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macfrog · 5 months

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sweet child o' mine | pt. i

purely just some fun and games putting big grumpy joel miller slap bang in the middle of a romcom. i hope you guys enjoy. dedicated to big sis @mrsmando, who is the light of my life, let herself be completely swept away by this idea into unhinged, whimsical mania with me, and who inspired so many lil details for this story. love u, zhort x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you strike up a deal to attend a wedding with your neighbor as his date. what could go wrong?

warnings: age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), grumpy!joel initially finds reader mildly infuriating, cursing, alcohol consumption, discussion of a car accident (non-graphic) & dead parents, softdom!joel as per, fingering, handjob, comeplay, spitting, drunk unprotected one night stand, creampie, praise kink, one mention of nausea (but nothing happens, my little emetophobic angels), someone falls pregnant and it's not joel miller i'll tell you that much. honk if you love cats!!!

word count: 9.8k

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It’s just gone seven on a Saturday night when his knuckles rap on your door.

The sun casts tall, angled shapes on your living room wall. Lights the pages before you in a glow of tangerine. Refracts through the glass tumbler on your coffee table and bleeds the amber liquid onto the pale wood surface. Everything lit in some variation of gold, everything bowing its head quietly as the day begins to turn its back.

The house is still. The world feels still, as though transitioning. Like you’re sat in a waiting room, leg bouncing, anticipating something you don’t know to look for yet.

Perfect, comfortable, still – until he’s on your porch. And he knocks again.

You snap your book shut and slide it across the table, nudging the heavy glass. The ice clinks, irritated.

“You mind fastenin’ your…delicates to your clothesline a little better?”

His voice shoulders its way into your hallway before you’ve even pulled the door back enough to see him. Not that you need to see him to know who it is. You’ve lived in Austin three years now and met only one person with a voice as low and toneless as Joel Miller’s. Slung in sarcasm, dripping with disdain. All that.

You cross your arms and slant against the doorframe, unable to mask your amusement. “Excuse me?”

He answers by lifting his left hand. From his pointer finger hang a tiny pair of white panties, lace pattern fluttering in the late summer breeze. You glance over his shoulder as you steal them from his grasp, balling them in your fist.

“Uhuh. They were sitting on my back lawn. I have company tonight, y’know. I can’t have women’s underwear just – lyin’ in my damn yard.”

Your head tilts. Ears prick. “Company? You hostin’ somethin’?”

His shoulders drop with a sigh. “No. I am not hostin’ anythin’.”

“Good. ‘cause I’d want an invite.”

“If I were hostin’, you’d be the last person I would invite. And you know that.”

“Ouch,” you pout, “that hurts, Miller. I watered your plants while you were off visiting your brother last month. They woulda died without me there.”

“And I am grateful to you,” Joel grumbles, “but that doesn’t mean I need those anywhere in view of my kitchen window.” He throws a pointed finger to your elbow, where your panties sit scrunched in your fist.

You look down to the froth of frill spilling between your knuckles, and back up to his dark features – his glower casting a shadow over the hazel eyes and deepening the creases between his brows. You smirk, a realization dawning.

Company – that he doesn’t want seeing a pair of someone else’s underwear.

“You have a date.”

Joel’s tongue flicks across the inside of his cheek. He glances over his shoulder and speaks through his teeth. “No, not a date,” he quietly tells the street.

“But you have a lady comin’ over. Or at least – someone you don’t want seeing these.” You unfold your arms and twirl your fist. The gentle wind lifts the lace.

He grunts. A low hmph. Agreement, you think.

“Sounds like a date.”

He hisses, “’s not a date.”

Your stare doesn’t slip from his. Not when his brows tighten, not when his jaw does, too. Not even when he sucks a breath between gritted teeth. Your smile widens.

Finally, with a sigh, he concedes. “It’s…it’s somebody Tommy ‘n Maria are tryna set me up with. Alright?”

“So – a date.”

“If you don’t –” Joel’s head flicks over to his own driveway at the same time his hand lifts, a pointed gesture you read as – shut the fuck up. “We’re just having a few drinks. Just – hangin’ out.”

“Just hangin’ out,” you repeat, eyes widening. “One-on-one. With some woman who – Wait, Tommy’s in Wyoming. How the hell do he and his wife know someone way the hell down here?”

“From before they moved. And – Maria ain’t his wife. Yet. They’re getting married next month.”

Suddenly the sun reappears over the dark horizon. The evening begins to clear up, make sense again. You lift your chin, nodding.

“Right, right. So, she gonna be your plus one, or…?”

The understanding raises his heckles again. Exasperated, he asks, “How many damn questions are you gonna –? I’m only here to – to return your –” He nods once more to the pale fabric in your hand.

A laugh shoots from your nostrils. “What’s the matter? You don’t like – whatever her name is?”

“Laura.”

“Laura,” you breathe.

“And there ain’t nothin’ wrong with her. She just – she…”

“She…?”

“She has, like, five cats, and it’s just…hair, everywhere. And at their engagement party, she spilled an entire margarita down me. Right down my –” He sweeps a hand down his front, balling his fists again once they reach the hem of his shirt.

Your lips turn, amused. “Five cats. Cat lady Laura. Well. Have fun, I guess. Thanks for these.”

He acknowledges your raised fist with a bashful glance. He’s already halfway down your front steps when he says, “Keep an eye on your laundry from now on,” and strides off back to his own place.

Joel has lived here his whole life. In Austin. You’ve no idea when he moved in next door, just that he was here when you did. You don’t know much about him at all – the fact he even filled you in enough to tell you about his date is shocking enough.

The day you first arrived, U-Haul truck squealing to a halt by the curb, he found himself unlucky enough to be stood in his front yard watering the blond patches of his grass. He saw you struggling to open the rear door of the truck, and with a grumble and a glance across the street for a more eager rescuer, he tossed his hose and came over to help.

He unclicked the heavy latch and pushed the door up with enough ease to put you to shame. And he seemed to feel some obligation when he saw the mass of belongings stuffed in the back, to help you unload them. Didn’t seem overjoyed by the thought, mind you, what with the sigh he let slip when you hopped up and held out the first box.

He indulged you for no more than one hour. Answered every question you had about the neighborhood, dodged every one about himself. He told you about the couple across the street with the newborn baby, told you about your neighbor on the other side who pretends to garden just so she can snoop on everyone else’s business. And as soon as the last box thudded down on your gleaming living room floor, he nodded, and paced back over to his own property.

He's a good guy. You know this much. He’s a dick to you most days, but he’s honest, and he’s kind when you catch him in the right light. He takes deliveries for you when you’re not home; he once drove Diane to the vets when she showed up on his doorstep in the dead of night, Fred the Jack Russell ailing in her arms.

He’s observant. Noticed just this summer the three different plumbers who showed up to your house in the space of two days, and came over as the third guy was leaving – his shining bald head low between his shoulders.

‘s the matter? Joel asked, watching the navy overalls sink into the rusted vehicle.

Kitchen sink’s leakin’. Fuckin’ – nobody can fix it.

He shouldered you out of the way with his then-trademark sigh and left twenty minutes later, your kitchen finally free of the dripdripdrip you’d been plagued with for a week straight.

He’s good. He’s a good neighbor. But, man, is he private.

You’ve never seen the inside of his place. His body blocks it anytime you’re on his doorstep. He has a brother, you know that – though, only since last month, when he asked you to keep an eye on his garden – and you know, now, that the brother is getting married.

You know that he likes country music, know he plays guitar – accidentally. You heard him one day in the spring, when he left his window open and you were lounging by your pool. When he looked out and noticed how you’d angled your sunbed to listen, really listen, he slammed it shut.

You know he’s single and childless and has been for at least the three years you’ve lived next door to him.

You know little fucking else.

The words on the curled pages seep into one another. You’re staring through the book now back in your hands, the shape of your living room blurring around you: the brick fireplace, the still, red light of the TV. The lulling sway of the sheer curtains, pushed like the tides by the air through the open window.

You cross your ankles on the coffee table. Your lips purse. Tongue dabs at the smoky-sweet singe of whiskey on the flesh of your cheeks. From here, you can see the street outside Joel’s house. If – when – Laura pulls up, you’ll know. And you’ll be here to watch. Survey. Observe.

See what kind of woman a guy like Joel Miller takes to his brother’s wedding.

It’s nine fifty-two when she eventually leaves.

She’s been in there two hours and seventeen minutes. Her car – a kind of rotten green Chevrolet with one tail light out – sits patiently out front, like even it can’t wait to help her fucking disappear.

You’re hoisting a swollen black bag down your drive when his porch light flickers on and his front door opens. The glossy plastic exhales as it slumps against the trashcan. You dust your hands. Joel hasn’t noticed you yet.

“…so nice gettin’ to properly know you,” Laura’s crooning, sidestepping as Joel walks calmly down to her car. Ushering her. You hold back a laugh.

“Thanks for comin’,” he says, his voice falling flat in the windless evening. He’s a step ahead of her, like a parent leading their child away from the park. She’s still babbling about his six-string.

“Maybe next time I can hear a little somethin’…” she says, and you know from the way he halts that Joel hears the same questioning tone you do, the way somethin’ curls up at its end.

“Maybe,” he says, curtly. His words curl down. And then nothing else, and Laura – who, now that she’s a little closer, stood on the curb by her car door, you notice has sweeping golden hair which flicks away from her plump cheeks, and bright eyes which dazzle in the dusky glow – is forced to cough up one last chance.

“I gave you my number,” she says, then, “I didn’t get yours?” and this time, it’s definitely a question.

Joel pretends to pat down his pockets. “I musta left my phone in the house.”

You can’t help it. A scoff bursts from your lips. But he still doesn’t look over.

“Well,” Laura tugs on the handle, “thank you for a lovely evenin’. I’ll hear from ya.”

Joel smiles but puts a hand on the door, like he might slam it shut for her if she tried to backtrack. But she doesn’t. She swings both legs in, pulls it closed, and the engine spurts to life.

As she pulls off, Chevrolet jolting a little, you notice the bright yellow bumper sticker plastered squint beneath the license plate. You walk silently over to Joel, grass prickly under your socks.

“Honk If You Love…Cats,” you murmur, shoulder brushing off his bicep.

He sniffs. Tightens the grip his arms have on his chest. His eyes are fixed on the one red light, slowly shrinking into the distance. “Don’t even.”

“Good date?”

“I said don’t.”

“She talk much about her cats?”

“Goodnight.”

“Did you ask their names, at least?”

He’s backing up, crossing the dark lawn towards his front steps. He looks you up and down, his lips a flat line. Your sweat shorts. Your bare legs. The tight vest top molded around your breasts. His eyes shoot back up. “No more questions. No more pesterin’ me.”

“Nothin’ about the cats? Seriously, dude?” You lift your arms, grinning after his dark figure, swaggering up the porch steps.

Joel ignores you. He disappears through his front door and the light is snuffed. You slink back up to your house, grateful for the blanket of darkness covering the skip in your step.

Eleven hours later, you’re stood in front of your bedroom mirror.

The day melts against your window. Brilliant blue sky, cradling soft puffs of snow-white clouds. Crows on Diane’s roof cawing, slowly yellowing trees rustling. The bright, hot square across your front where the sun forces her way in.

You turn, taking the loose hem of your sleepshirt in your fingers, and pull it over your body, tossing it to the foot of the bed as you examine the pattern of colors hanging from inside your closet.

You take them one by one, tug them free, slot them back in. Eventually you settle for a gray hoodie, cropped and loose. As you haul it from its hanger, there’s a whine from the wooden cabinet. A squeal. The top shelf rips from either side, dropping to the closet floor and taking the pole with it.

“What the f–? You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you growl, stepping forward to run your fingers along the splintered wood where the nails have ripped themselves free. Four black holes, jagged insides of the closet pricking your fingertips.

The crumple of clothes and hangers sulks up at you pathetically. You fall back onto your bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The fan whirs slowly, scooping your gaze and throwing it in lazy circles.

The closet was old, anyways. Was here when you moved. It’s probably about time you had some new ones built. But fuck, that’s gonna cost. Ripping the old ones out, building them from scratch. The fan pulls your eyes back around to twelve o’clock.

Joel’s a contractor. He could do ‘em. Might give you a discounted rate, too, for all the times you move his newspaper from his front lawn to his doorstep for him. Either that, or he’d want something in return. And what handy skills do you have? You once knitted a scarf for you grandma for Christmas. Maybe not Joel’s thing. You can cook mac ‘n cheese – though one lousy meal isn’t payment enough for an entire wall of solid wood, two panes of glass and two days’ labor.

A favor, maybe. An IOU. What the fuck kinda favor does Joel Miller need–?

You’re hopping over the tiny burst of hedge between his yard and yours before the thought is finished, bending to scoop his newspaper up and slotting it under your arm. He answers just as you lift your fist to pound on his door for a second time.

You slap the rolled paper into his chest. “I have an idea.”

He squints at you in the summer light. “Wh–? Didn’t I tell you not to p–?”

“I’ll be your date.”

Joel blinks.

“I’ll be your date,” you repeat. “I got a wardrobe needs replacing. You do it, for free, and I’ll be your date.”

“Your wardrobe?”

“Crapped out on me this mornin’. I don’t want to pay for some stranger who’ll overcharge me ‘n do a half-assed job. Fix it, ‘n you don’t have to take cat lady Laura to Tommy’s wedding. And you can fix my kitchen sink, too.”

“I already fixed your kitchen sink.”

“It’s back at it. Drippin’ all through the damn night. Drip drip drip –”

“Alright.” Joel’s palm is up again. He does that a lot when he’s talking to you. “Alright. Wardrobe ‘n sink.”

“We have a deal?” you ask, extending your hand.

His chest fills with a thoughtful breath. His eyes scan you up and down, lingering somewhere a little lower than your jaw for a second. And then, the heavy weight of his palm against yours. The tightening of his fingers around your wrist. One sure shake.

Deal.

Two weeks before the wedding, you’re at Joel’s door again.

He’s in a black tee, dark sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair is damp, fringe still dripping onto his forehead. He runs a hand through the gray-singed brown and stares at the tangle of fabric slung over your arm. “The hell is this?”

“Do you know what you’re wearin’?”

His eyes roll up to meet yours. “Do I know what I’m wearin’?”

You nod. “You’re the best man. Guessing Tommy has you covered?”

“Black suit,” he says, after a beat.

“That’s it? He ain’t got no theme?”

Joel’s head cocks. “I don’t do themes.”

You roll your eyes, ducking under his arm fixed against the doorpost. He manages three words of protest and then shuts the door in resignation, turning to watch as you take his stairs two at a time.

“You are so damn annoyin’, you know that?” his voice echoes behind you.

“You want this date or not, Miller?” you call over your shoulder, following the route through the identical house to your own bedroom – thankful when you nudge the door and it opens to reveal his bland, colorless decor. “Very…gray,” you note, feeling the shadow of him over your shoulder.

You throw the dresses down on his bed, satin and lace and pink and green swimming between one another on his sheets.

“I’m not wearin’ a dress.”

You glower at him. “Ha. We have to match.”

He rubs the towel against the back of his head, drying the dark hair. “Match how?”

“Y’know, your suit ‘n my dress. If I’m your date, we have to match.”

“Already told you. I’m wearin’ a black suit.”

“Right. But, like – what color tie? And can it be any of these colors?” You hold your hands out, surfing over the sea of shades. “Maybe,” you lift your eyebrows, eyes darting to the pale teal color, “this one?”

Joel entertains you for all of five seconds, lifting his cheeks in a false grin before they deflate. “No. Black.”

“Joel.”

He slings the towel over his folded arms, and looks at you plainly. “Black,” he says again, in a tone of voice which sounds something like a door being slammed shut.

Your eyes thin, and you gather your dresses up in one swipe. “Can you just –? Will you make sure that you match my corsage, at least?”

“Why the hell are you so hung up on this?”

“I’m not. I’m just tryna make it believable. You turned down cat lady Laura, this is what you get.”

He sighs, tossing the towel over to his laundry basket. “I will make sure I match your corsage. Happy?”

“Happy. Are you ready?”

“Give me five minutes.”

You huff, head rolling back. “You are so prima-donna, Joel Miller.”

With a sarcastic chuckle, he shoves you out of his bedroom to get dressed. You saunter down his stairs, drinking in every detail of his home as though it’s the only chance you’ll get to see it.

It probably is, when you think about it. You don’t imagine he’ll be inviting you over for drinks anytime soon.

Your eyes move along the wall as you slowly thump down his stairs, thrown from framed photo to framed photo – a black and white photo of a man with a tousle-haired boy on his lap, the kid’s tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth as he wraps his small hand around the neck of a guitar; an out-of-focus Christmas photo, a family of four sat in front of a million multicolored orbs dotted along the branches of a tree; a kid with skinned knees crouched by a German shepherd, his lanky arms hooked around the dog’s thick neck.

One brown suede jacket hangs from a coat peg at the bottom, Joel’s boots sat loose and unlaced beneath. A dark blue blanket draped over the back of his couch. A painting of a moose over his fireplace. Shelves lining one entire wall decorated with carved-wood animals, with more photographs of times gone and memories made, with books and DVDs that lend your fingertip with a heap of white dust as you drag it across their spines.

Enough to paint a picture, not quite enough to show you the colors. The tones, the depth. Despite your best efforts, the man remains a mystery. You settle with the fact he will never be fully revealed.

The creak of his stairs turns your attention from the guitar on the wall around to his tall figure, fixing the collar of the loose flannel over his shoulders.

“You ready?” Joel asks, bending with a groan to reach for his boots.

“Yep,” you reply, leaning forward to glance into his kitchen while his head’s down. The most you manage to observe are the light drapes, the sunlight shooting through and bouncing off of a white-topped island.

“’s go,” he says, keys dangling from his finger.

It takes twenty minutes to drive to Home Depot.

You chitter in Joel’s ear the entire time, reading from his handwritten list of measurements and supplies needed for your new closet. ‘n how do you know this is all enough? Because I know. What if you get started and it’s not? I won’t; it’s enough. You sound so sure. That’s ‘cause I’ve done it before, kid. You take many closetless girls out on fake wedding dates, Joel?

“What’s our story, then?” you ask in the store, fiddling with hanging packets of door hinges while Joel reads thrice over his note. Your hand dives into the bag of M&M’s he begrudgingly bought you at a gas station on the way.

“Our story?” he mumbles back, the words slipping under the mental math you can see going on behind his eyes.

“Like, when people ask how we met. What’s our meet-cute? Both reached for the same door hinge, our hands touched and lit aflame? That kinda thing?”

He doesn’t laugh. Your smile dampens instantly. You kick his boot. “Joel.”

“’sec,” he frowns, “I’m focusing.”

You lean close, pushing on your toes to study the folded slip. His scrawled numbers, the pencil lines blunt and smudged in the creases of the paper.

“Twentytwofortysixeightyninetyfivesixhundredelevenfourtwelvenineteen–”

Joel’s lips seep a maddened sigh; he glances down the aisle like a store attendant might separate you from him if he demanded with enough passion, or maybe if he slipped them a twenty.

“Do you mind?” he barks, his expression a brick wall for your giggles to fall flat to the floor against.

“Home Depot’s your stomping ground. Why the hell do I gotta come watch you pick hinges and timber?”

“Because it’s your damn closet I’m fittin’. Just –” he swipes two packets from their peg, tossing them into the shopping cart, “– come on.”

Joel makes off down the muck-colored floor, the overhead lights reflecting harshly in the shiny surface. The front right wheel of the cart trembles as it rolls, nervously leading the two of you down an aisle lined with cylinder tins and pamphlets on Choosing the right finish.

“So, are your parents gonna be at this wedding?” you ask, taking the cart from Joel’s hands when he drifts off to study a shelf of wood varnish.

His jaw turns towards you, and then back to the tin in his hand. “Yeah. Why?”

“Do I get to meet ‘em?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. You’re not gonna introduce your date to your mom and dad?”

He scoffs, stealing a handful of candy. “My fake date?”

“They don’t know that. Let me meet Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”

He holds two tins up, offering them to you like answer to your question. “Matt or gloss? Guess it don’t really matter if I’m painting ‘em after.”

“Stop fuckin’ ignoring me. I hate when you do that.”

He leans in close, lowering the matt varnish into the cart. “You think I’m gonna introduce you ‘n your potty mouth to my mom?”

You smirk, eyes narrow. “Dick.”

“Funny. What color paint you want? You said something about duck egg?”

“Planning on repainting my room that color, yeah. Hey, you could –”

He swats your pointed finger away, taking the cart back. “We shook on new wardrobe. No changin’ the deal,” he mutters, wandering over to the rainbow of paint tins on the opposite side of the aisle.

You follow him over, eyes moving from blue over to green, the tins plastered with the fake smiles of families and fluffy pet dogs on the front. “Where are your mom and dad from?” you ask.

“Austin,” he replies, eyes squinting to read the small print on the back of one vibrant shade. You shake your head and guide his wrist back to the shelf, where he obediently sets the heavy tin back. “Never known anywhere else,” he adds. “What about you? Where’s Mr. and Mrs. Potty Mouth?”

“Uh,” you swipe at your nose awkwardly, “they’re up in Allandale. That’s where I grew up.”

“That so? I got a cousin who used to live that way. Used to take my bike up every Saturday. He lived right by this old car shop, all these old classics they used to fix up ‘n resell.”

“Yeah,” you say, “right next to the cemetery, right?”

“That’s the one,” Joel says, lifting paint tins to the light and setting them down again. “They live nearby?”

Your breathing shifts, starts to claw its way up your throat. Your chest heats, skin lighting with an irritating anxiety. “They’re, um,” you gulp, “they’re in the cemetery.”

Joel pauses, letting the tin slip from his grasp with an echoing thud against the wooden shelf which reverberates in your ears a second too long. “Oh,” he says, set on your expression.

“It’s okay – I don’t mind. It’s – it was a car accident, back when I was eight. I wasn’t in it, or anything. I grew up with my grandma. Really, Joel, I don’t mind,” you add, when his face falls and he begins to apologize.

“I had no idea,” he says, and you break the eye contact before you break a fucking sweat.

“’s all good,” you murmur, lifting paint tins of your own now, focusing on deblurring your glossy vision, “I got to buy a big house with the money they left.”

It thaws him a little. He snorts, and taps the lid of the tin you’re holding. “That one’s nice. You, uh – you okay?”

You finally turn back, the world clearer, colors no longer bleeding into one another through sharp tears. “Yeah. I’m fine. We got everything?”

Joel nods, and wheels the cart around. “You can meet her, if you want. My mom. She’s a little full on, but I reckon you can handle her.”

You smile, following him down the aisle.

A month after he delivered your underwear back to you, you’re back on Joel’s doorstep.

Your hand flicks nervously at your side as you wait for him to answer, petals of your corsage quivering. The clip of his footsteps echoes down the stairs, a deep sound growing louder and louder until the door clinks open and you’re separated only by air.

Joel’s eyes scan down your body at the same time yours scan down his. Black suit, sure enough, just without the jacket, and with his tie slung around his loose collar. You both freeze when your eyes meet again, your lips silently forming the shape of an avalanche of words that refuse to sound until Joel’s do.

“Wow, you –”

“– look great, I –”

“– nice dress, is that –? Sorry –”

“– no, I’m sorry, you were – sorry.” A laugh pushes from your throat. “You look – you look good. Scrub up well, ‘n all that.”

“You too. You – Yeah. That’s a nice color, after all. You suit it.” His eyes linger on your chest, your breasts draped in lustrous silk, decorated with the glint of golden jewelry. You notice.

“Thanks. After all?” You snort, and Joel’s exterior seems to crack a little.

He steps back, ushering you in. “Alright,” he says, taking the tote with your change of clothes from your wrist. He watches across the street as you step over the threshold, his fingertips light on your back as you pass by, like little shocks of lightning up your spine. “You know what I meant.”

Your dress swishes around your ankles, your heels clicking along his varnished floor. Your arms lock around your torso, holding your pashmina in place while Joel totters around, tossing his jacket over his shoulders. His shirt stretches from his tight waistband, fabric flattening against his tummy. Your eyes shoot north again when he speaks.

“You mind doin’ my tie? It’ll end up squint if I do.”

“Sure,” you reply, stepping forward.

He buttons the top of his shirt and lifts his chin, staring at the wall behind you as you tug on the black fabric, the silk slipping through your fingers. You steal glances at the trim of his beard, his pink lips beneath the dark bristles; the slope of his nose, the lines on his worn skin.

He’s rough around the edges, sure, a man in his late forties. But there’s something soft about him, something familiar and…comfortable. The pages of a used sketchbook, the lived-in material of a favorite dress.

You pull the knot higher until it’s sitting in the notch below his Adam’s apple, smoothing it down and giving his chest a light pat before stepping back again.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he mumbles, and a spark lights in your chest. “Oh,” he says, holding a finger up and disappearing into the kitchen. He returns with a little white box, holding it out for you to see.

Your cheeks swell, eyes flitting up to acknowledge the proud look on his face. “Very nice. Good job.”

“You can do the honors,” Joel says, handing you the boutonniere by the stem.

You pin it through his lapel, straightening it with a focused glance. Joel’s eyes are on you, watching the flutter of your eyelashes, the tilt of your head. “There,” you whisper, leaning back.

He extends his elbow, something of a smile on his lips. You don’t see it often. It beckons a mirrored expression.

Arm in arm, Joel leads you out to the truck, where he helps you up and waits for you to scoop your dress into the footwell before closing the door. You watch patiently as he locks the front door, slings both your bags over his shoulder and jogs back to the truck, tossing them in the backseat before joining you in the front.

“How come he didn’t send a limousine? Or a Jag, or somethin’?”

“You think we’re made a’ money?” Joel asks, smirking.

You return the smile, wrapping your shawl over your body. “Can I pick the music?” you ask, earnestly, a tinge of sweetness to your voice.

Joel glances over again, reaches behind your headrest to reverse out of the drive. He runs his tongue along his top teeth. “No,” he says.

Three hours later, Tommy and Maria are married.

The wedding is…big. Joel’s family is big. The venue – a rustic hotel suite, fairy lights draped from the rafters, blooming flowers sprouting from crystal vases, lace tablecloths and tied chair cushions and wax dripping from thick, naked candles – is big.

Joel’s been good about it – that friendly neighbor you see all too little has been kicked into high gear. He delivered you by hand straight to his mom – a small woman with silver hair neatly twisted into an updo at the back of her head – who took your hand and held it tightly all the way to your seats.

Kind and warm, she asked where you were from, how you met Joel, how long you’d been dating. She offered you some tissues before the ceremony started, then winked and nodded in Joel’s direction as the bridesmaids swept down the aisle.

You lingered behind the photographer while he took photos of the wedding party, instructing them to shuffle a little closer, that’s it; ma’am, with the red hair, lower your bouquet a little; alright, now, everyone: big smiles!

You worried that Joel had kept the same placated smile frozen on his face for so long that it might never melt away, might never return to the stoic scowl you’re so used to seeing on him. You didn’t even realize you were staring at him, until he waved you down, flicked his hand, and beckoned you over to the group.

You hesitated. I don’t know if I –

Get over here, girl, Tommy had called, grinning alongside his big brother.

The two Millers slotted you in like a jigsaw piece between their bodies, two arms wrapped around your back – Tommy’s, loose on your shoulders, and Joel’s, tight around your waist. He held you close, squeezing you into his side while the photographer praised the party and snapped photo after photo, the flash burning into your eyes by the time he clapped his hands and thanked you all for your patience.

Drink? Joel had asked, and you’d responded with one thumb up, the other massaging your eyelids. He squeezed your shoulder and disappeared into the crowd of bodies.

He’s still over there – by the bar, a wooden structure draped in ivy and studded by steel bolts. His beer in one hand and your wine in the other. A lean, poised figure stood opposite him – her dress a royal purple, her hair a wave of brown spilling over her bare shoulders.

She’s beautiful – a striking charm which draws your eye to her like an arrow directly through the sea of bodies between here and there. Her languid movements, the slow roll of her neck to sweep the hair from one side of her body to the other.

Her head falls back in laugher, her bejeweled hand falls softly on his arm. Your throat closes sharply. Joel nods, angling as if to make off, but she holds onto him and leans in. He laughs, then, at whatever her full lips whisper into his ear, and he finally breaks off from her and returns to you.

He pushes the glass by its base across the smooth tablecloth. Your fingers brush over one another as you trade, the stem sitting between your index and middle. He’s warm, his knuckles kissing yours.

“How was it, then, talkin’ to my mom?” Joel asks.

You smile, propping your chin on the heel of your palm. “I like her. She’s funny.” And then, when he tosses his head in response, “Who were you talkin’ to?”

Joel follows your eyeline over to the woman in the purple dress. The glint of white crystal on her neck. The drama of dark hair on pale skin. “Uh,” he wanders around your back to his chair, “we used to work together.”

Your nails tap against the glass. “Oh, yeah?”

He sniffs. Doesn’t meet your eye. “Yep.”

“You were talking to her for a long time.”

He watches a blue orb dance over your head on the wall, a spot of light from the disco ball over the dancefloor. “Lotta memories.”

“Why won’t you look at me?”

His eyes plummet. Fall from the string bulbs straight to your face, sparkling in the rainbow lights. “You want me to look at you? There.”

You grin. “’s better. If you stare up there long enough, they might stick.”

“Safer to have ‘em stuck on you, is it?”

“Mhm,” your voice echoes around the curve of your wine glass, “better view. So, who is she?”

Joel shifts uncomfortably. He twirls the bottle in his fingers. “We…we were together for some time. A few years.”

“An ex,” you muse, stain of lipstick left on the rim of your glass. “How many years?”

“Eight.”

You almost choke on your drink. “Eight – eight years?”

Joel nods, waiting for you to catch your breath. Expression never changing. Bottle still twirling. “Haven’t seen her in a while. We were just catchin’ up.”

“Eight fucking years. Why the fuck aren’t you married?”

He scoffs. “That’s a fifth-date question.” He lifts the bottle to his lips, tongue pushes against the glass.

“I don’t need five fuckin’ wardrobes,” you quip, and he laughs. Like, genuinely laughs. His head tips back, his teeth show. Your chest swells, confidence and relief blooming there. She didn’t make him laugh like that – not from where you were watching.

It becomes something of a mission in the back of your mind – tallying up how many times you can make his chest shudder, his shoulders jerk. How many times he leans in closer and repeats whatever you said, eyes closing over and hand hitting his thigh. How many times he looks at you and your stomach flutters, the blood cartwheels through your veins, the bones of your ribcage readjust and make room for the swelling of your heart.

Within four rounds, you’ve lost count.

The thudding beat of the music muffles in your drunken ears, like it’s coming from the next room. Your gaze fixes on the vase in the center of the table, the bouquet spilling over the glass. The wide burst of speckled lilies, the humble blush of tulips between. The colors soften and blur the longer you stare at them.

The jerk of Joel’s shoulders stirs you from your daydream. That’s one more.

“What?” you ask, head rolling to look over to him.

“You still in there?” he asks, one word slurring into the next like waves lapping.

You scoff, looking back to the pink flowers. “You know who has tulips?” you ask him.

He lifts his eyebrows. Who?

“Alice.”

“Brown?”

Your head nods heavily. “One time, she was out getting her mail, and I had just pulled up in my car on the phone to my best friend – he’d just broken up with his girlfriend, it was a whole thing…” You bat your hand. “Anyway. She pretended to tend to her tulips for forty-five minutes while I sat talkin’ to him in the driveway.”

Joel’s head tilts back with a burst of laughter. “She hear every word?”

“Every – damn – word. Stood by the fence listenin’.”

“That woman is som’ else,” Joel says, shaking his head. He stares down at the bottle between his fingers. His thumbs play with the curled corner of the label. “Didn’t I warn you about her?”

“Mhm.” You smile, realizing he has the same memory that you do, locked up somewhere in his mind. The sweat running down his temple, the dark patch between his shoulder blades. His hands gripping the heavier boxes, leaving you to carry the linen, the base of a lamp. Nodding as he wandered back over to his own porch, calling back for you to Holler if you need anythin’.

The high squeal of the Sweet Child O’ Mine intro snaps you back to the wedding reception. Tommy and Maria are playing air guitar on the dancefloor over Joel’s shoulder. You unstick your gaze from his white shirt, unsure how long you’ve been fucking staring.

Joel sits forward, drags his chair across the polished floor closer to you. He fixes the strap on your dress, untwisting it before settling back again. Your eyes follow his fingers as they leave your shoulder and sit back on the curve of his thigh, lifting when his voice breaks through to your eardrums.

“What room number did you say you were, again?”

Your shoulders roll. “Thirty-four, I think.”

Joel nods. Points to himself. “Thirty-six.” And then he glances over his shoulder, watches as Tommy kneels before Maria and rocks his head, his messy mop of hair tossed across his shoulders. The older Miller brother turns back. “Think they’ll miss us if we call it a night?”

“We’re callin’ it a night?”

“Figure if I’m headin’ off then you won’t wanna be sat here by yourself,” Joel says, and he’s right. He stands up, sets the half-empty bottle on the tablecloth and stares down at you. “I’m callin’ it a night,” he tells you. “You comin’?”

The colors in the room spin like the reels of a slot machine. Your fingers sit lightly in his outstretched palm, and you pull yourself up alongside him.

“’s a good girl,” he mutters, looking over your shoulder to the doorway, and your eyes sober up long enough to catch the flicker in his eye.

You totter along the hallway, arm in arm, anchoring yourselves together. Whichever way one sways, the other inevitably follows. You’re laughing, and Joel’s hushing you, warning that there are folks tryna – tryna sleep, we’re in a fancy place, hey, da-rlin’, no – you gotta shhhut up.

“Great party,” you decide, finally docking against your door.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, leaning a little on the wall. The gentle glow of the hallway lights him perfectly; the strong angle of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones. The hazel pools that make up his irises, the swollen circles of black in the middle. And the twinkle in them, like the moon reflecting on dark water, every time his gaze lifts to you.

He’s different tonight. Maybe it’s the alcohol. The way it colors everything in a peachy film, all objects softened and rosy and shapeless. But he feels different, too. You suddenly realize, shoulder pressed hard against the cold doorframe, that you’ve never touched one another more than you have today. His elbow in yours, his arm around your waist, his hand through yours as you danced together.

“Are you tired?” you ask, head rolling.

“Tired? No. Drunk, yeah. Not tired.” He laughs again. It’s infectious.

“You wanna come inside?” you ask, words leaping from your giggle.

He takes ten seconds to consider it. Slumps into the wall, steadied only by his forearm pushing him back upright. His watch face catches the light behind him.

“Yeah. Fuck yeah, I do.”

Your hand fumbles in your clutch for the keycard, swiping the handle and pushing down heavily. You spill into the dark room, light sneaking in from the sconce outside your window, and spin back to face him, his hand locked tight with yours.

Joel follows you slowly as you back towards the bed, kicking your heels off and tripping over the skirt of your dress. When your legs hit the plush mattress, his body leans into yours. Your lips ghost across his, your words pushing them apart one by one.

“This ain’t – part of the – agreement,” you murmur, the coarse hair of his beard scratching your chin. You pull apart his tie, loosening the knot.

“Changed my mind,” he replies, collapsing on top of you on the bed.

Your head rolls back when his lips suck into your neck. You wrestle with his belt, with the waist of his suit trousers. “No changin’ the deal, remember?”

“Tell me to stop.”

If you had any intention of answering him, your body overrides it. Words lassoed and dragged back down where they came from, your throat opening only to gasp when Joel’s teeth graze the flesh of your breast. His fingers tug on the straps of your dress, letting them fall from your shoulders until your chest sits exposed.

He drags his tongue along your skin, dipping between your tits while his hands massage them, fingers pinching your nipples. Your back lifts and his hands move beneath, following the curve of your spine to where your dress pools loose around your waist. He pushes down, slinking the smooth fabric from your body.

“You fuckin’…” He clicks his teeth, laughing behind them. Another flush of heat washes over your skin.

You giggle, bending your knees to cover the lace panties he knows all too fucking well. Joel stops you, pushes your legs back down with two heavy hands.

“Don’t get shy now, baby,” he murmurs, opening your body up again. “You were so happy about me seein’ ‘em a few weeks ago, no?”

“’s different,” you reply, tang of alcohol fueling your words, “now I just want you to take them off me.”

He cocks his head, drinking every word you’re handing over like it’s water from an oasis. “Such a dirty girl, ain’t you?”

You pull him closer by the collar and line your mouth against his, the tip of your tongue wetting the inside of his lips. “You got no fucking idea,” you whisper, whipping the shirt from his torso.

Joel growls, flipping you over and pulling you by the shoulders flush against his chest. You hook an arm around his neck, turn to grant him access to your lips. He kisses you like a starved animal, savoring every taste, teeth nipping at your tingling lips.

His hand curves around your hips, pushing beneath your underwear to cup your mound, middle finger pushing on the spongey hood of your clit. Your head falls limp against his collarbone, back arching as Joel holds you steady with an arm around your waist.

“’s alright, baby,” he coos, his tongue licking the shell of your ear. “I’m gonna take good care of ya. Gonna give you what you need, alright?”

A strangled moan unravels across your tongue, echoing into Joel’s mouth. Your hips begin to gyrate, meeting the rhythm of his hand, his finger massaging rough circles into your clit. He smirks, peeling the panties down your thighs.

“Attagirl,” he breathes, “you want it bad, huh? Gettin’ so worked up so fast. Here.”

He removes his hand from between your legs, ignoring your moan of protest and replacing it with two fingers on your bottom lip. “Open,” he instructs, and you obey like a fucking dog. He slips them in, thick and heavy, and waits for you to coat them with your wine-stained tongue.

Joel pushes down, forcing a muffled gag from your throat which lifts the corners of his mouth. He shakes his head lightly, whispering, “You got it, ‘s okay.”

A thread of saliva strings between his fingers and your lips when he lowers his hand again, trailing his fingers through your folds until he’s dancing along the seam of your cunt. You jolt forward; Joel hauls you back.

“Just fucking – do it,” you whimper, your walls clenching around nothing.

He holds his fingers together, curling and inserting them in a painfully slow motion. Your knees widen on the mattress, body sinking down by instinct to meet his fist, to feel his thick fingers and wide knuckles as deep as they’ll go.

You gasp when Joel begins hooking them inside you, nudging against your walls like your heartbeat against your clit. Your hand lowers, slipping beneath his loose waistband, beneath the elastic of his boxers and around his already solid cock.

Joel groans, fucking you harder on his hand. “Fuck, just like that, baby. You feel what you do to me?”

“Uhuh,” you reply, voice wanton and broken.

You squeeze him, your fist moving up and down, his warm skin following the movements of your tight grip. His tip is already soaked, precome staining his underwear, dribbling down your thumb.

Joel uses his free hand to shove his pants down, crumpling on the floor at his feet when they free his cock. You carve your mouth around his, the two of you exchanging breath and flicking your tongues together as you fuck one another’s hands, the room slowly filling with the hot, muggy smell of sex.

Joel’s the first to cave. With a jerk of his hips, he takes you by the wrist and frees himself from your clutches.

“You’re gonna make me come, darlin’,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers from your cunt.

“That’s kinda the point here,” you reply, teeth bumping into his in a grin.

Joel shakes his head, lifting his hand, glistening with your arousal. “Gotta feel this fucking pussy first.”

You smile, parting your lips for him for the second time, suckling on his fingers and licking them clean of your own salty slick. His cock draws sticky trails on the seam of your thigh.

“Yeah,” Joel breathes, eyes fixed on the place where you close around him, “that good, baby? You gonna let me taste you?”

You release his fingers and he pulls you in, tongue slipping against yours with a groan which vibrates against your jaw. When your lips part, you hold your mouth open, your tongue sat on your bottom lip.

Joel reacts instantly, collecting a bead of saliva in front of his teeth and letting it drop into your mouth. You moan and swallow it, a cocktail of beer and whiskey and slick. Joel watches as you lick your lips, the stained-pink coated in a thick, white shine.

“Alright,” he says, letting you fall forward onto the bed. He jacks himself a few times, spitting into his hand and using it to coat his cock.

“Want you to come in it,” you whine, wiggling your ass for him as he lines up at your slit. You can feel the arousal gathered on his tip, dripping down your cunt.

“Yeah, baby,” Joel growls, a smirk on his lips as he watches himself slowly disappear inside you. And then –

You both fall silent, mouths hanging wide open as you each feel the width of his cock and the tightness of your cunt. The way your body opens up to accommodate his size, the direct pain and ethereal pleasure of Joel pushing into you.

“Fuck,” he groans, your pussy drawing him in with a sweet, wet sound. “Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. So damn gorgeous in that dress.”

You slowly move your hips back to meet him at the base of his cock; dark, trimmed hair bristling against your lips. Joel’s hands lock around your waist, holding you steady with his entirety buried inside, letting you adjust to him.

He’s so fucking big, so wide and deep that your breath tears rugged from your lungs, barreling up your windpipe. Your walls squeeze tight as he pulls out like your body refuses to let him go, like your cells understand better than you do that you were made for this – made for him. Like the only place in the world that he belongs, is somewhere deep inside you.

So big that it hurts, each time he fills you up and stretches you wide open. The pain an eye-rolling, lung-closing, limb-shaking sensation.

Your elbows give, falling chest-first onto the mattress while Joel fucks you hard, his hands gripping your hips. Your cheek and breasts flat against the sheets, your back arched. He slams into you, edging you closer and closer with each meeting of his warm skin against yours, each sopping slap of come and saliva.

The mattress shifts above your head, two valleys where his palms push down heavily, then the weight of his body at the back of your thighs. He towers over you, hips hammering so hard that you’re forced to hook your fingers around his wrists just to stay on the same fucking planet.

“Gonna – fuckin’ – come – baby,” he spits, his jaw locked tight. “You want it in this little pussy? You think she can take it all?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, the edges of your words rounded by the silk sheets. “Joel, I – fuck –”

“Yeah, she can,” he agrees, playing with the hair spilling across your shoulders and taking it in a fistful.

The hazy drunken blur begins to turn over in favor of something sharper, something electric pulsing through your veins. Every part of your body alive, everything rising to meet the same high, the same release. You cling onto him, body beginning to melt beneath his.

Joel’s lips press between your shoulder blades. “Don’t fight it, baby, let go. I got you.”

You moan his name in one last pathetic attempt before the world whitens. You clench around him as a deafening orgasm shocks through your body, curling your back and forcing your nails deep into Joel’s wrists.

“Fuck, baby, fuck me,” Joel gasps. He slams into you one final time before you feel the staggered pump of his come flooding between your walls. “Ahh,” he groans, pushing apart your ass cheeks to watch the trickle seep from your cunt. “Good fucking girl. Take it, baby. That’s my girl.”

He turns you over onto your back and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him against your body as he thrusts into you again, tenderly pushing his spend deeper inside. It draws a strained moan from your throat.

“’s alright,” he coos, hips slowing against yours, “just feel it, baby. You feel how deep I am?”

“Uhuh,” you cry, nails digging into his skin, damp with sweat.

“So fuckin’ full of me,” he says, more to himself, before collapsing alongside you, holding your thigh on his hip, his tip still sheathed inside you.

You lie like that for a while, listening to the distant hum of music from downstairs, the party still raving in the belly of the hotel while you two lay in content bliss somewhere in its ribcage. Tracing one another’s features, learning the lines on Joel’s face, the flecks of gray in his eyebrows – all the parts you’re never close nor brave enough to get to know.

His right hand massages your plush waist, his left arm a pillow to rest your heavy, dizzy, drunk head on.

“I wanna do it again,” you whisper, the words sneaking out between heavy breaths.

Joel nods. His bottom lip sticks with sweat to yours. His hips push a little neater into you. “I wanna do it again, too.”

“I wanna do it all night.”

He hasn’t stopped nodding. He shrugs, tightens his grip around your shoulders, and tilts his head. “Then let’s do it all fucking night,” he says, and his lips slam back into yours.

The morning after the wedding, Joel drives you home. The truck soars down the highway, the two of you an uncomfortable distance apart. The same sobering distance you’ve kept all morning – the unreal aftermath of sex.

The rolling waves of bedsheets between your bodies; the sun sifting her long fingers through his hair as she peered through the curtains. The way you’d silently pushed yourself from the mattress, fragmenting your movements and allowing the spring to dip a fraction at a time so not to wake him. The spongey feel of the hotel carpet under the balls of your feet as you’d tottered to the bathroom. The sharp shot of the lock sliding into place, echoing like a bullet.

He waited until you finished showering to get ready himself. Sat on the edge of the bed patiently and watched your shadow beneath the door, the to-and-fro of your silhouette breaking the sliver of golden light as you dressed your sticky body. When you pulled on the metal lock again, he was sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, pinching the bridge of his nose. His bare shoulders were curved, and tanned. You blinked twice to store the image and turned away as he stood.

He says he feels hungover. You say you do, too. It’s the closest you come to talking about it. You hop out of the truck in his drive, your tote bag hooked on your shoulder. The canvas gnawing at the silk inside. Joel tells you he’ll see his end of the deal through in a couple weeks.

“Real busy with work,” he mutters apologetically, his wrists still balancing on the steering wheel.

“That’s good,” you tell him, nodding. “I ain’t in any rush. I know where you live, so.”

A relieved laugh pushes from his lips. “I will get to it,” he assures you.

You shrug casually. “Whenever, Joel.”

You don’t talk for a few days. A few days bleeds into three weeks. You find yourself stood by his front tires, throwing his newspaper onto the porch and scampering when it lands. The noise like a bomb dropping.

Slowly, as the month draws on, you become braver and braver – daring closer and closer to his front door, until you’re back to marching up the steps like you own the place, depositing the roll on his doormat. Rubbing your thumbs against your fingers to feel the ink like satin.

The door cracks open as you make your way back down his steps one bright morning.

“Hey, kid,” Joel murmurs, reaching down for the paper with a groan.

“Hey.”

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, leaning his forearm against the door.

Your head tilts back and forth, your hand lifting to shield your eyes from the sun. “Think I ate som’ bad, maybe. Weird stomach this mornin’.”

Joel’s chin angles. “Hope it ain’t contagious. Was thinkin’ I could get that closet started for you, maybe tomorrow?”

The offer takes you off guard. You buffer for a few seconds before answering, “Sure. Sure, just, uh – just come over whenever, I guess.”

“Nine work for you?”

You nod. “Nine’s good. See ya then.”

It’s something like nine when you find out.

You wake feeling groggy. Tired, sluggish. A heavy ache pulling on your breasts as you rise from bed, tender and swollen. You stand in the bathroom, milky morning light filtering in through the doorway, and your stomach lurches. Waves of nausea deep in your belly, rocking back and forth, swirling and spiraling.

You’ve a box under your sink. It makes sense. Before Joel was some date from Hinge, who fucked you against the wall of his living room and who snored so loud that you left before the sun came up. Negative. Like always.

But it never hurts to be sure.

The pack tears like it’s liquid in your hands. Peels back to reveal the plastic white test, the bubblegum pink cap – like it’s something fun and sweet to place the direction of your future into this little device. A clinical compass needle.

Three to five minutes. You set it down on the counter and drag yourself back through to your room, lifting your bedsheets, tucking them under the mattress, heaving your pillows back into place against the headboard. An uncomfortable heat boiling under the surface of your skin, a prickle of sweat clinging to the nape of your neck.

A sickly taste harboring on your tongue, you pad back to the bathroom and swipe the test up. Your eyes scan past the result window to the counter as you reach for your toothbrush – and then snap abruptly back to the tiny oval. Your outstretched hand freezes in midair. There’s no fucking w–

Your arm swings back to reach for the light cord. The bulb hesitates – flickers, like it’s unsure whether to reveal the truth to you. It knows something you don’t. It’s seen something it doesn’t want to show you. You stare at the pregnancy test.

Two little pink lines stare back. And Joel knocks at your door.

#forgive me for it not being clm or sof #they're coming very soon i promise #this was too fun an idea not to chase #i have the attention span of my labrador retrievers (nil)#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel miller #neighbor!joel #babydaddy!joel miller

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captainfern · 3 months

Text

i’m still thinking of this post about price and you pretending you don’t know each other at a hotel and i’ve given in to the brain worms

part one | part two ->

18+ (no smut in this one but for future parts), fem!reader

un-edited, super lazy writing + formatting sorry

You sat idly at the bar, your finger running up and down the cool, smooth edges of your glass. You had one elbow propped up against the sleek wood, your body half-turned to watch whatever bullshit was playing on the tv above the shelves of expensive alcohol.

The hotel bustled around you, the bar itself busy with patrons moving to and fro. oftentimes, you felt slightly crowded, with bodies packing in beside you, ordering their poison before departing like a wraith. No one seemed to linger near the bar for too long.

“No company tonight?” The bartender asked, a dark-coloured dish towel tossed over her shoulder. She was a kind looking woman, in her late thirties you estimated, with flawless dark skin that seemed to glow beneath the ambiant lighting above.

You shook your head with a rueful smile. “Not tonight. Just enjoying my own company, I suppose.”

The bartender smiled politely. “Well, that’s nice. You here for business or pleasure?”

You took a sip of your drink, the taste of it washing over your tongue and continuing to put your nerves at ease.

“Pleasure, I think. It’s nice to get away from everything for a while, you know?” You said with your lips still brushing the cold glass, and you took another sip.

“I’m really happy for you,” the bartender smiled. Then, after being waved at by a drunken patron at the other end of the bar, added: “Give me a shout when you need a refill.” She then breezed away to continue her job.

You sighed through your nose, looking wistfully around the bar for a moment. When you returned to your drink, you let your eyes admire the kaleidoscope of colours that comprised the wall at the back of the bar— shelves upon shelves of glass bottles of different kinds of alcohol.

As your eyes alighted on a bottle of Bombay, the blue bottle glinting like some sort of diamond beneath the light, someone slotted into the barstool beside you. You didn’t take much notice, but when you caught a whiff of an expensive, masculine cologne, you couldn’t help but twist your head to the side.

A handsome man had settled in beside you. He was probably in his early forties, with neatly trimmed facial hair that perfectly settled between the angles of his face— his cheekbones, his jawline, the pinkish line of his Cupid’s bow. In the overhead lighting, all dim and moody, his eyes were dark, and his hair speckled with just a few grey strands.

He turned to face you the moment you looked his way, offering you a warm smile that made butterflies tickle the edges of your stomach. You smiled back, before taking another sip of your drink in an attempt to steel your nerves.

Signalling the bartender, he ordered his own drink, and the baritone of his voice had your stomach swooping. Deep and melodious, with a distinct hoarseness akin to a smoker of fine cigars. The rumble of it seemed to do wonders to your fraying nerves, acting as some sort of salve to cool the heat pulsing beneath your skin.

The man thanked the bartender when she placed a tumbler of whiskey before him, the single ball of ice clinking against the crystal. Once more, sending another deep swoop to your stomach, he turned to you with those deep, dark eyes and warm smile, raising his glass.

Your eyes traipsed over his fingers, the roughness of them, the calloused skin pressing against sleek glass. You noted the thickness of them, and the way they wrapped around the tumbler. You also noticed the couple of veins leading from his wrist and down his strong, hairy forearm. You swallowed, and hesitantly lifted your own glass.

“Cheers,” he said, smiling. Crow’s feet appeared at the corners of his eyes, three lines chiseled into his skin over the years.

“Cheers,” you echoed, and the two of you took a moment to sip at your drinks. You swallowed yours, still looking at the man beside you.

He placed his tumbler of whiskey against the bartop, and then leaned an arm against the surface, swivelling his entire body around to face you. He made it known that you had his full, undivided attention. It made you nervous almost.

“I hope you don’t mind me interrupting your alone time,” he spoke, and his words were honeyed and sweet, warm mollasses falling from his tongue. “Couldn’t help myself, really. A pretty lady like you shouldn’t be left all on her lonesome.”

You smiled shyly, running the tip of your finger along the ring of your glass. “Oh, no, you’re not interrupting anything at all. I… I don’t mind the company, actually.”

The handsome man’s smile only grew, and it was so warm that you wondered if you’d start to melt.

“That’s good to hear,” he said. “I’m John, by the way.”

He stretched his hand out. You introduced yourself, a first name that fell from your lips a bit more seductively than you had intended, and shook his hand. John seemed to beam at your introduction and the acceptance of his handshake, his broad-shouldered body sitting up just a bit straighter in his seat.

His hand was strong in yours. There was a warmth beneath his skin, seeping from his palm like ichor. It made your hand curl instinctively tighter around his, just a subtle squeeze of your fingers. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, and it took everything in you not to gasp.

When you retracted your hand, John reached for his drink to take a sip.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said before he sealed his lips around the edge of the crystal tumbler. You watched the movement, before dragging your eyes downwards in a sudden realisation.

Your eyes locked in on his other hand, resting on his thick, muscular thigh— stretched out beneath a pair of faded jeans, making you feel warm all of a sudden. Again. His hand was bare. No wedding band. You looked back up at him.

“What brings you here?” You asked, cocking your head slightly as he brought his tumbler of whiskey back to the bartop.

John smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth a couple of times, tasting the lingering bitterness of his liquor. He ran his tongue over his teeth, too, the potent drink seeping into the grooves of his molars. He wondered briefly whether you’d be able to taste it if you kissed him.

“A weekend break from work,” he replied simply.

“Oh, yeah? What do you do?”

“I’m in the Armed Forces. A captain.”

“Wow,” you said, impressed. “You must be a busy man.”

John chuckled, eyes meeting yours and darting quickly across your face, as if committing parts of you to memory. He replied with a light quirk in his lips. “I am, yeah.”

He then cleared his throat. “What about you? What brings you here?”

You shrugged, nonchalant. “Just needed a little getaway from home, I suppose.”

“Oh, yeah?” It was John’s turn to cock his head, eyes darkening— if that was even possible— beneath the weight of his pupils, expanding as he gazed at you. “Treating yourself?”

“Mhm.”

“Good girl,” he uttered. “I bet you deserve it.”

You smiled, feeling giddy. Your eyes didn’t leave him, and the butterflies wreaking havoc in your stomach didn’t leave either. They continued, and the way he was looking at you wasn’t much of an insecticide. His gaze was intense, all whiskey smooth and molten hot. You squirmed in your seat.

Your knees brushed— his large ones against yours, and you swear you felt sparks. You wanted so desperately to place the flat of your hand along his leg, hold it there, smiling and bartering your eyelashes and mentally insisting he take you back to his room.

Oh my god. You’d never thought like this before! You would never usually want someone to whisk you back to their room, especially not someone from the bar of a fancy hotel.

But if it wasn’t for the way he was staring at you— hunger and a mixed-bag of lustrous emotions— you would’ve felt guilty. But you didn’t.

“Sweetheart,” John began with a voice that could ignite a fire on a damp winters day. It definitely ignited something within you, stoking at the embers of your desire. He smiled, heated and tempting. “I don’t mean to be forward but… if you’d like too, I’d love to take you back to my room.”

You felt a smile creep over your pretty features. “Wow, John, are you always this forward with the girls you meet?”

He laughed. “Never. You’d be the first.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Trust me. You’re the prettiest woman I have ever seen.”

You grabbed hold of your drink and downed the rest of it— just two swallows, and your glass shone empty. You placed it gently back onto the sleek surface of the bar, not taking your eyes off of the handsome man in front of you.

“I’d love to go back to your room, John.”

Something shifted in his facial expression. Something primal, almost, passing over his features. With blown pupils and a rush of pink to his cheeks, he finished the rest of his whiskey in a couple of deep mouthfuls, before slamming the tumbler back onto the bartop.

The sound attracted the bartender, who sidled over with a knowing smile on her face. “Closing your tab, sir?”

“Please,” John said with a polite nod, getting to his feet. He then placed a hand to the small of your back as you clambered off of your barstool as well. “And put this lovely lady’s drinks on my tab as well.”

The bartender gave you a knowing look, but said nothing. And once everything had been sorted for the evening, John escorted you out of the bar and into the luxurious hotel lobby with a large hand still on the small of your back.

Walking, and with the lifts in sight, John pulled you closer to him, close enough that you giggled at the sensation of him pressed up against you. He smiled, leaning down until his facial hair tickled against the soft skin of the side of your face.

“I must say, you look absolutely stunning tonight, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice like heaven in your ear. Then, the hand on the small of your back smoothed around your waist, holding you impossibly closer, fingers bunching at the material of your outfit. “But I can’t wait to take this pretty thing off.”

#hey siri play hotel room by pitbull #captain john price smut #captain john price x you #captain john price #call of duty #cod smut #price cod #price x reader #fem!reader #captainfern

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nelapanela94 · 8 months

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“Levi?”

You push the door open with your back and the weathered hinges creak. It’s dark and quiet inside, Levi’s leather jacket hangs over the chair backrest. The window behind his desk is closed, the quill stands in the holder.

The plate and tumbler clatter on the tray as you inch toward the door that connects his office to the room. It is ajar and you, uninvitedly, slip inside.

“Levi?”

A faint glow flickers from the nightstand, and Levi is tucked in bed, like a bundle, covered from head to toe.

Your eyes squint, lines mar the space between your brows. Something doesn’t seem right. You set the tray on the side table and pad gingerly to the bed, lay a hand on the quilt where his shoulder should be.

“Levi? Are you ok?”

What is someone kidnapped him and left the corpse of an animal behind? Panic rises in your chest.

“Y/N?”

His gravelly voice tames the drama snakes in your head. He rolls onto the opposite side. “What are you doing here?”

“You missed dinner. I thought you’d be hungry, so I saved some leftovers…”

“Not hungry.” His voice is shaky, like the rest of his body.

“What’s wrong then? Why are you in bed?”

“Why couldn't I be in bed?” He coughs. “I’m not a child. Get out of here.”

You frown, tap tapping the floor. “You’re acting like one now. And I’m not leaving until I make sure you’re fine.”

He flings the covers off and reveals himself. “I’m fine.”

His eyes are glassy, his lips dry, cheeks red, his hair glued to his face in sweat. He wriggles up against the headboard to a sitting position. You sit next to him, making him curse under his breath, and bring the back of your hand to his forehead. “You’re far from fine. Why don’t you go to the infirmary?”

“I don't want to waste their time. Besides, there are others who need it more.”

“You could’ve asked for help at least.”

“I don’t want shitty glasses entering my room.”

“You could’ve asked me.” You jab a finger to your chest, pouting.

His cheeks sizzle with a deeper blush. What a shame it is that you see him in this deplorable state. He is the one who should be protecting you and not the other way around.

You peel from bed and scuff to the washbasin. In the shelf next to it, Levi keeps towels and linens. You take a lavender-imbued cloth, soak it and wring the excess. “Lay down, Levi.”

“Leave me alone.” He grunts and reluctantly complies. You brush his hair off his face and place the cloth on his forehead.

“Does it hurt anywhere?”

“No, it’s just the fever. Thanks. Now, you can leave.”

“Are you kidding me? What if you get worse?” You plonk on the wing chair, arms folded on your chest.

“You’re worse than lice.”

“Just let me know if you need anything.” You stretch out your legs, and your ass sinks into the cotton canvas.

Thirty minutes later, your soft snores swarm the room. Your chest rises and falls steadily in your peaceful slumber. Levi sighs. And you were the one who was supposed to take care of him? His lips curve in a half smile. The ache in his bones and muscles is ebbing, the trembling in his limbs is easing. It's not of him to catch a seasonal flu, but a little attention from you doesn't hurt, does it?

He throws a cushion at you, and you jerk awake.

"Water."

#levi ackerman #aot #attack on titan #levi attack on titan #levi x reader #shingeki no kyojin #snk #levi aot #snk levi #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fluff #shingeki no kyoujin #levi ackerman x female reader

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dreamgrlarchive · 6 months

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A Prissy Girl’s Guide to Spring

since i won’t be active on tumblr when next spring comes around, and i’ve done 3/4 seasons, i felt it was appropriate to go ahead and finish the series! if you find yourself inspired by my aesthetic/looks, you can absolutely use this as a guide for the next primavera season! 🐇

what’s the look this spring?

my personal forecast for fashion spring ‘24 is “pink pilates bimbo” for sure. the renewal of spring is the time for a wellness reset. so i’ll be engaging in a physical activity but i’ll still be in barbie attire. pink athleisure pieces with super girly additions is my predicted aesthetic. 🎀

first and foremost…

let’s talk about what spring symbolizes: renewal, cleansing, and restarting. that makes itself apparent in the seasons colors; the darkness of winter transitions to the soft pastels of spring.

preparation

start spring cleaning and prepping for seasonal allergies. stock up on in season fruits to keep in the house. take up outside activities like biking, outdoor yoga, and jogging. buy new fragrances. prep your skin and hair for the overtime humidity.

essentials

pretty umbrella

allergy meds/quarterly check up

new water bottle/tumbler

fresh and clean candles + home fragrances

matcha and jade citrus tea

humidifier

neti pot

clothes and accessories

pink athleisure. the lululemon strawberry milkshake jacket is a must! (or a dupe if you’re on budget)

foldover yoga pants

bedazzled pieces

pastel colored pieces

cute mini bags

victoria’s secret totes

tennis skirts

sheer + lacey tops

florals for spring? groundbreaking.

glitter + sequins

satin dresses

lace up sandals

hunter boots

coach baguettes

victoria’s secret co-ords, leggings and sweaters

ballet flats

ugg slippers + fluff sandals

cute gym shoes with pink/sparkly details

lace up pieces

baby blue is a staple color for spring

ruffle trims

warm materials + revealing cuts

“pastry princess” looks inspired by sweets and dessertz

cropped baby tees

stripper heelz

diamond jewelry

body jewelry + belly chainz

sparkly hair clips and headbands

butterfly aesthetics

ribbons and bows

ostrich feathers

sparkly keychains and wristlets

bodysuits + heels combo

statement jewelry like hello kitty, fruit or desserts

beauty

pretty eye pigments (try mac, huda or iconic london)

vibrant pinks

warm bronzer

glitter gloss

translucent glosses in pink and orange

charlotte tilbury flawless filter

nars super orgasm blush

morphe 8r complexion palette

morphe nikita palette

natasha denona diamond & glow (favvv)

a bunch of clear glosses

fenty diamond bomb

fenty fussy gloss bomb

urban decay moondust shadows

cake beauty products

joseon spf 50

bright and/or floral fragrances (gucci flora gorgeous gardenia, jimmy choo illicit flower, carolina herrera good girl blush, juliette has a gun collection, yves saint laurent mon paris intensement, marc jacobs daisy fragrances)

victoria’s secret love spell + warm and cozy + la crème fragrances

sol de janeiro body mists

body shimmer (fenty beauty or bath and body works)

sweet body butters

sol de janeiro beija flor

exfoliating gloves

juicy sheet masks

cetaphil moisturizing cream

native candy shop collection

victoria’s secret tease + eau so sexy

5 blade razors and post shave oil

cute mirrors to keep in my purses

glitter nails

lavenders and pinks

protein treatments for moisture overload

#diva seasonz!#the prissy girl agenda #dream girl beauty #dream girl journey #my posts

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

Text

Dirty Work 13

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Ew, Monday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The taxi lets you out just outside the darkened estate. Your heart lurches as you stand on the curb, the car slowly rolling away as you stand in a cone of light beneath a street pole. You stare up at the ominous facade with its cavernous windows.

You want to believe it was just a faulty wire or some anomaly but you have to be sure of it. The gate is locked, just as you were certain you left it. You key in the code and shut yourself in. The hedges and looming trees lendthe property an unearthly feel as you creep along, aided only by slivers of moonlight.

You stop and look down at the phone clutched in your hand. You search for the flashlight app and shine it ahead of you. By habit, you go around the back, even as the chirp of crickets and hum of the night adds to your foreboding.

The beep of each digit pressed into the keypad pierces the night. The electronic chime is unceremonious is the nocturnal din. Inside, there is a haze of light from just down the hallway. Did you leave it on or did someone else?

You turn off the light on the phone and drag up the call app instead. Just in case you need to call for help. You proceed without flipping any switches, careful not to make a noise as you advance. You reach the entryway and turn to face the glow emitting from the broad archway.

You hold your breath as dread bubbles up to your throat. You stop short as the clink of a glass cracks the silence. Mr. Laufeyson’s back is to you as he sets down the short tumbler, a stray droplet clinging to the brim. He rescinds his arm and wipes his mouth with his cuff.

You could sigh. It’s okay. He’s only come home early. It’s not some sinister intruder or covetous criminal. It is only him.

You could go and he’d never know of your foolish panic. You lean back on your heel as you tuck away your phone. He strides to the tall glass cabinet and presses the door so it releases. He pushes it open and drags out one of the dark bottles. You sidle backwards, stretching an arm out to feel around you.

“What are you doing here?” He sneers and stops you in your tracks.

You gulp and blink. Speechless. Caught.

“Yes, you,” he turns and uncaps the round-shouldered bottle.

“Mr. Laufeyson, I…” you sputter and step out of the shadows, “the alarm.”

He fills the glass and clunks the bottle down heavily, resting the cap on top but not sealing it. He swipes up the tumbler and brings it before his mouth. His green eyes sparkle like emeralds in the low light of a single lamp.

“And you came oh so quickly,” he scoffs.

You rub your lips together, uncertain what to say. He seems unhappy. His early return is likely for unpleasant reasons.

He swigs and strides, his free hand patting his thigh in agitation as he paces. He spins and retraces his steps, mouthing to himself. You peer down the hall and back at him. You feel you’ve walked in on a very private moment.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I’ll go,” you say.

“Hm, you do not want to stay?” He challenges as he halts and faces you, his sole scuffing sharply, “I’m certain this place is preferable to whatever sty you reside in.”

“I only came to make sure all is well–”

“And why wouldn’t it be?” He pauses to toss back the last of his drink, liquor by the looks of it. “Were you neglectful in your duties, mm? Shall I take inventory?”

“Mr. Laufeyson, I was only… nevermind,” you shrug.

“Bah,” he waves you off and twists on his feet, once more strutting away. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he goes to stand by the mantel, tilting his head as he gazes along the ornaments. Just where the camera hides. “While you’re here, pour me another drink.”

You chew your lip and wring your hands as you come forward. You break the threshold of the den and near the round table beside the armchair. You peek at him as he toys with the globe, flicking it around with one finger.

“Do take your time,” he hisses.

You grab the bottle and lift the cap. You tip it carefully but still hit it against the top of the glass. The liquid glugs out and the scent rises to tinge your nostrils. You set the bottle down and take the glass, wondering how anyone can stomach it.

You go to him as he leans a hand on the mantel, his other on his hip as he huffs. He shakes his head at some irksome thought. You stand nearby but don’t dare disturb him. He frightens you as he turns and snatches the glass.

“You know,” he begins, stopping himself to drain half the glass, “the last thing I need to worry about is this place. I hired you for just that and I find you looking at me as if this house should be aflame.”

You look down and take a step back. He clucks and pivots, stomping around the sofa. You stay as you are, rigid and uneasy. The anger roils off of him and you are the only one there to hear it.

“My father… of course, couldn’t be happy for my visit. No, never is. I swear he must’ve despised my very birth,” he snarls, “but my brother, oh, he can do no wrong.”

He empties the last of the glass as you peer over your shoulder. He grips the glass tight and bares his teeth at it. His eyes are drawn to yours as if he can sense them.

“You’re still here,” he growls.

“Mr. Laufeyson, sorry, I–” you hurry around the other side of the sofa towards the door, “I was only–”

“No, no,” he stops you as he waves his palm, “another.”

He presents the glass in his other hand. You stare at it. There’s a cloudy tint in his eyes. As you approach, you hear him exhale. You take the glass and his fingers brush yours clumsily as he drops his arm.

You look at the empty tumbler and back to him. You don’t know how much he’s had or how much more he should. You don’t drink but you suppose he wouldn’t need more than a few glasses.

“Are you sure you should–”

“Are you questioning me?” He snips.

“No, Mr. Laufeyson, I only… it’s late and you’ve been traveling–”

“Don’t tell me what’s good for me,” he raises a finger to point in your face, “left alone for one day and you presume a bit much.”

“Mr. Laufeyson, not at all,” you swallow, “I will get you more–”

“No,” he grabs you before you can retreat, his hands on your shoulders, “why…”

His word dangles between you as his question remains unasked. Terror courses through you as he grips your shoulders tight, the size and strength of his hands locking you in place. You bat your lashes as you stare up at him. The liquor clings to his breath as it fans over you.

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you squeak.

He holds on to you, almost trembling. He steps closer as he draws you in. He is almost hypnotised as he glares down at you. His hands slip away only to grasp the bulk of your hood instead, bunching it in his fists. He leans, teetering on his feet, looming over you.

You are trapped in your own shock. You cannot pull away, you can’t push him off, you can’t move. You’re horrified as you wonder what he’s thinking. As you fear what he might do next.

He is drunk, that isn’t a question, but is he dangerous?

“The light plays tricks on me,” he whispers before he lets you go, swaying as he turns and finds his way to the sofa. He flops down, leaning against the backrest. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back. “You are correct, I am drunk.” He takes a breath and blows out with a groan, his lashes flicking open suddenly as he sits up, “go.”

You nod and put the glass beside the bottle. You march back to the archway and stop, glancing back at Mr. Laufeyson as he drops his head and cradles it in his hands. He looks almost pathetic as he slouches forward.

“I said leave me,” he snaps without looking up, “now!”

🧹

The night is short and fruitless. Your sleep is splintered with anxiety and the morning sees you twitchy and uneasy. As you get ready to leave, you wonder if you should even bother. That rotten feeling in your gut assures you you’ll meet no different than the previous night.

Yet, Mr. Laufeyson hadn’t fired you. He only told you to leave and you can’t afford to give up, though for the first time, you're considering it. As Leslie gets your father’s coffee ready, you’re reminded that you can’t. No, he needs you, he is only too stubborn to admit it.

You set off as the knot in your stomach draws tighter. You don’t sit on the bus, instead standing as your nerves get the better of you. You rock, leaning into the motion of the bus and your stop comes too soon. You drag yourself off and shudder as you look down towards your fate.

You’re on time. Five minutes ahead of expected. The gate code works, that’s a good sign. Your usual trawl through the gardens is hazy and dull. You don’t notice the blue jay winging or the lady bugs crawling on the brick. You can only focus on what comes next. You’re completely blinded by the unknown.

Inside, the house is as empty as the day before. Not truly. You know Mr. Laufeyson will show himself eventually. You hang your bag and put on shoe covers and gloves. It’s Monday, a cleaning day.

You begin if only for the distraction. Down the hall, into the kitchen, room to room, until you reach the den. There is no sign of the previous night’s run-in. The bottle is neatly back in the cabinet with the rest, the short glass is gone, and all appears as it should be. So why does it feel so off?

You work through the room almost ritualistically. You have a pattern and you stick to it. The familiar has always been safest.

As you near the table, something sparkles on the dark hardwood. You bend to pick up the small shard of glass, careful not to let it cut into your fingertips. You glance around to see if it broke off anything close by. No cracks, no chips. It’s clear and tiny. Almost indiscernible.

You cup it in your hand and take it to the kitchen to put in the bin. Something so small can cause a lot of pain. You shake off your palm and let the lid close.

“Ah, I see you are working hard,” Mr. Laufeyson’s voice rolls through you.

You tense and turn slowly from the bin. You keep your head down as you cross the kitchen, “yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

As you try to pass the counter, where he stands, he steps out to block your path. You stop and back up, your gaze stuck to the tiles before his leather shoes. He stands close enough for his warmth to cloud around you.

“Coffee,” he states the single word and in an undeniable demand.

He’s never asked for that before but you can figure it out. It must be a test. Or a lesson. He’s reminding you of your place. You can’t just barge in after hours, even if you are trying to help. Well, that’s the thing, he only wants the help he asks for so you better stop thinking so much.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

You turn and go to the cupboard. You don’t know where anything is. You clean but you don’t cook or go through anything. You open one door; wrong. The second; wrong. On the fifth, you find a bag of coffee.

As you unfold the top, you reveal aromatic beans. You stare at them. You make coffee for your father all the time but you buy grounds, not whole beans. You look around for a hint. You’ve seen people grind beans on television but they don’t exactly show the grinder; it’s always just a loud noise in the background before the balding blonde brings the metropolitan cast their wide brimmed cappuccinos.

You flinch as Mr. Laufeyson struts around the bend of the counter and slides a square device across the granite. He pushes it in front of you, crowding you again. You thank him and stare at the grinder. What do you do now?

You take the little scoop from inside the bag and spoon up a heap of beans. You hover them above the rest as you touch the grinder, turning it as you examine it. He sighs and taps a silver button. The lid pops up and reveals a compartment. You pour in the beans and close the top.

“Are you truly so ignorant?” He accuses.

“Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson,” you utter, not bothering with an excuse.

“It is a simple task. They train teenagers to do it,” he scoffs.

You nod and press the button that reads ‘grind’. You hold it, happy for the noisy reprieve from his criticism. When it’s done, you look around again. There’s a machine but it looks a lot different than the drip machine in your own kitchen. You go over to it and feel along the upper part, searching for a catch. Surely there’s somewhere to put a filter.

He nears again. He slides a drawer out and takes out a little metal canister. He pushes a button to open the top of the machine and wiggles it over it to say, it goes here. You open your hand and he lets you have it. You return to the grinder and scoop out the ground beans into the little canister.

You return to the machine as he taps his fingers on the counter. You slip the canister into place and close the lid. The screen lights up and shows several options. You don’t know which one to choose. He huffs and selects ‘bold’. You stare at his tie in shame.

“How can you not know how to brew a coffee?” He sneers.

You shrug, “sorry, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Mm, there is much you don’t know, isn’t there? Much I know which you wouldn’t,” he snickers, “oh but I know something about you. Something… interesting.”

You furrow your brow and look up, not far, just at his throat. His hand slips across the counter and he looms over you. His gaze bores into you as he hangs over you like a shadow. He pulls back and turns to lean on the counter, lifting his wrist to adjust his watch. He’s certain to turn his hand to show it off.

“What I know is that you’re a liar,” he states, “and sneaky. And nosy.”

“Mr. Laufeyson, I only came last night because the alarm–”

“Last night? What do you mean?”

“Uh…” you blink and look him in the face. “You don’t remember?”

“Ha,” he snorts, “of course I do. You were concerned after I triggered the alarm. So be it. I am not talking about that,” he faces you as he smirks, “you like to hide, don’t you?”

You frown and shrug. You don’t know what he means. He laughs and once more touches his watch.

“I know exactly how you came upon my watch that day,” he announces, “and I suspect you discovered a few other curious sights.”

You blanch and shake your head vehemently. Your cheeks are on fire and your whole body is buzzing. You could disintegrate right then and there. You almost wish you could.

“I didn’t– I didn’t see anything at all. I just– I just– Mr. Laufeyson, I wouldn’t ever– you’re my boss. I was afraid but I couldn’t see out from under the bed.”

“But if you could…” he hums.

“No,” you insist, “no, I wouldn’t want to.”

“Wouldn’t want to?” He echoes dully.

“I understand, I was wrong to not say anything but I was only trying to clean–”

“Wouldn’t want to?” He repeats even louder.

You snap your mouth shut and frown. You don’t know what to say. You’re embarrassed. You should’ve just told him yourself. Before you can apologise, he throws his hand up and sidesteps you.

“You may bring me my coffee,” he orders harshly, “be certain to knock.”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #dirty work #au #maid au #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor

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saintmuses · 3 months

Text

❝𝙣𝙤 𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣, 𝙄’𝙡𝙡 𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙬𝙡 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙚𝙧❞

Pairing:

William Killick x Dylan’s Sister!Reader

Summary:

William had to cross the countryside of Wales to England to save Y/N Thomas from Dylan’s drunken rage, not knowing he would place her in another dangerous territory until it was too late.

Warning(s): SMUT. P in V. Slight age gap (5 years between Reader and William). Possessive!William, and he is dark as well. Mentions of trauma bond, implied abuse (from Dylan). Deaths of Dylan and Vera. Minors, dni! Note: don’t mind my mistakes on trauma bond and separation anxiety :(. Trauma bonding was discovered in 1980s, and I’m only using the part of emotional addiction, dependency and trust in trauma bonding due to how William ensures being her safety net. Therefore, pretend the knowledge of trauma bonding and secondhand trauma exists in 1940s, and I would be implying modern therapy in this fic in order for this to work due to how horrible therapy was in 1940s especially with women. As much as I adore sweet William, I absolutely love dark version of him as well.

Word Count: 2.5k

1947

The fire was blazing in its warmth, as if there was nothing smothering it, casting a soft orange glow around the room, leaving the corners dark and untouched at the cottage.

He was sitting down on gaudy furniture, holding a tumbler of amber liquid, observing the movement of light.

He was aware of her standing by the doorway, he knew she was feeling out of place at the moment as he felt the weight of her gaze as it landed on him.

He couldn't stand the scrutiny he could feel radiating off her.

In response to the tension, his fingers tightened around the glass, only to release his grip slightly when he heard a subtle echo in her footsteps.

"We need to talk, William." She whispered.

The words carried to his ears, sounding afraid the words that held so much weight would pierce the world that surrounded them.

It could.

That night when he had returned to the very town in England that caused him nothing but bitterness of the memories that were lost a long ago, swearing to the bottom of his heart that he was going to protect Y/N from her brother to ensure she would live.

Vera had told him that Y/N sent a letter to her, pleading for her help to save her from the alcoholic rage her brother would have ever since losing Vera.

He had only met her briefly during Dylan Thomas’ birthday celebration at the pub where they frequented before he left for the war. She was pretty, but timid that he barely paid any attention to her presence.

He left his warm kitchen that night, leaving the imprint of the memory at the kitchen table and the chair, not knowing it would change everything he thought he had known.

The world was fleeting. Regimes rise and fall, he tended not to be fazed by it especially after the war. Tyrants still exist to this day, ruling with an iron fist along with kings and queens representing a lie as figureheads to politics and scheming. Another way to say the world had gone to shit, but God, she was beautiful.

He had saved her just in time, reaching for her floating head in the clawed bathtub. Her hair was floating covering his hands as he pulled her out of the tub, her face revealed black and violet prints.

Ethereal beauty, as if she was a siren beckoning him despite the flaws of the abuse her brother had put her through.

He then took her away after giving her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, turning her body over as her body rejected the liquid. Away from the life she had lived, away from the ones that caused her nightmares.

Leaving everything behind with little regards.

He also left Dylan on the floor, drunken with drool leaking out from the side of his mouth before leaving the house on fire along with a hole in his head where it should’ve been the first time, he had attempted to shoot him. Fortunately, Caitlin and her children were out of town when it happened.

It was a secret he was going to carry to his grave if there was ever one for him.

His little need to protect his love from the horrors of the world had consumed him especially after what she had gone through. It was a parasite borne out of the need after witnessing her experiencing the near brush with death that night several moons ago.

What he had failed to calculate in his need to protect her, is how he was not able to protect her from the one person who served the biggest threat to her life.

Him.

The one person he had thought would've been her brother.

Oh, but he was mistaken.

He was wrong.

It was him all along.

Now there was an obsession that was highly volatile. A need to own her every move, every sweet gaze that he only wanted to her sweet eyes straight at him. He wanted to own it, every beautiful piece of her and leave nothing else for the rest of the world to have.

Of course, he had tried to control himself as best as he could; However, he could not outrun his impatience despite telling himself that he could.

There are some things he could carry patience for and there are things he could not.

He protected her from the world, but he couldn't protect her from him.

He was done trying to control the monster crawling out of his soul to consume her.

She could have his heart if she had the stomach to take it, even when he had already given it to her that night.

She trusted him, he knew that. However, her trust she blindly bestowed on him would severely damage if she had found out the truth he held from her.

The reasoning why Vera was gone in the middle of the night as well.

Y/N, for all of the generous parts of her, needed to help him to take care of his child Rowatt.

It had been six months since he had committed an act of murder against Vera who was buried far away that no one would think to find her body and kept it like a secret in the form of an oath.

It wasn't until one night the dynamic between them had changed when she came to him in the middle of the night, and confessed she was having a nightmare.

It wasn't until she quietly begged him to stay in the same bed as her. Begging him implicitly to taunt his monster that resided in his soul.

Being susceptible to sweet charm of hers, he gave in.

After it was all said and done, he knew it by then. Even prior to her going in town to meet up with a psychiatrist, he held it from her.

He had kept his distance, at least a foot between them, so stiff the tension taunted him of how close she was and yet so far at the same time.

Somehow, she grabbed his hand, tugging his arm with all of her strength which ended up with him rolling over and laid his arm across her waist from behind, keeping a respectful touch to it.

All she had said was the word please.

Needless to say, his control over the beast that resided in him snapped.

He pulled back enough to guide the tip of his cock to her entrance before sliding right in. He nearly growled as her wet, molten walls stretched open to envelope his cock, struggling against his girth, but accepting the intrusion eventually.

Her hand shot back to grab onto his thigh, trying to keep him from going too deep, but he had no intentions of holding back now that he was inside her.

He enclosed her wrist with his fingers, guiding her hand towards her chest before wrapping his arms around her and held her tightly.

"Love," he purred his pet name for her into her ear as his hips met hers. "This is mine," he murmured as his breath kissed her ear.

He could hear her gasping and felt her shuddering in his arms, his eyes falling shut as he withdrew slightly before thrusting again, incredibly slow but as deep as he could from this position.

He'd imagined this in his mind and in his dreams whenever he slept, for so long and now that he had her...he couldn't ever let her go. Finally caught in his golden cage, a wild bird that would still sing.

Every inch of her was like heaven, every moan was somehow more beautiful than the last, and all his.

A wild bird that sung beautifully.

"You're doing so well for me, love." He patronized her, growling slightly when he pressed deep into her pussy. His fingers tightened on her hips, dragging her into him as much as he could so the tip of his cock hit the deepest parts of her.

He nearly shuddered when Y/N whined, a long-broken noise, and he leaned towards her neck in response, pressing his lips to her damp skin while trying his best to make her sing again. “You don’t want to wake up Rowatt.” He panted, thrusting faster, and slamming his hips against hers more forcefully.

His keen sense of hearing picked up on her whimper that managed to escape from her lungs, and he groaned through his teeth.

He leaned back slightly before reaching down with his hand to spread her buttocks apart so he could see his cock stretching her out, pushing into her pliant body. The sight of it made his head fall back for a moment, inhaling sharply before he pulled her close again and started thrusting with a brutal force. He reached around and brought two fingers to her clit, rubbing it fiercely as he kept thrusting.

"William," she gasped, arching her back in response.

He hummed a little in approval. "Y/N, you're so beautiful looking like this," he praised, jerking his hips harshly. She cried out and shuddered, pushing herself on his cock, meeting his thrusts. Amused by her desperation, his thrusts slowed down.

She whined and kept going, her buttocks slapping against his hips loudly in a clear desperation. His fingers were still rubbing her bundle of nerves, he could feel her walls starting to clench down on him rhythmically and her body beginning to shake.

He leaned towards her neck, pressing his lips against her skin once more before his lips pulled back, revealing his blunt teeth, he then sank his teeth into the curve of her neck hard as he could to mark her. To ruin her.

The blood dripped into his mouth. It was at the point where he realized his teeth successfully made its mark into her skin that his eyes rolled back into his head.

The absolute second he heard her cry out in alarm, twinged with pleasure as she reached the peak, he grabbed her and rolled both of them over until she was on her stomach, and he was brutally fucking her into the mattress as he still refused to detach from her neck.

He could still feel her pulsing around his length, gripping him tight and pulling him deeper. He withdrew his teeth from her neck, grunting against the mess of her skin.

"Y/N, you feel so exquisite," he purred, pinning her down by the back of her shoulders as he sped up even more. He laughed lightly when he felt her walls weakly fluttering, his balls hitting her swollen clit with each thrust. "You are a needy little thing, wanting more even when I'm tearing you apart," he taunted as he gave a brutal thrust.

She whined in response. "William," she gasped his name, sobbing hoarsely. "Please don't stop..." she moaned weakly as she begged.

"Oh, I won't stop," he assured her. "You'll never have to beg me for it. I will always give you; you have my word on that, Y/N." He murmured darkly, leaning towards her ear. "You take it so good, love. You were made for me."

He could hear her swallowing, "I want us to be real." She confessed softly, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. The furniture is relatively average, so there was a little room between him and her.

He refused to look at her ever since the truth of their connection had been revealed.

Secondhand Trauma Bonding. Her psychiatrist had called it. He was angry when Y/N came to him about it.

"This type of bond occurred due to emotions you’ve had for me after the night I found you in the bathtub and I didn’t stop you from depending on me. So, whatever we are...we are very much real." He stated in a flat tone, placing the tumbler down onto the coffee table in front of him. "Isn't that enough for us?"

There was a pause. He could hear her heart pounding as she contemplated the words to say to him. "William, I want this to be real, not some...influence from the trauma bond I imposed on you."

"What do you want me to do?" He snapped, asking her with an angry tone as he glared into the fireplace. "The bond is borne from the emotions you’ve experienced from your brother. You couldn’t help but to find a safety net which is me. So if you think it is wrong…" he muttered, trailing off. "I don't know what to do, Y/N. So, tell me, if you do know."

Lie.

He knew how to stop the bond induced by the emotional ordeal from trauma which she had depended on him for, but he simply just did not want to.

"I do." She exhaled softly, wringing her fingers. William had to tramp down the urge to reach across and take her hands into his.

He had a feeling he would not like her next words. "I talked to Caitlin earlier," she hesitated, giving him a brief glance. "She told me that there is a place for me at her home so we could lessen the dependency on the bond we have. That way I can work on myself then…" The rest of the sentence faded out as the noises coming out of her voice droned out as his gaze on the fire grew with an intense focus.

Damn it all to hell. Of course, even when Dylan was already long in ashes, Caitlin Thomas would be the one to start trouble.

He nearly growled, abruptly slamming down the reaction before it could escape from his chest.

He should let her go.

He was a gentleman, he told himself, scoffing internally knowing the truth.

He had to do the right thing and let her go. That way she could get better like she wanted to, that she deserved, then she could come back to him.

He understood where she was coming from. The bond they both shared influenced their separation anxiety that they were rarely apart from each other until one day it all came crashing down. However, his fear of the unknown is gripping him.

He knew of his emotional attachment to her.

He was not afraid of the fact that his feelings might’ve not be real because it was. It occurred right before she even began to depend on him for the bond that existed between them. He was afraid of her feelings for him.

What if it disappeared after the time and distance apart as she worked on herself?

The thought of it washed over him with a ferocious force of anger that it nearly knocked the breath out of him.

The orange glow wavered slightly in the air as if it could feel his anger brimming on the edge through his veins.

He could feel the tendrils of possessiveness wrapping around her, tightening their reins on her fire that was brimming but not roaring enough to break away from the shackles that was him.

She wasn't going anywhere.

Never.

"It's not going to happen, love."

#william killick x y/n #william killick x you #william killick x reader #william killick #the edge of love #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy

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jjungkookislife · 8 months

Text

Slumber Party!

pairing: rommate!jungkook x bi! f. reader x bi!original character

genre: roommate au, fwb, friends to lovers, angst, smut [18+]

summary: Friday nights are for slumber parties with your best friend, Kari. A night of drinking, watching movies from your younger years, and kissing that usually leads to more. Jungkook is aware of your routine, leaving for a night out with his friends that he cuts short. However, he's in luck when Kari catches his eye and invites him to join the two of you.

wc: 7k

warnings: fwb (reader and oc), oc and reader have crushes/feelings for each other, alcohol mention/use, slight voyeurism, mention of m. and f. masturbation, marking (hickeys, scratching, biting), some self-deprecation(?), spanking, hair pulling, fingering (f. receiving), oral sex (f. giving and receiving), ffm threesome, protected sex, multiple orgasms, choking, tit fucking, cum facial, snowballing

date: September 1, 2023

The moment Jungkook informed you he’d be out for the night, you knew it was the perfect opportunity to invite your best friend Kari over. Kari was a goddess in your eyes; absolutely gorgeous. She was shorter than you, with long hair down her back that was half black and half blue right down the middle. Her beautiful, sun-kissed skin had tattoos scattered on her thighs, chest, and arms. The day she stopped wearing bras and pierced her nipples was glorious; she was a beauty, and it made your legs go weak. Not only that, but she was an amazing friend and kisser.

The thought of your best friend made you giddy. Not only would you be able to have a sleepover like usual, but with Jungkook gone for the night, you’d be able to hook up and be as loud as you wanted. You weren’t going to lie. Having Jungkook’s room on the other side of your wall proved to be an inconvenience when Kari was over and you were in a mood.

“Call me if you need anything or want me to come home,” Jungkook states seriously. He clings to the front door, his head still in your apartment with the rest of his body out on the porch. You’re trying to shut the door, but his big ole head won’t move.

“Jungkook, I appreciate the concern. I do. But all we’re doing is watching Twilight and taking shots whenever Edward rejects Bella. You know, a typical Friday night?” you say and Kari nods from her spot on the couch. Jungkook looks at you and then at Kari, who smiles widely, waving hard enough for her boobs to bounce. Jungkook’s eyes widen, cheeks pink as he looks at you one last time. “Promise me you’ll call if you need me?”

You nod. “I promise, Jungkook. I’ll call if we need you.”

Jungkook licks his lips as he looks at you, nodding as he waves and finally leaves. You giggle as you shut the door, shaking your head.

“Got the drinks ready?” you ask as you walk into the kitchen to grab Kari’s favorite wine tumbler, a pretty glow-in-the-dark one that reads “Witches Brew”.

“Got it! Bring the wine coolers too!” Kari shouts in response. You pop open the fridge, grabbing two wine coolers before shutting it and heading to your bedroom. Kari is already lying on your King-sized bed by the headboard, her sleep shorts riding up on her thighs to display her tattoos. Thighs you hoped to be smothered with later on.

“Start it,” you tell her as you set your drinks on the nightstand before climbing under the covers with her. She waits for you to settle before she hits play and moves closer to you, easily draping her arm around your waist.

“He’s such an asshole, and for what? He ends up banging her anyway,” Kari scoffs as Edward tells Bella she needs to stay away from him again.

You laugh, earning a scowl from your friend. “He acts like he’s not gonna knock her up right away.”

“He’s misunderstood,” you say, knowing it’ll make her spiral into a rant about Edward and how he’s such an asshole. You love listening to her speak, so you listen attentively, nodding along and ignoring the movie playing in the background. The two of you haven’t even touched your drinks, both left forgotten on the nightstand.

“And don’t even get me started on Jacob!” she exclaims, her face flushed as she crosses her arms over her chest. She looks so cute, you can’t help but lean in and kiss her cheek. She flushes, turning into a stuttering mess.

“Keep talking, baby,” you encourage her, placing a kiss on her shoulder beside the strap of her tank top, her pierced nipples noticeable through the thin material.

“It’s just so dumb,” she complains as you cover her in kisses.

“Mhmm, dumb,” you echo as you tug the strap off her shoulder.

“Are you even listening to me?” Kari giggles as you look up at her with glittering eyes.

“Yeah, listening,” you smile goofily. She rolls her eyes. Her lips press against yours, so soft and sweet, it makes your heart somersault in your chest.

Friends, you cruelly remind yourself as she climbs over you. Your hands cradle her face, tongue pushing past the seam of her lips to meet hers.

The way she moans your name has your body thrumming as you kiss her once again, hands sliding down to her hips. Her arms wrap around your neck, marking your skin gently.

“Pretty,” she murmurs against your neck, moving to sit up as her hands lace with yours. Her soft gaze has you melting beneath her.

Kari had always been straightforward, and confident in each of her moves, and when all this had first begun, she was the one who had kissed you in the backseat of a rideshare. From the first taste of your lips, she had realized she wanted to be more, even if it just meant friends with benefits. Kisses shared between friends meant nothing, right? Right?

“Kari,” her name escapes you easily, hands cupping her breasts as she rolls her hips against yours.

She hums in acknowledgment, her lips trailing kisses between your breasts. Her hands easily remove your top, unsurprised to find you without a bra. Her manicured hands grab a handful of your tits, thumbs flicking your pert nipples, giggling when you moan her name in a heady tone. She wants you tonight, no doubt about it. She wants to be the reason you’re trembling, out of breath, and sobbing because you’re overwhelmed with pleasure. She wants you in any way she can have you and for now; it seems like friends with benefits is what works for both of you.

With gentle hands, you remove Kari’s top, kissing every new inch of skin that’s exposed. With a few giggles and bashful touches, your lips meet hers when you’re both topless.

She’s gentle with you. Her hand cupped your face as her tongue met yours, moaning softly against your lips. Your hands grip her hips, canting against her. You’re both dripping wet, eager to get a taste of each other…

Jungkook had half a beer before he decided he wasn’t in the mood to be out and get hit on nonstop when he was just trying to enjoy his night out with his friends. So with a sheepish smile, he wished his friends goodnight, reminding them to text him when they arrived home safely.

If he was honest, he couldn’t get you out of his head. Jungkook wasn’t stupid, he knew what your sleepovers with Kari consisted and he knew he’d be ruining your night hooking up with her, but he just couldn’t stay out and pretend he was having a good time when you weren’t at his side. Instead, he goes home earlier than expected, hoping you can forgive him for coming home so soon.

His thoughts overwhelm him, lost in his own world, as he walks through the front door. He’s on a whole other plane as he kicks his shoes off, tugging his shirt over his head before tossing it onto the couch. He unbuttons his pants, intent on heading to his bedroom until he hears a moan.

His eyes widen, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him. He pauses outside your door, guilt bubbling in his abdomen, knowing better than to spy on you, but when you moan, his brain short circuits and he’s pressing himself against the wall beside your bedroom door.

Kari looks at your bedroom door, wondering if her eyes are playing tricks on her or if she’s seen your roommate. She says nothing, eyes focused on the crack of the door, noting movement when Jungkook tries to sneak past toward his room.

Kari smirks. “Would you fuck Jungkook?”

“Obviously,” you respond, kissing down her neck. Not thinking clearly enough to wonder why, as she moans when you bite down.

“How about a threesome with him?” Kari asks, meeting Jungkook’s eyes, a sly smile on her lips as a moan of your name escapes her when you take her pert bud into your mouth.

Her fingers weave in your hair, losing her train of thought as your warm, wet mouth suckles her breast, tonguing her piercing. Her eyes roll to the back of her head, back arching off your bed as she moans your name.

Jungkook feels like a pervert watching from the door, cock throbbing in his tight pants. A groan escapes him, his large palm muffling it before you can hear him. He curses himself mentally, palming his cock with his free hand.

He was fucked.

So fucked.

Kari has an evil gleam in her eyes, finally making eye contact with Jungkook. He swallows thickly, unable to form words. He’s helpless. Frozen in his spot, obligated to hear your answer.

“I’d let him rail me from one end to the other. Are you kidding? Have you seen him? I bet his cock is big, fuck.”

“So if he came home right now, would you let him join us?” Kari asks, smiling devilishly.

Jungkook glares, but she ignores him, licking her lips instead.

“Obviously. He’s hot as fuck. You haven’t seen him walking around in just his boxers, Kari. He’s a wet dream come true. Exquisite,” You bring your fingers to your lips, blowing a kiss into the air.

“You can join us, Jungkook,” Kari calls in a sing-song tone that has you whipping your head toward your bedroom door where a sheepish Jungkook stands, hand gripping his cock over his jeans.

“I should have known,” you chuckle when your eyes meet his. His sheepish smile has you melting as you beckon him into your bedroom.

Jungkook trips over his feet as he stumbles into your bedroom, doe eyes wide as he stutters out an apology. “I wasn’t spying! I came home early, a-and the door was open.”

“Don’t care, come here,” you instruct, and he gulps before nodding and making his way to you. You get off the bed to stand in front of him, licking your lips as you take in his perfect figure. You find it hard to keep your hands to yourself but lock eyes with Jungkook. “Can I?”

“Yes,” he breathes as you run your hands over his shoulders, sliding them down his torso. Jungkook watches you closely, licking his lips when your hands grip the waistband of his unbuttoned pants.

Kari giggles on the bed as Jungkook blushes. “I was on my way to bed.”

“To listen and jerk off?” Kari asks as she crosses her arms over her chest and Jungkook looks away, cheeks blooming pink. He quickly realizes you’re topless as well and looks up at the ceiling.

“Jungkook,” you say his name gently, your hand on his cheek to make him look at you. “Do you want to join us?”

“Yes,” he answers honestly, nodding.

“Then don’t look away from us,” you tell him firmly as you place his hand on your breast. “We want you to enjoy yourself.”

Kari nods in agreement, going to stand beside you. Jungkook swallows thickly, the urge to pinch himself to make sure he’s not dreaming, becomes too strong.

Kari and you share a look, covering your mouths when you giggle. Kari is the one who speaks up, smiling brightly. “You’re not dreaming, Kook.”

You nod. “We’re surprised it took you this long to join us.”

Jungkook can feel his ears burning, a shy smile on his lips as he looks at the two of you. Had you genuinely been waiting for him to join?

“I didn’t want to impose,” Jungkook answers as you tug on his waistband, smiling at him before kissing him. Jungkook is quick to kiss you back, his hands gripping your hair to hold you to him while Kari sinks to her knees.

Jungkook moans against you, his tongue pushing past the seam of your lips when you push yourself closer to him. He groans when Kari’s hand palms him over the denim of his jeans.

“Fuck,” Jungkook curses, biting his bottom lip as he looks down at Kari, whose big brown eyes meet Jungkook’s hooded ones. You’re both so gorgeous, Jungkook doesn’t know what to do with himself. Sure, he’d dreamed of this moment time and time again, usually with his hand wrapped around his cock, biting his lip to keep from moaning your name, but now that it was happening, he was almost stunned.

“Koo,” you whine softly, a soft kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth. He turns to look at you, but you’ve occupied yourself with trailing kisses from his jaw to his neck, finally kissing the irresistible little mole that drives you insane. You run your tongue over it, sucking his skin and making him groan while Kari is palming him harder, adding more pressure until Jungkook is tangling his fingers in her hair, gripping the teal harshly.

Kari pouts, eyes meeting Jungkook’s before she’s tugging on your hand. You reluctantly part from Jungkook, dropping to your knees beside Kari with a wide grin.

Fuck. Jungkook’s mouth waters at the sight of you two down on your knees for him, eager to take his cock in your mouth. His head spins, tongue peeking from between his lips to swipe along his bottom lip.

Kari turns to you, capturing your lips in a kiss as your hands fumble to unzip Jungkook’s pants. Jungkook watches you intently with hooded eyes, lip caught between his teeth as the both of you pull his pants down his thighs until they bunch at his ankles. With a few hops and kicks, Jungkook gets his pants completely off, kicking them to the side on your bedroom floor.

“Ooh,” Kari gushes with excitement once she wraps her hand around Jungkook’s hard length.

“Fuck,” you curse, finally moving your hand to place on his cock. You’ve dreamed of this moment, unable to keep your thoughts innocent when it comes to your hot roommate. There were plenty of nights you’d go to bed with your hand in your panties and his name on your lips. You ignore the skip of your heartbeat, knowing getting your feelings involved leads to nothing but heartbreak. You weren’t sure you could handle Jungkook’s rejection as well as Kari’s.

Kari releases Jungkook, her lips pressing kisses to his hips as her fingers toy with the waistband of his CK boxer briefs. You stroke him over his boxers, feeling the pre-cum that soaks the cotton. Jungkook is overwhelmed with pleasure, eyes shut tight as he throws his head back; pretty marks left on his skin bloom with color.

Pride swells in your chest, knowing you’re the one who’s left your mark on his pretty skin. Your heart skips a beat, cheeks flush with heat as you realize you’re finally going to be with your crush. Sure, you liked Kari a lot. She was gorgeous. But Jungkook also had your heart from the moment he moved in.

However, you were willing to put those feelings aside if it meant you’d get to have him like this once. Just to get a taste of him.

Who knows if he even liked you past the physical aspects? Maybe he just wanted a quick hookup after all those times he’s had to cum on his fingers after a night of listening in. You frown for a moment, shaking the thoughts out of your head. You weren’t going to let anything ruin this moment, not when his cock was hard and aching in your hand.

Kari finally pulls away from Jungkook, giggling at the tiniest little hickey she’s ever made. You smile, pecking her lips before looking up at Jungkook, his lust-filled eyes already on you.

“Get on the bed,” Kari demands as she stops touching Jungkook, moving your hands off his cock.

Eager, Jungkook does as he’s told as Kari takes a second to kiss you, her hands cradling your face gently as her tongue slips past your lips and your hands are gripping her hands. Jungkook watches on in awe. He knew the two of you were more than friends, but seeing the two of you kiss made it clear that there was more to your friendship than just hooking up.

“Kook,” you say when you climb onto the bed with Kari at your side. You sit back on your heels and let Jungkook get an eyeful of your tits and hers, cupping them in your hands and rolling your nipples between your fingertips before Kari is kissing you again, pushing you onto your back and grinding her hips on yours.

Jungkook’s lips are parted, hand on his cock as he strokes himself. He bites his lip to keep some control over his rampant moans, eyes fluttering shut as he raises his hips to fuck into his hand.

There was no way this was happening.

When Jungkook opens his eyes, he’s surprised to see Kari naked, her panties on your bedroom floor. She’s unphased, her face between your legs, gripping both of them as she kisses one thigh and then the other. You play with your nipples, eyes focused on Kari as she flattens her tongue, swiping against the thin, soaked material of your pink panties.

“Kari,” you moan softly, hand gripping her hair as she does it again and then a third time before she pushes your panties to the side to get a taste of your essence.

You’re dripping wet, pussy clenching around nothing as you moan Kari’s name again and again. “Kari, fuck.”

Jungkook wishes it was his name you were crying out.

Kari smacks her lips, tongue swiping along her bottom lip as she looks at Jungkook from over her shoulder. “Don’t just stare. Do something.”

Jungkook blinks once before moving closer. He meets your gaze, his hand reaching out to cup your face as he leans in close until his lips capture yours. Slowly, the two of you kiss, his lips muffling your moans as Kari takes your panties off.

Jungkook ends the kiss, licking his lips as he settles behind Kari. His hands run over the curve of her ass, gently smacking it. Kari giggles in response, “You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

Jungkook smirks, his palm coming down harder on her cheek. It reddens underneath his palm. A soft curse escapes Kari, her moans muffled when her tongue meets your clit, swirling around it after.

Nerves eat up Jungkook. He’s dreamed of this so often, but truth be told, this was the first time he was in bed with two people. He was at a loss.

Kari paused her actions, taking Jungkook’s hand in hers before bringing two of his tattooed fingers to her lips. With her eyes locked on his, she sticks her tongue out, licking both fingers before taking them in her mouth.

Slowly, Jungkook pushes them past her lips, in and out, until Kari is drooling around them. Once she deems them wet enough, she guides his hand to her wet cunt. Jungkook only hesitates for a moment, your moan drawing his attention as Kari is back between your legs, talented tongue making you moan her name.

Jungkook’s cock throbs in the confines of his boxers. Biting back a moan, he focuses on Kari. He slowly pushes into her wet pussy, curling his fingers. He moans, slowly fucking in and out of her while her face is buried between your legs, her moans muffled as Jungkook fingerfucks her.

You arch off the bed, hands gripping Kari’s hair tighter than necessary, thighs shaking as her tongue circles your clit just the way you like. Her fingers work your cunt, familiar with your body enough to know what gets you off. You're a mess on the sheets, only worse when your gaze meets Jungkook’s heated one.

“Fuck, Kook,” you moan, biting your lip as you refuse to break eye contact. He never stops fucking Kari with his fingers. Instead, he adds a third finger and his thumb to her clit, smirking when Kari’s thighs tremble.

Kari raises her head, smirking at you as her fingers gently pinch your clit. Your eyes lock on hers as she licks her lips slowly, going back between your thighs as your hand loosens slightly on her hair. You curse, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck,” Jungkook curses, breathing ragged as watches the two of you, making sure his actions don’t stop as Kari fucks back onto his fingers. She raises her head just enough to beg Jungkook to fuck her.

“Shit,” Jungkook nods. He ruefully leaves the two of you, climbing off the bed to grab his jeans and pull two condoms out. He sets one on the nightstand, noting your untouched drinks and setting the other packet beside the bottles.

“Kari,” Jungkook breathes as he strokes his cock, groaning when he palms himself. “Are you sure?”

Kari raises her head again. “Yes, please. Please, Kook. I need it.”

Jungkook nods, ignoring the way his heart thunders in his chest. With a tattooed hand, he holds the condom packet to his mouth, ripping it open with his teeth with practiced ease. He still takes a moment to make sure his teeth haven’t punctured the latex before he puts it on. His hands shake as he does so, but he’s excited and perhaps a little nervous.

Kari is still eating you out with reckless abandon. Your sweet moans fill the bedroom and go straight to his cock. Fuck, he can’t wait to bury himself inside you as well.

Jungkook grabs a handful of Kari’s ass, cursing when it jiggles as he smacks the other cheek. He’s not sure what he’s done to deserve two beautiful women, but he will cherish it for as long as he lives.

He’s gentle as he slips his fingers back into Kari, who arches into him, round ass nearly pressing against him as he teases her entrance. He uses her arousal to lubricate his cock further before he’s pressing the head of his dick to her cunt.

Kari curses, but it’s muffled by your thighs when you press them to her head, arching off the bed as you moan her name. Your hands grip your breasts, fingers teasing your nipples as your breath grows heavy. Your mind spins, falling over the edge as Kari grips your thighs tighter in her hands to keep you from squirming out of her reach.

Jungkook lines his cock up at Kari’s entrance, slowly pushing the head in.

“Fuck, Kari,” he breathes, head falling back, eyes sewn shut and his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“Fuck, it’s so big,” Kari breathes as Jungkook slides home. His hands dig into her hips as she takes a moment to catch her breath. Her eyes meet yours and she’s nearly panting. “You were right.”

Jungkook raises a brow in confusion before Kari continues.

“He has a fat cock, fuck,” Kari nearly slumps forward, face first into your cunt as you giggle and help hold her up. You get on your knees in front of her, kissing her. Jungkook strokes Kari’s back, his hands moving to grab handfuls of her ass, spanking her while your tongue slips past the seam of her lips, tasting yourself on her tongue.

“I fucking told you,” you goad as Jungkook chuckles. He cards a hand through his long hair, his lip rings catching the light. You clench around nothing as you watch his broad shoulders, his chest tapering to his tiny waist and finally, to where his body connects to your best friend, and fuck, it’s a miracle you don’t cum then.

Jungkook catches your gaze, smiling wolfishly as he grabs Kari by the hips, pulling nearly all the way out just to slam back into her. Kari’s head falls forward, his name rolling off her tongue in a needy whine. You bite back a moan, focused on Jungkook fucking Kari, each thrust making her moan and curse. You wish it was you but you know you’ll get your turn so you lay back and watch, your fingers teasing your clit as you watch Jungkook fuck Kari.

“Fuck, Kari. That’s it, baby. Take my fucking cock. Just like that,” Jungkook curses as Kari meets each of his thrusts. You moan, the sound of their coupling filling the room, twining with your wanton moans as you work yourself to an orgasm. Jungkook smirks when you fall apart, his name on your lips as you lock eyes with him. Crying out for him and then Kari as you fall into the pillows.

“Fuck,” Kari moans and makes you scoot closer to her. She takes your thighs in her hands and licks you clean, moaning while Jungkook fucks her, spanking her just to make her scream into you.

Jungkook slips his hand between her legs, rubbing her clit and moaning her name when she clenches around him. Her moans grow higher in pitch, her body still meeting each of his thrusts as her legs quiver and her breathing grows heavy until she’s hitting her peak and cumming around Jungkook, near tears when he thrusts into her again and again.

Jungkook pushes his hair out of his eyes, focused as Kari takes every thick inch of his cock, creaming around him until he’s moaning, cumming into the condom as soon as she falls apart one more time. You follow soon after, Kari’s tongue a treasure as you fall limp into the sheets once again with Kari joining you.

Jungkook chuckles, taking the condom off to discard it into the trashcan under your bedside table. He’s sweating, his perfect chest glistening and you lick your lips when you eye his abs. Fuck, you’d lick him clean up and down right now if you weren’t so spent.

Jungkook is still hard, his cheeks pink as he wonders what he should do. Should he go to his room or stay and wait to see what happens?

“Come here,” you instruct him, patting the spot beside you. Jungkook nods, swallowing thickly as he climbs onto the bed. You kiss him when he lays beside you, your hand cradling his cheek. Slowly, the two of you kiss, his hands gripping your hips as you straddle him.

“Get comfy, baby,” you whisper to him as you kiss your way down his jaw toward his neck and down his chest as your hands greedily explore every bit of his perfect torso. Fuck, you’d love to eat off his abs, take his cock down your throat until tears ran down your cheeks. There’s so much you want to do but you’re easily distracted when Kari and Jungkook kiss above you while you continue to head down south, kissing and marking each of his hips.

Jungkook moans your name, grinning when you tease him with the tip of your tongue just to wrap your hand around him. Your lips plant a wet kiss on the underside of his cock, your tongue following after as you lick him from base to tip.

“Can I sit on your face?” you hear Kari ask and Jungkook eagerly nods in agreement, helping Kari sit on his face while your lips wrap around him. He curses but it’s muffled, enjoying the heat of your mouth as you tease him, your hand rolling his balls in your palm until you're popping off him with one last lick to the head of his cock.

Straddling Jungkook, you stroke him with one hand while grabbing the condom off the nightstand. You rip the package open, tossing the wrapper off the side of the bed before putting the condom on Jungkook. He groans when you squeeze him after, nearly drooling at how hard he is.

Slowly, you sink onto him. You moan his name, cursing and closing your eyes as you bottom out. Jungkook grips Kari’s thighs tighter, his tongue only faltering slightly. Fuck, he feels so hot, like he’s going to combust any second.

Kari reaches behind her, grabbing handfuls of his thick hair to steady herself as her hips roll, her clit rubbing against his beautiful nose. Fuck, you can’t wait for your turn on his face. You wanna suffocate him, have him begging for air as he grips your thighs to keep you in place, his need for you outweighing his need for air.

Your hands fall flat on his chest, your hips rising and falling on his cock. You love the ache of the stretch, nearly gasping for air as you sink on him once again, your hair falling over your eyes until you raise your head. Kari leans forward, grinding down on Jungkook as you lean to meet her lips.

One of her hands releases Jungkook’s hair and the other grips yours as she fucks herself on Jungkook’s face, suffocating him for all she cares as you fuck yourself on his fat cock, whimpering into the kiss as you take more and more of him.

You feel so fucking full and tears form in the corner of your eyes as you bounce on him, your kiss with Kari growing sloppy; nothing but teeth and tongues and pleasure for the three of you.

You tighten around Jungkook.

Jungkook grabs Kari’s round ass, his other hand reaching for your clit. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t get the both of you to cum while fucking him. He’s so overwhelmed with pleasure, Kari’s essence heavy on his tongue and your warm, wet cunt begging to be fucked full of cum, someday.

For now, he settles for the warmth and wetness as you cry out for him, nails digging into his chest while Kari’s thighs tremble at his head. He slurps hungrily, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs. Fuck, he’d love to see the look on your faces as you cum, using him for your pleasure and nothing else.

Jungkook’s cock twitches and you groan, riding him harder, faster as you beg him to make the two of you cum.

Jungkook curses; focused on nothing but pleasuring each of you. Kari is the first to go, screaming as she grinds against him, cumming so hard, she grows dizzy for a moment. She doesn’t climb off him, just scoots forward to help make you cum and kisses you for a split second before you’re falling apart again.

“Jungkook! Jungkook!” you scream. Kari climbs off him and he sits up, rubbing your clit, grateful he can see you cum on his cock.

“That’s it, baby. Be a good girl and cum for us,” Kari encourages in between kisses, biting the sensitive spot on your neck that makes you tighten around Jungkook as his hands grab your ass. He moans your name, eyes fluttering shut as his head lolls back on the pillow.

He licks his lips, forcing his eyes open to watch you crumble on top of him. Kari is guiding your hips, a hand between your legs, nearly drooling as she watches you cream around him, crying out his name and hers as your body tightens and you whine for Jungkook.

Jungkook curses. “Fuck, ride me, baby. Just like that.”

“So close,” you grit, ignoring the sweat beading on your forehead. Your hips meet each of his thrusts, crying out when Jungkook plants his feet firmly on the mattress.

“Hold on,” is all he says before he’s raising his hips to fuck into you. You cry out, nearly sobbing as he fills you to the brim. You feel him in your stomach as your thighs tremble to cling to his hips. Kari is moaning beside you, her hand between her legs as she watches, nearly coming undone just from watching the two of you.

“Jungkook! Kook,” you moan, nails digging into his abs as he cries out. You’d love to hear him moan some more, melt with each one.

Kari cums first, crying out as she falls apart beside you. You both watch with lust-filled eyes until you’re clenching around Jungkook, head lolling back, his name on your tongue as you cum wrapped around him.

Jungkook watches you intently, drinking you in fully in case it’s the last time. Mesmerized by the wanton look on your face, the rocking of your hips, and the way you say his name repeatedly. His heart skips a beat and nearly drowns out the last moan of his name that escapes you.

Once you’re trying to catch your breath, Jungkook smirks.

“Up for one more?” he asks. You nod, ignoring the trembling of your legs as he kisses you. His hand cups your cheek, and you melt into his touch, tasting Kari on his tongue.

“Fuck,” you whisper, breaking the kiss to kiss Kari.

“Come on, baby,” Kari guides you off Jungkook’s cock. She helps you onto your hands and knees while she lays beneath you. Jungkook settles behind you, his hands running down the curve of your back, focusing on grabbing your ass and spanking it to draw a moan from you.

Jungkook spreads you open, licking his lips before he’s leaning forward to lick you clean. You’re moaning into Kari, pushing your ass into his face as his tongue works wonders on your cunt. He’d love to eat you out all day and night until he can’t breathe but his cock throbs and he reluctantly pulls away. He lines his cock up at your entrance, pushing in and cursing when he bottoms out again.

“Ugh,” you whine as you bite down on Kari’s thigh. She moans your name, turning into a puddle under you as you lave your tongue over the bite mark. She grips your hair as Jungkook sets a comfortable pace, allowing you to feel him deeper inside. You arch your back, taking every thrust like a champ as he grips you tightly.

“Fuck, so fucking wet for me,” Jungkook groans, eyes focused on where your body meets his. Kari whines under the two of you, slowly sliding out from under you to get to the side. She loves to watch, smirking as Jungkook fucks you harder. Her hands run over his body, pinching his brown nipples and he grunts.

Jungkook grips Kari’s teal hair, pulling her close to kiss her while you fuck yourself on Jungkook’s thick cock, crying out his name and begging him to make you cum while Kari pushes past the seam of his lips, moaning when he pulls back and bites her lip. Kari licks her lips as she whispers something in his ear.

Jungkook’s eyes widen but he slowly helps raise you. Carefully, he wraps his tattooed hand around your throat and you nearly cum at the insinuation.

“Please, Koo. Choke me,” you plead, nearly in tears as your hand rests over his on your throat. You add a little more pressure and Jungkook curses.

“Gently squeeze the sides,” Kari instructs. She raises his other hand, putting it on her throat and guiding him on where and how much to squeeze.

“Jungkook, please,” you beg. That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s squeezing the sides like Kari had shown him moments before. The effect is immediate, you’re fucking against him, taking his cock as deep as possible just to slam back down on him. Jungkook watches your ass jiggle as you use him for your pleasure. Your head falls back onto his chest and he leans in to kiss you, muffling your cries of pleasure as you finally let go and orgasm around him, squeezing the soul out of him.

Jungkook grunts, holding back as you cum and nearly sob when he lets go of your pretty throat. You look gorgeous in the throes of passion and it’s something he will engrave into his mind for as long as he lives.

When you finally come down, you’re panting. Kari giggles when you fan yourself, nearly collapsing on both of them as your thighs shake in an effort to hold you up.

“You didn’t cum,” Kari notes with a frown as Jungkook pulls out. He shrugs.

“No big deal.”

“Do you want to?” Kari asks.

Jungkook blushes but nods and says yes.

Kari nods as she takes Jungkook hand in hers. “Care to stand?”

“It’s fine,” Jungkook swallows thickly as he quickly takes the condom off to discard. Kari grins as she gets down on her knees.

Jungkook tongues his cheek, watching her with hooded eyes. He tongues his lips rings as he looks down at her, eager to make him cum. Her dark brown eyes are like melted chocolate, soft and comforting but striking when the light hits them just right. Her black and blue hair suits her. He runs a hand through her hair as she wraps her hand around his length, stroking him slowly. Kari leans forward to spit on his cock, using the saliva to aid her.

“Shit,” Jungkook curses, shaking his head. He’s so sensitive, just wants to cum but also wants to last as long as the two of you need him too, though you both look spent. You scoot closer to watch, licking your lips as you watch Kari’s skilled hand stroke him, her tongue teasing the head of Jungkook’s cock.

Kari grins, she teases him a little more, spitting and wetting his cock before she presses her tits together for Jungkook to fuck.

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate, cock aching for release. Kari allows him to set the pace, licking and kissing the head of his cock when it gets close enough. She giggles every time Jungkook grunts and groans. His sweet moans hit the two of you hard until you can’t resist the temptation anymore and climb off the bed to join Kari on the floor in front of Jungkook.

“Fuck, please,” he pleads in a tone that sets you alight as Kari strokes him while you palm his balls, licking the head of his cock while Kari focuses on the parts you can’t reach.

The two of you kneel as close as possible, both tonguing at his dick. Jungkook throws his head back, moaning in pleasure, cock throbbing in your mouth when you welcome him in. You bob your head up and down, swallowing when he hits the back of your throat. Kari kisses his hips, thighs, moving down to lick and suck at his balls, mindful of her teeth and your head when you take him deeper.

You focus on breathing, your eyes locking on his when you look up. You slowly pull off him, lips and cheeks coated in spit and pre-cum and Jungkook thinks you look gorgeous. He guides you back onto his cock, grunting when Kari sucks on his balls, and then joins you in licking and slurping at his thick cock. He’s so close, his body thrumming with pleasure and the need to cum.

Jungkook grabs you by the hair, fucking into your mouth. You open wider, moans muffled by his fat cock on your tongue until he’s pulling out enough just to cum on your lips and tongue. You moan, eyes shut to avoid the sting of his cum. He chuckles for a split second before pleasure overwhelms him and he strokes his cock to milk every last drop.

Kari watches, licking her lips, and waits until Jungkook collapses onto the bed before she makes her move. She leans in close as you slowly open your eyes, grateful Jungkook’s aim isn’t bad.

Slowly, Kari licks the cum from your cheek. She giggles when you do, swallowing what’s in your mouth before you kiss her to share. Her moans are muffled by your lips, your body over hers when you push her to the floor gently. She cradles your face in her hands, moaning as you kiss and rub against her.

When you both pull apart, you’re panting. You smile at each other before crawling over to Jungkook.

“Can we lick you clean?” you ask as you place your hands on his thighs. Jungkook’s eyes widen before he nods.

The two of you are gentle with him. You’re careful with your tongues, watching him for any discomfort as you lick his cock clean, kissing each other when you meet at the head of his dick. Jungkook smiles, the two of you are just too cute.

Once you’re done, you both climb on the bed. Jungkook scoots toward the end of the bed with you between him and Kari.

“We should clean up,” you state but end up yawning instead.

“We will,” Kari promises as she cuddles into your side.

Jungkook hesitates but you drape your arm over his waist to keep him in place.

“Stay here,” you murmur as you try your best not to fall asleep. Your body feels heavy, well-spent, and satiated.

“Okay,” Jungkook promises as you cuddle into him and he pulls the covers over the three of you. Kari smiles, her heart sinking only a little.

You’re spent after taking Jungkook’s fat cock and receiving several orgasms. You easily fall asleep between Jungkook and Kari, curled up in her chest while Jungkook’s arm drapes over your waist.

Kari locks eyes with Jungkook, looking at you briefly to confirm you’re sleeping before she speaks.

“You better be good to her, Kook.”

Jungkook is taken aback. “What?”

“Be good to her. She’s liked you for as long as I can remember.”

“I thought the two of you…” Jungkook trails off as you stir but don’t wake.

Kari shakes her head. “No, I don’t do relationships, not the kind she wants. But I see the way you look at her and the way she looks at you.”

Jungkook nods, at a loss for words.

“Goodnight, Jungkook.”

“Goodnight, Kari.”

When you wake, you’re draped across Jungkook with Kari nowhere in sight and your heart crumbles a little.

Jungkook wakes when you kiss his cheek and he smiles, pressing his lips to yours and everything fades away. Nothing matters but you and him, even if your heart aches just a little.

#bangtanarmynet #btsgoldnet #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader insert #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #roommate!jungkook #jungkook f2l #jungkook x reader x original character #jungkook x bi!reader

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aperfecthalosblog · 1 month

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Fall Vibes 20oz or 30oz skinny tumbler (Glow in dark option) This listing is for one 20oz or 30oz skinny tumbler ( Glow in dark option) Vacuum insulated tumbler with lid and straw. Drinks stay ice cold or steaming hot ALL DAY LONG. Perfect for hot coffee in the morning, cold drinks all day long, or wine at the end of the day. These are custom made and can be custom made for you with a process called sublimation.. Add a name or saying Since these are handmade the image maybe slightly different then pictured ** All tumblers should be hand washed and not placed in the dishwasher. There is no actual glitter the image make it appear like glitter.. Check out my other listings if you can't find what your looking for message me I can put almost any image on a tumbler..

#kitchen collectibles #20oz 30oz tumbler #glow in dark tumbler #handmade homemade #personalized cup #customized cup #fun tumbler #autumn thanksgiving #fall tumbler cup #fall vibes #mom fall leaves #October fall #hallween fall

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moonchi-alt · 7 months

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Glow in the dark tumbler

✨ Get yours custom made ✨

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pin-k-ink · 5 days

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Chrollo! There isn’t enough dark content about him. I want to see how Chrollo is, compared to Yandere Chrollo. I love both, but we don’t get enough dark content of Chrollo.

Chrollo is seen as manipulative, and cold. Considering he’s a mass murder, and his empathy is nonexistent to people outside of the phantom troupe. Though, he’s able to act like a gentleman, and a curious man who seems sweet. He definitely isn’t stable, but catching his attention would be terrifying. He collects what he’s interested in. Being in a relationship with him would be interesting, but complicated.

entropy // chrollo lucilfer

tw ⇢ emotional abuse/manipulation, psychological trauma, toxic relationship, mention of self-harm, suicide attempt, dub-con, non-consensual/coercion, stockholm syndrome(?), mention of violence and criminal activities, power play, some unspecified mental health issues, rough sex, cunnilingus, begging, idk kinda rushed ending, narrator’s pov

wc ⇢ 7.1k

a/n: i really liked this idea, anon, so i present you with 7k words of chrollo brainrot. i really tried not to make chrollo a cliche, run-of-the-mill yandere but im not sure i did a good job. its also my first time using y/n and i hated it

The dim lights of the crowded bar cast an amber glow across the room, the air thick with the hum of conversation and clinking glasses. Perched on a stool at the far end of the bar, I nursed my whiskey, the smooth glass cool against my palm, the rich amber liquid swirling hypnotically as I lifted it to my lips. The first sip burned pleasantly down my throat, warming me from within as my eyes scanned the crowd out of habit, taking in the sea of unfamiliar faces.

That's when I saw him.

He moved with a fluid grace that stood out amidst the tipsy stumbles and raucous laughter of the other patrons. Dark hair fell across his face in an artful sweep as he leaned in close to whisper something to the bartender, who nodded knowingly and slid a drink across the polished wood, the crystal tumbler gleaming under the soft light. As if sensing the weight of my gaze, he turned slowly, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat, my fingers tightening reflexively around my glass.

A polite smile curved his lips as he approached with measured steps, sliding onto the stool next to mine with a nod of acknowledgment. "Good evening," he said, his voice smooth and cultured, with a faint lilt of an accent I couldn't quite place. "I hope you'll forgive my forwardness, but I couldn't help noticing you from across the room."

I felt a flush creep up my neck at his directness, a heat blooming under my skin that had little to do with the whiskey. But I maintained my composure, lifting one eyebrow in a practiced arch. "Is that so?" I asked, taking another sip of my drink, letting the smoky flavor linger on my tongue. My heart fluttered in my chest, a mix of excitement and nervousness at the attention from this intriguing stranger.

"Indeed. It's rare to find someone so comfortable in their own solitude. It speaks to a certain strength of character." His eyes held mine, dark and fathomless, seeming to search for something beneath the surface, beneath the mask of cool indifference I wore like armor.

I smiled slightly, intrigued by his observation, by the way he seemed to see beyond the carefully constructed facade. "And what would you know about my character?"

"Very little, I admit. But I'd like to learn more, if you're willing." He extended a hand, long fingers elegant and strong. "Chrollo Lucilfer, at your service."

"Y/N," I replied, placing my hand in his. His grip was firm, his skin cool and smooth against my own. A shiver raced down my spine at the contact, a spark of something electric and unfamiliar. I found myself drawn to his enigmatic aura, the hint of danger that lurked beneath his charming exterior.

As the evening wore on, Chrollo and I fell into easy conversation, trading stories and opinions over drinks, our knees brushing under the bar in a way that felt both accidental and deliberate. He was articulate and well-read, with a keen insight that made me feel like he could see straight into my soul, past the walls I'd so carefully constructed. There was a magnetism to him, a pull that I couldn't resist, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. I felt a connection growing between us, a sense of understanding and shared secrets that left me both thrilled and unnerved.

We began seeing each other regularly after that night, meeting for dinner at quiet candlelit restaurants or for coffee in cozy bookshops, the rich scent of roasted beans and old pages enveloping us as we talked for hours. Chrollo was always the perfect gentleman, holding doors and pulling out chairs, his manners impeccable, his attentiveness unwavering. But there were moments, fleeting glimpses, where something else seemed to flicker beneath the surface, a darkness that both thrilled and unsettled me. I found myself drawn to that darkness, to the mystery that surrounded him, even as a part of me whispered warnings in the back of my mind.

One evening, we were walking through the city, the pavement damp with recent rain, the neon signs reflecting in puddles at our feet. A man stumbled out of an alleyway, clearly drunk and disoriented, his clothes rumpled and stained. He lurched towards us, mumbling incoherently, his breath sour with the stench of alcohol. I tensed, expecting Chrollo to step in and help, to offer the man a steadying hand or a kind word. Instead, he sidestepped the man neatly, his movements fluid and precise, not even sparing him a glance. There was a coldness to the action, a calculated indifference that left me feeling chilled despite the warm summer air. A flicker of unease stirred in my gut, a sense that there was more to Chrollo than met the eye, but I pushed it aside, not wanting to shatter the illusion of the perfect romance.

Another time, we were at a restaurant, a trendy spot with exposed brick walls and industrial light fixtures. The hum of conversation and the clink of silverware against plates filled the air, a pleasant buzz of activity. A commotion broke out at a nearby table, a woman's voice rising in pitch as she gestured wildly at her companion, her face flushed with anger. Chrollo watched the scene unfold with a detached sort of interest, like a scientist observing a particularly fascinating specimen. When I expressed concern, my brow furrowed with worry, he simply shrugged, the movement languid and unconcerned.

"Some people thrive on drama," he said, his tone indifferent, almost bored. "It's best not to get involved."

I tried to brush off the nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right, telling myself that no one was perfect, that everyone had their flaws and quirks. Chrollo was attentive and affectionate, showering me with gifts and attention, his touch always gentle, always reverent. It was easy to get lost in the romance of it all, in the heady rush of new love. But even as I surrendered to the warmth of his embrace, to the tender caress of his lips on my skin, a part of me remained wary, a tiny voice whispering doubts in the back of my mind.

But the doubts continued to gather at the edges of my mind, like storm clouds on the horizon, dark and ominous. There were inconsistencies in the stories he told, small details that didn't quite add up, pieces that didn't fit into the puzzle of his past. He was evasive about his work, about his family and his childhood, always changing the subject with a charming smile and a clever turn of phrase when I pressed for more. I tried to ignore the growing sense of unease, the feeling that I was only seeing a carefully crafted facade, a mask that hid the true nature of the man I was falling for.

It all came to a head one night when we were out for a walk, the city streets quiet and still around us. A police car raced by, sirens blaring, red and blue lights flashing against the buildings. Chrollo tensed, his body going rigid beside me, his eyes tracking the vehicle with a sharpness that made me pause, my heart skipping a beat in my chest. There was something in his reaction, a hint of fear or guilt that I had never seen before, and it sent a chill down my spine.

"What is it?" I asked, searching his face for clues, for some hint of the thoughts swirling behind those dark eyes.

He relaxed just as quickly, his expression smoothing into a mask of calm, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Nothing, just lost in thought for a moment."

But I saw it then, in that brief unguarded instant. The hairline fracture in his facade, the glimpse of something raw and real beneath the polished surface. The realization hit me like a freight train, stealing the breath from my lungs - I didn't really know the man I was falling for at all. He was a mystery, a puzzle with missing pieces, and I had no idea what secrets he was hiding behind that charming smile and those fathomless eyes. Fear and doubt coiled in my gut, a sickening sense of dread that I couldn't shake, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that everything was fine.

The doubt became an itch I couldn't scratch, a constant presence at the back of my mind. I found myself watching Chrollo more closely, looking for clues, for any sign that might confirm my growing suspicions. He was as attentive and affectionate as ever, his touch gentle, his words sweet. But there was a guardedness to him now, a sense that he was always holding something back, always keeping a part of himself locked away. It was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands, always slipping through my fingers just when I thought I had a grasp on the truth.

One evening, we were at his apartment, curled up on the plush leather couch with a movie playing on the large flatscreen TV. The room was dimly lit, the flickering light from the screen casting shadows on the walls. Chrollo's phone buzzed with an incoming message, the screen lighting up on the coffee table. He glanced at it, his expression hardening for a split second, his jaw clenching almost imperceptibly before he smoothed it away, reaching for the device with a casual hand. My heart raced in my chest, a sense of foreboding washing over me as I watched him, a part of me desperately wanting to believe that it was nothing, that I was overreacting.

"Everything okay?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Just work," he replied, his thumb swiping across the screen, his eyes scanning the message quickly before he slipped the phone into his pocket. "Nothing to worry about."

But there was a tightness to his smile, a strain around his eyes that belied his easy words. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he wasn't telling me, some secret he was keeping locked away. The doubts gnawed at me, a constant ache in my chest that I couldn't ignore, no matter how much I wanted to lose myself in the fantasy of our perfect love.

As the weeks passed, the distance between us grew, an invisible chasm widening with each passing day. Chrollo would disappear for hours at a time, offering vague explanations about meetings or errands, his tone carefully neutral. He was increasingly evasive about his activities, changing the subject with a practiced ease or deflecting my questions with a charming smile and a clever quip. I felt like I was losing him, like the man I had fallen for was slipping away, replaced by a stranger wearing a familiar face.

I knew I should confront him, demand answers, but a part of me was afraid of what I might uncover. The man I had fallen for, the gentleman with the quick wit and the electrifying touch, felt like a stranger wearing a familiar face, a mask that was starting to crack at the edges. I was torn between the desire to cling to the illusion of our perfect romance and the need to know the truth, to see the man behind the mask, no matter how painful it might be.

The final straw came late one night when I was leaving Chrollo's apartment, my mind whirling with unanswered questions, my heart heavy in my chest. As I stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, the plush carpet muffling my footsteps, I nearly collided with a man coming from the opposite direction. He was tall and lean, with cold eyes that seemed to look right through me, his face all sharp angles and harsh lines. A shiver of unease ran down my spine, a sense of danger emanating from him like a palpable force.

"Excuse me," I mumbled, trying to sidestep him, my skin prickling with unease.

But he blocked my path, his large frame filling the narrow hallway, his gaze flicking past me to Chrollo's door, a flash of something dark and dangerous in his eyes. "He's expecting me," the man said, his voice flat and emotionless, sending a chill down my spine.

I glanced over my shoulder, but Chrollo had already closed the door, the sound of the lock clicking into place loud in the sudden silence. A wave of dread washed over me as I hurried past the man, my heart pounding in my ears, my hands shaking as I jabbed at the elevator button. Questions swirled in my mind, a growing sense of fear and unease that I couldn't shake, no matter how hard I tried to rationalize it away.

I didn't sleep that night, my mind racing with possibilities, with questions I was afraid to voice aloud. Who was the man in the hallway? What business did he have with Chrollo at such a late hour? The not knowing was almost worse than the truth, my imagination conjuring up all manner of dark scenarios, each more terrible than the last. I tossed and turned, my sheets tangled around me, my heart aching with the growing realization that the man I loved was not who I thought he was.

The paranoia grew like a cancer, spreading through every aspect of my life, tainting every interaction with Chrollo. I found myself watching him constantly, analyzing every word, every gesture, looking for some hint of the truth behind the mask. Every phone call he took, every message he received, every unexplained absence became a clue in a puzzle I was desperate to solve, a mystery I couldn't let go. I was consumed by the need to know, to uncover the secrets he was hiding, even as a part of me feared what I might find.

I started making excuses to drop by his apartment unannounced, hoping to catch him off guard, to glimpse the man behind the facade. But Chrollo was always one step ahead, his mask of charm and civility firmly in place, his explanations smooth and plausible. It was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands, always slipping through my fingers just when I thought I had a grasp on the truth. I felt like I was losing my mind, like I was trapped in a maze of lies and half-truths, with no way out.

The strain began to take its toll, the constant state of heightened awareness, of second-guessing every moment. I was distracted at work, jumping at every unexpected noise, seeing shadows in every corner. My friends noticed the change, commenting on my withdrawn behavior, the dark circles under my eyes, the way I seemed to be constantly on edge. I brushed off their concerns with a forced smile and a wave of my hand, not wanting to voice the suspicions that consumed my every waking moment.

I started to pull away, to put distance between us, needing time to clear my head, to make sense of the tangled web of lies and half-truths. I made excuses to avoid seeing him, claiming work obligations or family commitments, my voice shaking only slightly as I lied through my teeth. I needed space, needed to step back and look at the situation objectively, without the haze of love and desire clouding my judgment. But even as I tried to distance myself, I found myself drawn back to him, like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the pull of his magnetism.

But Chrollo wouldn't let me go so easily, his presence a constant pull, a magnetic force I couldn't seem to resist. He showed up at my work, at my favorite coffee shop, always with a bouquet of flowers and a contrite smile, his eyes soft and pleading. He promised to be more open, to answer any questions I might have, to lay his secrets bare before me. And for a moment, I wanted to believe him, to fall into the warmth of his embrace and let the world fade away.

I started to dig deeper, to research Chrollo's past, looking for any clue that might explain the inconsistencies, the blank spaces in his history. Late one night, huddled over my laptop with a mug of coffee growing cold beside me, I found it. A news article, buried deep in the archives of a local paper, a few scant paragraphs that made my blood run cold. A string of high-profile thefts, linked to a shadowy group known as the Phantom Troupe, their methods as elusive as their identities. And there, in grainy black and white, a photograph of a man with dark hair and piercing eyes, a face I would know anywhere.

My heart stopped in my chest as I stared at the screen, the pieces of the puzzle finally falling into place with a sickening clarity. The man I loved, the gentleman with the silver tongue and the devastating smile, was a thief. And not just any thief, but a member of the most notorious criminal organization in the city, a ghost in the shadows, a phantom in the night. I sat back in my chair, my hands shaking as I tried to process the truth, to reconcile the Chrollo I knew with the man in the article.

The reality of my situation crashed over me like a wave, cold and unrelenting. I was in love with a lie, a beautiful fiction wrapped in a tailored suit and a charming smile. The future I had imagined for us, the life I had started to build in my mind, was nothing more than a house of cards, ready to come tumbling down at any moment. I felt like I couldn't breathe, like the walls were closing in around me, trapping me in a nightmare from which there was no escape.

And I had no idea what I was going to do about it.

The truth hung heavy in the air between us, a suffocating presence that filled the room and pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. My heart raced as I confronted Chrollo with the article, my voice trembling with a potent mix of anger, fear, and betrayal. He sat across from me, his posture relaxed, his eyes downcast, his hands resting calmly in his lap. The silence stretched on, broken only by the relentless ticking of the clock on the wall, each second an eternity of agonizing anticipation.

When he finally spoke, his voice was even and measured, devoid of any discernible emotion. "I never intended for you to discover the truth this way," he said, his gaze meeting mine, his dark eyes revealing nothing. "I considered telling you, explaining everything, but I couldn't find the right approach."

Disbelief and heartache surged through me, constricting my throat and stinging my eyes with unshed tears. "Explain what, Chrollo? That our entire relationship has been built on a foundation of lies? That the man I fell in love with is nothing more than a carefully crafted illusion?"

His expression remained impassive, unfazed by my accusation. "The connection between us is genuine, Y/N. My feelings for you, the moments we've shared, none of that was a deception."

A bitter, mirthless laugh escaped my lips, echoing harshly in the oppressive stillness of the room. "But everything else? The thefts, the Phantom Troupe? How can you claim that's not an integral part of who you are?"

Chrollo sighed, a subtle indication of impatience rather than genuine weariness. "It's not that simple. The Troupe is like family to me. We have each other's backs, keep each other safe. What we do isn't solely about financial gain or the adrenaline rush. It's about survival, about carving out a place in a world that's never given us a fair chance."

As I sat there, my mind reeling, a chill crept down my spine, raising goosebumps on my skin. Chrollo's dark eyes bored into mine, a glimmer of something cold and dangerous lurking beneath the surface of his composed exterior. In that moment, the true depth of his detachment became starkly apparent, sending a fresh wave of fear washing over me.

"You need to understand, Y/N," he continued, his voice low and even. "The Phantom Troupe is more than just a gang. It's a way of life. A family bound by blood and loyalty. I've committed heinous acts in the name of that loyalty. Acts that would make your blood run cold."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my ribcage like a trapped bird. "And what about me, Chrollo? Was I just another pawn in your twisted game? Another plaything to be discarded when you grew bored?"

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his features, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. "No, Y/N. Never. What I feel for you is the closest thing to genuine emotion I've ever experienced. But I won't deceive you. I am what I am. That's not going to change, not even for you."

With shaking legs, I stood up, my entire body trembling with a mixture of fear, anger, and despair. "I can't do this, Chrollo. I can't be a part of your world. The things you've done...the person you truly are...I can't turn a blind eye to that."

He nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I expected as much. I knew this moment would arrive sooner or later. I merely hoped..." He trailed off, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. "It's irrelevant now."

I took a step back, my mind struggling to process the revelation of Chrollo's true identity. The man I had fallen for, the charming and enigmatic gentleman, was nothing more than a meticulously crafted facade, a mask concealing the cold, ruthless criminal beneath.

"I can't be a part of this, Chrollo," I repeated, my voice quivering with a mixture of fear and resignation. "I can't be with someone who lives a life of crime, who has no regard for the people he hurts."

Chrollo's expression remained inscrutable, his dark eyes boring into mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl. "I'm afraid you don't have a choice, Y/N. You see, you've become quite an intriguing diversion for me, a delightful puzzle to unravel. And I'm not in the habit of relinquishing things that keep me entertained."

His words, spoken with chilling calm, carried an unmistakable undercurrent of threat that turned my blood to ice in my veins. "What are you saying, Chrollo?"

A smile devoid of warmth or humor tugged at the corners of his mouth. "It's quite simple, really. You have two options. You can choose to stay with me, to accept me for who and what I am, and continue to be a part of my life. Or..." He paused, his gaze hardening. "You can refuse, and face the consequences."

My heart raced, a sickening realization dawning on me as the true nature of my predicament became clear. "And what consequences would those be?"

Chrollo shrugged, the gesture casual and unconcerned. "Death, of course. I can't risk you going to the authorities, exposing me and my associates. If you can't be with me, then you can't be allowed to live."

The words hung in the air between us, a chilling ultimatum that left me feeling trapped and utterly helpless. I searched Chrollo's face for any sign of remorse, any hint of the man I had thought I knew, but found only cold, calculating resolve.

"I...I need time to think," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper, my throat constricted with fear and despair.

Chrollo nodded, his expression impassive. "Of course. Take all the time you need, Y/N. But remember, the clock is ticking. And I'm not a patient man."

With those words, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone, the weight of his ultimatum crushing down on me. I sank to the floor, my legs no longer able to support me, as the full horror of my situation crashed over me in relentless waves.

I was trapped, caught between a love that had turned to ashes and a fate worse than death. And no matter which path I chose, I knew that my life would never be the same again.

I sat there, numb and disbelieving, as Chrollo's words echoed in my mind. Stay with him, or die. The choice was no choice at all, a cruel mockery of free will in the face of his cold ultimatum. With a heavy heart and an overwhelming sense of despair, I realized that I had no other option.

"I'll stay," I whispered, the words bitter on my tongue, tasting of ashes and defeat. "I'll stay with you, Chrollo."

He nodded, a glimmer of satisfaction in his dark eyes, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "A wise decision, Y/N. I knew you'd see reason."

But even as I agreed to his terms, a part of me rebelled against the idea of being trapped in this nightmare, of living a life shackled to a man who saw me as nothing more than a possession, a plaything to be discarded when he tired of me.

In the days that followed, I went through the motions of my life, a hollow shell of my former self. I smiled when Chrollo was around, played the role of the dutiful girlfriend, but inside, I was screaming, my soul withering with each passing moment. The weight of my despair pressed down on me, suffocating me slowly, day by day.

I couldn't bear the thought of living like this forever, of being forever bound to a monster who held no love, no true affection for me. In a moment of desperation, I made a decision. If I couldn't escape Chrollo in life, then I would find my freedom in death.

I sat in the bathtub, the steaming water lapping at my skin, providing no comfort to the icy numbness that had settled in my heart. The razor blade rested against my wrist, the metal cool and inviting, a whispered promise of release from the nightmare my life had become. My hand trembled, the weight of my decision bearing down on me, tears streaming down my face and mingling with the bathwater.

But even as I sat there, the razor poised to end my suffering, I couldn't bring myself to do it. My hand shook, the blade biting into my skin, drawing a thin line of crimson, but I couldn't find the strength, the resolve, to finish the job. Sobs wracked my body, my chest heaving with the force of my anguish, as I sat there, paralyzed by fear and despair.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

My head snapped up, my heart leaping into my throat at the sound of Chrollo's voice. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a look of detached amusement on his face, as if he'd stumbled upon a mildly entertaining scene.

"Chrollo..." I whispered, my voice hoarse and broken, barely recognizable to my own ears.

He pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into the bathroom, his movements casual and unhurried. "Did you really think I wouldn't know, Y/N? That I wouldn't sense your desperation, your pathetic attempt at escape?"

I lowered my gaze, shame and despair warring within me, my cheeks burning with humiliation. "I can't do this anymore, Chrollo. I can't live like this."

He crouched down beside the tub, his dark eyes glittering with a cruel sort of amusement. "And yet, here you are, unable to even commit to your own demise. How tragic."

With a sudden motion, he grasped my wrist, yanking the razor from my fingers. I gasped, more from surprise than pain, as he held the blade up to the light, examining it with a detached sort of interest.

"Did you really think this would be the answer, Y/N? That you could escape me, escape your fate, with something as trivial as this?"

He tossed the razor aside, the metal clattering against the tile floor, and cupped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "You're mine, Y/N. Forever. And no matter how many times you try to run, to hide, to end your own miserable existence, I will always find you. I will always bring you back."

Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the bathwater, as the hopelessness of my situation crashed over me anew. Chrollo was right. There was no escape, no way out of this hell I had foolishly walked into.

He stood, looking down at me with a mixture of pity and cold amusement. "Clean yourself up, Y/N. And let this be a lesson to you. Your life is mine, to do with as I please. And I'm not done with you yet."

With those words, he turned and walked out, leaving me alone in the bath, my skin pruning in the cooling water, my heart shattered beyond repair. I had gambled everything on Chrollo, on the love I thought we shared, and I had lost. And now, I had to live with the consequences, forever trapped in a nightmare of my own making.

Chrollo led me from the bathroom, his hand wrapped around my wrist in a grip that was both gentle and unyielding. I followed him numbly, my mind still reeling from the events that had transpired, the razor's bite still stinging on my skin. He guided me to the bed, the plush comforter soft beneath my bare legs as he lowered me onto the mattress.

I sat there, my hands clasped in my lap, my eyes downcast, as he moved about the room, his presence a tangible force, a weight pressing down on me from all sides. Fear and despair coiled in my gut, my heart racing as I tried to anticipate his next move, dreading what new torment he might have in store for me.

"Look at me, Y/N," he commanded, his voice soft but firm, leaving no room for disobedience.

I obeyed, raising my gaze to meet his, my breath catching in my throat at the intensity I saw there. He stood before me, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his dark hair falling across his brow in a way that was both casual and calculated.

"Do you understand now?" he asked, his tone almost conversational, as if we were discussing the weather rather than the complete and utter destruction of my life. "Do you see the futility of your actions, the pointlessness of your resistance?"

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with unshed tears. "I understand that I'm trapped," I whispered, my voice hoarse and raw, barely recognizable to my own ears. "That there's no escape from this nightmare, from you."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, a flash of satisfaction in his eyes. "Good. You're learning."

He reached out, his fingers ghosting along my cheek, tracing the curve of my jaw with a touch that was almost tender. I shivered, my skin prickling with a mixture of fear and revulsion, my stomach churning at the unwanted contact.

"You belong to me, Y/N," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear, sending a chill down my spine. "Body and soul, heart and mind. There is no part of you that is not mine, no corner of your being that I do not possess."

I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping to trail down my cheek, the hot sting of it a bitter reminder of my helplessness. He was right. I was his, wholly and completely, a moth caught in the web of a spider, helpless to resist the pull of his power.

Chrollo's lips brushed against my skin, trailing a path of fire down the column of my throat. I gasped, my hands fisting in the comforter, my body responding to his touch despite the revulsion that churned in my gut, despite the voice in my head screaming at me to fight, to resist, to do anything but submit to his twisted desires.

"You will never leave me," he whispered, his words a dark promise, a vow etched in blood and tears. "You will never escape. You are mine, now and forever."

And as his mouth descended on mine, his hands roaming over my body with a possessiveness that bordered on violence, I knew that he was right. There was no escape. Not for me, and not for anyone else who crossed his path.

I was his. And there was nothing I could do about it.

His kiss was like a drug, the taste of him addictive, the feel of his hands on my body intoxicating. I tried to resist, to push him away, but it was a futile effort. My body betrayed me, arching into his touch, craving more.

He broke the kiss, his eyes dark with desire, his breath ragged against my skin. "You can fight me all you want, Y/N. But in the end, you'll give in. You'll surrender to me, just as you did before."

"I won't," I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.

He smiled, a cold, cruel smile that sent a chill down my spine. "We'll see about that."

With a growl, he claimed my mouth again, his lips rough against mine, his teeth nipping at my skin. I cried out, my nails digging into his back, my body surrendering to the pleasure even as my mind screamed in protest.

I knew this was wrong, that I should resist, should fight him with every fiber of my being. But the line between pain and pleasure was blurred, the boundary between fear and desire a thin and fragile thing. And as he ravaged my body, his touch bruising, his voice a low and menacing growl in my ear, I realized with a sickening jolt that a part of me wanted this.

A part of me craved the pain, the darkness, the twisted power play. And that realization, more than anything else, was the final nail in the coffin of my doomed resistance.

Chrollo's hands moved over my body, his fingers tracing the lines of my hips, the curve of my breasts, a strange mix of gentleness and possessiveness in his touch. I gasped, arching into him, my pulse racing, a dull ache building between my thighs.

"That's it," he murmured, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of my neck. "Give in to me, Y/N. Surrender."

His teeth grazed my earlobe, sending a shiver of pleasure down my spine. I moaned, my fingers tangling in his hair, his name a whisper on my lips.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice rough and low. "Say that you're mine."

"I'm yours," I breathed, the words tumbling from my lips without hesitation, a damning admission of defeat. "I'm yours, Chrollo."

He kissed me again, hard and possessive, his tongue delving into my mouth. I surrendered to him, my body and mind consumed by the raw, primal need that burned between us.

He pulled back, his gaze dark and hungry, a satisfied smile curving his lips. "Good girl," he murmured, his thumb brushing across my swollen lips. "Now, let's see just how much you're willing to give me."

He moved with a predatory grace, his muscles rippling beneath his skin, his body a weapon honed to lethal perfection. He knelt before me, his fingers deft and sure, as he spread my thighs, his lips ghosting across my heated flesh.

I cried out, my back arching off the bed, as his tongue flicked over the sensitive bundle of nerves at my core. He growled, his fingers digging into my hips, holding me in place as he feasted on my body, his tongue and lips working their dark magic on me.

Pleasure rippled through me, hot and urgent, my skin tingling with electricity. I gasped, my hands clutching at the sheets, my body writhing beneath his touch.

"Chrollo," I moaned, my voice hoarse and desperate. "Please, please..."

He laughed, a dark and dangerous sound, his eyes glinting with a mix of lust and amusement. "Please what, Y/N?"

"Please," I begged, the word a broken whisper, a plea for release. "I need you."

"What do you need?" he asked, his tone mocking.

"I need you inside me," I gasped, my body aching with desire, a dull, throbbing heat pulsing through my veins. "Please, Chrollo, I need you to fuck me."

His eyes darkened, a look of pure, animalistic lust flashing across his features. With a low growl, he rose to his feet, his fingers digging into my hips, lifting me effortlessly, and drove himself into me, the sudden fullness tearing a cry from my lips.

I clung to him, my nails scoring his back, my body shuddering with the force of his thrusts. He claimed me, his mouth hot and hungry on mine, his hands gripping my flesh with a bruising intensity.

The room was filled with the sounds of our bodies colliding, the scent of our desire hanging heavy in the air. I cried out, my voice hoarse and raw, the waves of pleasure crashing over me, drowning out all thought, all reason.

I lost myself in the moment, in the feeling of him inside me, filling me, completing me. For a brief, shining moment, there was nothing but us, our bodies moving as one, the line between pain and pleasure blurred and meaningless.

And then, with a cry, I shattered, my body convulsing, the release tearing through me, an explosion of sensation. I felt him follow, his movements growing erratic, his breath a ragged gasp in my ear, his release hot and intense.

We collapsed in a tangle of limbs, the sweat cooling on our skin, the aftershocks of our shared pleasure still rippling through us. I lay there, breathless and spent, a strange mix of emotions churning within me.

I was disgusted with myself, with the way I had surrendered to him, with the pleasure I had found in his arms. But beneath that revulsion, buried deep beneath the surface, was a sense of shameful satisfaction, a twisted sort of gratification.

I had given in to him. I had surrendered to the darkness, the madness, the primal desire that raged between us. And as his arms tightened around me, his breath warm against my skin, a part of me reveled in the knowledge that, no matter what happened, he would always be a part of me.

"Are you satisfied?"

The question hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning, with implications. I glanced at Chrollo, my gaze flicking over his naked form, his skin still flushed with the aftermath of our encounter. He was watching me, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, the challenge clear in his dark eyes.

"No," I replied, meeting his gaze evenly, a thrill of anticipation running through me. "I'm not."

Chrollo raised an eyebrow, a flicker of interest sparking in his dark eyes. "Oh? And what more could you possibly want, Y/N?"

I swallowed, my heart pounding in my chest as I forced myself to hold his gaze. "I want the truth, Chrollo. The real you, not the mask you wear for the world."

A slow smile spread across his face, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Careful what you wish for, my dear. The truth can be a dangerous thing."

I shook my head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "I knew the risks when I chose to stay with you. I'm not afraid of the darkness."

Chrollo chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Brave words, Y/N. But we both know that's not entirely true, don't we?"

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin, his fingers trailing along the curve of my jaw. "You may think you want the monster, but can you truly handle the reality of what I am?"

I met his gaze unflinchingly, my pulse racing with a heady mix of fear and desire. "There's only one way to find out."

With a sudden movement, Chrollo pinned me to the bed, his body covering mine, his eyes glittering with a dark hunger. "Then let me show you," he murmured, his mouth descending on mine in a searing kiss.

As the hours passed and the shadows lengthened, we lay there, entwined, our bodies slick with sweat, the air heavy with the scent of our mingled desire. Chrollo traced idle patterns on my skin, his fingers moving over my body with a familiarity born of countless encounters. But there was a distant look in his eyes, a contemplative expression that I hadn't seen before.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked, curious despite myself.

He was silent for a moment, his gaze focused on something far away. "I was wondering," he said at last, his voice uncharacteristically soft, "how things might have been different, if we had met under other circumstances."

I felt a flicker of surprise at his words, a strange sensation of hope and longing stirring in my chest. "What do you mean?"

Chrollo sighed, his fingers stilling on my skin. "If I wasn't who I am, if I wasn't a criminal, a member of the Phantom Troupe... could we have had something real, something genuine?"

I swallowed hard, my heart aching at the wistfulness in his tone. "I don't know," I replied honestly. "But I'd like to think so."

He smiled then, a sad, fleeting thing that barely touched his eyes. "In another life, perhaps I could have truly fallen in love with you, Y/N. Without the lies, the secrets, the constant threat of danger hanging over us."

I reached up, cupping his cheek in my hand, feeling the roughness of his stubble against my palm. "But this is the life we have, Chrollo. The one we've chosen, for better or worse."

He leaned into my touch, his eyes drifting shut for a moment. "I know. And I don't regret it, not really. But sometimes, I can't help but wonder..."

His words trailed off, the unspoken possibilities hanging in the air between us. I knew what he meant, knew the bittersweet ache of imagining a different path, a different fate. But we both knew that there was no going back, no changing the choices we had made.

"We have each other," I said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "Here and now. That's what matters."

Chrollo smiled, a real smile this time, his eyes warm and fond as they met mine. "You're right," he murmured, pulling me closer, his arms tightening around me. "And I wouldn't trade it for anything."

#hxh #hxh x reader #hxh x reader smut #chrollo smut #chrollo lucilfer #hxh chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo x reader smut #hxh smut

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thequeeninyellowlace · 2 months

Text

Jaskier was being forced to return to Lettenhove—he got word that his cousin died, and he needed to be present for the service. Geralt could tell he’s miserable and afraid at the thought, so he agrees to go with Jaskier.

Jaskier’s mother and father are rude to Geralt. No shock there. Geralt can tell Jask is offended for him, but uncharacteristically, he doesn’t say anything. After an uncomfortable and cold dinner with Jaskier’s parents in a formal dining room that smells like dark wood and old misery, Jaskier and Geralt are ushered into a smaller study with his father.

Jaskier carefully, precisely, pours them each a measure of whiskey. He’s stiff and he smells all wrong. He serves his father first, and the man takes the tumblr as if it were filthy, glaring down at the fine liquor and at his son. “Still can’t measure a dram, I see,” he snipes. Jaskier keeps his eyes on the floor as he passes Geralt a tumblr, and Geralt does not like it. This scared young man is hardly recognizable as his bard.

Jaskier’s father looks him up and down. He looks vaguely disgusted. “Still dressing like a whore.” Jaskier clenches his teeth. Geralt squeezes his glass. Jaskier is wearing his favorite doublet, the blue one that makes his eyes glow.

“Father,” Jaskier starts.

“Shut up, boy,” his father snaps, and Geralt stiffens. “I can’t believe you had the gall to return here. You ruined our names. Shamed us all.” The man begins a diatribe, listing every imagined sin Jaskier has committed against his family.

Jaskier shrinks in on himself. He hunches his shoulders under his father’s tirade. Geralt growls. He drops the tumbler on a small table.

“And you!” Jaskier’s father snaps his eyes to Geralt. “I should have known my slut of a son would take up with a mutant monster!” Jaskier jerks upward, suddenly enraged. He jumps forward, into his father’s face.

“How dare you! Do not speak to him like that!”

Jaskier’s father’s hand snaps up, and his fist strikes Jaskier across the cheek. Geralt sees red. Jaskier falls to the floor as Geralt unsheathes his sword and swings.

Jaskier’s father’s head thumps to the floor. His body follows it.

Jaskier screams.

Geralt drops his sword. He did not means to do that. But the mark on Jaskier’s cheek is blinding him. He scoops Jaskier up off the floor.

“Oh god, Geralt, what did you do? Oh my god!” Jaskier begins wailing, and he clings to Geralt as he sobs.

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier! I didn’t even mean to—he hit you! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Jaskier is gasping, and Geralt sees his eyes are fixed not on his father’s head or the pool of blood, but on his father’s hand. The count’s ring of office is still on his finger, its shape matching the mark on Jaskier’s face.

“Oh no. Oh god no.” Jaskier moans.

“I’ll tell them what I did, Jaskier. You won’t be in trouble. Don’t worry. We’ll leave and never come back, not if you don’t want to. And I’m so sorry for killing him. I know you…loved him.” Jaskier’s eyes meet his, and Geralt is shocked at the desolation he sees there.

“I hated him. And he hated me. I’m glad he’s dead.” He glances down at the ring on his father’s hand again and shudders. He squeezes Geralt tightly, and he smells of an agonizing, confusing grief.

“Geralt, now I’m the count of Lettenhove.”

#the witcher #jaskier #geralt

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sebstan2020 · 1 year

Text

Who Do You Belong To

Pairings: Max Burnett X Reader

Summary: You come home from pulling a con and Max is waiting for you

Warnings: Dom/Sub, Smut, Spanking, Ownership, Crawling, Fingering, Sex, Orgasm Delay, Sir Kink, Boot Worship, Body Worship, Scratching

Max sat in the plush chair in the corner of the room, one leg resting on his knee, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. The warm lights glowed down on him, placing him in the spotlight. The apartment was quiet, the only sound being the ice clinking in his glass as he sipped it delicately, licking his lips of the strong liquor. He could drink it like water if he wanted too but he strained himself from doing so. He needed his head on. He glanced down at his watch again, taking in the time and his eyes flickered to the door across from him. He bounced his leg, waiting patiently, staring off into the darkness until his attention was stolen by the door opening slowly, the creek annoying him.

You shuffled into the apartment, duffle bag hanging beside you, and you slipped off your shoes, entering inside. Your eyes immediately met with his, dark, slightly narrowed, and intense. He held a scowl on his face as he watched you slowly walk in, a nervous look on your face. You knew this was going to sting.

“You’re late” he said through the silence, and you swallowed.

“I’m sorry… I had a problem; he wasn’t going down and I didn’t want to drug him anymore than I had to” you squeaked. It was the truth. The guy you were tackling tonight happened to be on the larger side and the drugs weren’t taking affect as quickly as they normally did and the last thing you wanted to do was send him into an overdose and get done for murder. Then all this work would have been for nothing. Max took the last of his drink, swallowing it in one gulp and placed the glass down carefully.

“You know I don’t like it when you are late” he said softly and you bit your lip, wondering what to reply with. You knew he didn’t like you being late and yet you could have called and said you were going to be. But with the guy not going down and being clingy all night, you had your hands full. Although you were certain you were going to make up for it later tonight.

“You got the money?” he asked, raising his head a bit and you smiled, showing him the duffle bag. He grinned, his eyes perking up as he watched you closely.

“Good girl, why don’t you bring it over to me” he ordered, tilting his head and you felt a tingle go through your body. You fell down to your knees, crawling on all fours as he had trained you to, leaning down to pick the leather straps of the duffle into your mouth, teeth biting into the thick leather and a tangy taste lingering on your tongue. You picked the heavy bag up, your jaw straining at the weight of it and began to crawl forwards, just as he liked. Your dress shifted upwards, revealing your thighs and the hint of your lace panties underneath, the ones he picked out for you. The carpet underneath was soft and cushioned your hands and knees.

As you crawled closer, like a well-trained dog, you caught his scent, that Dior perfume he brought a couple weeks ago with the money you gained from that short con. It was a simple one, could be carried out by anyone, like taking candy from a baby. It helps when the person your conning is practically a moron as well. But nonetheless Max was happy. You always made him happy. That’s why you’re his girl.

You brought the bag over to him, looking up with puppy dog eyes and flushed cheeks, waiting for your next command. He reached down and took the bag from your mouth, dumping it on his lap and immediately opening it, a smirk appearing instantly at the wads of green. It always amazes him how people walk around with this much cash. Max felt a tingle run through him as he ran his hand through the bills, the touch exhilarating, his heart racing, and pupils dilating. You’d think he’d be used to this feeling of seeing this much money and yet it surprises him every time.

“Good girl” he praised, earning a sweet smile from you as it instantly turned you on, his words beating through you. You sat back on your hunches, hands placed neatly on your thighs and eyes forward on him, waiting for further instruction. He radiated power and control, just sitting there, high above you like a king on his throne. He dumped the bag next to him, leaning back and taking a deep breath.

“Go on, you know what I want” he urged, his voice husky and dominating and you felt your stomach flip with pleasure. “Yes Sir” you answered softly, leaning forwards back on your hands and knees. You puckered your lips, pressing a kiss to the toe of his boot, the ones that cost him over $400. They suited him so well, almost like he was a military officer. A fantasy of him ordering you about like a soldier ran through your head and made your pussy twinge, your wetness soaking your panties. Imaging him ordering you to do push ups while he spanks you made you feel numb, like on a heroin high. But that was for another day. Perhaps you would mention it to him. Right now, you were here to serve him, just like he wanted.

You kissed his boot up and down, worshipping him like a god. The mere thought of him just watching you in pleasure turned you on and you fought the urge to look up and see those bright blue eyes of his staring down at you. You kissed the leather delicately, pressing kisses around the side of his foot, in any place he’d want to be worshipped. Why, because he was in charge. He made you what you are today. Without him, you’d be working in that hardware store for the rest of your life, living off pot noodle and stale water. You’d never known the finer things in life until you met him. He was the reason the thank for where you are today, and he wasn’t going to forget that. But without you, he wouldn’t have what he wanted. He needed you and you needed him.

“Now the other one” he ordered quietly, moving his other foot into the spotlight. You switched to the other, the leather taste lingering on your lips and your tongue, the taste tangy and weird. Max watched in pleasure, a smile on his lips and a hardness through his pants. If there was one thing that he liked, it was gratitude. He didn’t teach you everything he knew for you to become a selfish brat. All his hard work wasn’t just for nothing. The money of course was gratitude but it was spilt both ways and so he wanted to be personally thanked.

“Now up my leg” he murmured, and you grinned against his foot, slowly beginning to kiss your way up his leg, trailing your lips on the inside along his jeans. His scent grew more, intoxicating and you let out a soft moan as you reached his thigh, looking up with doll light eyes and mystery as he watched you closely. Those eyes of his were mesmerising, almost capturing you like an evil wizard. You placed kissed on his thigh, moving to his crotch, and looked up for direction. Max took a breath, leaning forwards and cupping your face in his large hands, bending you back to get a good look at you. Silence took over the apartment as he inspected you, eyes matched with yours. Then he granted you some pleasure, leaning down to kiss you softly, gently, dominantly. You moaned into his lips, his face warm against your cold nose, a hint of whiskey and mint on his breath, almost like he was getting you drunk. His clean-shaven jaw was smooth to the touch, gliding over your skin like oil. His kiss was like a drug, addicting and leaving you wanting more and entering into a withdrawal stage when he pulls away.

You reached for more, pressing harder into his lips but he pulled away, eyebrows raised, and you gasped softly. How silly of you to think this was going at your pace. Did you forget he was in charge. The smirk on his face said everything and he ran his hands down your neck, over your shoulders.

“Take this off” he whispered. “Yes Sir” you answered softly. Slipping out of the black dress, you kicked it to the side, hooking your thumbs into your panties and pulling them off as well. You felt a shiver run down your spine at the sudden coldness. You felt exposed, on display like a mannequin. Max ran his eyes over you, taking in every inch and curve of your body. You were stunning. Every inch of you he has touched and only he would touch. Yes, you let people touch you for the cons but outside of those, anyone who dared stepping into his territory wouldn’t last.

“Now over my knee” he ordered darkly. You fell back down to the floor, crawling with a sexy sway to your body and crawled yourself over his knee. Max took a deep breath, his hand running over your body, fingers teasing you and smoothed it over your bare ass. You had a feeling you knew what was coming and yet it surprised you at the same time as his hand spanked your hard, slapping your skin and echoing into the apartment. You gasped loudly, pushing your weight into his knee as he gripped your ass tightly, grabbing flesh as he brought his hand down again.

“What do you say?” he growled.

“Thank you, Sir,” you groaned as he spanked you again, his cock starting to harden more underneath you. He moaned softly, his hand smoothing the sore area and then bringing it back down again, your skin turning bright red and burning like you had caught the sun. The pain was intense and pleasurable at the same time, making your pussy drip.

“That’s for turning up late” he whispered in your ear, earning a moan from you.

“Thank you, Sir,” you whispered, and he pulled you up from his knee, attacking you with his lips. You held onto his knees for support, moaning as he trailed his hand over your tits, squeezing one tightly and earning a yelp from you. He grinned against your lips.

“You like this don’t you, you like me being rough with you” he teased.

“Yes Sir, I do” you did like it, you felt an addiction to it like none other.

“Who do you belong to?” he asked, voice quiet but commanding and his hand reach between your legs, rubbing over your aching pussy. With one swipe he had you shaking in his hand, pussy tingling and pulsing, juices dripping down your thighs and over his hand. You were like putty in his hand, being squeezed, and prodded and pulled to get his desire.

“You” you whispered; eyes slightly closed. Your body was turning numb at the pleasure, little beads of sweat forming in the crooks of your body, heat radiating off your skin.

“That’s right, you’re mine, all mine. You know why?” he said, staring right at you, complete control over your body. You knew the answer, but you wanted to hear him say it. You lived for it; you desired it.

“Because you get me exactly what I want” the praise was enough to have you screaming in his hand as he rubbed his fingers faster over your pussy, teasing your clit, running fingers through your folds, and rubbing your juice over your pussy. It was hot down there, and you didn’t know if you could last any longer.

“Oh please” you begged, squirming like a new-born baby, Max grinned, placing a kiss to your lips again but this time he wormed his tongued inside, dancing and swirling with yours, teeth biting your lower lip hard enough for blood to oose out and he lapped it up. Suddenly he stopped, racing to unzip his jeans and pulls his hard cock out, grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking you upwards for you to sit on him. You crawled onto his lap, bending down onto his cock that slipped in you easily, pushing all the way inside and filling you up. You head fell back with an intense moan and you started to bounce, pleasure taking over your entire body.

Max gritted his teeth has he groaned, leaning back in the chair, and watching you fuck yourself on him. it was a pleasure to watch, seeing you drop down onto him, body slick with sweat and flush with colour. Your hair was a mess, flying in all directions as you bounced up and down, his cock pushing all the way inside and your pussy tingling. From his warmup you were already on the verge of an orgasm, and he could see you trying to hold it back. Max ran his hands over your body, nails scratching and dragging down, leaving red marks across your body, something for him to admire later.

“Oh, please Sir” you begged. You wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. His cock was hard and also twitching as he felt his own climax.

“Ask me like a good girl” he teased.

“Please Sir may I come?” you said in the politest voice you could use, giving him those beautiful eyes of yours that sometimes made him give in to easily. Tonight, he was feeling generous. You apologised for being late and learnt your mistake and you did bring him a heavy bag of cash. You deserved every bit of this.

Your legs were shaking, toes curling as the tingles erupted through your body, pussy hot and sensitive. Your tits bounced up and down as you did, and the moans were becoming uncontrollable.

Max groaned as he reached his climax, coming inside you, filling you up with his cum. “You can cum” he breathed, granting you permission. You let yourself go, coming on his cock, juices mixing with his and dripping down his hard length, spilling out. You gasped for air, the orgasm so intense that you nearly felt you were going to pass out and if it weren’t for Max holding you up you would have fell. Your body shook, post orgasm and exhaustion kicking in, heavy breaths and tired eyes. Max took a deep breath, hands cupping your face as he brought you down for a kiss, tender and comforting. You moaned quietly against him, foreheads touching as all your energy left you. You stared into his blue eyes, giving an almost drunk smile.

“Did I do good tonight” you asked, and he grinned.

“You did perfect” he whispered.

Hey so I hope you like it, let me know what you think in the comments

@pattiemac1 @sebastiansluts

#max burnett #max Burnett smut #max Burnett fanfiction #max Burnett x reader #Sebastian Stan #sebby stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan smut #Sharper #sharper movie #sharper fanfiction

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