant throughout your number but Alastor stood poised, partly leaning on his cane with a tilted head

• Afterwards though, he applauded politely with the rest of the cannibals

• Rosie, ever the mannered lady, never failed to introduce a soul (Alastor didn’t even have to ask) she was quick to gesture between the two of you and swap names

• “Pleasure to meet you, sir,” He said, crimson eyes dropping from toe to head almost suspiciously

• “Likewise,” You replied without missing a beat

• “I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m quite good with faces, you see. I’d never forget one like yours.”

• “Oh that wasn’t an accident,” You chuckle lightly, “Truthfully, I’ve made it a point to stay out of your way. I’ve been fortunate enough to catch your broadcasts and see them for the warning that they are.”

• Alastor’s eyes and smile widen with intrigue

• “Is that so? You know, so few seem to recall my quaint little show. I’m curious to know just where you’ve been hiding all these years.”

• “I could ask the same of you. Haven’t seen hide nor tail of The Radio Demon. I think my receiver has gotten lonely.”

• Perhaps it was your demeanor, your quick wit, the way you stroked his ego or merely the enchanting performance you gave that filled him with nostalgia

• A hum of laughter sees out of him, “I’ll just have to fix that won’t I?”

• Whatever the real answer, Alastor found himself speedily enjoying your company

• Which could arguably be more dangerous than him taking notice of you

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ threats or flirting? you decide!

KOTTE!! i hope you’re feeling better friend! <33

side note: if you’re looking for an excellent writer (who’s partial to adam hehe) check him out!

#alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor imagine #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel x reader #platonic or romantic #did you know alastor hates tea

[soubi122]

Heya hope ur doing great so here's another one of mind dumps

So rindou x a very laid back reader who's very chill and cool with everything and has a bit a hobby for figure skating ( the figure skating is optional)

So he was invited to a friend's house to hang and smoke weed/and drink so he went to the basement and saw you with the weed pot (idk what's it called:']) and decided to join in and u guys were having small talk and rin felt very comfortable with you and had he's arm wrapped around your waist and playing ur hair (y'all got teased a bit but didn't mind it all) late reader helps rindou get to his but was clingy ( horny (⁠☞⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)⁠☞) so reader being chill about took him home with and yk what happens ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ (btw sorry for the bad grammar)

—☁️

Hello my love! I'm so sorry this took a really long time to write. It is finally here, I hope you like it! ❤️

Highs

Rindou Haitani, smut, drug use, alcohol use, unprotected sex, slightly rough. ALL ADULTS, MINORS DO NOT READ!

"So, remind me again…who is going to be there?" Rindou asks a friend who was taking him to a party. As much of a partygoer he was - he still remained cautious. "You know, just chicks and some guys." The friend replies with a carefree tone. His goal was to score a chick and Rindou was the bait. It beats bringing Ran's womanizing ass to the party and having him steal all the women for himself. 

Heading into the house, Rindou noticed that there were a bunch of people he was familiar with - the same people that hit up Roppongi on weekends. Good, so I don't have to watch my back. He thinks to himself. Being taken to a Yakuza hideout once by accident was enough for him to be careful about where he's going, compliments of Kakucho of course. The music was loud, the drinks were everywhere but he had yet to find anyone that could hold his attention. He thought it was going to be a small party, this was quite the crowd. 

Some time passed and he was getting rather annoyed that his friend would ditch him every 5 seconds to chase a piece of ass. After being turned down by half of the party girls, they decided to head to the basement to take a break. Usually the chill folks are down there and would have some aromatherapy to help relieve some stress. "Man, those girls are fucking stuck up." His friend complained as he was walking down the stairs. Rindou could only chuckle at his friend's defeated attitude. The scent of Mary Jane hit them square in the face the moment they were headed down. A small group of people were just chilling on a sofa and floor, completely unbothered by the loud noise upstairs and vibrations of the music. 

Rindou recognized one or two people but the others were complete strangers to him. The strangers began to almost chant "Toke! Toke! Toke!" over and over again when someone was taking a hit of the bong. Rindou's eyes looked over to the person whose head was tilted down and he could hear the bubbling of the water and the sound of someone inhaling. Everyone paused when the bubbling stopped and everything in the room almost went dead silent. When you lifted your head and exhaled through your nose, everyone cheered and yelled. That was the longest Rindou has ever seen someone hold it before. 

"Did you see that shit? That was a good fucking hit." His friend says and introduces himself and Rindou to everyone. Your eyes met his and you smiled while waving your hand at him. The hazy look in your eyes and that cute smile on your face made some warmth creep up his face. They were welcomed into the circle, "Take a seat anywhere you like." You say and reach for the red plastic cup that had beer in it. "You've been babysitting that beer (Y/N)." One of the guys says and throws you a cocky grin. So that's her name. Rindou thinks to himself and plants himself right next to you. Taking it as a 'drink up' hint, you chugged your beer, impressing both guys that just walked in. “So, what brings you two to this lonely little circle of ours?” You say with a hint of playfulness on your tongue. The man sitting next to you was absolutely handsome - you could tell he works out by how the lines of his muscles show through his shirt. 

When his friend took a seat across the floor, you passed the bong to him and the moment his eyes met your face - he paused. The awkward pause made you clear your throat. “Umm, so are you taking a hit or…?” You ask. “Aren’t you that chick that’s constantly on the ice?” He asked and piqued Rindou’s interest. Ah yes, your little hobby painted you as a goody two shoes but in reality you were nothing like that. “You are! Rindou, this is the chick who’s always in the rink at night.” You had no intention of going pro for figure skating but still practiced to get some exercise in. “Ah, the figure skater, right?” Rindou asked and proceeded to take the bong out of your hands. He was so close, you feel the warmth radiating off of him. Those beautiful lavender orbs were scanning every inch of your face behind his frames. 

“Oh - what’s this? You have an admirer (Y/N).��� One of your friends said out loud. There was no mistaking it - Rindou was showing his interest in you. The little comment made some pink dust your features. He proceeded to take a hit and keep eye contact with you while he did so. Looks like he was trying to hold it in just as long as you did, and of course - he did. The ambience was super relaxed by the time the bong made its way around the entire circle. Throughout the night, the conversations and jokes allowed Rindou to feel comfortable and rather bold around you. 

“Aren’t figure skaters supposed to be good girls?” He asks and starts lightly toying with the ends of your hair. His finger wrapped itself around the strands and your heart skipped a beat. The first touch gave him an idea of your comfort levels, does he proceed? Your sultry laugh made him want to dive deeper into the rabbit hole with you. “And who says I’m a good girl?” You ask and look at him, both your eyes are glossy and hazy. “Get a room you two. You’re practically fucking each other with your eyes.” Someone says. Both you and Rindou cracked up, it was true - the things you both were thinking about were communicated in looks rather than words. Now that it was out in the open, he slithered his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him. The butterflies in your belly were starting to run a little rampant the more he touched you. Rindou kept toying with your hair or lightly brushing your hair back to get your attention back on him when you would talk to someone else.

Several hours of lightly teasing each other and messing around with friends, the sounds of footsteps slowly started to dwindle down, it sounded like the party was coming to an end. Little by little, the circle began to get smaller. People were heading home as it was already 3:00 am. It gave him a little more resolve to continue running his hands alongside your waist and making subtle moves that sent chills down your spine. His large palm began to gently squeeze your thigh, almost as if signaling something to you. You bite your lip and turn to face him. He was not expecting you to tease him in return. “Too bad the night's over.” You say and reach over to take one last hit of the bong before heading out. Inhaling, you closed your eyes and leaned back into the couch - wanting to take your time before exhaling in bliss. Right as you were beginning to exhale, Rindou leaned in, parting his lips and inhaled the smoke that slowly came out of your mouth. He cupped your cheek and connected his lips to yours, giving you a shotgun kiss. Rindou was feeling more than just the effects of weed. He was feeling a tight sensation around his cock.

“Can I take you home (Y/N)?” He asked and nibbled on your lower lip. You could tell he was needy. The entire time he was stuck on you and couldn't keep his hands off you. “Will you make it?” You snicker and run your hand through his hair making him hum. "Everyone is almost gone…we can just stay here." He whispers in your ear and gives a kitten lick to the shell of your ear. "Please…" Rindou's eager tone almost made you feel bad about teasing him. Is this how he is when he's high? Horny and needy? Not wanting to get caught or kicked out, you decided to feed the monster but in your territory. 

Leading him to your place, you kept doing little things like hold his hand or press your chest against his arm so that he could feel your tits. He was already falling apart for you. When you arrived at your door, he couldn't keep his hands off of you. Stepping in, you immediately led him to your room. Next thing you knew, you were both on the bed, rolling around on the mattress. 

 While fighting to be on top, clothes started to fly off bit by bit. Seeing the tattoos that adorned his body, you couldn't help but submit to him, he was gorgeous and toned. You were almost entranced by the fact that his tattoos extended from his collarbone to his arms and down to his legs. "Do I have your complete attention now?" Rindou asks and pouts. "You've had my attention since the moment you sat next to me." You admit and reach down south to stroke him. The way his lips parted and let a moan escape his throat - you wanted to see him completely break. The unholy amount of precum was dripping on your lower belly. He was going to fill you up and have you dripping for days. 

Not wanting to waste another second, you guided him between your folds and let his tip slide in. The sweetest whimper dripped from his lips and you couldn't help wanting to hear more. "…oh fuck… you feel so good." He barely manages to say before you rip another whimper from him as you take him in even further into your core. Being pussy drunk was no joke, once a man tastes a bit of heaven - he will never want to come back down to earth. Pulling him inch by inch, you felt his cock twitch and throb, making you pant. His length alone was enough to have you clawing at his back. Slowly reeling his hips back, you could feel the difference - your walls were spasming around him and trying to suck him back in. 

Rindou was gentle and passionate, kissing your lips each time his tip hit your cervix. His menacing demeanor only applied outside in a world full of strangers. Between the sheets, he was sweet and almost innocent. His lavender orbs were glossy and filled with desire, if you would have let him take you at the party - you were sure everyone would have heard his moans. You met his hips, slowly grinding with him. The more friction on your clit, the more your hips picked up the pace. “...(Y/N), can I go faster?” What a gentleman, asking you for permission to destroy your insides. You nodded unaware of what his next move was going to be. He shifted his position to get on his knees and lifted your hips to get a deeper angle. Leaning in he took your hands and pinned them above your head, there was almost a glow in his eyes when you looked at him. 

In one motion he thrust so deep that you felt a numbing sensation in your spine, making you scream. “Mnh…too deep!” You whimper and try to free your hands. Rindou crashed his lips into yours to silence you. It only took one hand to pin your wrists, the other gripped your hips to keep you in place. His thrusts were hard and fast, it was making your eyes tear up. "Ngh, f-fuck…you feel so damn good." Rindou said once he broke the kiss. You could have sworn you felt your eyes roll back into your skull. The way his length kept hitting the right spot had your tongue almost lolling out. "Look at you…drunk off my cock already. Yeah?" He went from sweet to devilish the moment you gave in. 

"Hah, you're fucking clenching so tight." Rindou pants as he continues to wreck your insides. The way his hand gripped your hip, he left indents in your skin - almost bruising it. It was painful but it didn't stop you from feeling the immense pleasure that he was giving you. His kisses were making you melt, his tongue was dominating yours and you felt the drool dripping down the corners of your mouth. Breaking the kiss you moan out loud, "Rin-aah! I'm - oh god!" The amount of pressure he was putting on your hips had you almost crying. Everything started to get stuporous, the combination of alcohol, weed and sex had you knocking on the white pearly gates. 

Rindou felt how your velvet walls pulsed and clenched repeatedly around his cock. It was feeding his appetite but he had yet to get to the main course. Slowly he released your wrists and cupped your cheek. That sincere and tender gaze gave you but a moment of peace. Rindou pulled out sitting up on his knees - he was towering over you and you couldn't help but feel anticipation. What else can this man do to get you to scream? "Roll over, beautiful…" He says with a smirk on his face. Just as he ordered, you got on your stomach and looked over your shoulder. It felt like his figure dwarfed your own. His broad shoulders that had defined muscles had you in a daze. 

Rindou snatched your hips and lifted them so that you were now on your knees. His right hand gently ran down your spine - he was giving you goosebumps. In one thrust he buried himself inside you, you screamed into the pillow and clenched the sheets. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…your so wet." He moans and keeps a steady pace. Your thighs were trembling as he kept going deeper and deeper. He was bruising your cervix. “Oh god! Rindou, I’m gonna cum!” You moaned and the coil that was tightly wound began to snap. Your incoherent babbles and whines only made Rindou go faster. The satin ring that adorned the base of his cock had him on cloud 9. He too felt his coil snap, it made him double over and lean into your shoulder. Nipping at your shoulder as he emptied himself in your womb, he wanted to keep you full and keep you for more than just one night. 

When you both regained your breaths, you both turned on your sides and he wrapped his arms around you - he was still buried inside you. “Can I stay the night?” He asks and buries his face into your neck. There was no response, only soft snores and slight clenching. For a moment he got worried but when he sat up on his elbows he noticed the smile on your face. Rindou Haitani has a habit of not only knocking his opponents out but of also knocking his partners out too.

END

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[pumperpup]

In the whimsical town of Eldermoor, two wizards, Alaric and Balthazar, found themselves embroiled in a peculiar debate. Alaric, with his flowing silver beard and starry cloak, staunchly believed that the most effective mass-increasing spell for a creature was one that augmented muscle. "Muscles are the essence of strength and vitality!" he proclaimed.

Balthazar, clad in a robe adorned with moon crescents and sporting a hat that always seemed too big for his head, argued in favor of fat. "Fat is essential for energy storage and survival!" he retorted, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

Their debate grew more animated, drawing a crowd of amused townsfolk and curious magical beings. Finally, Alaric proposed a competition. "Let's test our theories. We shall cast our spells on each other and see whose method is superior!"

They agreed, and the challenge began in the town square. Alaric chanted first, directing his spell at Balthazar. Instantly, Balthazar's arms and chest began to swell with bulging muscles, transforming him into a figure of Herculean strength. The crowd gasped in amazement at his new, brawny form.

Then came Balthazar's turn. With a sly grin, he recited his spell, targeting Alaric. Alaric's body began to round with layers of fat, expanding outward, his cloak straining at the seams. He grew larger and rounder, taking on the appearance of a jolly, oversized wizard.

The competition escalated as each wizard cast their spells repeatedly, Balthazar growing more muscular and Alaric more rotund. The crowd's laughter and cheers filled the air, as the wizards' sizes became increasingly absurd.

Finally, Alaric, now immensely large, could hardly move. "I yield!" he declared, his voice muffled by his new, voluminous form. Balthazar, barely able to lift his massively muscular arms in victory, was declared the winner.

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[sydsaint]

Father Copeland you are so special to me <3

Summary: After watching reader fight for her life in a street fight against Julia Hart, Adam wrestles with his shameful feelings for her.

Your heart pounds in your ears as you and Julia trade blows in the ring. Each hit collides with your body like a semi plowing through a car at full-speed. But you push on. Warm streams of blood ooze down your face from the cut above your eye and impairs your vision. But you were past seeing red before Julia managed to cut you open.

'Win!' You scream in your mind. 'You have to push through it! You have to win!' Your thoughts scream in your head as you swing your elbow towards Julia's face.

Your elbow collides with Julia's nose and the cartilage crunches inward from the force. Julia lets out a houl that would send a shiver down any normal person's spine. But it only motivates you further. Like a shark smelling blood in the water. You reign down another punch to Julia's face, hitting her square in her nose that it surely broken by now. You can barely see from the blood starting to crustify over your entire face, but you don't care. You've got little miss, 'princess of darkness' dead to rights now.

One more good hit to Julia's face and Aubrey is yanking you off of her. You can barely hear the bell ring over the roar of the crowd. You fall to your knee's, chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. It's over. You did it. You beat Julia Hart for the TBS championship.

"And new, TBS Champion! YN LN!" Justin Roberts anounces your name and it's like music to your ears.

You work up the strenngth to rise to your feet and begin clawing at your face in order to remove some of the dried blood from it. You pick up the faint sound of footsteps approaching you as your vision begins to clear and you find your mentor waiting to present you with your hard-earned championship.

Adam Copeland.

"Congradulations, kid. That was one hell of a fight." Adam steps toward you with a proud smile. He hands the TBS championship over to you and raises your free hand high into the air. "Now come on. Let's get you cleaned up backstage. You should see yourself. Look's like something straight out of a horror movie." He chuckles lightheartedly.

"I feel like I just survived one." You match his laugh, despite the burn in your lungs.

Adam parts the ring ropes for you and helps you down off the apron. The two of you head up the ramp as the crowd all chants your name. You hold your head high as you head backstage. Adam directs you back to the locker room, and as soon as you're through the dour your knees begin to buckle.

"Shit!" Adam spots you falter as he's shutting the door behind him. He lurches forward and just manages to catch you before your legs give out. "YN! Are you alright?" Adam questions you as he helps hold you up.

"Yeah yeah." You nod, even though every possible inch of your body burns right now. "I just need to sit down." You assure him.

Adam nods and helps you over to a seat. You fall down into a chair with an exhausted sigh, clutching your new belt to your chest.

Adam towers over you with a worried look on his face. It's been four brutal months of watching you and Julia try and kill one another both in and out of the ring. And truth be told, Adam has hated every second of it. Copeland took you under his wing the same week he signed to AEW after watching you punch Christian square in the nose for trying to hit on you. He's been helping train you up since you're barely 22 and new to the wrestling business. Or at least that's what he tells himself anyway.

"I'm gonna go grab something to wash your face with." Adam clears his throat after a minute. "You rest. I'll be right back."

You nod, too exhausted to have any sort of protest or comment to make. You set your new belt down on your lap and admire the way it shines under the florecent locker room lights. You did it. It's your championship. You're a champion.

"Okay, I hope it's not too hot." Adam comes back with a damp cloth a few minutes later and leans down next to you.

"I can clean my own face, Adam" You protest when Copeland moves to do the job for you.

Adam shakes his head, not taking no for an answer. "You just went nearly an hour in a brutal street fight against a psychotic cult lady." He reminds you. "Let me do this for you. You deserve to rest up after all that."

"Fine." You huff.

With your protests silenced, Adam begins washing away the frankly alarming ammount of blood caked all over your face and neck. He tenatively washes away all the crusted muck that he can before he steps away from you. '

"There we go." Adam smiles to himself. "There's that sweet face again." He muses to himself. "How rested up are you feeling? Because now that it's not covered in an inch of dried sweat and blood. Well, you definetly need to go get that cut looked at before the night is over."

"Is it that bad?" You reply and reach a hand up to touch the wound.

Your fingers brush up against the cut and a stinging sensation flares up. You wince and nod to yourself, having answered your own question.

"Here, I'll walk you down there." Adam offers you a supportive arm to lean on.

"Thanks, Adam." You smile at him but stand up on your own. "But I'm a big girl, dad." You tease him playfully. "I can make it there by myself." You assure Copeland.

Adam nods, a twinge of guilt in his eyes.

'dad'

That term hits Copeland right in the chest as he watches you rise to your feet on your own. He's your mentor. Teacher. Nothing more. Copeland should be feeling proud of you right now. And he is, or rather, does. But pride isn't the only thing that he's feeling right now. Shame is another feeling welling up inside of him. Shame, because of the horrible thoughts that crossed his mind not half an hour ago while watching you dismantle Julia like some sort of feral gremlin. His feral gremlin. His woman. That's what you should be.

His. His and only his.

By the time Adam is done battling with his inner demons that are screaming at him to claim you as his, you are already gone from the locker room.

"Fucking hell." Adam mumbles to himself and plops down into a chair. "What the hell is the matter with me? She's young enough to be my daughter for christ sake!" He rubs a hand over his face.

"Who's young enough to be your daughter?" You come through the door and Copeland freezes up like a deer in headlights.

"YN!" Adam jumps out of his chair in surprise, a mortified look on his face. "That was fast!" He comments, chuckling nervously.

You nod and shut the door behind you. "Yeah. They gave me a couple of staples and then sent me on my way." You point to your head. "Anyway. Who's this young mystery girl you're so bent up about?" You ask him. "Anyone I know?"

"What?" Adam chokes. "I...umm...you..you heard that?" He stutters shamefully.

"Yep." You nod. "Well, some of it anyway." You clarify and set your chin your hand. "So. Who's the very lucky lady that you're pining after, Cope?" You ask him again.

Adam clears his throat and attempts to silently calm himself down. "It's no one." He insists. "Really. Nothing to worry about."

"Is that so?" You quirk a brow at your mentor. "Well then. That's boring." You frown.

Adam shrugs and settles back down into his seat. You seem to be satisfied with his half-assed answer. So Adam has no reason to be freaking out anymore. Right.

After a while of you and Adam chatting, you decide to spring a juicy piece of information in your mentor.

"You know, I ran into Ricky on the way back from the trainers room." You catch Adam's attention. "And he was telling me about a certain TNT champion that he saw making heart eyes at the tv monitors while my match with Julia was on." Your gaze flits to Copeland so you can gauge his reaction. "Well, heart eyes wasn't exactly what he said. But you catch my drift." You add with a sly smile.

"Oh?" Adam replies, and you watch him swallow thickly.

You nod and scoot closer to him with a grin. "So either you've got a serious crush on Julia that he need to discuss. Or, you've been keeping something from me, Adam." You confront him.

"Shit." Adam curses and shakes his head. "I'm sorry, YN." He sighs. "I...I never mean't for anything like this to happen. God, I'm so fucking ashamed of myself."

"Ashamed?" You reply. "Why is that?" You ask Adam. "Adam, what's the big deal that you've got a thing for me? I don't mind." You assure him.

Adam's eyes widen in surprise at your statement. "What? You don't?" He asks you. "How? YN, I'm more than twice your age! I...I could be your dad."

"You could certainly be my daddy, yes." You giggle with a teasing wink. "Adam, come on. You can relax. No one is going to care that you're twice my age, I can promise you that." You assure him.

"I...what the hell?" Adam shakes his head in disbeleif. "You really mean that? So....so, that means you feel the same then?" He asks you.

You nod and rise out of your seat. "I've had a crush on you for a criminally long time, Adam. Well, Christian was technically my first wrestling crush. But he doesn't need to know that." You add with a laugh. "So. Are you going to stop giving yourself a corinary and kiss me or not?" You tease him.

Adam manages to work up enough courage to reach forward and grab your arm. He yanks you down into his chair with one swift movement before crashing his lips to yours in a heated kiss that he's been dreaming about for months now. And it's even better than what he's been shamelessly picturing in his mind.

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