Tumgik
#+ i was looking at pictures and was thinking about his nails and like... lol 😿
madschiavelique ¡ 8 months
Note
Hi Ily
Miguel who says he doesn’t want kids after gabriella but secretly tries to breed reader 🤭 breeding press, ass up head down, missionary but he holds knees up to readers chest afterwards for a minute? Anytime reader confronts this he denies it LOL lowkey gaslighting them
GN reader tyyy
aww ily too nony !! hope u like it hehehe
summary : miguel said he didn't want kids after gabriella... but sectrely tries to breed you content warnings : SMUT (18+) minors dni, pnv sex, breeding kink, scent kink (miguel can smell reader's ovulating), gn!reader, no use of Y/N word count : 627 tag list : @fandom-ash
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A moan washed through your hot breath against Miguel's cheek as he thrust into you once more, making you feel as if he were buried even deeper within you.
Your calves rested on his shoulders while your knees were on either side of your head, grazing your ears.
"Miguel-" you swallowed as your voice caught in your throat, "I'm too full."
But that was all he was looking for.
Miguel had raised your hips, pressed your legs against you to drive his cock even deeper into you. He had to touch you to the core, make sure his cum would fill you completely and guarantee that you would bear his children.
You were already full, but he had to go on and finish one more time, as much for his own pleasure as to make sure you'd end up pregnant.
He could already picture you, your rounded belly that he caressed and kissed as you carried the fruit of his success inside you.
His chest was pressed against the soft skin of your thighs, his fingers gripping one of them firmly as he moved down to kiss your neck before only pulling his head back to admire the view.
He had before him the most sublime vision of all, your gaze all hazy and dumb fucked, breasts pressed and cunt just taking him perfectly.
His pupils turned red, his rhythm quickening while he let out low grunts as he came to kiss you.
He couldn't think of anything else, his only thoughts all focused on breeding you. He had to make sure you were full enough so that, if he pressed down on your belly, hi cum would drip out of you excessively.
Your mouth whimpering his name, your nails tracing long lines down his back and leaving crescent moon marks in his arm, your smell...
You were ovulating, and that's what made it so uncontrollable. That plump, warm, irresistible smell - how could he control himself when you smelled like that? You were ready for him, your body itself caressing his deepest instincts.
Your walls were so warm, enveloping him to perfection.
"Take it all in," he growled as he felt himself coming, accelerating harder inside you.
He bit into your neck, licking the trail he'd left. His scent mingling with yours was just so exceptional, he couldn't get rid of it, and didn't want to : it felt like pure heaven.
He grunted with a final thrust as he sank deep inside you, feeling his cum filling you all warm once more as you moaned at the sensation.
He came to press his forehead to yours, breathing open-mouthed before coming to kiss you, not moving from the position. He was still buried deep in you, making sure you stayed full and nothing came out.
"Are you... trying to get me pregnant?" you murmured against him, still breathless as Miguel nuzzled his head into your neck, inhaling your intoxicating scent.
He bit his lip and wrinkled his nose. He knew well that you suspected his convictions about not wanting any more children were dubious.
"Don't you like being so full of me, mami?" he'd asked, hoping to deflect the conversation.
"I do, but-" he came to kiss you, cutting you off.
"But what?" his voice was calm, honeyed.
"You said-" but he interrupted you again.
"What I said didn't matter." he sighed as he kissed your cheek, grinning against it as he came back to face you. "But what matters more to me now is that you admitted to liking it."
He raised your hips a little higher even than before, bringing his fingers against your clit which drew a moan from you.
"Then you won't mind if I continue."
Good things can always be overindulged.
4K notes ¡ View notes
captjprice ¡ 2 months
Note
I’ve read things where the reader is desperate and horny and Simon makes fun of them for it, but how about reversed roles??
Like the reader riding him, making fun of how much he’s whining and drooling being completely drunk from how wet and good they feel?
Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader
A/n: I love doing more reversed roles but I'm scared it won't get as much notes and stuff lol BUT I AM OPEN FOR REQUESUTS SO PLS SEND JT IN IF YOY WANT IT!!!!!
Mentions: NSFW, sub!Simon, Dom!reader, p in v, praise, nicknames
"Please, please.."
The sounds make you grin, and you stop momentarily, tilting your head. "What's wrong, baby?" You coo, raising a hand to run over Simon's bare chest. He's so sensitive, shuddering and his hips buck up into you, making your breath catch for a moment.
"Feels s'good, mm," His lids flutter, and his hand grab onto the bedsheets. Atleast he's listening this time, keeping his hands off..
You can practically feel his cock pulsing inside you, aching to shift as Simon huffs out of frustration. "Move, please, need you to move." He grunts, his arm twitching like he might reach out to grab you and take what he wants himself.
He loves this— loves it just as much as he hates giving up the control, but god, how could he not want it?
"Ooh, look at you. You're asking me so sweetly, I should probably just give you what you want." You lean in, watching as he does the same to press a chaste kiss to your lips. "Please," He whispers again, nodding. One of your hands runs over his cheek, and with a peck to it you oblige.
You go at a teasing, almost too slow pace as you ride him, watching his movements carefully.
Simon's head falls back, and he's discovered it's no use to hold back his noises anymore. Groans and whines escape from his throat, and you let out a breath, placing both hands on his chest.
"You're so good for me, mmh?" You praise, watching as he whimpers in response, eyes rolled back.
He's too pussydrunk to even think— let alone answer you with a complete sentence. His lips part, and his jaw hangs slack when you speed up. "Oh, oh, please, jesus..—"
"No god here, Simon. Just me." You whisper, letting your hand brush over his nipples. He lets out a broken pathetic noise, his hips bucking up.
It's unexpected, causing you to let out a drawn out moan, leaning down to get closer to his face. "You're—.. Oh, god.. doing so good f'me, fucking me so nicely." Your praises fall from your mouth, watching as he squirms below you. "You feel how fucking wet I am? That's all for you, baby."
Your words make his breath halt, and he tries not to think about them too much, or he might cum already.
"Do you want to cum inside me, Simon? Is that what you want?" You ask, trying to spur him on even more and it works, he groans loudly, nodding. "Please, let'm cum, anywhere you want, please. Jus' wanna cum."
You hum, raking your nails over his chest again and leaning down to nip at his neck.
His hands fly to your hips, and you think about pulling back and punishing him, but he feels so good inside of you. You'll let it slide this time.
You open your mouth to tease him, something about being naughty but the words fade out of your mind when he fucks up into you quickly, his balls slapping against your ass from the pace.
"Haah, so good.." You manage out, a shaky hand reaching up to stroke his cheek again. "So pretty, all fucked dumb like this.." You breathe, and Simon's hip stutter, and he whines loudly.
His hands rest on your thighs as he cums inside of you, filling you up as you gently ride him through it, cooing praises and brushing his hair away from his forehead.
His skin glistens with sweat, and you wish you could take a picture of him like this— totally in the afterglow.
He somehow manages to lean up on his elbows, pressing a kiss between your breasts and helping you off of his cock, a milky white ring around it.
"You did so well." You praise, and it makes him smile softly.
1K notes ¡ View notes
hier--soir ¡ 7 months
Text
a lover's pinch | two
joel miller x f!reader
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pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: will a complicated realisation drive you and joel apart, or drag you closer together? warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, some mildly gratuitous Classics chatter, some very gratuitous descriptions of joel's office, trope of being enamoured by your favourite teacher lol [and her fav isn't even joel, sorry guys], angst, a little manhandling, semi-public sex acts with a not-so-stranger, dirty talk, brief impact play, fingering, orgasm denial, oral [m!receiving], face fucking, facial, cum eating, sheeesh i think that's it okay i need a glass of cold water word count: 10.3k i'm not sorry series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: folks, this series has taken over my entire brain. i'm having the best time writing+outlining it, and i have been so delighted by how many people liked the first part. giving you all the biggest kiss through the screen right now. lmk what you think of part two! this is part two of ALP. you can read the previous part here: one.
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Tuesday.
It’s as though a mirage resides in the periphery of your vision.
A wobbling, shimmering thing that offsets the centre of a picture and makes your eyes hurt until you want to close them. The type where you’re squinting and trying to see, trying to make out what’s happening, and people are turning to look at you and pointing and you realise that you aren’t wearing any pants, and it’s a dream, a dream, a nightmare, it’s not fucking real. Illusory. Fantasy.
It's a childish thought that you can’t help but be consumed by. The idea that this is all some cruel, fucked up delusion you’re about to wake up from. That it couldn’t be possible for the charming Texan you’d met four nights prior to be stood only a few metres in front of you, discussing your fucking syllabus. Reality becomes this twisting, writhing thing that is painful and awkward to comprehend, and everything slows to a liquid, dreamlike pace. His voice, his movement, the shifting of other students around you, all drifting by slowly, as if a year has passed in the span of ten seconds.
And yet when you pinch your arm—nails scraping across skin until raw red marks raise in jagged lines—and you don’t wake up, the mirage remains, your stomach rolls.
Joel looks so different here. What had been casual at the bar, a lob of messy hair above a cotton t-shirt, is now professional. Buttoned shirt tucked into pressed brown pants. Beard trimmed, and hair pushed back into soft, tidy waves that roll down to his neck. A set of glasses rest on the bridge of his nose. Square, with black frames that compliment his skin tone, and have your fingers gripping the edge of the desk, wondering why the hell he hadn’t been wearing them on Friday night when he sunk his mouth against your cunt. Dirty little thing.
You can still feel his hands on you, days later. Feel the rough scrape of calloused fingers on your thighs, between your legs. Remember how soft his hair was when you buried your fingers in it and held him against your aching core, whining his name. It had been like this all weekend; holding an image of his tan, handsome face in your mind, trying to emulate the feeling of his hand between your thighs with your own, only to fail over and over again.
And he’s talking. That low, honeyed drawl that tickles across your skin and drips into your ears, warming your insides. It’s a marvellous thing; the way he shifts easily from topic to topic, disarming the room with short, sharp—surprising—jokes sifted in between soft-spoken sentiments about classical academia and the university, and what he hopes you as individuals will gain from a postgraduate in this course, and it feels like it’s been both hours and seconds as you watch him breathlessly, waiting. Waiting for his eyes to skirt to your side of the room, to dance across your face and recognise you, remember you, just as he said he would. 
Joel is talking about The Aeneid when he finally notices you.  
“I want you to be thinking about language,” he’s saying. “And tone. Virgil and Homer’s writing differs in a lotta ways, but it does share that same character of irony. Don’t forget that Virgil wrote during the Golden Age of the Roman Empire – and he’s presenting us with a story about destiny, about fate. Our focus here isn’t so much about love, or reverence, as it is about tragedy – no one in The Aeneid is safe from what their own fate lays out for them. All of these calamities and heartbreaks are necessary for the empire to thrive.”
He pauses. “Take Dido in book four as a prime example. In the openin’ lines of her story, if we’re looking to the West translation; she is suffering from love’s deadly wound, feeding it with her blood and being consumed by its hidden fire. We know from the beginnin’, that her love for Aeneas will be her downfall; that her death is essential for him to leave Carthage. And on that same page, talkin’ about Aeneas, we get, oh how cruelly he has been hounded by the Fates. This is what you need to think about if you’re gonna get to the bottom of Virgil’s bigger plan with these books. Why is he using this language? These words? I want—” 
Joel inhales sharply, dark eyes frozen on your face, which grows steadily warmer beneath his scrutiny. His body doesn’t move, hands hovering in the air mid-gesticulation, lips parted as his next words rest there, caught on his tongue. You swallow thickly. Feel sweat form on your hairline. The silence stretches, dead air giving rise to confused murmurs across the room, and your eyes widen, willing him to look away and continue; to do anything except stand there and keep looking at you like that. But it’s like he’s in a trance. Tan face dimming to a sickly, pallid colour, shoulders shifting as he breaths deeply. Staring.
A few heads turn in your direction, but you can’t bring yourself to look back at them; to snatch yourself away from the feeling of being held in his gaze again. It’s intoxicating—almost euphoric—to have those dark eyes on your skin.
And then it’s over, the moment severed as Joel’s eyes snap away and he clears his throat, offering a pained smile to the rest of the room. And he’s apologising, Lost my train of thought for a moment there, using a playful tone of voice as he says, first day of the semester jitters, y’know?
He ignores you after that.
For the entirety of the two-hour lecture, he makes sure not to spare a single glance in your direction. And it stings, but you suppose you understand. Can see the tension held in his shoulders now; the strain in his voice as he works to talk with that same measured ease he’d had at the beginning.
You take notes carefully, and don’t bother raising your hand when he inspires participation from the other students. But by the end of the class, you can’t bring yourself to walk out – not without saying something, without finding some kind of understanding over what the fuck is happening. You’re practically glued to your seat as students rise, filing out of the theatre hall.
Joel stands by the desk, back hunched as he collects his things, fielding kind comments of thanks and that was great from people as they pass him on their way toward the exit.  Eventually you join the stream, wandering down the stairs on shaky legs until you find yourself at the edge of his desk, fiddling with the strap of your bag and watching his back. His shoulders hunch tighter when you pause there, shadow splaying across the desk. Though his face isn’t visible to you, his hands are almost a blur, scrambling to drag his things into a messy pile so that he can pack up faster. He slaps his laptop closed and you flinch at the sound.
After a few moments, you find the courage to speak.
“That was, uhh, that was really interesting,” you clear your throat awkwardly, watching other students shuffle past in your periphery. His hands move faster, stuffing loose notes into a leather satchel with little disregard for the paper creasing.
You lower your voice to a hoarse, careful whisper. “We need to talk about this.”  
Joel finally looks up, nostrils flaring as he meets your stare. He nods once, looping the bag over his shoulder. “Not here,” he says gruffly, tight eyes darting around the room. “Room’s booked for another lecture in five.”
He tilts his head towards the door, encouraging you to follow him as he paces out towards the hall. You shadow him quickly, clutching your bag and watching the muscles in his back shift beneath his shirt as he walks three paces ahead of you. You fight the urge to place your hand in the dip between his shoulder blades; to feel the heat of his skin, the rolling tension beneath it, and dig your fingernails into him. Joel doesn’t look back to check if you’re following – he knows you are.
He leads you up a flight of stairs and down another hall, makes a left, and then another left, until finally he’s pausing and dragging a key from his pocket, pressing it into the lock of a heavy wooden door and nudging it open. There’s a plaque on the wood that reads J MILLER, PhD. You swallow. And then follow him inside and let the door fall shut behind you.
Joel stalks into the room, feet heavy against the dark carpet. He tosses his satchel to the floor and then stands by the desk, wild eyes trained on where you hover silently by the door. He looks on edge, to say the least. Frazzled fingers race through his hair, mussing the curls until they look reminiscent of the past Friday. Foot tapping against the ground in a quick, jerky rhythm.
And you know that you need to talk, need to clear the air, need to say anything, but you can’t help it when your eyes wander around the room because—
His office is sort of beautiful.
A larger space than you expected it to be, with a north-facing window that allows a natural yellowed morning light to fill the space, and a vast bookshelf stretching across the wall behind a large desk. You can’t make out the titles from where you stand by the door, but texts fill every crack and crevice of the shelfing unit, not organised by any noticeable colour scheme or structure. The space is messy – personal. In fact, everywhere you look seems to expose something private, something intimate.
A jacket hangs from a hook on the back of the door, made of a worn duck brown waxed material that looks soft to the touch. In the corner opposite the desk, a velvet green armchair sits beside a low table that houses a record player and a potted plant. Sleeves of records are tucked beneath the table, stacked upon each other haphazardly, without a hint of dust on them. Clearly touched and rifled through more often than not.
The wide window is cracked just an inch, allowing a warm early-Fall breeze to slip in and rustle the starched curtains. A coffee mug is beside the record player. Two more sit abandoned on the outskirts of his desk. All empty and forgotten about, too busy to be refilled or moved or cleaned. And there are books everywhere; strewn across his desk, forgotten beneath the cushion of his armchair, piled against the wall beneath the window. Worn, well-read books, with frayed covers and broken spines. You almost drool, tempted to ignore him completely and venture towards them; to run your fingers over the covers and find out exactly what kind of writing this enigma of a man spends so much time devouring.
After what feels like an hour of simply looking—but could only have been a minute—Joel breaks the silence.
“Did you know?”
His voice is quiet. Detached. The backs of his thighs perch on the edge of the desk, hands tangled in his lap. Large fingers pluck at each other as he stares at you from across the room, in an almost anxious fiddling movement.
“What?” you ask.
“Did you know who I was?” he clarifies, voice hardening. Those dark eyebrows tighten in the middle of his forehead, features pinching together into a sharp frown. “When you saw me.”
“Joel,” you scoff, taken aback. “How the hell would I know who you were?”
“Your classes were organised,” his voice raises slightly—just a little. “You knew the names of your profess—”
“J Miller,” you interrupt. “Everything says J Miller, that’s it. I didn’t fucking know, Joel.”
His frown softens at that, eyes dropping to the carpet as he nods once, clearly still unsure. You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, shoulders tense. There’s only a metre or so between the pair of you, and yet you can feel it. That static, burning energy, the same as four nights before. Something inside of you that rages and claws at your skin from the inside, begging to get closer to him. You ignore it.
“Why didn’t I meet you when I interviewed for the program?” you ask. You remember the day you came in, six months ago. Sitting with an older man—the Classics department head—and a soft, round woman with light hair. No Joel. You would’ve remembered him. 
His eyes flash, hands tightening in his lap. “I was on vacation,” he grinds out. It’s like it physically pains him to talk to you—to even look at you. One of his hands drops, palm flexing by his side. He’s taking deep breaths, clearly trying to calm the quell of panic that has been swirling inside him for the past two hours. You keep your distance.
After a moment, he speaks again.
“Greece, huh?” It comes out in a low scoff. His eyebrows are raised expectantly, frustration laced through the lines in his face. “Said you were there for a month.”
“Mhm,” you hum. “I was involved in a text translation study based in Athens.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales, digging the palms of his hands over his eyes. “This can’t be happenin’.”
“Joel—”
“Y’need to transfer out of my class,” he interrupts, eyes blazing. “They run it online, you can—”
“What?” you blink. You feel your blood pressure rise, anger spiking as you comprehend what he is suggesting. “Be serious – I am not doing the class online because of this. It’ll jeopardise my entire semester.”
“I don’t care,” he glowers, rising from the desk.
“Jesus, stop acting like this was all my doing,” you snap. “If memory serves, you’re just as to blame as I am—you wanted me just as much as I wanted you.”
“Stop,” he growls. It’s a rough, unforgettable sound that fills your stomach with heat. An oddly familiar thing that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Silly little slut. The memory licks at your throat, the skin of your chest, leaving a hot heady feeling in its wake. You wonder if he’s noticed the hickey on your neck that hasn’t entirely faded yet. A persistent, lingering reminder of his mouth on your skin. Of the sharp scrape of his teeth.
You take a step forward and Joel’s entire body goes rigid, right hand jutting out in front of him, fingers splayed open.
“Stay over there,” he says quickly, voice a low warning.
You scowl but don’t move, feet planted in the soft carpet. The breeze rushes in through the window and causes a paper on his desk to flap upward, and your eyes drift toward the movement. Gaze shifting over the items on his desk, the mess of papers, the half-full mugs, and then… a picture frame. You squint, unable to make it out from where you are. Take a step forward, and then another, and realise it’s Joel’s shape in the image, standing with a tall woman tucked against his side. It’s too far for you to see clearly, but you can tell his arm is wrapped around her shoulder, holding her against his chest, and you know he’s grinning from the splash of white across his face.
“What’re you—” Joel’s words turn to silence as he tilts his head and realises what you’re looking at. A broad hand darts out, gripping the frame and knocking it face down on his desk.  You flinch, eyes widening in incredulity as you turn to him.
“What?” A sardonic laugh escapes your mouth. “Are you fucking married or something? Jesus, Joel.”
You reach for the frame, fingers skirting across it with every intention of seeing, of understanding, of knowing just what it is that he’s so desperate to hide. But then he’s there, strong fingers looping around your wrist, halting your movement. The speed of it sends you stumbling toward the desk, and Joel’s body follows you forward, chest flush against your back as your lower stomach collides with the dark wood. Caught between a rock and a hard place, quite literally. You stiffen, sorely aware of how close he is. How much of his body is touching yours, and how similar it is to before.
“I’m not married,” he bites, and you can feel his breath against your ear. Hot, harsh exhales that send whisps of your hair fluttering forward. A shiver runs down your spine. His grip is firm around your wrist; not hard enough to hurt, but enough to hold you in place with your hand frozen in the air, fingers still outstretched towards the frame.
“Then who’s in the picture?” you grunt.
“None of your fuckin’ business,” he snaps quickly. You can feel his stubble graze the edge of your jaw, and something fizzes in your stomach. Your resolve softens at the frustration in his voice; the truth that bleeds out through his words. It is none of your business. Your body relaxes a little, arm going limp in his hold, and yet he doesn’t let go. It takes a moment for you to realise why.  
Joel’s hips are pressed tightly into you, trapping you against the desk, and he’s hard. You can practically feel him throb against the small of your back, the full length of his cock only separated from you by two layers of clothing. Saliva pools in your mouth, eyes pinching closed as you remember the feeling of him; the delicious burn of his heavy cock dragging through you. Using your free hand, you twist your arm behind you and slide it down his front. A whispered oh fuck escapes your lips as your fingers drag across the front of his pants, and he grunts in your ear, grasp tightening around your wrist. Painful this time, but only for a second, until he’s tearing his hand off you and placing it on your lower back, pushing you down so that your chest is flush with his desk.
You gasp, lips parting to speak, but no words are coming out and Joel’s hands are on the waistband of your jeans, on the button. He’s undoing it, fingers steadfast in their movement, and then he yanks the material down roughly over your ass.
“Joel,” you whimper urgently as he grips your panties, dragging them to your knees as well. He keeps you bent against the desk, so you twist your neck to stare at him over your shoulder, legs tensing when you see the expression on his face. His eyes are dark, pupils blown behind his glasses as he looks down to where his covered cock grinds against the swell of your ass.
“God dammit,” he exhales, and you clench around nothing, warmth pooling between your thighs. This is so different from at the bar. There the door was locked, place full of people who didn’t know either of you. Here, in his office, anyone could walk in. A member of faculty, a student, anyone. And the thought has you fucking aching for him.
Thick fingers streak between your thighs from behind, spreading your slick folds apart. You gasp as cool air hits your throbbing clit, but the sound cuts into a low moan as his fingers expertly roll over the sizzling nerve endings there. He ousts a low grunt of surprise at how wet you are, hips still grinding against you as his fingers drift to your entrance, rubbing and collecting your slick on his fingers until you’re whimpering into your own palm, pressing your hips back and begging him for more. All at once, one of his palms slaps across your ass while two thick fingers press inside you. The sting has your eyes rolling back. Your teeth sink into the palm of your hand to muffle the noise you make, and he’s curling his fingers inside you, rubbing against your g-spot, and your legs are trembling with the effort of staying standing. Your mind is a blur. You feel almost lightheaded at how suddenly this is all happening – and at how relieved you are to feel his hands on you again.
“S’this what you wanted?” Joel pants, scissoring his fingers inside you, stretching you out. “Knew if you followed me in here, I’d end up fuckin’ this pretty pussy again? Huh?”
“Fuck,” you choke out, eyelids fluttering as he adds a third finger. Heat sizzles beneath the tightening muscles in your stomach, and you can feel yourself clenching around him over and over again, your high already approaching. It’s almost pitiful, the affect he has on you; how easily your body yields to the simplest of touches from his hands.
“Huh?” he prompts for a response. You can feel the cool zipper of his pants cutting across the bare skin of your ass, scratching you as his hips rut forward.
“Please,” you say, voice quiet as you can muster. “I’m so close, Joel, please.”
He grunts, increasing the speed of his fingers. Soft squelching sounds are audible now, slick smearing against your inner thighs, his wrist, and your face goes warm at the sound of it. Your fingers claw at his desk, nails catching on paper as your hand lands against a book and grips it tight. Your abdomen burns, that soft thrumming heat licking at your skin, the muscles of your thighs, scorching in its might as your orgasm builds and builds, hanging dangerously close to the precipice.  
“Gonna come all over my fingers?” Joel asks, voice haggard and breathless. “C’mon, give it t’me.”
You’re nodding before he even finishes speaking, forehead knocking roughly against wood, eyebrows pinching together. So close, so close, so fucking clo—
A light knock sounds against his office door.
Joel freezes. Your eyes widen, hips shifting against his hand as you murmur no, no, no, please Joel. But he ignores you, gripping your hip to keep you still and dragging his fingers from your dripping cunt to press them over your mouth. Your pulse thunders in your ears, heart trashing wildly in your chest as you catch your breath, devasted.
“Joel?” a soft voice calls from the hall. A woman. “You in there?”
“Just on the phone,” he says loudly, voice surprisingly steady. You can taste yourself on his fingers. Feel it smear across your lips. “What d’ya need?”
“I’m headed to the café,” the woman calls. “You want anything?”
Joel responds with a sharp, resounding no.  
There’s a beat of silence where you can almost feel him holding his breath, waiting for her to inevitably open the unlocked door and discover the scene in his office. But the silence stretches on, and then you can hear soft footfalls fade down the corridor, and you know that you’re alone again.
Joel rips his hand from your mouth. Grips your underwear and drags it up over your hips, then your jeans, before he’s stumbling away and dropping into the armchair across the room. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, eyes wide as he gazes at the floor. When you push off the desk and turn to stare at him, a firm tent is visible in his pants. You button your jeans slowly, watching him. He doesn’t look at you.
“Joel—” you start softly.
“Don’t,” he interrupts. “Just… just get out.”
You open your mouth to speak—to argue—but once again, nothing comes out. No words to defend yourself, or what the two of you just did. You stare at him for almost a minute, but Joel’s eyes stay trained on the carpet, fists clenched against his thighs.
You leave his office silently and try not to look back. Make two rights and head down the stairs, outside and across the green to where your car is parked. The whole thing feels so dirty, so debauched, and yet you want so much more from him. Want it so badly that you drive home in silence, mind too busy with thoughts of Joel Joel Joel to remember to turn on the radio. 
And behind it all, is a low, itching thought at the base of your skull, something that makes you smile as you drive – the knowledge that he wants you just as badly as you want him.
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Wednesday.
You decide very quickly that you like Rachel.
Maybe it was because you were having a good day. The sun had been shining when you woke up; strong beams that teased their way through the window in your bedroom and rested warm upon the bare skin of your back. By the time you rose, the coffee was already done brewing, and Trin met you in the hall with a large mug of it and a soft hey, man, how’d you sleep? And when you went to get dressed for the day you remembered you did the washing two nights before, and found your favourite pair of jeans—the ones that squeezed your ass just right—were neatly folded in a drawer, waiting for you. Yes; maybe all of that had something to do with it. Or maybe, it because Rachel was just great.  
You like her tenacity, her words; the idolatry with which she discusses her work. And she is charming; an intellectual through and through. The soft roundness of her face and the kind slant to her eyes offset by a razor-sharp wit. And there’s this peculiar quirkiness to her that catches your attention in seconds – a rough snort whenever she laughs, the bright orange shade of the toenails sticking out of her sandals.
Her teaching is direct, no-bullshit, and yet she has this smile. This soft, thin-lipped genuine smile that says, I know something you don’t know, and I can’t wait to share it with you.
During her first lecture, you feel rooted to the spot, unable to draw your eyes away from her for two-hours as she waxes poetic about heroines and tragic love stories, about the importance of myth, of gore.
Listening to her reminds you of what you’d always loved about classics – the filth of it, the horror. It feels like reaching your hands into a puddle of mud, flexing your fingers and letting the dirt and grime slide beneath your nails, coating every inch of your skin. The squeamishness of it, the rot, the tragedy – you love it all, and Rachel does too.
“When we talk about the juxtaposition between heroines across different texts,” she says. “We want to look at the values being portrayed; the meaning behind what’s happening to these women. Let’s appreciate the context here, guys! To understand the rage of Medea, or, say, the sacrifice of Iphigenia, we have to get to the root of their roles in society. Priestess, mistress, virgin, mother – we want to understand the perspectives being shown to us. What drives these women? What fire lives within them, pushing them to make their decisions—or to have their decisions made for them?”
She points to a student and nods, “Go on.”
“Do you think Medea holds much bearing here?” someone to your left asks. A man. “If we’re focusing on heroines, I mean.”
“Do you?” she challenges. A hint of a smile—that smile—drifts across her lips, hands clasped to her stomach as she awaits his response.
“Not particularly,” he says, voice less sure now. “I know you can view any text through most perspectives, but I’d never thought of her so much as a heroine in a feminist text.”  
“I see,” Rachel nods. “Well, the short answer is that I’d encourage you to read it again.” She laughs, a soft tinkering sound. “The long answer is that her character is complex. Let’s not beat around the bush; Medea is a woman scorned. Banished by Creon, forgotten by Jason. As the reader, we are able to comprehend the most brutal pain through her – a woman trapped in a world where men have decided everything for her, and she is furious. Even describes herself as a woman born to sorrow. Now, as the reader, it is your right to believe that she is bad, or an anti-heroine, but you cannot deny that she is made bad by circumstances out of her own control.” She pauses, thick eyebrows jutting upward as she looks around the quiet theatre. “I’d say that’s pretty feminist of Euripides.”
You approach her afterwards, fingers an awkward tangle in front of your chest.
“I just have to say,” you smile bashfully. “That was wonderful. You’re so engaging, I was… god, I don’t even know what to say, but thank you. I’m really looking forward to learning from you this semester.”
Rachel’s eyes light up at your words.
Up close you notice a pair of thick, ceramic earrings dangling from her lobes. They look hand painted; thick brushstrokes of dandelion yellow smeared across crimson red ovals.
“Oh, how lovely,” her eyes assess you quickly, mouth splitting into a crooked, fond smile. “I’m very glad to have you here…?”
You tell your name in a mumbled rush, and she nods once, eyes scanning the list of students on her sheet.
“Oh of course,” she says knowingly. “You emailed yesterday, no? Some trouble with accessing the readings online?”
You stiffen. Blink at her, smile dimming somewhat. “Yeah,” you exhale. “Yes, that’s actually—I was having trouble with the link for another class, and I hoped you might be able to help.”
“I see,” she frowns then. “Well, unfortunately if it’s not for this class I won’t be of much help; my access code only gets me so far in that damn portal. Which professor assigned the reading?”
“It’s, uhh,” you speak slowly, the words stiff as they stumble out of your mouth. “It’s Joel Miller.”
“Oh, Joel?” she smiles. “Well, he’ll be happy to help, I’m sure. He’s usually in his office around this time – do you need me to show you the way?”
Your mouth is dry. Yeah, you think. I’m sure he’ll be over the moon to see me.
“That’s okay,” you reply with a tight smile. “I’ll find it.”
She nods, bids you a warm goodbye, and her eyes have already drifted back to the papers in front of her when you turn to leave the room.
Your bag weighs heavy on your shoulder, straps of canvas material digging into the muscle there as you retrace your footsteps from yesterday. Up the creaking set of stairs, taking a left, and then another left, and your mind is a blur, static wobbling in your veins as you rehearse what you’re going to say, how you’re going to say it.
It’s been less than twenty-four hours since you’d last seen him, and from the second you left, an image of what happened in his office played on a loop in your brain. Like the spool on a VHS has been stuck together, wound into a circle, and the tape repeats over and over again, the same images, sounds, smells, soaking your mind until all else is white noise. And it’s twisted, and wrong, and you’re vaguely aware of that, somewhere in the part of your brain where you stash knowledge that you’d prefer to forget. Because it’s easier to forget the hard part, the ugly part, and far nicer to remember the scrape of his stubble against your skin. The smell of him filling your nostrils as he crowds you against his desk. The scratch on your ass from his zipper. Remember how your name sounds when he moans it, and forget the feeling that comes when he refuses to look at you after the fact.  
And you wonder if this is what the entire semester will be like; spending each day reminiscing on your last interaction with Joel, hoping for another touch, taste, another chance, another something, anything, from him. The weight of it sits heavy on your chest, like a wall of freshly cemented bricks left to solidify in the sun. And beneath that, beneath the clay and sand and limestone, excitement buzzes. Indisputable, persistent, anticipation. A vibrating that hums in your bones and has you shivering from the tips of your toes to the top of your skull as you knock on his office door. 
J MILLER PhD. The words glare at you from the bronze plaque for the second time in two days.
You hear his voice call pleasantly from behind the door. Light, relaxed. You swallow down the lump in your throat and step inside.
The window is wide open today, pale curtains drawn back to allow the bright midday sun to shine through and warm the carpet. Joel’s head tilts upward and within seconds the soft, easy smile on his face dissolves into something unreadable. He’s perched behind his desk, broad frame bent over a mess of papers, pen tucked neatly between coiled fingers. A clear tension simmers in the lines on his forehead; a tangible rigidity that clouds his expression when he sees that it’s you. He clicks the top of his pen once, twice, three times, and says your name in a clipped greeting.
“Hi,” you say, hand raising in a quick wave. “Sorry to barge in like this, I, uhh, I was wondering if you could help me with something.” 
“My office hours are between one and four,” he says tersely, eyes lowering back to his book. “Schedule an appointment over email.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, face warming as embarrassment swells in your chest. All of the excitement—the longing—that had churned inside you since yesterday seems to dissipate, replaced by a looming sense of dread as you register how distant and apathetic he seems. How hard he tries to not even look in your direction. Those words from yesterday ring in your ears. Just get out.
“Seriously?” you mutter, nonetheless, trying to contain the hurt that threatens to spill across your face. “It’ll take five seco—”
“Seriously,” he repeats firmly.
Your jaw clenches, annoyance tightening the already stiff muscles in your shoulders as you march over to his desk, dropping your bag onto the edge of it. The exact same spot from yesterday, where’d pressed you down against the wood and— Joel’s shoulders hunch. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed up to just below his elbows, thin white material stressing around cords of muscle. You gaze at the bare skin for a moment, tongue heavy in your mouth, before looking to what he was doing before you came in. A book in front of him is filled with scribbles and annotations, harsh black marks scrawled beneath thin lines of text. You only get a second to look at it before his hands are snapping it shut, revealing the cover. Robert Fagles’ translation of The Odyssey. The picture frame from yesterday is nowhere to be seen.
“Working on something for a lecture?” you try. If it’s about class, he can’t be mad. If it’s about class, he can’t push you away.
“What do you need?” he asks impatiently, ignoring your words entirely.
A hand lifts to rub the skin above his eyebrow. The tip of his middle finger massages the tan skin there in soft circles, and you watch the movement for a second, transfixed. No ring. I’m not married. His other hand reaches for the mug on his desk, and he takes a long, drawn-out sip of black coffee. Steam billows from the dark liquid, fogging the lenses of his glasses. The sight makes you want to laugh, but you swallow it down, acutely aware that Joel would be less than impressed by the reaction.
“I can’t access one of the readings for next week,” you explain distractedly, dragging the laptop from your bag.
You round his desk in a few short steps and Joel sighs, cringing as you place it down in front of him, opening the screen for him to see. He shifts his chair just slightly to the right, away from you. That persistent feeling of doubt coils in your gut, sharp teeth that twist and nip at your insides, taunting you, telling you that he doesn’t want you. And it’s not why you’re here—not at all—but you can’t bring yourself believe it. Don’t want to believe it. So you bite back – turn your back to his desk and pitch your thighs atop the edge of it, feet dangling an inch off the ground. You jeans are tight, and the fabric cuts into the skin of your hips where they bend.
“Get down,” he warns sharply, dismissing you with a taut shake of his head. “You can ask IT for help with that.”
“I’m asking you,” you persist stubbornly. “You’re my professor, Joel—"
“Yes, I am your professor,” Joel bites in agreement, glowering up at you. You stiffen warily at the heat in his gaze. At the anger you can see stirring in those dark brown orbs, brimming and ready to boil over. “And I don’t think we should be alone together,” he adds. “It’s not… this is bad for us, okay? I can’t… fuck, you can’t just come in here. I don’t want you comin’ in here anymore.”
And the memory plays once more. That thing, that something twisted, something wrong, something familiar, curls in your stomach. Snaps and bares its teeth at your uncertainty, sends it scattering into the distance, and replaces it with want.
“I didn’t even plan to come here,” your voice hardens, hackles rising as the feeling rises within you. “You’re not the first person I asked, alright? I just need some fucking help—”
“Don’t swear at me,” he interrupts through gritted teeth.
A beat of stunned silence hangs between you. A shocked laugh tumbles from your mouth, eyes widening as you take in the grave expression on his face.
“You have got to be kidding me,” you stare at him incredulously. “Joel, you had your fingers inside of me against this desk yesterday. I think swearing is the least of our worries.”
“Jesus,” he spits, pushing his chair further from the desk. His elbows fall against his knees, head resting in his palms as he breaths, not looking at you. “You’re fuckin’ filthy, y’know that? Can you not just behave?”
Don’t swear, you want to tease, but think better of it.
Instead, you nod slowly, drop your hand onto the desk, fingers hovering over his book. “Joel,” you implore, tone pleading. “I don’t… I don’t know how to act around you right now, okay? It’s not easy for me to just pretend nothing has happened between us. To just forget.”
“And you think it’s easy for me?” he gripes. His eyes are focused on your hand; on the way your fingers tense and untense over the bound cover, stroking the frayed paper his own fingers have clearly touched countless times. He doesn’t move a muscle. “To try and act like things are normal, act like I didn’t—” he cuts himself off, lips clamping shut. An anguished look crosses his features.
“We’re both adults,” you frown. “It’s not a crime that we fucked, Joel.”
A harsh laugh falls from his mouth, stern eyes blazing. “Ain’t about that and you know it. It’s against professional ethics,” Joel snaps, tone firm. “Against university policy – if anybody finds out it could put us both in jeopardy.”
You’re silent for a moment, watching him. His glasses have slid down a little, and they rest precariously on the tip of this nose. Dark eyes stare from over the top of black frames, and then his legs are crossing, one tucking tightly over the other, a thick forearm dropping to rest across his lap, and want burns in your throat. You struggle to remember why you came to his office in the first place.
“Nobody is going to find out,” you whisper.
A rasp of your name catches in his throat. Joel looks bemused, face as flat as he rolls his eyes. “Quit fuckin’ playin’ around. You know how serious this is.”
You contain the urge to scowl, lips tight as you say, “Yeah, I know. Just—look, you don’t have to worry. We can cut it off right now – I won’t say a word of it to anyone. Nothing else is going to happen.”
But you can see the way his eyes flicker down your body whenever you move. How his gaze rests heavily at the pinch of your waist, the spread of your thighs against his desk, your bare arms, before darting away. You wonder if he’s touched himself thinking about you, and a jagged heat tears through the top of your thighs as you picture what that would look like.
“But that's not what you want, is it?” you ask softly. Joel doesn’t speak. He’s so still you almost think he didn’t hear you. But his eyes glance to your thighs again, you know that he did.
“You want me,” you say then, voice low and sure.
The muscle in his jaw ticks. Lips purse around clenched teeth and a harsh breath escapes his nose before he’s saying your name again, a strained whisper. And God, you love the way he says it. Like the word was created just to spite him.
“You are walkin’ on some mighty thin ice right now,” he grits out, heated gaze scorching your skin.
You glance down to his lap, where a forearm still balances over his crotch, and arch an eyebrow.
“Show me,” you murmur.
You can hear him breathing. Slow, exaggerated puffs of breath, chest rising and falling at an increasing pace as he maintains eye contact. Large hands tighten into fists, fingers curling against palms, and he’s dragging his arm back from his lap, spreading his legs as far as they’ll go within the arms of his chair. You wet your lips, face heating as you stare. The firm line of his cock is evident beneath his pants, a solid ridge against his left thigh. When you look back to his face there’s a faint red hue colouring the skin of his neck, steadily rising toward the edge of his facial hair. He’s blushing.
“How long?” you ask, voice awed.
“Since you got on the desk,” Joel grumbles, tone almost begrudging.  
You hum softly, a low vibration in your throat, and then you’re slipping off his desk and taking a step towards him. And he doesn’t flinch away. He watches you close the distance between the pair of you and hover between his thighs, your legs almost brushing his.   
“Let me help,” you whisper, lowering onto the ground in front of him. The carpet is warm and rough against your jean-clad knees. Your eyes drift from his face to between his thighs, and then back up, slowly.
“We shouldn’t,” he croaks, lips chapped and dry. You want to kiss him senseless. Want to drag your tongue across his mouth until it’s soaking wet and then push your way inside.
“But do you want me to?”
An agonising beat of silence follows. But there’s no doubt there anymore. No more wondering, or uncertainty, because you can see it in his eyes. The same all-consuming, devastating desire that crawls its way up to rest at the base of your throat whenever you’re with him. 
And then thick fingers are at the waist of his pants, undoing his leather belt, his button, pushing the material open to reveal a pair of black briefs. He doesn’t take his pants off, just adjusts slightly in the chair before pressing his hand beneath the band of his underwear. Joel grips himself, the sight still obscured from your vision, and you find yourself mesmerised nonetheless, unable to drag your eyes away from the dark material. A low grunt escapes him, and then he shifts the band of his underwear down and pulls his cock out.
The head of him is swollen and leaking, tight skin so red that it’s almost a purple hue against the stark white of his shirt. Joel’s fingers tighten around his base, stroking himself once. Impatient, you lick you hand and let it drift forward to replace his, fingers slipping over the silky wet skin of his head and wrapping around him. Your hand is so much smaller in comparison, and your fingertips almost don’t meet as you flex your grip around girth.
Your underwear clings to the skin between your thighs, material warm and damp against you, a result of the simmering heat that rests in the base of your belly and flares every time Joel sighs. When you glance up to see his face, he’s already staring at you, pupils blown wide, lips sealed in a tight line. His length twitches in your palm, and you salivate.
You lean in and place a gentle kiss again his tip, smearing the pearl of precome there against your lips. You stroke the length of him in slow, firm pumps, guiding his head against your puckered lips, but not quite taking it inside yet. Joel’s fists are tight against his thighs, and you wish he would put them in your hair, on the back of your head, grip you, pull you down against him. But he doesn’t, not yet.
He’s got a salty, heady taste, and you swipe your tongue out to clean the hint of it from your mouth, swallowing with a satisfied purr. A harsh exhale shoots from his nose, eyebrows dragging further down as he watches you tease him.
A quick flick of your tongue against his slit has a sharp gasp rising from him, and in response you lathe wet, messy kisses to his head, puckering your lips around it and swirling your tongue, not caring what you look like, not caring that he probably wants you to go faster. It’s purely for your own enjoyment, and you’re moaning and sighing around the taste of him. You want to take Joel Miller a part, piece by piece, and feel him come undone beneath your mouth.
Unable to wait any longer, you let his head slip passed your open lips and sink into the wet heat of your mouth. And he’s so quiet, so composed, so you glide your tongue over his slit again before pressing forward, lips meeting the movement of your own hand as you take him deeper.
Your jaw strains, muscles smarting as you attempt to take the entirety of him. He’s so long, so thick, and the tip of him is nudging against the back of your throat in seconds, making your eyes water. And god it’s better than you could’ve imagined.
Tears cling to your eyelashes as you look up and find Joel with his bottom lip snagged between his teeth, pink skin turning white from pressure. The heavy weight of him crowds your senses, his taste on your tongue and scent in your nostrils, everywhere, and you can feel how hot your face is getting but you can’t look away from him. You don’t stop until his hand is landing on the nape of your neck, collecting your hair in his fist and dragging your mouth off him. You part with a wet gasp, a string of saliva dangling between his tip and your shiny lips.
“Breathe, goddammit,” Joel says, holding you still when you attempt to press forward and take him back into your mouth.
“You’re so big,” you say earnestly, head tilting backward to rest heavy in his hold. You blink through bleary eyes, smiling lazily. Drunk on him after only a little taste. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this, you know. How you’d taste… how it would feel to have you in my mouth.”
“Fuck, stop,” Joel says quickly, voice pained. “Y’can’t say shit like that.” His grip tightens at the base of your neck, and then he’s guiding your face forward so the head of his cock slips back into your mouth, effectively shutting you up.
You hum appreciatively and relax your jaw, taking him until he’s nudging at your throat again, and he’s still so fucking silent. Determined to get some kind of reaction from him, you pull off and lick a broad stripe from tip to base, hand stroking his length in unhurried, firm pulls as your mouth finds his heavy balls. Your tongue glides along the sensitive skin in slow, overwhelming movements, leaving no inch of him untouched. Wet sounds fill the air as the movement of your fist increases in pace, and your lips drag over him, sucking one of his balls into your mouth and then—finally—a long, drawn-out groan spills into the air, and he’s saying, “Shit, that’s it.”
Never pausing the movement of your hand, you pull back just a smidge and grin.
Joel’s hands are on you then, another deep sound sputtering from his lips. He’s brushing your hair off your face, mussing it as he rakes his fingers through it, short nails scraping against your scalp. He swears softly when you take him back into your mouth.
“Fuck,” he mutters breathlessly. “Is that what you want? Needy little thing wants a little praise, huh? Want me to tell you how good you are, how good your pretty mouth feels on my cock?”
You whimper, eyelids fluttering as you begin to move on him desperately. Your mouth tightens around him, and a tear squeezes from your eyes as his hips jolt forward, cock nudging suddenly into the back of your throat. Joel’s hand cups the back of your head, strokes the damp skin at the base of your neck as you gag around him.
“Jesus,” Joel groans at the sound. “There you go, s’perfect, s’fuckin’ perfect.”
The muscles in your thighs tighten, legs pressing together to try and soothe the pulsing ache there. Your head is moving up and down along his length and it’s wet and messy and depraved, saliva gliding down your chin to your neck, and you fucking love it. Joel’s gruff sounds of encouragement only serve to spur you on.
And then, as if by some stroke of divine intervention, it happens again.
A firm rap against the door of his office.
Joel goes silent. Your shoulders tense, and you pull back until his tip rests heavy on your bottom lip. Wide eyed, you gaze up at him, panic swelling in your chest. And then comes that voice; the same voice as yesterday.
“You in there Joel?”
You can feel your lungs squeezing inside your chest, grasping violently for air and finding zero reprieve as the reality of the moment begins to overwhelm you, because you know that voice.
“Fuck,” you whisper dazedly, slumping back to rest on your heels. “Fuck, fuck, fu—”
Joel shakes his head, strong hands gripping your shoulders to soothe you. “Shh,” he hushes quietly. “Stop, hey, stop. It’s fine.”
Another knock at the door. Nowhere for you to go, nowhere to hide.
“Just a sec, Rachel,” Joel calls, voice laced with frustration.
And then those hands are guiding you backwards. You move blindly, allowing him to encourage your body back, back, back, broad palm protecting your head as he nudges you underneath the desk. Further and further until you’re completely hidden, tucked away where only he can see you. And as you settle into the warm, sweaty space, watch Joel drag his chair forward and squeeze his long legs around your body, you feel the panic quell. Your pulse slows, the tremor in your hands settles, and cool relief comes in the form of a chill down your spine.
“Come in,” Joel calls. You can hear the door click open a second later, soft footsteps entering the room. You hold your breath as they begin to talk, heart stuttering, eyes trained on his where his spit-soaked cock rests against the underside of his desk.
“Sorry to be a bother,” Rachel’s soft voice chimes. “I was hoping to grab my copy of The Annals, I need it for the undergrad lecture I’m covering this afternoon.”
“Course,” he says sharply, and you can hear a drawer to your right open and close. A moment of silence. “All yours.”  
Your abdomen tenses at the sound of his haggard voice, and something tight pulls in your chest. A flare of jealousy, of possessiveness, at the fact that someone else is seeing him right now. That the flush on his cheeks, the sweat on his neck, is no longer yours alone. And it’s absurd, because she has no idea. But the desire to reclaim the moment for yourself, to assert that his sweat, his blush—his body—is yours is overwhelming, and you find your hand gripping his heavy cock, tongue gliding out of your mouth to swipe against his weeping tip. The dread from before flares in the back of your mind but you push it away, shove it down until it’s hazy, a faint ringing that fades into the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.
Joel’s thighs stiffen. He coughs, a sharp, surprised noise.
“Thanks for that,” Rachel says, voice slow. “Hey… are you doing okay? Looking pretty faint over there, Miller.”
You smile around him and rub your tongue in teasing strokes along the underside of his sensitive head. He clears his throat roughly, and then his hand is slipping underneath the desk to tangle in your hair. It’s rough and it stings, and you find yourself humming ever so slightly around him, indicating that you love it.
“Feelin’ a little under the weather,” he agrees faintly.
“Should try some of that tea I always tell you about,” she says, ever so friendly. “Works a treat when you’re sick.”
“Maybe I will,” Joel says, and his fingers are twisting in your messy locks, pulling your mouth away from his cock.
Although he can’t see you, you pout. Not wanting to push it, you settle for looping three fingers around him, index middle and thumb, gripping just beneath his head, and begin to rub him in slow, soundless movements. With every forward motion of your hand, the tip of his cock brushes against your lower lip, and his grip on your hair tightens.
“I could bring you some,” Rachel offers then. You can practically hear the smile in her voice, picture the kind slant to her eyes. “Maybe tomorrow, if you think you’ll be coming into wor—”
“I’ll be here tomorrow,” Joel snaps suddenly, voice almost harsh as he interrupts her. “Was that all you needed?”
“Oh,” she replies awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry.”
“No,” he says, audibly flustered. His cock is drooling over your lips, and the salty taste has your pussy aching, clenching painfully tight, begging to be filled. “m’sorry, got a fuckin’ headache, is all. Tea tomorrow?”  
“Tea tomorrow, sure,” Rachel confirms. “Sorry again, I… yeah, sorry, I hope you feel better, Joel.”
Whem the door closes a moment later Joel is shoving his chair backward again, hands wrenching you out from underneath his desk. You fall forward, flushed and breathless. His expression is thunderous, pitch-black eyes glaring down at you. On all fours, you crawl forward and splay your palms across his thighs, feel them twitch and tremble beneath your nimble fingers.
“You couldn’t fuckin’ wait?” he snaps, hand finding a home in your hair once more. He drags it into a ponytail and wraps it around his fist.
“Sorry,” you lie, teeth nipping at your swollen bottom lip. Joel’s eyes follow the movement and he grunts, unimpressed with the apology.
“She could’ve caught us,” he admonishes you.
“Better start locking the door then,” you clip, winking lazily. A short huff passes through his lips, and then his left hand is dropping to land on your chin, thumb rubbing against your lower lip, prying it from between your teeth.
“Open,” he orders.
His jaw is set with concentration, eyebrows drawn low as he cradles your jaw, holding it still while he pushes his cock back into your eager mouth. The salt of him rushes your senses again and you’re moaning around him, cheeks hollowed and eyes wet as he begins to rut into your mouth, the tip of his cock caressing the back of your throat with every thrust. It’s fast and hard, and the noises coming out of you are scandalous, but you can’t drag your eyes away from his face. Lips parted, eyes ablaze as he watches his cock push in and out of your mouth, over and over again. A tear streaks down your cheek and Joel groans, swiping at it with his fingers. Shallow curses and murmurs of your name spill from his lips in a tortured stream of consciousness.
“Always so fuckin’—impatient,” he mutters. His grip on your jaw is near bruising, cock throbbing against your tongue. You can sense how close he is. Feel it in the way his hips start to stutter, snapping thrusts losing their rhythm.  
The stretch has a dull ache searing through your jaw, but Joel is breathless, eyes dark and focused on yours, saying, “Look at you. So pretty takin’ my cock like this.” and you can’t bring yourself to care. Your eyelids flutter closed, and his fingers are tapping your cheek quickly—softly?
“Let me see you,” he says urgently. “Want those eyes on me, don’t close them.” You cast your eyes up to meet his gaze, and Joel hisses under his breath, expression taut.
His hips drag backward, and he’s replacing your mouth with his hand, fucking himself in quick, brutal strokes, and your mouth is open, slick tongue peaking between your lips before he can even say open your mouth.
“Fuck,” he exhales at the sight, tip bumping against your tongue with every wet pump of his fist. His thighs are trembling beneath your hands, and you dig your nails into the muscles there, encouraging him. “Fuck me.”
And then he’s coming, face going slack as hot ropes of his come paint your lips, your tongue, your chin. Unashamed rasps of your name fall from pink lips, washing over you in glorious waves as you sit there and take all of it. And for a moment, you think it’s over. But then Joel’s hand is still moving over his length, calloused thumb gliding against the ridge of his rounded tip, and there’s more.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck—yes.”
Salty strings of his spend gloss over your cheeks and slide down to paint your neck. And it’s like he’s coming a second time, torso jolting in short, jerky movements, and you wish you could see his body while he came; the way the muscles in his stomach would flex and pull taut, entire frame straining as he gives you his all.  
His shoulders slump forward as he stares down at you, hand falling away from his sensitive cock, and his face is ruined. Eyes blown wide, cheeks a dark red, looking at you like he’d enjoy nothing more than to devour you whole. Maintaining eye contact, you swallow down his spend, practically purring at the taste of him.
Joel’s thumb smears his come off your cheeks and into your swollen mouth, making sure you don’t miss a single drop.
“Good girl,” his voice is broken. “That’s it, yeah—yes, s’perfect.”
Perfect, perfect, perfect. The word rings in your ears. Your skin is on fire, and you can’t believe that you are both still fully clothed. You feel naked, bared to him in the truest sense of the word, despite being completely covered up.
He groans heartily when you suck his fingers between your lips, tongue swirling around them greedily, and swallow down the last of his spend. 
For a moment after, the two of you simply sit there, your knees chafed and aching against the carpet, his fingers hooked against your tongue, staring at each other. And you know. You both know – there’s no going back from this.
Joel drags his hand away and snatches a box of tissues from the top drawer of his desk. You stand, knees popping in relief, and lean against the desk to stabilise yourself. He takes a moment to clean himself, and when you’re sure he’s not looking you swipe a pen from his desk, scribble a set of numbers on a post it and press the sticky paper down against the cover of The Odyssey.
He offers you the box of tissues and you wipe your face carefully, make sure no trace of him is left on your skin. Joel watches your movements like a hawk, eyes fading from black to brown as he fixes his belt and tucks his shirt back into his pants.
“You good?” he asks after a moment. And it’s the same. The same thing he asked you that night in the bar after fucking your brains out. After calling you a slut, a dirty little thing. Maybe it’s his thing—you good? And it’s more than anyone else has ever said after you’ve had their cock in your mouth, so you smile at him. Nod. The duality of man, you think.
“Perfect,” you use his word, and cringe at how wrecked your voice is. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches upward, something sly and conspiratorial in his gaze as he watches you tuck your computer into your bag, IT issue long forgotten.
Even as you wander toward the door of his office, tossing a casual see you tomorrow over your shoulder, you can see it in his face. In the lines by his eyes, the furrow of his brow; never satiated, never finished, never satisfied. More, more, more. This wasn’t enough for either of you. And this will not be the last time.
Hours later, when you’re tucked into bed with a glass of wine and a book perched in your lap, you get a text from an unknown number.
You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.
And then another, twenty minutes later.
That can’t happen again.
You grin. Save his number under J MILLER, PhD, and don’t reply.
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tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida
thank you for reading! x
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jamminvroomvroom ¡ 4 months
Text
777.
ln x fem!reader
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in which lando has a wild week in vegas
on a bit of a roll whoops! had to write something slutty for vegas week/lando’s birthday so here it is! enjoy my loves and please please pleeeeease tell me what you think! 🎲💘 have literally been thinking about this since vegas was announced and i couldn’t stop listening to silk sonic lol
posting this with the @lavenderlando seal of approval 🫡🤍
inspired loosely by 777 by silk sonic
warnings: 18+ minors dni i am so serious!! listen it’s smut. it’s a lot lot lot of smut. alcohol, swearing, fuckboy!lando, one night stand vibes, choking, unprotected sex, general sex acts, some kinky shit, fluff, minor angst bc lando is a moody little shit
5k words
lando had gotten used to the taste of champagne.
the golden bubbles had grown on him over the course of the season, they tasted like success. so, he didn’t protest when several magnums showed up at the round table, some ridiculous happy birthday remix being blasted over the casino speakers.
it was the night of his 24th birthday, and the drinks hadn’t stopped flowing. he was surrounded by his friends, max and ash joining him, as well as the drivers that had arrived in vegas. the crisp white sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows by now, midnight fast approaching, the material half unbuttoned.
they’d started the night in a bar, drowning in a river of alcohol, and now they were in a casino, one of many on the strip. it was all a bit predictable, kitschy decor everywhere he looked since he’d arrived in las vegas, but that’s what made it iconic. the tackiness seemed to mesh well with the old money vibe, and lando knew this would be a birthday to remember. 

everything was mahogany, gold or red. nothing didn’t twinkle in the lights. his suit jacket was slung over his shoulder, curls messy already from the light breeze of november in the desert. his cheeks were champagne rosy, the alcohol going straight to his head and he felt so fucking good.
everyone toasted to the birthday boy, slot machines rattling in the background. lando didn’t usually enjoy this sort of environment, but he was too drunk to care, deciding to embrace the insanity of his life and live on the edge for one night.
he found himself hunched over a gaming table, fingers drumming against the green felt. his eyes scanned the embroidery, taking in the game that was being played. blackjack, he assumed. this really wasn’t his type of place.
by then, as if by some sort of divine intervention, it was.
a flash of red. a swish of hair. manicured nails on a martini glass.
suddenly blackjack seemed like the best fucking game in the world.
lando couldn’t look away from you.
you were stood right opposite him, drink in hand, red satin draping over every curve of your frame. the dress seemed to cover everything, and nothing at all, perfect for the environment you were in. it was daring, enticing, and lando sure liked being enticed.
from the very second he laid eyes on you, he was picturing what you’d look like against a clean, white bedspread, how his name would sound rolling off your tongue in the form of a desperate whimper. it was a crude thought, but he’d become a crude man.
things had changed a lot since his last breakup. he was messy, leaving a trail of clothes and kisses across every country he stepped foot in. he didn’t get off on the number of people he’d slept with, he got off on the rush of someone new, and he knew before he’d even touched down in vegas, a week earlier than he needed to, that this would probably be the messiest week of his life.
but then he saw you, and it felt weird. he didn’t just want to learn your name and bend you over the nearest surface, gone from your bed before the sun was even in the sky. he was addicted at first sight; he had to take you home, at the very least.
his fixation on you was broken by the dealers voice; it seemed like you were up to play next and you needed at least another player. lando’s eyes flitted back to you, wondering if he even knew how to play blackjack before he offered himself up to you on a glaring shiny platter. you took the decision away from him, because this time, you were staring right back at him.
internally, he was choking on air. externally, he was mentally undressing you with a filthy smirk on his face.
“wanna play, birthday boy?” you smiled coyly, an eyebrow quirked seductively. he could have fallen right to his knees at just the sound of your voice. sweet and spicy.
lando realised that you’d seen the embarrassing display the boys had put on for him. maybe you even knew who he was. he definitely wanted to know who you were, and that’s why he decided to give in to your electric stare.
“you’re on.”
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he lost.
every. single. game.
numbers were never lando’s thing.
it was hard to care, though, when he had you sprawled out on the desk of his hotel room, his lips all over your neck.
the walk from the casino up to his room had been short, a bottle of champagne in his left hand and the curve of your ass in his right. there’d been very little small talk, very little convincing needed to seduce you, not with the way you’d been eye-fucking from opposite sides of the table, cards laid bare before you both.
he’d kissed you in the elevator, sloppy and desperate, pressed you against the door to his suite, and quickly pinned you to the other side of it once you were finally inside. you tasted like fruit liquor and cigarettes, your dress slowly bunching at your hips as his hands roamed the silky material. lando was restless, craving everything you had to offer, so he picked you up effortlessly, spreading his palms across the back of your thighs.
it had been a short walk to the desk from the door, and he placed you down carefully. lando slid the dress up your thighs, his finger grazing your calf as he did. you were arching into him, pushing his jacket off his frame and frantically tugging at the buttons of his dress shirt until it was hanging undone off his shoulders.
the look in your eyes sent his blood rushing, frenzied and desperate for him as much as he was for you. taking your jaw in his hand, he tilted your chin towards him until you were looking up at him through your lashes. lando tucked your hair behind your ear, continuing to graze down your neck until he reached the flimsy strap of your dress.
“are you gonna let me have you?” his grip on your jaw tightened and he studied your face.
he gulped when your lips twisted into a smile, conniving, dangerous, red lipstick smudged deliciously. you hadn’t caved into his touch, fallen into submission, and suddenly lando was swimming way out of his depth.
it seemed he’d finally met his match.
you pushed him away, giggling as he stumbled backwards towards the bed, and stood from your place on the desk. slowly, you made your way towards him, until you’d backed him up all the way to the foot of the bed, at which point he collapsed. he scrambled up onto his elbows, smirking up at you.
your eyes raked over his frame, swollen lip caught between your teeth. he looked disheveled in the best way, shirt framing lean sun kissed skin.
slowly, you unzipped your dress, letting it fall off your frame. the material pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it carefully, kicking it away. lando had moved up the bed so that he was sitting against the headboard, watching you hungrily. you were left bare, aside from a lacy thong and red stilettos. lando could have cried tears of joy.
happy fucking birthday.
lando’s eyes lit up like 777 had spun onto a slot machine. he may have lost at blackjack but he’d definitely hit the jackpot.
you crawled onto the bed towards him, not stopping until you were sat on his lap. his hands scaled your thighs, stroking up and down the soft skin. you rolled your hips, experimenting, toying with him, and he groaned, low and loud.
“does this answer your your question?” you whispered, leaning into him so that you could loop your arms around his neck.
lando kissed you, slow and sloppy, sitting up even further just to feel you closer. he could feel your nipples brushing against his bare chest, low whines breaking through the kiss your shared every time you felt too sensitive. your bodies were rolling together in unison, friction building nicely between your legs.
he was growing impatient, itching to get rid of the remaining barriers between you. lando held you still, tight, flipping you both over so that he was hovering over you. his lips worked your neck, hickeys littered down your neck and over your collarbone, while his hands moved down your body. he toyed with the band of your thong, snapping the material against your waist.
lando left you there, keening for his touch, while he peeled his shirt off. his trousers went next, along with his boxers, and then he was right back where he’d left off. your panties disappeared in a flash, his kisses punctuated by a splotchy purple mark sucked below your left breast.
and then he was buried between your legs, licking stripes into you like he was starving. he moaned into your pussy when he felt the first pull on his hair, spurring him on. he applied more pressure, taking it slow, revelling in the way you tugged harder and harder with every swipe. lando slid two fingers through your folds, coating them in your slick.
when he slid the digits inside of you, his mouth latched onto your clit, flicking against it relentlessly. he found the perfect rhythm, balance, everything he was doing made you see stars behind your eyelids. you were thrashing, helpless, and he was getting off on it.
you jaw went slack when you raised yourself onto your elbows just to find him grinding against the mattress, groaning into your cunt at the sensation, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. you couldn’t even hold yourself up then, dropping into the mattress as you fell apart beneath him.
lando resurfaced a few moments later, a glint in his eyes, his mouth glistening in the dim light. your vision was hazy, body shattered, but you ached for more of him. the feeling only intensified, your legs tightening around his waist, when he raised his coated fingers to his lips, lapping up every last drop of you. his tongue swirled around his digits lewdly, and you shuddered.
lando didn’t mind at all when you pushed him onto his back, clambering on top of him. you looked wild, animalistic even, as you guided the tip of his cock through your folds, and he folded his arms behind his head to enjoy the view. once you’d slicked him up, not that he really needed it, you sunk down on him.
fingerprints stained your hips; his grip on you increased tenfold as you adjusted around him, your walls throbbing around his swollen cock. lando sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, holding you down on him. your movements were stuttering, trying to hold yourself together and ignore the way he fit inside you so damn perfectly. you tested the waters, rolling your hips a few times, and his eyes rolled back in his skull.
you felt heavenly, like velvet and butterflies.
he lost all sense of control, every fibre keeping him from wrecking you. his grip didn’t loosen when he fucked up into you, bending his knees for any extra leverage he could get. your nails scraped down his chest, his abs, dripping at the way he tensed under your touch. you tried your best to keep up with him, to meet his thrusts, holding your own for longer than you thought you would.
and then you were folding, melting into his chest, one of his hands pulling both of your behind your back, holding you down as he fucked you into your orgasm. your whines were panted right into his ear, sending him hurtling towards his own high.
lando couldn’t help himself, spilling into you, your body pressed helplessly into his. you were exhausted, wrecked, grinning lazily against the thrumming of his heartbeat.
with your hands held behind your back, you couldn’t stop him from planting you on your back, snaking down your body, burying his tongue deep inside you. the room was filled with the sound of sex, his tongue dragging over you like you were the last meal on earth and he was ravenous. he cleaned up the mess he’d made quickly, sounds that would make the population of sin city blush bouncing off the walls.
your vision was white, maybe your were screaming, it was hard to know what was going on when he had you about ready to ascend. when you fell over the edge, you were boneless, at one with the bed. you watched as he licked his lips, flopping onto the bed beside you.
he stroked your hair and you hummed, content and satiated.
lando didn’t dare look away from you while you came down.
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apparently, it was rare to wake up after a wild night in vegas and remember the events of the night before.
lando remembered everything.
the exact shade of your eyes, the feel of red satin and black lace, the way you tasted.
your lips on his skin, hips in his hands, the way you moulded pliantly to his touch.
the way you gave as good as you got.
he was smiling before he’d even opened his eyes, reaching blinding across the bed, ready to propose round… four? five? lando had lost count.
warm hands met cold sheets and suddenly he was wide awake.
lando sat up dead straight, searching for a sign of life in the room. there was none. no shoes on the floor, no dress to match, no thong hanging from the door handle. a pit formed in his stomach.
is this how he made people feel?
waking up alone after the best sex of his life and no trace of the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on was quite miserable.
he thudded back into the mattress, hands shielding his eyes from the burn of daylight. he felt like shit, that was undeniable. when he’d fallen asleep, naked and with you nestled into his side, he couldn’t wait to wake up, perhaps arrogantly thinking that you’d be waking up with him. what was that saying, again?
hope breeds eternal misery.
his brain was wracked with the image of you and him, champagne flowing right before he’d taken you again, bent over the desk. and then again in the shower, a harmless attempt to clean yourselves up ending up with you on your knees before your cheek was pressed against the shower screen.
lando tried to fathom why you’d leave after the night you’d shared. there was something about it, something more intimate in the desperation you’d shared, that left him senseless as to why you were gone before the sun was in the sky.
just like he usually was.
it dawned on him, quite quickly, that the habits he’d made of quick fucks and fast getaways was not good form. it was reckless and casually cruel, and he felt guilt for the first time since his string of one night stands had begun. perspective was a crazy thing.
when he sluggishly made his way out of bed, he felt even worse.
-
“where’d you get to last night? we lost you after that terrible game of blackjack.” max teased, sipping his coffee.
lando found himself at the breakfast table, head rested on his hand and hoodie pulled tight. he wasn’t in the mood to talk, but max was like a dog with a bone; there was no avoiding this conversation.
“met a girl.” lando mumbled, aimlessly stirring the tea he knew he wasn’t going to drink.
“ah, understood.” max said, grinning knowingly. but then, as if lando’s bad mood finally clicked, he continued. “wait, why are you in a mood then?”
“tired.” lando replied, monotonously. he wasn’t quite sure how to unpack this one.
“bullshit.”
“woke up alone.”
“oh.”
“she was- i don’t know. just thought it would be different, that’s all.” lando couldn’t disguise the deflated tone of his voice.
“don’t tell me you caught feelings from a shag.” max rolled his eyes, chomping away at his toast. lando could barely stomach the sight of food.
“shut up, i’m not saying i fell in love. just liked something about her.”
“well, anything can happen in vegas. you never know, mate. she might find her way back to you.”
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lando was getting ready for the netflix cup before he knew it. he’d managed to shake off max, escaping to the darkness of his room, the curtains drawn and the lights off.
he pretended it was the hangover that had him laying face down on his bed.
the last thing he wanted was to go and play corporate circus on the golfing green, but he figured some fresh air wouldn’t hurt. and so, he was in the backseat of a car well on his way to the tournament.
carlos couldn’t distract him, neither could alex or pierre. rickie fowler was much less interesting that he hoped, or maybe he wasn’t and lando just wasn’t interested enough. not even zak’s mclaren printed trousers could cheer him up.
lando was leaning into his golf club, starting mindlessly into the crowd, waiting for this garish event to begin when he caught a glimpse of someone he recognised. in a sea of influencers and obnoxious businessmen, there you were.
there you fucking were, in your knee high boots and a mini skirt, sunglasses perched on your nose, skintight top under an oversized blazer and hair shining under the warm sunlight. he lost his balance, the golf club slipping from underneath him, and the only thing that kept him upright was the burning urge to keep his eyes on you.
just who were you?
lando didn’t need to clarify whether or not you were looking at him, too. no, you made it abundantly clear by the way you winked at him, before pushing your sunglasses back up the bridge of your nose.
you fucking winked.
he took a step in your direction, shaky legs ready to carry him all the way over to you. he only had your first name and he craved your second, your phone number, anything really. he’d just take the small talk, to be completely honest.
but then the klaxon screeched, knocking him out of his trance and he whipped round to discover that they were ready to tee off. lando cursed under his breath, rapidly turning to search for your face but you were nowhere to be seen.
had he imagined you? had he imagined all of it?
every golf ball hit was hit with frustrated vengeance.
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the week disappeared in a bittersweet blur.
lando had achieved multiple hangovers and about zero dollars in winnings, but he’d successfully managed to take his mind off of you.
okay, so that was a bare faced lie, but if lando didn’t lie to himself, he wouldn’t be able to lie to anyone else.
he wouldn’t be able to lie to max that he was no longer moping. he wouldn’t be able to lie to the media when they asked him if he was oh so excited about the race. he wouldn’t be able to lie to his team when they asked him if he was still suffering the consequences of his week long hangover.
lando had been rushing around all day, after a solid p4 in qualifying the night before. the entire day had been horrendous, sequins and bright lights being shone in his eyes. all he wanted to do was hide, get in the car and then go to bed.
fate had other plans.
lando was rushing to the front of the grid for the national anthem, certain that whatever display that was about to occur would make him nauseous. he was derailed on his journey, caught by rachel brookes in the pitlane, and then accosted by martin brundle once he’d made his was onto the grid.
“good qualifying yesterday and good luck today!” martin called to lando, turning to wrestle another insufferable celebrity.
as lando was making his getaway, ready to jog through the masses of people to his place at the front, he went barrelling into another body, putting his hands out to steady himself and the poor person that had become his collateral damage. as he regained his balance, he must have looked like a cartoon character, eyes bulging out of his head.
“are you stalking me?” was all he could choke out when his eyes met yours.
what the actual fuck were you doing here?
lando had given up on the possibility of ever seeing you again, and yet, here you were, stood under the bright floodlights on the grid, his office. this was the last place he’d expected you to show up, paddock pass swinging from your neck. again, what the actual fuck were you doing here?
“might as well be, at this point.” you teased. “hopefully you’ll do better today than you did at golf on tuesday.” you smiled coyly up at him, tucking your hair behind your ear.
lando was on quite the time crunch, glancing at the time on the clock at the front of the grid. he had a minute to spare, if he was lucky, but he had to talk to you, before you inevitably disappeared again.
“thought i’d get at least your phone number before you left.”
“from what i hear, you don’t usually stick around long enough for those.” you smirked.
well, his reputation certainly proceeded him. he couldn’t really argue with that.
“maybe i’m trying to change that.” lando attempted to flirt but really, he sounded desperate. you didn’t seem to mind.
“i’ll make you a deal,” you proposed, leaning in just a little bit closer. lando’s breath hitched in his throat. “get on that podium, and i’ll be waiting in your hotel lobby.”
“and if i don’t?” lando’s mouth was dry.
“maybe i’ll see you next year.”
lando watched you walk away, your hips swaying tantalisingly, wondering if the hefty fine he would be bollocked with would be worth it if he didn’t move his ass for the national anthem.
this would be the drive of his fucking life.
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lando couldn’t recall a time he’d left a track faster in his life.
media duties were rushed, so was the shower he had before he fled. it was lucky he was already on the strip, so the walk to his hotel was blissfully short.
he entered the lobby with a shit eating grin and a comically large bottle of champagne in hand.
a string of second places had gotten rather frustrating, but this one felt particularly good. a podium was a podium, fair and square, and assuming you’d kept to your end of the bargain, he was in for the best celebration of his life.
sitting pretty at the bar that stretched through the lobby, you were waiting for him, heels swinging from the stool you rested on. denim clung to your hips, a dark corset style top moulding to your curves. he wondered if love at first sight was real; lust at first sight certainly was.
lando’s eyes beckoned to towards him, and you slipped inconspicuously into the elevator together, not wanting to draw too much attention to your rendezvous. it was a futile attempt, frankly, because he had you backed into the mirror before the doors had even fully shut.
kisses on your neck had your eyes fluttering closed, one of his knees slotting comfortably between your thighs. one of his hands was clasped tight around the neck of the neck of the bottle, giving lando the fantastic idea to find your neck with his free one. he held you firmly, forcing you to look at him.
“i’m gonna make you wish you never left.”
-
hours on the mattress pulling countless orgasms from one another left you both weak, exhausted, a little bit clingy.
lando felt electric. no other person had ever left him so feral, so euphoric.
he’d had you first against the door, pulling your jeans off and pinning you against it, your thighs in his firm grasp as he fucked you into the wooden panel. then, he’d taken you to bed, your knuckles turning white from your brutal grip on the headboard when he’d planted you down on his mouth. two orgasms later, you were face down in the sheets, ass in the air for him while he slammed into you like his life depended on it, pulling you into his chest by your hair when you reached your climaxes.
all that hard work called for a bath, where you both found yourselves now. it had started off quite innocently, sat at opposite ends of the extravagantly large bathtub amongst the bubbles. but then you’d given him those eyes, and then your back was pressed against his chest, your body draped over his. his head was nestled into the crook of your neck, one arm slung over your waist. his other hand brought the bottle of champagne to his lips, the liquid going down smoothly. lando pressed the bottle to your pursed lips too, trading backwards and forwards while your bodies relaxed into the hot water.
lando’s hand on your waist was getting restless, fingers drumming over your abdomen, up, up, up, until he found your breast. he circled your nipple with his finger, not quite touching the bud yet, but he could feel it hardening from his scarce touch. your hips rolled backwards into his, feeling him hardening once again against your lower back. lando cupped your breast, massaging it in his hands before he switched, flitting between your tits.
you slumped somehow even further into him, not a millimetre of space between your bodies. he was winding you up beautifully, heat burning between your legs once more. you didn’t know how you did it, how you could be so ready for each other after the eventful evening you’d already shared.
lando was flicking your nipples between his finger, switching back and fourth until you were moaning quietly. you took charge, the sensitivity building too quickly, and so you rolled over in his arms, clambering into his lap.
the bath water splashed around you, moving in small waves across the tub as you situated yourself on top of him, grinding down on him until he was buried deep within your walls. he found that spot, rolling your hips against his, and then you were rocking up and down on him, nice and slow. he touched parts of you that never had been before, the pace and the angle intensifying every little sensation. your head was thrown back, hands clawing at his shoulders for something to hold onto, just for the feel of him.
lando reached over the edge of the bathtub, blindly searching for the bottle he’d discarded while you’d been switching positions. he felt the green glass grazing his fingertips and brought it back to his lips, eyes trailing over your body in sheer awe.
he couldn’t help himself, taking a sip before tilting it towards you, pouring the golden bubbles over your clavicle, jaw tightening - just like your cunt did at the sensation - as he watched the sticky alcohol drip down over the curve of your bouncing breasts.
you quivered when you felt his tongue lap over your nipple, then the other, dragging over your sodden flesh until he reached the junction between your neck and your shoulder. he bit down, hard, eyes rolling back at the taste in his mouth and the way you clamped down around him, whimpering out between breathless pants.
lando felt you let go, stuttering on his cock and sinking down on top of him, the water - now lukewarm - soothing your tired limbs. he held you close, basking in the intimacy of the moment, his hearing honing in on the dull hum of ecstasy you expelled.
the bath grew colder and colder as you sat there, comfortable silence filling the air along with the quiet rush of water that came with any movements made. when the time came, lando held you up as you got off of him and stepped onto the plush rug, quickly following suit. you were eyeing the shower when he turned to hand you a towel.
“i think i need a shower, as much as i enjoyed the bath.” you spoke, opening the screen and stepping in to adjust the knobs.
lando weighed up his options, agonising over joining you or doing his back in. he couldn’t exactly tell his trainer that his back gave out from too much sex.
“am i invited?” lando asked, stepping in behind you, hands on your waist.
“seems like you’ve already invited yourself.” you teased, looking at him over your shoulder.
“no funny business, you.” lando rested his head on your shoulder.
“from me? you’re just as bad.” you quipped, letting the hot warm stream all over your flushed bodies.
lando stayed as he was for a second, but then you turned your head again, looking at him from the corner of your eye and he needed to kiss you. he couldn’t help but, and so he twisted you round to face him and leaned in. you were more than receptive, fingers raking through his wet curls.
the hot water rained down on you while you stood there, holding each other close. lando couldn’t put his finger on it, why he didn’t want to let you go. he couldn’t even begin to process the idea of having anyone else in his arms like this. it was absurd, really, but he was too caught up in the moment to care.
when you were both clean and dry, you laid down in bed, gazing mindlessly at one another. his eyes followed the lines of your face, the curve of your lips. he learned a lot about you, a formula 1 fan with who ran her own business and took herself on holiday to vegas. the conversation flowed like the champagne had and you were laughing at all his stupid jokes. in turn he grinned like a fool at your quick wit, the sound of your laughter.
“so what are you doing next? back to work?” lando asked, an idea forming in his mind like a tornado.
“nope,” you popped the p. “giving myself some well deserved time off.”
“have you ever been to abu dhabi?” lando asked, lips quirking mischievously.
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waterfront
neighbor!joel miller/dbf!joel miller x f!reader
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Warnings: Rated 18+. CONSIDER THIS YOUR FUCKING COMMUNITY LABEL LOL. Minors please dni. Smut. unprotected p in v. age gap. Pet names. Dirty talk. Dom!joel. Oblivious ass reader's dad. Not proof read one bit (per usual). 
a/n: thank you so much for the recent love. you guys are honestly so funny - COMMENT ASK REQUEST PLEASE INTERACT WITH ME IM SO LONELY ON HERE. this lil mini series has really pushed me to write despite some…things (and by things—i actually have been getting a shit ton of hate on my din fic for some weird reason?? so im really happy this dbf corner of tumblr is very accepting cuz that was really making me feel…SAD LMFAO). also do you guys picture joel in this fic as game joel or hbo joel - i wanna know. please enjoy this token of my gratitude as always. 
wc: 4.5k
this is apart of my small dbf!joel mini series, read the previous parts here:
part i part ii
if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!
“Fuck, Joel,” you mutter when you finally relax around him, your tight walls flutter at the feeling of his cock moving halfway out of you. When he pushes back in you see stars.  “That’s right honey —fuck— so good for me,” he pants, bottoming out again and setting a slow pace that punches each breath out of you. “Teasin’ me all day—couldn’t fuckin’ wait any longer.” 
“Sweetie? Have you seen the sunblock?” 
“Yeah dad, in the back bathroom!” you yell back from your room. 
It’s honestly unbelievable. 
Packing. 
You’re packing. 
For a weekend getaway at some beach house property one of Joel’s client’s offered him for the weekend.
Joel’s client. 
Joel Miller.
Who got down on his knees for you at your graduation barbecue. Who fingered you in the front seat of his pick-up truck when your dad was looking for you. 
Who refused to talk to you after that. Not like you were trying anyways. This had to stop. Especially since you and Liam have been talking more and he’s…nice. Boring—sure. But he’s what’s good for you. 
He even got you a job at some hardware store on the other side of town. 
Liam was keeping you company—no—keeping you busy. But not enough to stop the incessant thoughts of your middle aged neighbor who is—even worse—probably your dad’s only close friend. 
You tried to keep your distance. For your sake and Joel’s. You don’t want to know what’s going on in his mind anymore. All you know is he continually runs laps around yours. 
You can’t shake how he looked at the barbecue. How the sea of people parted for him like he was Moses, greeting him with strong handshakes and acrylic nails wrapping around his bicep. But even worse, you can’t stop thinking about how through all those people—he found your eyes first. 
You tried to convince yourself that maybe Joel was thinking the same thing you were. That this—whatever it is—was actually fucking ridiculous and had to stop. 
Because it did have to stop. But it never felt ridiculous to you, as much as you will yourself to believe. 
You tried to convince yourself that much when your hand was down your pants in the middle of the night. Something sounding a lot like Joel’s name on the tip of your tongue as you made yourself come. 
You aren’t sure if your dad has seen much of him either—saying something about how he was booked through the fourth of July weekend with a huge project he was working on with his brother. 
That’s why you were shocked when your dad came up to your room with a grin explaining he counted you in on the weekend getaway with Joel, Sarah, and the two of you. 
You were excited to see more of Sarah — she had really grown up in the time you were away. But with Sarah comes Joel, and you aren’t sure if the butterflies in your stomach were from anxiety or anticipation at that thought. 
A half a day after your dad told you to get packing, you’re in the backseat of Joel’s truck, Sarah at your side, while she talks everyone's ear off about something. You aren’t really paying attention because Joel can’t stop stealing glances at you in the rear view mirror—and let's be honest. You can’t stop either. 
“—so then she said to me that it was my fault. I mean can you believe that?” Sarah slaps your arm gently while finishing her story. 
She looks around the car for approval and the dads just shrug their shoulders. You give her a sympathetic look. 
“Sorry Sarah, sounds crazy,” you say, grabbing her hand. You—honest to god—tried to pay attention but there were so many names thrown out you couldn’t keep up. It didn’t help that the man in the driver's seat kept you up at night—almost every night—since the barbecue. 
“I know! But then Jackson was like okay with it so whatever,” she gives you a knowing look, finishing her story—don’t say anything else because my dad’s here.
“Boys,” your dad murmurs to Joel under his breath, but you catch it. 
You also catch Joel shaking his head in response, letting out a huff and a—
“Tell me ‘bout it.” 
You meet his eye through the rear view mirror and drop his gaze quickly. His knuckles go white on the steering wheel. 
You think you’re almost off the hook and maybe can get some rest but Sarah lets out the first of many—
“Are we almost there yet?” 
Four more of those and you arrive at a secluded beach house on the coast. Joel pulls up to the back of the house, you can see the deck which leads down to the beach. Sarah and your dad hop out of the truck hastily—excited to see the house, and enter through the back door. It leaves you and Joel in the car together. Alone, for a few uncomfortable seconds until he finally speaks. 
“You alright?” 
It throws you for a loop. Joel Miller asking if you’re okay? You must be dying. You look at him through the mirror, an eyebrow raising. 
“‘M fine,” you reply back, monotone.
“Do you wanna talk?” 
Another surprise. 
“There’s nothing to talk about. You made that clear,” you huff, putting an emphasis on you so maybe he can start to feel an ounce of what you do. 
He gets out of the car but you don’t move from your position. Your dad and Sarah have disappeared into the house, undoubtedly claiming the best bedrooms and rifling through the owner’s things. 
He opens your door, his hand hanging off the top of it while his other braces himself on the car near your head. He dips his head closer to you, taking up the entirety of the door frame. 
“You gonna be a brat this whole trip?” His drawl, rich and velvety, almost tricks you into leaning up to kiss him, but you snap out of it from his words. The name shouldn’t make you clench your thighs together like it does. You opt for anger over letting him see what he does to you.
“I’m the brat?” You bite back. He’s not going to do this again. If it’s your last dying wish, Joel Miller will learn a lesson this trip. For leaving you high and dry. For being a fucking asshole, just like you told him at the barbecue a couple days ago.
“You think parading that lil boy ‘round here s’okay?”
“Again with Liam? It’s not any of your business.” 
You look at him. Really look at him—and there’s a certain emotion behind his eyes you can’t place. Like he’s biting his tongue, and you know he is.
“What, Joel? God,” you say, exasperated. 
“Nothin’—I—” he pauses like he’s trying to collect his thoughts before speaking. Then he says something that surprises you—like maybe he really does care about you and what happened in his truck. 
“He make you laugh?” 
You stare at him, shocked, and you can’t help but soften your gaze. You feel like bursting into a puddle of tears—but what’s even worse—you feel like running into his arms. 
“He doesn’t make me cry.” 
He looks down at that. Like he’s defeated. 
“I told you I care,” he throws his words back in your face. From when he had his tongue buried inside you. 
You roll your eyes. 
“What? You think I want it like this?” He continues when you don’t respond.
“I have no fucking idea what you want.” 
“I want to not be sneaking around behind my friend’s back. Your dad’s back.”
“Didn’t stop you before.”
He pushes off the car at that, putting his hands on his hips while scoffing to himself. You think you catch him mumbling something and before you can bite your tongue you urge him to speak up. 
“Insane,” he grunts.
“Sorry?” 
“I said you drive me fuckin’ insane.” 
You pause at that. Partially because his tone suggests it’s not the typical insane but like he can’t stay away from you. Like you drive him up the walls. Like he can’t stop thinking about you. Maybe even the kind of insane he makes you feel. Maybe it's the same thing he does to you. And you didn’t know you did…anything to Joel. 
“That’s my job,” you reply sarcastically instead of saying something stupid—or something you regret. 
You break his gaze—looking down to unlatch your seatbelt. When your hand goes to click the button, you stay fiddling with it; the latch fails to come out of the buckle. 
“‘S jammed. Need to get a repair,” he reaches over you to unlatch it himself. 
But you don’t get your hand out of the way quick enough and your fingers meet over the button. 
He pauses, you both do. The contact makes your head spin. 
You think he’s going to pull away. An apology is already braced on your tongue but instead of moving or retracting, he tentatively rubs your hand with his thumb instead, lacing his fingers through yours like it’s second nature. 
He’s in your space, and he smells like Joel, and you don’t think the two of you have ever shared a more intimate moment. Not even when his mouth was between your legs. 
You look up at him, hesitant, because you aren’t sure what’s going to be looking back. But he stares at you, his eyes soft. Joel looks down to your lips and back up to your eyes. His brow twitches a bit. You let out soft pants—the peaks of your breasts threaten to ghost against his chest. 
He looks at your lips again and inches closer, starting to duck his head. 
“‘M sorry,” he grumbles in a low, dangerous drawl that shoots right up your spine. 
You don’t think it’s a phrase he says often. You’ve never heard it. It sounds foreign on his lips, especially when they’re inching closer to yours. 
“For what?” You squeak out, a breath cutting through your words. 
“Everythin’.” 
Your eyes urge him to continue. 
“Thought I could stay away f’m you.” 
He gets closer. 
“Thought it was the right thing.” 
You shake your head. 
“But I don’t think I can stay away.” 
“Don’t stay away. Don’t go,” you plead with him and shake your head. All of your plans to make him pay have honestly gone out the window. But when he says things like that and he really—honest to god—means them? You know you’re fucked. 
“'M here.” 
You close your eyes at his words and will your tears back when they close. All you can smell is Joel and all you can feel is his hand coming up to loosely wrap around your throat, the curve of his palm hugging your collar bone. 
“Look at me.” In a blink, you do. 
He’s closer, if possible. 
And he kisses you. It’s the first time he’s ever kissed you. It’s not tentative, or aggressive.
This kiss feels like the real apology. Not him on his knees for you and then ignoring you after. He kisses like he’s willing you to forgive him. You know he’s not good with words—that’s why this kiss feels like the heartbreak that had settled in your chest is scattering. It feels like your old fantasies and butterflies breaching the surface are making you moan into his mouth. 
He kisses you like a man starved, but also like he’s scared of messing up again. 
It feels fucking good—he feels fucking good. 
His hand on your throat lengthens your neck to deepen the kiss. Your hands find his bicep and squeeze the life out of him. 
His other hand pulls at the hem of your shirt and almost ghosts the skin of your stomach but the sound of a door slamming snaps you both out of it. Joel turns to see Sarah pushing out of the patio door with her back turned towards you, carrying towels and a cooler. He quickly unbuckles your seatbelt with dexterous fingers, helping you out of the car.
You act like you were helping him unload the flatbed when Sarah turns around—a big smile cast on her face.
“Get your bikini on! Let’s go!” She looks at you and nods towards the ocean over her stack of beach supplies. 
“Alright, alright, I’m going.” 
You hustle into the house with a duffle slung over your shoulder. You can see your dad in the kitchen rifling through the pantry—the cooler for drinks and food abandoned on the floor near the fridge. 
You find a bathroom and change into your swimsuit quickly. You don’t miss the wet spot on your panties. From a kiss nonetheless. You’re beginning to think you’re way more fucked than either you or Joel like to believe. 
You rush out onto the patio. Sarah is probably shoulder deep in the water and it’s way too fucking hot to be sitting under the sun without taking a dip. You haven’t been to a nice beach like this in a really long time. You don’t remember the last time you went on vacation. 
This is nice.  
Joel is being way too…nice. 
You pass him on the way to the beach where you see Sarah jumping through the water. He looks at you, subtly. Out of the corner of his eye. You try to avoid his gaze and hide your blush but you can feel his burning eyes shift to the back of your head as you give him a small smile in passing. 
“Dad! C’mon let's go!” Sarah yells from the water. You look to see Joel staring back at you—you drop his eye when your dad busts through the door. 
“‘N a minute!” Joel grumbles as he throws his duffle over his shoulder, carting in a crate of barbecue things for the weekend. 
Your flip flops splat on the deck as you break into a small jog down to where Sarah is. She smiles at you as you run into the water. The two of you playing in the salty spring like teenagers—well she is—you aren’t. 
You can see your dad and Joel settle on beach chairs some yards away from the shoreline. They sport a couple beers and talk amongst themselves while watching you and Sarah play in the water. 
You catch Joel’s eye a couple times. He even comes down and throws around a football with your dad. He splashes and teases you all day. 
When the sun finally extends down to the horizon and the water turns orange from its light, Sarah tells you she’s beat and basically hobbles back over to the dads on the beach chairs. She slumps down onto the one next to Joel, you move towards them as well, trying not to blush because you know Joel is looking at you before you meet his eyes. 
“Tired?” Joel asks, not to you or Sarah in particular, but it falls on you—Sarah already asleep on the beach chair. 
“Exhausted.” You plop down on the chair beside your dad, taking a towel and drying your hair off before moving to the rest of your body. 
“Want dinner? I’ll make my burgers,” your dad inquires, beginning to stand and take the beers with him. 
“Sounds good dad.” You stand and wrap the towel around your body. “Need a shower.”
You try to wake Sarah up gently, she grumbles and stalks off to the house, you, trailing behind her. She kicks her flip flops off at the entrance and moves to the couch in the living room. She’s back asleep before you get the chance to enter the door. 
Your dad moves to the kitchen, you don’t know where Joel went. Maybe you left him back on the beach. You move to take a cold shower, the small tug in your stomach grew to be quite big when you caught him staring at your exposed skin on the beach. 
When you get upstairs, you enter your designated bedroom. You smile when you realize it has a bathroom attached to it. You strip off your bathing suit, putting it in the sink of your bathroom. 
You wrap a towel around your body and go to twist the knob of your shower. When you tug it towards hot it comes off the shower wall with a chink and you curse to yourself, the water coming out in a leak rather than a stream. 
You huff. This is not what you need right now. 
“Dad!” You call from the doorway of your bedroom—not wanting to venture further in just a towel. 
You turn away from the door—moving into the bathroom, trying to chance figuring out how to fix it instead, when a pair of footsteps fall by your bedroom door. 
“You okay?” A voice calls from your bedroom, but it’s not your dads. 
You jump at the sound of a honey rich southern drawl echoing your name as Joel pushes through the bathroom door to find you in your towel, holding the shower handle.
“Jesus—” he looks away with a cough, you can tell he’s shocked to see you in just a towel. But when he sees you holding the handle he does a double take. 
“What the hell did y’do?” He flips between giving you privacy and moving toward you with an outstretched hand, taking the shower handle into his own. 
“I just tried to turn it on and it snapped off,” you try to reason with him, a flush coming to your cheeks when he comes into the bathroom. 
“Move,” he grumbles, sneaking by you. In the brief moment you come chest to chest, you look up at him and he lets out a groan. His hand snakes by your waist. He looks down at you—a dangerous look in his eyes. 
Joel breaks first, moving towards the shower. 
“I’m gonna—yeah—just…uh thanks,” you gesture to your towel and shut the door to the bathroom behind you. Leaving Joel in there alone. 
You throw on an oversized t-shirt and underwear before he comes out, sans shower handle. 
“Thanks,” you mumble, suddenly self conscious you didn’t have time to put on pants. You aren’t sure why. Joel’s seen…a lot already. 
“‘Course,” he says, but doesn’t leave like you anticipated. 
“You havin’ fun?” He asks. There’s something in his tone that suggests he doesn’t actually care. 
“Yeah,” you reply, breathless, “Thanks for inviting us.”  
“sorry—I—” he points to the bathroom, “thought you were in trouble or somethin’.” 
“‘S’okay.” 
He looks at you, and down to your bare legs, your underwear just peeking out from beneath your shirt’s hem. 
The way Joel looks at you—like you’re the only one who matters—stokes the fire growing in your stomach. The look in his eyes tells you he’s still wrestling with his moral compass. Like he needs to stay away for his own good, but like he said in the car—he just can’t. 
Joel nods, and steps back like he’s turning to leave. You don’t want him to. You need him. When you take a tentative step toward him, he suddenly breaks into stride in your direction. The dam of fleeting touches and wandering eyes for half a day breaks. He grabs your face in his hands, kissing you hard. His tongue slips to run over your bottom lip and you whine into his mouth. 
Your hands come up to rest on his chest. His, wrapping around your waist while he dips his head to start kissing your neck.
“Joel–” you start, but the feeling of his lips on the sensitive parts of your collarbone punches your breath.
He only hums at that sentiment. 
“Where are we going?” you manage to get out, when he’s tugging you into the bathroom by your wrist, shutting the door behind him. 
“Need to fuck you,” he groans into your ear as he spins you around, so your hips press into the bathroom counter. You can look into the mirror and see your reflection. You look entirely too fucked out from a couple kisses and he looks stone cold. 
“J-Joel—ah—jesus,” you moan when his hand dips to your front and catches your clit through cotton. 
“Say please,” he groans into the skin of your neck. You turn your head to catch his lips in a chaste kiss. It's all tongue and teeth, but you don’t mind either way. He’s close, he’s here and he’s kissing you. 
You break away from the kiss just enough to whine out a small, “Please–fuck–”
You don’t really know what you’re asking for, but you know if that’s what he wants—you’d give him anything in this particular moment. 
“Nicer.” 
You whine, the pad of his finger catches your clit just right.
“Please, Joel,” you cut out through bated breath. 
He huffs, you can hear the sound of clinking and shuffling behind you—the tell tale sign of his belt coming undone. 
“Alright, baby, c’mon,” he pushes you down, folds you in half, your breasts pressed against marble. It's cold, and his hot hands on your waist, snaking down to slot his fingers in your underwear makes you dizzy. 
“You’re a tease,” he groans when he eases your underwear to the side, the head of his cock catches your clit.
“Joel—p—fuck—” His cock catches at your entrance. You both pause for a second, reveling in the feeling. One of his hands grips your waist so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises by dinnertime. The other pushes your face down—fingers tangling in your hair. 
“Look in the mirror,” he growls, lifting your head up by your hair, just enough so you can watch his face as his tip slips past your entrance. 
He stretches you out just from that, you muffle down a scream in your throat. 
Joel’s mouth goes slack but he doesn’t react much with his face. He just looks down at your bodies connecting and pants while he slowly slides home. 
“‘S big Joel. Feel so good—oh my god—” he breaks you open and splits you in two. His breath cuts somewhere behind your head—your eyes squeezing shut at the feeling. 
He buries himself to the hilt, you curse and mutter inconsistencies into the bathroom. His iron grip on your body goes tighter if possible. 
“Eyes open,” he growls behind you. “You can take it baby, c’mon.” 
You will open your eyes, focusing on him in the mirror. He has a sheen of sweat already casing his forehead, his shirt is half unbuttoned with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 
“Relax, angel,” he pants. “You’re squeezing me — could barely get it in,” 
He settles there, you try to relax but the stretch makes you squirm underneath him. He lets you adjust to his length, cursing every time you clench around him. It’s filthy. Obscene. He’s pushing your head up — lifting you by your hair, so you can see him spear into you with no remorse. He’s filthy, and so are you. 
“Fuck, Joel,” you mutter when you finally relax around him, your tight walls flutter at the feeling of his cock moving halfway out of you. When he pushes back in you see stars. 
“That’s right honey —fuck— so good for me,” he pants, bottoming out again and setting a slow pace that punches each breath out of you. “Teasin’ me all day—couldn’t fuckin’ wait any longer.” 
“More please,” you whine, meeting his eye in the mirror. The air is thick in the bathroom now, the potpourri on the sill of the window doesn’t really mask much of anything. 
He complies—surprisingly. Moving faster and harder, each push of his hips knocks you into the counter. The grip on your waist gets impossibly tight. The hand pulling at your hair finally lets you rest back down on the counter, pushing hair out of your face when you look back at him. It rests on the back of your neck. 
“Feel so good baby,” he groans. 
“Joel—I’m—I can’t, I’m gonna—” 
“C’mon angel, come for me,” he says, you take another peak at him through the mirror. He looks wrecked. But you look even worse. 
You get impossibly tight around him while he mutters things you can’t hear over the ringing in your ears. You think you hear him toss out a small that’s right when you finally spill over the edge. 
He fucks you through it, his pace doesn’t let up, the coldness of the counter brings you back to reality. Where his breaths are becoming groans and pants and he strokes your cheek with his thumb. 
“‘Nother,” is all he says when your tight walls finally relax, molding to him and only him. 
“I–I can’t—” you say, slumped against the counter. You sound cock drunk. It’s halfway true though. No one else has ever made you come twice in one night. You were starting to think it might be a myth. 
“Know you can, pretty girl,” he goes slow at that, angling down so the tip of his cock catches something inside you that lights the fire again. “There we go. ‘S okay, can feel it already.” 
He pushes you towards another orgasm, it washes over your entire body and you slump against the counter. Maybe it’s some sort of weird trance he has you in. Or maybe you were right and this — whatever it is — is getting bad. Fast. You’re threatening to fall. But he’s there, and he picks you up and holds you down. 
“Jesus. Fuck, baby,” he curses into your skin when your release coats his cock and lets him sink deeper, thrust faster, push harder. 
“Joel—fuck. Fuck.” Maybe the overstimulation should be getting to you, but you stay there like that, as he speeds up and his thrusts become more frantic. He chases after his own orgasm. 
“Turn over,” he says, hastily. His hands move at your body before you can process his words. He flips you around and slots himself in between your legs—sliding back in deep, grinding into you while folding over so his head is in the crook of your neck. 
“Please,” you whimper. You both know what you’re asking for. But he pulls out, ripping your shirt up and spilling all over your stomach and breasts. It coats you, the liquid hot and he dips his head to watch it coat your body. He lets out a strangled string of curses, bracing himself on the counter as he comes. 
He kisses you. Really kisses you. You grab his face and moan into it. Like you’re willing him to stay there, in between your legs forever. 
But he breaks first, moving to grab a towel out of the cabinet above the toilet. He cleans you up gently, wetting the towel with warm water before it touches your skin. The sentiment could make you cry. 
When he’s done cleaning you up, he kisses your forehead. Joel wraps his arms around you as you sling yours over his shoulders. He holds you there, his hand coming to cup the back of your head, stroking your hair and breathing hot kisses into your crown. You smile, lazily. 
He pulls back just enough to look at you. You know you still look wrecked and are in desperate need of a shower—he looks perfect by contrast, completely untouched and definitely unbothered. 
“Dangerous,” he mutters when you look at him through your lashes. 
You kiss him instead of responding.
You know Joel's right—this is dangerous. 
But it feels way too good to stop. 
_
part iv
taglist! (comment or message me if you would like to be added) kisses to you all:
@nostalxgic @iluvurfather
2K notes ¡ View notes
yawnderu ¡ 3 months
Note
okay i’m back!! lol it’s like we’re on a the same wavelength bc i was thinking of bimbo!reader and simon getting manicures together then i saw your reply to your last ask and you mentioned it!!!
i did google matching manicure ideas 😅 but look how cute this is!!! lil ghosts with our ghost 🥹🥺
https://x.com/sharr301/status/1315103224068665346?s=46&t=xzfc58a-KGq5-TDXB6hcNA
i hope the link works!! but i think she’d be able to convince him to get some cute design and he shows off his manicure proudly to the other boys. i’m in love with their love 🥰🥰🥰🥰
YES!! This man is an absolute pushover for bimbo!reader and everyone can tell😭😭
“Put your hand like this.” You gesture with your own hand, looking at your long acrylics through the phone's camera. He tries his best to replicate your hand's position, showing off his freshly manicured nails. He never thought he'd do anything like that... but now he can understand why you enjoy getting your nails done. It's relaxing, and his hands feel much cleaner now than they did in years.
You take a picture for Instagram, a proud smile on your face as you upload it, tagging the profile that you forced him to create. It's full of pictures of you, not a single one of them showing anything about him other than a few that show his hand, always holding you.
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“What the fuck happened to you, LT?” Johnny is the first one to say something about his nails, making Simon grumble before shrugging, not embarrassed at all about the small designs on his now clean nails even if he knows they'll get ruined on the field.
“My girl, Johnny. 'S what happened.” They know better than to press on it, simply offering him a knowing look before moving on. Whatever makes Simon less of a moody bastard, even when he refuses to let them meet you. You're too pretty to meet that lot.
Bimbo!Reader Masterlist
978 notes ¡ View notes
toruro ¡ 4 months
Note
idk if u accept asks like this but what do u think would be svt thoughts/reactions to u scratching up their back during sex???
just a random random thought LOL (thank u sm!! please feel free ignoring this if its not vibing)
svt + scratches on their back
tags: smut ..,, sort of (18+),
a/n: ngl i miss doing ot13 reactions to stuff like this so!! so glad that u requested :3
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seungcheol: not a surprise but seungcheol absolutely loves it. he's obsessed with it, even. like takes pictures of it in the mirror after you fuck when the marks are still raw and red and fresh. it's part of the reason why missionary is probably his favorite position ... and i feel like cheol would shower you with money just so you can get your nails done perfectly sharp enough to rake into his back every time you guys fuck.
jeonghan: the only who i think is truly indifferent. it doesn’t bother him nor does he feel like it adds anything but he figures if you like it he’ll let you do as you please
joshua: i feel like he's also indifferent, but sometimes he'll use it as an excuse to be a little mean ... "aw baby can't keep her hands to herself ..,, might have to tie you up"
jun: loves it because of the pain. hear me out but he thinks your nails digging into his back adds onto his own pleasure from the sensation alone, but he's also a little shy about that fact and so just makes it a point to fuck you as hard as he can so you scratch his back involuntarily.
soonyoung: a mix of jun and joshua. he doesn't care too much for it, but occasionally the sting is pretty pleasurable ...,, other times he might use it as an excuse to pin your hands above your head
wonwoo: i actually think he's one of the few members who does not like getting scratches on his back because when he is being dominant, he likes have full control !! and that includes dictating where your hands get to be and what they get to do. although, wonwoo thinks it's cute when you get so lost in pleasure that you forget about his rules and can't help but scratch his back ...,, makes it a point to punish u for that and he always enjoys that
jihoon: secretly judges his self reflection of well he fucked you based on how messed up his back is after every round. loves every single mark.
seokmin: isn't a huge fan of the feeling while getting them—the sting kinda hurts, however he loves how scratches look afterwards ...,, admires himself in the mirror a lot when you leave loads of marks
mingyu: likes them a decent amount. he no strong opinions on it, if you like it, then he likes it. sometimes the feeling of you giving them eggs him in a bit more and boosts his ego
minghao: i feel like he doesn't really care about the pain while it's happening, and might even like that you get so lost in pleasure that you end up digging your nails into his back, but he doesn't like how the scratches sting afterwards so he probably asks you to hold off on the claws when you fuck
seungkwan: enjoys it occasionally, but other times he might straight up ask you to stop and oil / massage his back afterwards, and help him treat the marks with ointment
vernon: he wasn't the biggest fan at first but he didn't tell you to stop because it seemed like you liked it ..,, it eventually grew on him and he would never admit it to anyone but he really started to enjoy the sting while fucking, along with the view of his back all red and raw with scratches afterwards
chan: likes showing it off more than the actual process of getting the scratches to be honest. i have this feeling that the first time you scratched his back while fucking, chan was kinda surprised and, leaning into his more dominant side, wanted to make sure you didn't do that again ..,, but soon he grew to appreciate how the scratches were a sign of how good he's fucking you .,,
844 notes ¡ View notes
the-cat-and-the-birdie ¡ 6 months
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Also don't think anyone has said this (thats a joke) but like, art styles aside:
The animation, expressions, movement, everything of ATSV is IMPECCABLE.
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Like insanely, ridiculously, almost mind bogglingly good.
[This is a MEDIUM length post]
The main strength is the Emotion -
In terms of animation, the range of emotions Miguel is capable of expressing is like... crazy good. Gwen's emotions ARE UNSPEAKABLY IMPRESSIVE.
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LIKE...ANIMATING HER FUCKING BREATHING???? AND BLINKS!! AS AN EMOTIONAL CUE. HELLO???!!
And the movie hinges on this - almost every scene has an emotional cue that HAS to hit. Whether is Jess's looks of hesitation or Peter B.'s looks of horror.
And this may seem like the most ridiculous comparison ever made but like...
The Bee Movie and Across the Spider-Verse came out FIFTEEN YEARS APART.
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THE BEE MOVIE...THIS MONSTRASITY that has plagued humankind - was made less than two decades from THIS:
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The fact that we progressed that far as a society (pun intended) in that short of a time will never not baffle me.
I genuinely cannot name any other animated movie that:
Has multiple styles throughout the duration
Can seamlessly change styles without the viewer immediately noticing (like Gwen returning to her universe)
Show two or more animation styles on screen at the same time (and no, Roger Rabbit and Space Jam don't count - that's half live action lol)
Just off the top of my head - ATSV shows up to three styles in one scene: I'm mainly thinking of the scene that shows Hobie (customized - style 1), Peter B. (standard - style 2), and Miguel (a light stylized - style 3).
It can be brought to four if you want to count Miles/Gwen, though their style isn't visible.
I can think of a couple scenes that genuinely blew me away in terms of animation -
One being Rio's 'What-EVER?!' because of the little stance correction and head bob she does, because it's such a natural thing to do. And it adds so much to an already perfect line.
It's something someone would genuinely do IRL without even noticing.
Another I LOVE is Pavitr and Hobie roughhousing.
Like, I can't yell about these five seconds of animation more.
It's SO fluid it looks like Motion-Capture and I left the theatre googling is any Mo-Cap was used in the movie (and from what I can tell - no, it's all original animation).
The way Pavitr falls to the side and bumps them - This not only being a natural reaction to Hobie and his weight, but it also LOOKS natural. So much so you can see it affect Hobie's model too. The movement has kinetic energy on both models -
Which is AMAZING CONSIDERING THEY'RE ANIMATED ON LIKE FOUR DIFFERENT TIMES.
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In this shot alone, there's the guitar, vest, AND Hobie, all of which have their own animation rules. Plus the outline on his guitar AND him. And then there PAVI too, who's running at a higher frame rate, touching and interacting with Hobie.
So much so that Hobie's model nearly wraps himself around Pavi. Pavi's hair is moving, Hobie's guitar is moving, there's movement in the background - and it looks GREAT.
PLUS THE CAMERA IS MOVING AND GOSTLING. IT'S NOT A STATIC SHOT. The models and camera are moving AS IF THEY'RE REAL when they're not.
That's - My..I CAN EVEN COMPUTE THAT.
But by far, I think the range of expression used on Miguel is like... Chef's kiss.
(of course I was gonna trick you into reading another post about Miguel. Uh-huh that's what's about to happen)
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Like... are you kidding me?
NAH DEADASS ARE YOU KIDDING ME?????
The whole later half of the movie hinges on Miguel looking buckwild crazy insane and they NAIL that. And like-
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Oh my god what the actual fuck
?????????????????????????? I........ I have nothing to add. After that picture......Nah... LMAOOO
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(left: actual photo of Moche watching this happen)
But Anyway chile, This movie is like.. genuinely a modern marvel.
If Marvel gave Tim Gunn 4 billion dollars and five years, whatever live-action rendition he would have made would not even compare to ATSV on any conceivable level - that's how good it is so jot that down.
And like...don't even get me started on Hobie..his design..his representation...girl I will start crying in this Arby's do not play with me
I just felt that needed to be said.
you get what I'm saying yall know what I mean iight coo
Here's a picture of Hobie to cleanse your palette.
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Bye.
723 notes ¡ View notes
targaryenrealnessdarling ¡ 7 months
Text
A Perfect Score - Chapter 7 - Avalanche | FigureSkating!AU
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Summary: With some time to spare before the finals, you return to the Hightower/Targaryen Household, a million questions on your mind | Word Count: 6.8k~ | Warnings under the cut~
Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist
Warnings: smut straight out the gate, swearing, degradation, aemond being a sexual menace, a lot of dirty talk, p in v unprotected sex, marijuana use, hotboxing, oral (m receiving), face-fuccin, swallowing, toxic family relationships, implied p in v under the influence
A/N: yeah the whole hotboxing in a wendy house is actually a true story, my mum did it with my aunty when I was a kid (I wasn't there lol), so yeah thought it'd be fun to pop that in. ANYWAY feel somewhat self conscious of this chapter cos I feel like not much happens but OH WELL
Comments, reblogs & likes are always appreciated in this household. I love u 😚
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You thought he might have been joking.
But he was playing a dangerous game.
Hotel check-out, they said, was 10:00am. Aemond has simply shrugged and hummed in agreement, not giving the receptionist the impression that he cared.
He'd made good on his promise after the match you'd won, practically dragging you to Arryk's car having made his pleasantries, pictures and casual conversations with the judges.
But after that? He was a man on a mission.
Arryk's car was deadly quiet the entire ride back to the hotel, the sun beginning to dip against the buildings by the time you got back. And some of the hotel residents had looked on with one eyebrow raised as Aemond's led you hurriedly through the foyer, still in your outfits.
As soon as the lift doors were shut, he was on you.
Hungry. Like he'd finally been allowed out of his proverbial cage, desperate for a freedom he found in having you all to himself.
He spent the majority of that evening between your thighs, basking in said freedom.
A beam was bleeding through the slits between the curtains, but the light against the warm cotton made the room feel soft and inviting. It was like the feeling of rolling around in fresh bed sheets and tired lazy mornings.
The soft slapping of Aemond's hips against yours was the only sound that managed to disturb this tranquil morning, as well as the hushed murmurs of his words against your tacky skin, and the softened tumblings of tiny moans from your lips.
You've lost track of how many times he's made you cum by now.
It's all a haze of the closest intimacy, the room smells of sex, humid from your bare bodies being pressed against each other.
" - Aemond - we have to - ah, fuck - we have to check out soon -" you manage in a breathless whisper, the air constantly being fucked out of your lungs with each desperate slam of his cock in the deepest parts of you.
You feel him, how his cockhead bullies the rough, spongy spot inside you. Unsure if you can even handle another orgasm. How Aemond is even doing this right now is beyond reason, the amount of sleep this man is running on.
Aemond grins against your ear, groaning lowly at the feeling of your nails scraping against the nape of his neck. If your previous trysts have been quickies, this time it's lazy and languid, almost thoughtful.
"You can give me one more before that" he growls, voice vibrating in his chest pressed flush against yours.
Your eyebrows furrow together, the pressure building whether you want it to or not, the way his length drags against your over-sensitive walls is too much and yet not enough. Feeling both numb and tender. Head feeling as if it's airy and empty, all you're able to think about is him and how he's making you feel.
Your body moves with the pace of his thrusts, breasts faintly bouncing alongside it, sticky from the previous rounds' half-dried spend. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips, anchoring you to him, inevitably leaving marks in their wake.
He leans forward on his knees, his firm, muscular and athletic thighs, hardened from years of training, brushing against your own. The movement has his cock brushing against your cervix sensitively.
His hands, fingers long and lithe, hold your thighs and lift them higher and to your sides, widening you for him and granting himself deeper access. Your face heats up instantly being so on show, eyes glazed over with lust when you look at him.
His hair falling around his face, messily. His wide shoulders and slim waist, muscles flexing as he adjusts your position. As well as the warmth blooming in your core, it also does so in your stomach, and you briefly fear what it could mean.
You watch as Aemond keeps your legs elevated, his hips moving once more against you, his skin tapping against yours audibly with how wet you are.
You swear you've never been more aroused in your life.
The coil winds tightly inside you, watching how diligently and carefully he fucks you. As rough as the actions are, there is a softness in the way he holds your flesh in his palms.
"Come on, we don't want to be late now do we, pretty girl" he grins, lips parted to breathe with each thrust, a sheen of sweat covering his neck and chest, catching the light between his pecks.
If his movements don't finish you off, that most certainly does.
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It's almost worse being in the back of Arryk's car with Aemond after all of that. Like the tension hasn't disappeared one bit. And you try to busy yourself with something else, like putting some music on or staring out the window. But nothing seems to help.
After successfully making it to the check out time, Aemond smirking the entire time he was giving his keycard back, you both faced the onslaught of reporters who hung around the entrance of the hotel where Arryk's car was parked. All wanting a glimpse and/or a word from the finalists who were warming up to each other visibly.
The flash of the cameras blinded you, and you recoiled with the appearance of several microphones shoved in your path with such personal questions, all talking over one another. 
You at least made out that they suspected there was some romance involved.
Aemond, with his tall, beanpole form, had blocked the view with his body, rounding the car to open the door for you. He didn't seem to flinch as he parted his path between the reporters to get in himself. You supposed being the prodigal son of Viserys Targaryen and Alicent Hightower will do that to someone.
Idly you scrolled through your phone, seeing the various recommended news articles about the famed finalists.
Ice Prince and Princess demolish the semi-finals with their sensual performance. Aemond Targaryen. New partner or new lover? The ice has melted with our finalist couple keeping each other warm.
That last one made you cringe and click off your phone.
Even though things were better, and he had at least apologised, you couldn't help but have more questions. Mostly around Floris? Could you really believe Larys? And did Aemond have this kind of relationship with her as well? Perhaps that had been the reason behind her 'accident'?
Part of you, the doubtful part, thought that he'd only done all this, get close to you and sweeten you up, to improve the performance. Give him a better chance at winning.
You didn't want to think about that possibility. And yet it lingered.
Instead you focussed on the final. The final. 
And against all the fucking people, it was the Martells.
Ugh.
But at least there was more time between the last match and the finals now. Time to prepare.
That meant going back to the large Targaryen House, back to 'normality'. You itched to be around other people again, as being around Aemond made your skin prickle up almost uncomfortably. Maybe it was not knowing where you stood with him.
The car zoomed past the electric gates and Helaena and Alicent were waiting outside, Helaena beaming with joy and waving and Alicent, ever graceful, hands clasped at her front, smiling fondly at the return of her son.
As soon as you got out of the car, Helaena threw her arms around you, her hair emanating her signature lavender-like scent, but as soon as she pulled back she had a knowing smirk on her face, which mildly panicked you.
Alicent made her pleasantries, hugging her abnormally tall son and guiding you both inside. Helaena grabbed your hand, following shortly behind, giving you the side-eye.
"What?" You asked her.
"Oh don't give me that. I have some questions for you later"
You didn't have time to roll your eyes before a loud, ear-splitting bark reverberated off the waxed floor, the click of claw-lined paws echoing as a large Great Dane, who was clearly on the older side, bounded happily towards Aemond, heedless of its true size, and tackled him successfully to the floor.
"Umf! Gods Vhagar" Aemond hummed annoyedly, but the smile on his face when the large dog stood on his chest and licked his face betrayed his true feelings. You'd rarely seen Aemond properly smile, so seeing the boyish excitement on his face was…a strange welcome feeling.
Aemond laid there, back flat on the wax floor, accepting his fate. The dog named Vhagar you surmised, once done with its vicious attack, looked up curiously to you, tongue and tail wagging with equal vigour. Aemond tilted his head back to look at you, amused, the dog's paws planted firmly on his pecks.
"This is Vhagar, she doesn't like gir-"
Vhagar barked and made for you, taking mercy somewhat and only jumped up to rest her paws on your chest, craning her head for pets, which you were more than happy to give, paying special attention to her neck and ears as a wide smile graced your face.
"Good girl, Vhagar" you praised, her tongue still hanging out her mouth excitedly. Aemond raised his eyebrows, shocked and happy to see that reaction, as if to say 'I stand corrected'.
"I didn't know you had a dog" you say, watching as Vhagar gallops back over to Aemond, sitting at his feet as he stands and brushes himself off, looking up to him with admiration.
"We all do. Family tradition. They've been at the kennel for a bit" he explains, shoving his hands in his pockets. At the mention of the word 'kennel', Vhagar puts her tongue away, staring with worry, as if she was horrified. Aemond hums a laugh.
Alicent claps once, gathering all your attention. She's elegant as always, long sleeved top and a black slinky skirt, her hair perfectly tied back and held with a gold accessory.
"Well! It's lunchtime, you can tell us all about the tour over some cheese and wine, yes?" She beams.
Ah yes, back to aristocratic 'reality'.
Outside, the table was set with a gorgeous spread of brightly coloured food, plates and such as well. Otto seemed not to be present, and with that, the mood was lighter, less business-like and more like a family.
That as well as the presence of another silver-haired brother, much too skinny to be Aegon.
Aemond shoved his arm around their neck playfully, dragging him up, “Baby brother, are you geriatric? Your senses are getting worse”
You and Helaena watch with amusement as the smaller silver-haired brother goes pink, stuck in the hold Aemond has him in, “The fuck is wrong with you, Aem, get off!”
“Aeg, get his legs” Aemond smirks, scooping his arms under the smaller brother’s, “Daeron, you look hot, how about a dunk?”
“No! No, Aegon, stop it!” he protests, but the oldest brother simply smirks, a cigarette hanging from between his teeth as the two shuffle over to the pond in the middle of the garden, “Don’t encourage him, Aeg, put me down!”
“Well that’s not fun then, is it?” Aegon grins,
Helaena laughs, simply watching but not helping, “Think of it as punishment for being away from us for so long!”
“That’s not fair, Hel!” he shouts as Aegon and Aemond begin to swing, chanting ‘a leg and a wing, to see the king’.
“Boys, put your brother down, the meat’s getting cold!” Alicent calls, bringing out the iced lemon water.
With a huff, they do as they’re told, Daeron landing to the floor with a thud. The youngest brushes the grass off his slacks, smiling at you as if he’s just noticed you’re here.
“Sorry, Daeron” he smiles politely, shaking your hand.
You smile, “A pleasure”
“Dig in, everyone” Alicent beams, setting down one last plate of bread rolls, “I’ll just get some cutlery”
Aegon huffs in his seat, “Look delicious, mother. Who can I thank for such a spread?”
Alicent taps the back of his head in a playful scold as she’s walking past, “Me, you cheeky little so-and-so”
You laugh as you take your own seat next to Helaena.
Without Otto here, the atmosphere is warm, everyone’s happy. A stark contrast to your first evening spent in the formal cave-like atmosphere of the dining room, feeling left-out and ostracised. 
It’s more like a family now.
Conversation flows exceptionally well, all the tension now completely fizzled out with the soft, warm afternoon sun just dipping beneath the trees, flooding their garden with an orangey glow. Aemond and Aegon badgered their youngest, Daeron, about his studies and why he went to see Aegon instead of Aemond on tour, harmlessly teasing him on having favourites.
Alicent watched her three sons with motherly joy, but mostly chatted idly with you and Helaena.
After a glass of wine, Helaena now loosened, she confided in you quietly about the tour.
"Think I'm losing it" she mused,
"Losing what?"
She looked at you, violet eyes catching the sun, "My touch. The tour was okay but we got annihilated by the fucking Stormlands of all people" she scoffed.
"Who was representing Pairs for that?"
"Cass Barath and some guy she used to go to school with. They couldn't fucking stand each other but won on technical"
Couldn't stand each other.
That sounds familiar.
Or rather sounded.
"Shame. We could've been against one another" you smile, tapping your glass with your nail.
"Gods, if we went up against you after the last performance we'd have no chance" she smirks, "I have questions for you, don't think I've forgotten"
At the idea of telling Hel your face flushes briefly, turning away to try and hide it, just as Aemond has turned to you, Daeron talking his ear off. He gives a lazy smirk, somewhat bashful, as he looks down into his lap where his hands are clasped.
The evening was so peaceful it made a pain in your heart. And you wished it was like this for them all the time.
Alicent smiled, tapping her hand on top of yours, "Congratulations, sweet girl. We're very proud of you both"
You can't help the drop in your heart when she says that.
She speaks to you like she would a daughter.
It's a warmth you've not known for some time.
And she sees the way your face is completely relaxed, like nobody had ever said that they were proud of you before. There's a sadness in her expression.
When was the last time someone said that to you?
Estranged from your own parents, you honestly can't remember.
So you swallow over the lump in your throat and nod gratefully, trying not to show how deeply her small act of kindness has affected you.
"Thank you"
She smiles reassuringly, but it doesn't quite make it to her eyes, like she knows exactly what you're thinking.
A mother's intuition is never wrong.
She pats your hand once before pulling away, "You know, you remind me so much of someone I used to know"
You cock your head, "Who?"
Alicent visibly swallows, her eyes casting back, "An old friend" she says, smiling at the memory, "she was so sure of herself, unapologetically so. And she never let other people tell her what she should think"
You laugh lightly, "She sounds more confident than me"
"You are as well" she reassures, "I remember my last match you know.
I always wore blue, for my performances. But this particular day, my father got me to wear dark green, as an…homage of sorts, to Oldtown" she recounts, "I loved that outfit"
Her face falls somewhat then.
"I still can't watch that performance. Knowing it was my last"
Your heart aches in sympathy for her.
"And I can't look at that outfit without turning sad" she says distantly, her chocolate brown eyes looking down sadly.
You, of course, know this story to some extent. Banned from competing entirely, which seemed a very harsh judgement from the committee, but a decision was made nonetheless. You remember briefly watching reruns of her performance, how happy she looked then. How absolutely natural she was.
She didn't seem like she'd aged much at all. She certainly didn't look as if she had four children all grown.
You can't help but feel as if she had to grow up quickly.
"I'm just going to go and get some napkins, darling" she says with a polite smile, as if the conversation hadn't happened, standing up and excusing herself to the kitchen.
"So!" Aegon starts, "'Ice Princess', huh?"
You give him a playful glare, "Shut up"
"What!"
"I thought it was nice" Daeron says timidly,
"Don't you start" you retort, face heating rapidly as Aemond just sits back and lets the chaos ensue, with a satisfied smirk on his face.
"It was a good routine. Our grandfather wasn't much pleased" Aegon grins,
Aemond does too, "I bet he wasn't"
Helaena cocks her head, "What made you switch up the routine?"
Just as you're about to open your mouth, Aemond gets there before you do.
"I just gave her some advice in the dressing room" he grins mischievously, "looks like it worked"
Your lips slam shut at his words, a kind of dull, ache settling between your legs, reminding you of this morning, when Aemond had you in a rather precarious position. You hope to every god that exists that your face doesn't show it, as you stare him down.
He just looks impressed with himself.
You're not sure if it's the chill of the evening or the effect of Aemond that has goose bumps on your arms.
Just as Alicent comes back outside, Helaena takes your hand, standing quickly.
Thank the gods for that.
"I'm freezing, Mum. We're going to go inside"
"Alright, darling" she smiles.
You spare a look over your shoulder as she hurries you through the glass doors into the kitchen. Of course, Aemond is watching, his gaze unapologetically roaming over what you're wearing.
You don't miss Aegon's knowing smirk either, which never fails to make you roll your eyes.
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"Hel, what the fuck is this?" You laugh as Hel hurries you to a secluded area near the trees.
There, nestled between two oak trees, is a tiny little wendy house, clearly purpose built, and by now definitely looking it's age, with single paned windows and fading blue paint.
"Otto had it built it for me when I was five" she uses all her possible strength to pull the door open, the wood having swollen with age and damp. It eventually gives with a squeak, dust billowing between you both, "come on"
You duck, slipping past the threshold, "You're not gonna axe murder me in here, right?"
She scoffs and pulls the swollen wood back into place, the windows rattling in the frames as she does, "If I was an axe murderer you'd be dead by now"
She produces a rather worn plastic bag, with several freshly rolled spliffs stuffed inside.
"Sorry I just assumed you did-"
"I don't often" you shrug, "but when in Rome" you smile.
She passes you one and sticks one into her mouth.
"Where did you even get these?"
She grins as she pulls out a lighter, "Aegon. He sells them"
She blows the first buff out from between her lips, tossing you the lighter, "So you stole them?"
She shrugs, "I'm his sister. I'm just borrowing them"
"Hmm" you hum as you light yours as well. 
You both pull yourself only the ledges opposite each other, knees almost touching as you draw a few breaths in, the effect of it warming your throat and chest, your head already starting to feel lighter. The smoke fills the tiny wendy house, only serving to heighten the intensity.
"Right. Spill" Hel grins.
"Gods Hel, I'm not even high yet!"
"I don't care. Spill"
You give her a look, "He's your brother"
"Yeah I don't want the nasty fucking details, just keep it vague please"
"Alright, alright" you laugh, sighing between drags, "Well…"
"When did it happen?" she asks, raising her eyebrows.
You roll your eyes, "The first night at the hotel"
"The first night?!" She shouts in shock, leaning forward and mouth agape, "How-"
You can't help but laugh at her reaction. She'd obviously expected more of a romantic lead up to what occurred on that night, the memory making you squeeze your thighs together.
Helaena listens intently, asking the odd question, the effects of the drug must be getting to her as well because sometimes she asks the same one twice.
Explaining it all to someone else, it makes it all feel a bit more real, and you're eager to see how his sister, the person who knows him perhaps the closest, will react to your side of the story.
"In the dressing room??" She grimaces, "you guys are fucking disgusting. I don't think I can watch that performance the same way ever again"
You laugh, the effect of the drugs now weathering away your inhibitions.
You suppose there's no time like the present to ask an innocent question.
"Can I ask you something, Hel?" 
"I'm all ears" she responds.
Your fingernails tap against the worn out wood, nervously, "Were…Aemond and Floris…"
Helaena doesn't even let you finish.
"Oh fuck no. Absolutely not. When Floris was here he'd find any excuse to not be around her. It was quite funny really. But no, he's not really been with any girl since that fucking dinosaur"
Oh, Alys...
It's embarrassing, the relief that gives you.
"Floris just couldn't hack Aemond, she just thought he was…a cryptid weirdo. Aemond in turn just thought she was dumb and didn't care much for her skills"
"Was she not very good?"
"She'd be alright on her own, but she didn't collaborate well. Couldn't take criticism" she says, and you can tell by the tone of her voice that she's trying to be as nice as possible.
"Right…"
"So, you and Aemond…you're all good now?"
You sigh, honestly not knowing the answer yourself, "I think so?"
"You mean…you don't know?" she snorts, "surely if you two are smashing you're all good"
"Not really. I catch myself half-thinking about what he said, what I said, what's happened-"
"Yes, but Aemond's apologised, you said" Hel reasons, the small stream of smoke blooming from her spliff.
A warmth of embarrassment blooms in your chest.
"Yes but…I haven't"
Hel cocks her head, "What do you-"
Light floods the Wendy house as the door swings open, both of you squinting your eyes shut, having to somewhat sober up as the smoke is sucked out. Aemond grabs the doorframe, showing just how comically small the Wendy house is compared to him, and sticks his head in, crinkling his nose.
"Using your Wendy house to hotbox again?" 
"Yeah until you came to ruin it!" Hel says.
Aemond laughs lowly, sparing a glance at you and plucking the spliff from your fingers to take a drag of his own before returning it. The act, weirdly, has your skin burning where he'd touched.
Hel pushes off the ledge, brushing past her brother, stubbing out her spliff on the side of the doorway, "I'll leave you two"
You look at her in shock as she crosses the greenery, watching as she passes you a smug grin over her shoulder, knowing full well she's leaving you alone with Aemond to torture you.
Aemond barely manages to fit inside the Wendy house with his height as he occupies the spot where Helaena was.
"What were you girls talking about?" He asks, his arms leaning against the ledge. He's wearing his usual, entirely black get up, something so unapologetically Aemond that you don't even question it. But the way his arms look in the short sleeved shirt never fails to send flutters in your belly.
So you just laugh anxiously and stub the spliff out.
"Just girly stuff"
He raises an eyebrow, "girly stuff?" He asks, pushing the hair back over the top of his head with his fingers.
Fuck. Him. For being so attractive.
Your mind whirs uncomfortably, confronted with him. If you don't say anything, who knows is Hel might.
"About you and Floris"
"Ah" he says, smiling, "is someone jealous?"
"No"
He presses his lips together like he doesn't believe you.
"In any case, if you were, there's nothing to be jealous about, princess"
You roll your eyes at the nickname.
You bite your lip, "and about how it's come to this. You and me" you start, "Hel and every other person in Westeros by the sounds of it"
He huffs a laugh, "Yeah I've seen the news articles"
Your mind swirls, his presence coupled by the effect of the drug have made everything feel like it's been turned up to 100. The warmth inside the Wendy house now that the doors closed, your knees nudging against each other, his broad form, almost encompassing every square foot.
It's here you realise he's not taken his gaze off you. Possibly feeling the same way himself.
"What?" You ask with a drowsy smile.
He shakes his head.
"Nothing" he answers, suddenly looking anywhere but at you. You swear you see a blush on his face.
The smoking has made you more aloof, so you step forward, running your hand up the inside of his arm, almost pressed flush with him.
"C'mon tell me" you insist, smiling mischievously, "I could practically hear you thinking"
He turns his head, sighing, but not really annoyed. He's quiet for a moment, like he's considering something, like he wants to say something. But all thoughts are sapped from you when his palm cups your face, his thumb runs across your bottom lip, barely applying pressure.
It's his fixed look that holds you though, his reverent gaze at your lips, flitting to your eyes that glimmer with a sort of drunken haze.
It almost sobers you up entirely.
You wonder what he's thinking, he's so difficult to read.
The thoughts don't last. Aemond leans down to press his lips to yours, the naturally curved shape of them anchors your mouth open to taste you briefly. Both of you taste of tobacco and smoke, mixed together with the musk of his scent. You don't know why it drives you so crazy. Nobody has made you feel like that…ever.
It's tender. Almost loving.
Embroiled in the heat of the moment, arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush to him, and you smile somewhat against his lips feeling his hardness pressed against his sweatpants.
With enlarged confidence due to lack of inhibitions, your hand winds down his body, your palm running over his length, and it's clear by the way he delivers a stuttered groan into your mouth that he enjoys it immensely and was also not expecting it.
You only part when both of your hands stop at the waistband of his sweatpants.
"What are you doing" he asks, his voice hoarse in anticipation.
"What does it look like" you smirk, lips still close to his, teasing him, "taking care of you"
Pushing them just past his hips, your hand slips down the front, past his tummy, to his achingly hard cock, wrapping your fingers around him and pumping slowly.
"I don't hear you complaining..." you smile.
" - fuck - baby…" 
You can't help but love it when he calls you that. Like it just comes so naturally.
A wicked idea strikes across your mind like a match. Your eyes light up, loving the way he's giving the illusion of being at your mercy, when in reality he could very easily flip the switch and be his usual cocksure self.
His breath seems to get sucked from his lungs when you kneel down before him, looking up at him dreamily while tugging his sweatpants down enough to free his cock, standing entirely hard against his muscled stomach, the tip ruddy and leaking with arousal.
He has such a pretty cock it's difficult to look away, and you feel your own arousal pool deep in your stomach in anticipation, tracing your palm from base to tip, caressing his length with care. Watching how his grip is white-knuckled and tight on the ledge, the wood cracking under it.
You've not done this yet with Aemond. It's always been him pleasing you.
This time it'd be different, even if he was only pretending to be in control.
Aemond watches with lips parts as you lower your mouth to the base of him, drawing a line with your tongue agonisingly slowly over the prominent vein on the underside, all the way to the tip, swirling your tongue around where he's most sensitive. It has a shuddered breath escape Aemond, with something akin to a whine.
He shuts his eyes, his fingers carding through your hair at the side of your face, all the way to the back, curling them and tugging at the follicles pleasurably.
You've slept together, but you've never seen his cock up this close, and it's a shame, because he's perfect. Thinking about taking him into your mouth is just too good an opportunity to pass up, and the heady scent of his skin just has you wanting to devour him.
" - please, don't tease m-"
You moan around his length as you take him as far as you can, relaxing your jaw muscles to allow for more, and whatever you can't fit, you caress with your hand. Aemond gasps quietly as your mouth tightens around him when his cockhead hits the back of your throat, his grip tightening in your hair.
It doesn't take long for you to begin properly pleasuring him in earnest, figuring he's been patient enough. You press your tongue to the underside and hollow your cheeks, creating more friction. Aemond looks down, watching the way his cock disappears into your mouth over and over, the length slick with saliva from your efforts.
He meets your rhythm with the soft canting of his hips, using his hold to slightly pull you onto him. You look up at him, watching his hedonistic expression and the way his mouth is slightly open with hurried breaths, pupil blown wide with lust at the lewdness of the act as well as the setting.
" - you're so good - fucking perfect - " he whispers.
The praise goes straight to your core, tightening around nothing, and it only serves to redouble your efforts.
As usual, Aemond feels the need to be assertive, and his hands smooth your hair into a ponytail, one hand gripping it in place and he pulls you off, only a string of saliva connecting either of you.
"Wha-"
"I want to fuck your mouth, baby" He mutters lowly. And in the gentle darkness of the room, with only a whisper of light at one side of his face, he looks mythical. His sudden change of tone has you wet your lips nervously, but also in excitement.
"Can you do that for me?"
You nod once, eager to please him, but also to taste him again.
He smiles slightly, "Good girl"
He pushes off the ledge slightly, standing straight and holding the base of his length, prodding the tip against your lips, the precum making them glisten. Your hands find his muscular thighs for stability.
"Tap my thigh twice if it's too much"
You nod in understanding.
"Open up for me, baby"
He plunges his cock into your mouth, taking his time to sink completely in, until he bottoms out in your mouth, his cockhead now truly tapping the back of your throat. You gag softly at the invasion of him so deeply, your grip tightening.
"Breathe through your nose - that's it - good girl - " He praises lowly, and you do as he says, making the effort to relax.
He starts to slowly fuck your mouth, gauging how much of a pace you're able to take before going any faster. His grip tightens on your hair, tugging at the makeshift ponytail and pulling on it, making you whine around his length, which only serves to urge him on as he uses your head for leverage.
" - such a pretty little mouth - fuck - " he whispers, his hips now moving in earnest, snapping against your mouth with renewed vigour, in search of release, " - you're so perfect - look at me - "
It's hard to look up at him with his cock pistoning into your mouth, but you do, and the look he has is borderline magical. His chest moves quickly with his breathing, a soft smile on his face as he looks down at you with pride.
" - that's it - finally, a good use for your dirty mouth - looks so much better with my cock in it, don't you think?" 
You hum around him, trying to relax your jaw as much as possible as his cockhead bullies the back of your throat, a line of saliva running down the side of your mouth.
He laughs, " - baby you're making such a mess on me - such a good little slut - ffffuck- bet that pretty little pussy is soaked from sucking my cock -" his head tilts back, clearly close, and you can tell by the way he goes faster.
Your stomach rolls with delight, face warm with embarrassment, knowing he's entirely right, you squeeze your thighs together for some semblance of friction.
" - you gonna be a good girl and swallow for me? - want me to cum in your dirty fucking mouth? - " 
As a way of answering, you press your tongue to the underside again, one of your hands going to his balls to caress them, urging him on, with pleasured tears pricking at your eyes.
" - seven fucking - you're bad, aren't you -" he breathes, " - oh fuck - "
He slams into your mouth forcefully one last time, stilling as his cock throbs on your tongue, feeling his cum at the back of your throat. Joining the line down your chin, a line of his spend also runs down, having completely filled your mouth.
You look up at him for a brief moment, appreciating the way his eye is closed, his breath coming heavily from his lips after what sounds like a shattered whine. His shoulders tremble, and the bit of his tummy you can see poking out from under his shirt clenches uncontrollably, his muscles moving with his breath. It doesn't taste unpleasant, but it's salty and coats your mouth in the most lewd, delicious way. To see him so lost in pleasure is worth it.
His fingers loosen, and stroke your hair lovingly as you swallow as much as you can, thrusting shallowly a few more times with a near pornographic sound. After a moment, he pulls his softening length from your mouth, using one hand to tiredly tuck himself away as he looks down at you, his pupil blown wide enough to eclipse the blue and still trying to regain his breath.
"You're amazing" he praises, his thumb coming to your face to wipe the line of his release, dipping it back into your mouth. You eagerly wrap your lips around his digit, making a show of it while your eyes meet.
He pulls you up to your feet, slamming his lips against yours, heedless of the taste of himself on your tongue as he moans into your mouth. It sucks the air from your lungs, his arms wrapping around you and you in turn wrap yours around his neck.
"I could fuck you all night, you know that?" He whispers between breaks for air.
You've spent so much time with Aemond, less time romantically, but even still, it feels nice to be touched by him, to be praised by him.
He breaks and presses his forehead to yours, eyes shut, completely at ease.
You swallow. The haze now dissipated somewhat.
"I…need to say something"
"Hm?"
"I'm sorry…"
He opens his eyes, brows arched in questioning, "what for, princess?"
Fuck, he needs to stop saying that. 
You wet your lips, "For calling you a nepo-baby…"
The reaction you didn't expect from Aemond, was to fucking laugh.
But he does, quiet at first, but gaining traction, his eyes crinkling up into something you've barely seen. His white teeth gleaming in the darkness.
"What?" You smile, nudging his shoulder.
"Has that really been eating you up inside?" He jokes,
"Yes!" You insist, "I've said some…nasty things as well"
Aemond rolls his eye, "You don't need to apologise to me"
"Well I did, so now's the part where you say you forgive me" you reply, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
He hums a laugh, "forgive you?" He grins, "and what if I don't?"
"You have to"
"Hmm" he smirks, "maybe -" he spins you around, pushing you against the opposite ledge, and you're astonished to find him hard, yet again, against your backside. Your hands find purchase on the ledge, keeping yourself up, and your face splits in a gasp when Aemond swiftly pushes his hand past your tummy at your front and swipes two fingers across your drenched folds.
"-You'll have to earn it, princess"
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When you returned to your bedroom, with a pleasant ache between your thighs, having shushed and giggled with Aemond when you snuck back in (apart from when he'd nearly knocked a very precious antique sword off the wall), you'd felt a surge of something deep in your gut when stood outside in the hallway.
Aemond could barely keep his hands away, and as well as that, couldn't let go to say goodnight. He'd pulled you to him, littering your face with kisses that always seemed to end with his lips pressed to yours desperately.
When he'd pulled away, looking down at your face in the soft darkness, there was a tug in your chest. He looked so peaceful like this, so calm. And his thumb caressed the skin of your face with care, taking in every little feature.
He opened his mouth, but swiftly closed it.
And said something else instead.
"You're so beautiful"
Though it made your skin bloom all the same, as he so easily managed to do, you felt as if he wanted to say something else. And there were words on your mind as well, that felt too serious to say out loud. 
Being this close to him, it felt incredibly intimate and rare, as if something precious had been granted to you.
And you could see the way something melted away when you touched his face, your thumb tracing the bottom of his scar carefully.
You wondered if he knew how beautiful you thought he was as well. If he'd ever been told that.
It seemed like he understood just by the gentle touch, all the little thoughts in your head.
Even if you weren't sure where exactly you stood with Aemond, even though you knew something needed to be addressed, to be defined…
…this felt nice.
But you didn't tell El these details. It would mean she'd ask questions, make you question yourself, and how you feel. You weren't sure if you were ready to confront them.
El was absolutely smug and ecstatic when you told her about what happened. As opposed to Helaena though, El did ask for the nasty details, which you provided some of. But not all. Those were for your own benefit.
You didn't tell her about what Larys had said about Floris though, not until you knew for certain. What did Larys have against Otto anyway? And why would Otto do such a heinous thing?
Supposedly.
You woke early the next morning as you always did, and pulled on a hoodie, with the chill of the day still hanging in the air. Your footsteps were soft from the fluffy socks on the staircase, a soft light emanating from the living room, and hushed angered voices within.
You stopped in your tracks, ears pricked.
Otto was here.
"You will not push Aemond as you pushed me, I will not allow it!" Alicent started, in an accusatory tone.
"I pushed you to be the greatest figure skater in Westeros. Or have you forgotten?" Otto replied, and you could tell from the tone of his voice that he looked smug.
"And pushed me into his arms into the bargain!" She retorts, her voice upset and strained, "Because of you, I am banned from skating competitively! Because of you, I cannot have one good thing of my own, and you robbed me of my only friend!"
There's a silence. You sit on the staircase, feeling wholly bad for prying, but too curious to stop. Alicent sounds as if she is catching her breath.
"And you will not take Aemond from me. You will not rob Aemond of her either"
Your heart freezes.
"She has little to do with this" Otto states,
"She is good for him. Aemond likes her"
Otto scoffs, "It is just business. Aemond knows this, it has been discussed. This is why I do not consult you, you get too emotionally invested"
Just business? You think over the words Otto has just said.
Just business partners?
No, surely…
"They are emotionally invested! I have never seen Aemond as happy with anyone as he is with her! You shall not ruin that with your vicarious ambitions!"
You can't bring yourself to truly believe what Otto has said.
Surely what you both had was more than that…
Anger prickles at your insides. 
How he treats his daughter, and by extension his grandchildren, with the exception of Helaena, who he dotes on, angers you.
How could he be so cruel to them like this? Instilling a business-like appearance on a family.
You pull out your phone, typing furiously and quickly, still hearing Alicent and Otto argue in the living room.
What sort of information do you have? 
You wait impatiently, but there's no need. Larys replies a few moments later and your heart pounds.
Good to hear from you. I'll send over all I have as soon as possible. -Larys S
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General Taglist: @blairfox04 | @hb8301 | @jamespotterismydaddy | @nenelysian | @natty2017 | @randomdragonfires | @risefallrise | @theoneeyedprince | @thelittleswanao3 | @tsujifreya | @urmomsgirlfriend1 | @valeskafics | @watercolorskyy
Aemond Taglist (1): @asp3nxx | @avidreader73 | @bellaisasleep | @boofy1998 | @cathy1514 | @dahlias-and-marigolds | @fan-goddess
517 notes ¡ View notes
eskumii ¡ 8 months
Text
yandere!incel!tomura shigaraki + foreigner!darling who can't speak japanese
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TITLE: " RENT-A-GF " — navi.
NOTES: nsfw (18+ only) below the cut (non-con!! somnophilia!!) reminder: this is merely fantasy, i don't condone. will prob proofread someday lol. enjoy!
PAIRING: yandere!incel!shigaraki tomura x foreinger!reader
GENRE/AU: shigaraki is rlly misogynistic and delusional, age gap (you're older), reader is a substitute english teacher who got kidnapped by bwad gwuys and is now... yeah
CHARACTERS: shigaraki tomura (21), reader (24)
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let's be for real: shigaraki was born to be an incel.
and incel!shigaraki is shamelessly self-aware of this, indeed. when he's not out terrorizing innocent citizens with his villainous coups, he takes to the internet to fulfill his insatiable need for an adrenaline rush. gorey video games and brutal death metal makes him light up in glee, but sometimes it's just not enough.
so, instead, he's a frequent on the dark web, diligently scouring sites that specialize in obscure female porn collectives that cater to his twisted kinks. incel!shigaraki glowers at the pictures of stupid, slutty women who prance around in sexy lingerie, but still gets a hard-on because he wishes he had a woman who would do that for him and him only.
and what shigaraki wants, he gets. on another sweaty night in his dark bedroom, he's boredly clicking through the hundreds of entries of women who are being sold for, what he thinks, too high of a price. not that money would ever be a problem for him; if he felt compelled to, he could just kidnap the girl he wanted all over again. so, no, it's not the price—it's what he thinks they're worth based on his attraction to them.
and, so far, all of them are worthless.
you see, the conundrum is that incel!shigaraki has a thing for foreign girls. don't ask why, he doesn't know. maybe he finds it cute that they're so clueless about his culture and language, and he's the one who'll control the narrative that rules their ignorance. maybe it's so cute how they wear their perpetual confusion on their face at all times, like a bratty kid who can't navigate the world without mommy or daddy by their side.
of course, though, women could hardly do anything on their own anyway. every time he came across one they'd wail and cry as he grabbed them by the hair and threatened to kill them if they didn't shut the hell up. they'd beg for their lives or scream for someone to save them, but it would only piss him off more at how useless and brainless they tended to be. he just couldn't help but decay them—they were so noisy and whiny, it wasn't his fault.
obviously, shigaraki has neither patience nor experience with women. in fact, he can probably count with two fingers how many times he's had a non-violent interaction with a woman in his entire lifetime. the mere thought of this drives his insecurities to the brink of rage, but it's not his fault women are so unbelievably tasteless in their choice of men. it's their fault he has to go to such lengths to find a decent woman worthy of his presence.
but imagine his delight when he happens upon a listing of you, an immediately attractive foreign woman who used to be an english substitute teacher of all things. he clicks through your pictures with a renewed vigor, his interest piqued as he studies your unique features. eagerly, he scours through your posted information and it turns out that you happen to be exactly the kind of woman he's looking for.
it's a done deal. the transaction takes less than a few minutes and incel!shigaraki couldn't be more pleased with how smoothly it went. he'll have to leave a good review later on, when and if the woman he's just bought has satisfied him.
it takes just one night before shigaraki finds you literally dropped off at his doorstep like an amazon prime package. you’ve clearly been pampered with the way you’re clad in a skimpy maid outfit; your nails, hair, and makeup are all dolled to perfection. you look exactly like you did in the pictures.
and clearly you're wise beyond your years. you don't speak much because of the obvious language barrier, but you do seem to understand a bit of elementary japanese. shigaraki is delighted by your small mutterings of broken japanese—it’s unbelievably cute. sometimes he'll force you to speak in japanese just because he loves watching you struggle with your limited vocabulary.
incel!shigaraki gets attached to you. you're very attractive in his eyes, and he's completely ecstatic that you're all his. a woman he can do whatever he wants with, and no one would dare question him. the immense power trip sends him over the edge.
that being said, the first couple of weeks are still rather... awkward. you're not happy about being in the situation you're in, but you're smart enough to keep that to yourself. you don't fuss when shigaraki orders you to fetch him liquor or tidy up his filthy room, nor do you complain when he commands you to cuddle with him or keep him company while he plays video games.
"[name], c'mere," he'd bark at you, eyes still glued to the tv screen.
"be a good girl and keep my lap warm, hm?"
he'll force you to wear cute lingerie sets like he's seen the women on porn sites do. somehow you look so much better though, and it feels as though you're teasing him with the way you bend over so much while cleaning. the outline of your pussy through the small fabric that stretches over it has him horny in a matter of seconds. you're such a tease, aren't you ashamed? you just can't seem to stay in line.
however, despite all your obvious sexual innuendos towards him, shigaraki gets no relief. he's resorted to jacking off whenever you go to sleep but no matter how hard or how much he cums, there's an itch that can't be scratched with masturbation alone. and the way you're so shy around him is adorable, sure, but your little playing-hard-to-get act wasn't cutting it anymore.
the remedy? incel!shigaraki starts slipping sleeping pills into your food and drinks.
and it doesn't take long for shigaraki to develop a routine of visiting you while you're sleeping. partly to check up on you and assure himself of your presence, but mostly to creep around the edges of the bed and feel you up. you sleep so soundly that you don't even twitch when he fondles your soft breasts or runs his spindly fingers over your curves.
he almost doesn't want to disturb you; you look so peaceful, totally different than the frightened little faces you muster when you're awake. but the bothersome tightness stretching his boxers taut against its stitches makes it hard to resist his urges. anyway, you're simply doing the only thing a woman is good for: using your body to please him.
his breath is hot and heavy, laced with lust and selfish perversion as he defiles you to get himself off. some nights he just sits and admires your beauty, caressing your face with clumsy, inexperienced fingertips. some nights your shirt is pulled up so he can marvel at how nicely your breasts sit in whatever color bra he forced you to wear.
other nights his cock is nestled between them, thrusting like his life depends on it, chasing that euphoric high he gets when he finally spills his seed across your hardening nipples. and other nights shigaraki is even more daring—cute pajama pants and panties below your knees, face buried between your thighs as he explores every inch of your sweet cunt. he knows it's wrong, but so what? he's a villian, that's what makes it feel so right.
when you make faces in your sleep, he's filled with so much genuine affection—it's almost as if you're telling him he's doing a good job. you love it, don't you? he so desperately wants to hear you cry his name in that precious accent of yours and run your hands through his hair as you lavish your praise upon him for making you cream so many times.
he can't keep his eyes off you. so soft and compliant. you're so pretty while he's stuffing his cock into you and relentlessly flicking your little clit, not stopping even when he feels you clench around him like a vice as you orgasm over and over. not stopping even though you're drooling all over the linen sheets and he's came twice already.
"that's right... y-you gonna cum again? you gonna—ngh—cum all over my cock, you dumb whore?"
shigaraki watches with glassy, intrigued eyes as you squirm ever so slightly, face warped into one of undeniable pleasure as he ravages your gushing pussy. you're such a good girl for him, letting him use you as he wishes.
you're the woman he's chosen to give his virginity to. he's so happy and content that when he cums inside of you for the third time, he doesn't pull out. instead, shigaraki gently maneuvers your body so he can spoon you from behind, whispering tender "i love you's" as if he knows what that means. absently grinding his hips because your warmth is so comforting around his sticky, softening dick.
as much as shigaraki wants to stay and pound you into the mattress all night, the sleeping medication doesn't last forever. not to mention the mess you've made; the sheets are completely ruined and your clothes are strewn about on the floor, long forgotten. it's hot in your room and it stinks of his cum and sweat, but it doesn't really matter. the only thing on his mind is you and how he'll ruin you again tomorrow night.
for now, though, he rewards you for being so good by cleaning you up, smirking whenever you unconsciously nuzzle up to his touch. when your clothes are back on, he plants a tender kiss on your forehead and admires your flushed face from the shadows of your bedside. when the sun begins to rise and you stir in your ignorance, he'll sneak out and act as if nothing ever happened.
incel!shigaraki who doesn't deny that you're just another stupid slutty woman, but you're the only woman he'll ever want to cum inside of. when he returns to his room, he remembers to pull up your archived listing on his computer and dazedly taps away at his keyboard.
"10/10 recommend"
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823 notes ¡ View notes
xxgoblin-dumplingxx ¡ 26 days
Note
Ari I have not stopped thinking about disowned verse for a singular minute since its conception lol
Sometimes It be like that
Jason looked through the contents of the tool box and nodded. Decent quality tools, some basic nails, screws, nuts and bolts. Tape measure. Scissors. Carpenters pencil. Basically anything that he could need to get started. Nice tool box too. And, not that it was an issue for him really but. The price tag that had come with it wasn't bad. A little high- but then you probably didn't order this in. This was made to order. So the price was probably based on a discount for the whole package- 15-20% was his guess. Made sense.
The one thing he didn't expect was the business card- with your cellphone number on the back. He doubted that was standard. And he smiled a little. He was retired right?
That should mean that he had time to get a coffee or something with a pretty girl if he wanted.
Or maybe he'd skip the middle man and just wander in to the shop tomorrow and get your order himself. And some advice about where to start doing some PI stuff.
You seemed local. You'd probably know some stuff. And know if there was a storefront or an office for rent.
In the mean time though, he had some stuff to put together and a couple pictures to hang.
176 notes ¡ View notes
yes-divine-ruler ¡ 10 months
Note
HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
Can you do a 20, 27, 31 and 93 with a virgin!fem!reader x Kai Anderson where he finds out by some darkweb site that the reader is a virgin, and he gives her her first time lol <3
Benefactor - Kai Anderson
x virgin!fem!reader
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cw: smut with a plot, corruption and size kink, loss of virginity, mentions of a knife
wc: I cut it down to 3.7k lolll!
@evanpetersfansblog @kitwalkersgfff @quicksilversg1rl @iruzias @alexxavicry @soaringcloud@laynna-mcknight @humdrumexistence @simp4petermaximoff @evan4ever @paujmr @jangsuzchap @meganxfox @divineruler @spill-the-t @hihidora
Kai didn't know what he was searching for. Until he found you. 
The basement was dark, the only light evidently emitting from the desktop screen. Kai had found himself down a deep, dark rabbit hole of drugs, guns and all sorts of illegal videos. He'd spent so much wasted time consumed by the screen in front of him, he'd almost scrolled passed your ad. 
Take my Virginity, Give me $10k for College
To say Kai was intrigued was an understatement. He'd clicked on your ad with curiosity, sighing deeply as he flicked through your photos. Kai could feel the innocence radiating off you from the screen. To think such a sweet girl was so eager to give it all away made Kai's cock twitch. 
He zoned in on your photos, leaning forward with his nose almost pressed against the desktop. He couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to twirl your soft hair around his fingers. How it would smell. How gentle you'd be, and how easy it would be to stimulate you. How supple your skin would be under his calloused fingers and every little whine he'd force out of you. How tight and wet you'd be, squirming under him as you squeezed around his cock. Milking him of all the cum he had. 
After almost no consideration, Kai decided that you'd have to be his for the taking. 
So he messaged you. 
You were surprised to see that your ad had gotten some attention. You'd wondered how long it would take for some sick, twisted pervert to take the bait. The answer: one day. His profile was so unknown; no photo or anything about himself that might interest you. You almost didn't open your inbox. Yet, your eyebrows knitted in confusion opening his message. 
hey, 30 yo and willing to do whatever it takes to be the one to fill ur dreams
Thinking your ad would attract men much older, you were pleasantly surprised there was only a decade difference between you. You bite down on your thumb nail, your chin rested on the palm of your hand in concentration. 
a picture, maybe? 
Anticipating his response, the fingers on your other hand drum softly against your desk. He was just online. 
Within minutes, he'd sent back his response. Your gaze followed your cursor as you clicked on a censored .jpeg file. Your surprised reaction, instant, as you drank in his appearance. Handsome, dark eyes and long, blue hair. He wore a long black coat. his legs clad in black jeans. Combat boots on his feet. He looked like he belonged on the dark web, but never in a million years did you think he'd click on your ad. Nor did you think you'd be remotely attracted to the person who did. 
Your potential benefactor went by the name of Kai. He was strangely polite and considerate. The thought that maybe he wasn't real crossed your mind. 
Despite your suspicions, you'd found yourself parked outside Kai's desolate motel the next day. This was your last hope at a future, you had nothing to lose. 
Putting on a parka and beanie, you exited your car. You knew that Kai would be in room 206. With the cash. All you had to do was knock a few times. 
With a burst of courage, you set out to find room 206. Your teeth chattered in the cold. You tried hugging your parka close for warmth. You drone in on the room numbers as you ascend the outdoor stairwell to the second floor. Without long, you were in front of Kai's room. 
Suddenly hesitant, you freeze parallel with the door. Fear will not get the better of you. He won't hurt you, you have a photo of his license. 
You finally knock on his door. 
It felt like years before the door finally opened. From the inside, the heater warms your shaking body immediately. 
You look up from your shoes to see Kai looking down at you. Somehow he looked even better than the grainy photos. He smiled as stepped off to the side to allow you room to enter. You take the invitation. A sense of relief washes over you as the blood rushes back to your fingers. 
"Hey."
Kai slides the deadbolt and his hands sit in his coat pockets. The coat he wore in his photos. 
"Hey," you reply softly, observing Kai's face. 
"Nice to finally meet you, doll," Kai removes his hand from his pocket to offer you a handshake. 
You slide your cold hand into his, satisfied with his warmth. 
"You too, I didn't think you were real," you blurt nervously. Kai turns to hang his coat behind the door. 
"Real as it gets," Kai chuckles, "I'm honoured I get to help with college."  
Kai offers to take your parka. He hangs it with his own jacket and turns towards the bed. He sits on the edge and pats the spot next to him. 
You fidget with the sleeves as you sit beside him. You notice his intoxicating scent immediately. 
"Still cold?" He asks. Every word he speaks is accompanied by a minty coolness. 
"Huh?"
Kai points at your chest. Right to where your nipples stand out from under your white shirt. You offer Kai an awkward smile. 
"Oh, it's okay, it's warm in here, really," you reassure. Kai just laughs. 
Shifting closer to you, he places a hand on your knee. Your body stiffens in surprise. His strong, veiny hand grips onto the skin of your thigh. You shiver to his touch. 
"Where's the money?" You ask, attempting to remind Kai why you're here. 
"In the bag. Have a look." 
Kai gets up and encourages you to follow him to the corner of the room. A small bag sits on a dining table. You watch in anticipation as he unzips the bag, revealing a small stack of cash. The band reads "$10,000". 
"Can I touch it?" You question with innocent eyes. 
He nods and passes you the cash. It takes everything in you not to bring it to your nose to smell it. It would be yours soon. 
You secure the money back in the bag and follow Kai back to the bed. 
Before you can sit beside him, Kai grabs a hold of your hips. He positions you between his legs without a word. 
"Why are you still a virgin?" He speaks suddenly. His eyes hungrily rake down your body. He thought he might break you if he squeezed too tight.  
"Um, I dont know. Never felt comfortable with anyone, I guess," you reply timidly. Kai's fingers begin to bunch up the hem of your shirt. 
"Hm," Kai’s lips form a thin, straight line, "is it okay if I take this off?" 
You nod and allow Kai to pull your shirt over your head. You hadn’t worn a bra underneath. Suddenly, your bare breasts were on display for him.  
He groans as you stand tall for him. You inhale a few deep breaths to try ease your nervousness. 
"You're so fucking pretty, you know that?" Kai's hands return to your body. His thumbs trace up from your hips and settle under your tits. You'd never experienced something so intimate before. His hands felt like velvet and left a trail of goosebumps in their wake. 
"Thank you," you mutter reluctantly. You bite down hard on your bottom lip as Kai’s thumbs flick over your sensitive, already taut nipples. 
His teasing eases as his hands travel back down the curves of your body. 
"Is this okay for you?" He asks sweetly, "have you ever had someone touch you before?"
"Yes,” you squeak out, “and no." 
His fingers hook into the waistband of your tights and panties. He pulls them off your legs agonisingly slow. 
A string of arousal drips from your core and sticks to your panties.  
"Does it feel good? To be touched?" Kai already knows the answer. He silently admires your bare and vulnerable body standing before him. He loves how easily you respond to his touch. 
"Yes," you admit, squeezing your legs together in an attempt to build some friction. Your body was so easily aroused, it was pathetically humiliating. 
"Lay down," Kai instructs, shifting to give you the space to lay on the bed.  
You lay back on the bed with shaky breaths. Your legs bend at the knee and your ankles stay clamped together. 
Kai steps away from the bed and strips to a pair of grey boxers. The sight alone ignites a dull pulse between your legs. 
He looked like he’d walked straight out of a men’s fitness magazine. Kai was beautiful and carried this dangerous confidence with him. For a moment, it felt like you’d met a more traditional way, and not though the dark web. 
Kai lays beside you, and clings onto your opposite hip. He leans in and his lips ghost over yours. Even just a hint of feeling them on yours was exciting to you.  
"I knew I had to have you," he whispers, planting a kiss on your cheek, “you’re so delicate.” 
Kai trailed gentle kisses to the corner of your mouth. Your core didn’t let up; continuing to pulse in ramped need. 
His lips suddenly meet yours. They move in perfect synchronicity with yours. His warm tongue prods at your tightened lips, begging to explore the inside of your mouth. You open your mouth, moaning softly as his tongue takes on yours in a sticky battle for dominance. 
Your thighs rub together as Kai's softly pinches your erect nipple. His mouth leaves yours and instead, attaches to one of your hardened peaks. He swirls his tongue around it before sucking it into his mouth. A low rumble works its way from the back of his throat. 
Kai's cock twitches as he hears your first whimper of pleasure. He sinks his teeth softly into your perked bud hoping to get a small whine from you. Your cunt weeps with every noise you make. It begged to be attended to. 
"You make such pretty sounds," Kai whispers against your skin as his kisses travel downwards. 
You watch with heavy eyes as he trails kisses from your breast to your hip bone. He places a firm hand on your knee. You lurch forward and your mouth opens to object. 
"Don’t talk, just spread your legs," he uses light force on your knee to open your legs. Your cheeks burn in embarrassment as you’re exposed fully to him. 
Kai situates his head between your open legs and sucks in a shuddering breath. 
He positions his fingers over your clit, applying enough pressure to have your hips jolt into his hand. 
"Someone is needy," he hums, admiring your glistening cunt as it clenches around nothing. 
"Kai," his name rolls off your lips pleadingly. Kai uses a single finger to dip between your folds and scoop your arousal. He pops his finger in his mouth and closes his eyes contently at the taste. 
He opens his eyes and they peer hungrily into yours. He was silently asking to go down on you. 
"Please," you whine in torment. 
Kai wraps his arms around your thighs and brings your pussy impossibly closer to his face. 
He sets out to work straight away, drawing your small, swollen clit between his wet lips and sucking on it softly. The foreign spike in pleasure had your body trembling.
Kai sets a flat tongue against your clit, before licking a thick stripe to your entrance. He probes inside with the tip of his tongue. He was already obsessed with the way you tasted. 
"Your little pussy is perfect, made just for me," Kai mumbles against your pussy. The vibrations shoot through your core. 
In response, your hips buckle up to meet his face. But Kai continues to slurp and suck at your heat. His palms lay flat against your hips to hold you in place as he pleasures your pussy. He wanted to get as many sounds out of you as possible. 
A rising heat forms in your lower abdomen and you squirm under Kai's touch. Your orgasm builds rapidly as your walls continue to pulse, 
Kai takes the opportunity to toy at your entrance with the pad of his thumb. He eventually sinks it inside you. The stretch is only minimal, but you still let out a small cry. 
"Shh, it's okay," he reassures you, looking up at you and noticing your discomfort. 
He begins to move his thumb, thrusting it slowly inside you. He hushes your every cry, until they switch to small moans. 
"How's that feel?" Kai asks, removing his thumb and using it to brush slick over your clit. 
"Better. It feels good," you say, propping yourself up on your elbows. You needed to get a better look at what he was doing to you. 
"I'm gonna put in two now. Okay?" He doesn’t wait for a response, instead sliding his big fingers inside you. 
His fingers fit snugly inside you. You grip around him with uncertainty. The deeper he plunges, the more uncomfortable it gets. 
Another cry pushes past your lips as he pushes his fingers in knuckle deep. 
"That's it," he coos, "you're doing so well, baby." 
His consolation makes you relax and soon he's able to curl his fingers up to where it swells to his touch. 
Kai lets out a low grown as your tiny cries turn into desperate gasps for air.
Your legs spread further apart as you approach your peak. You cover your mouth with your hands to hush your moans. 
“Oh Kai, I’m sorry I’m gonna-”
“Don’t be sorry, let go doll. You’re allowed to cum,” Kai continues to lap at your swollen clit until a feverish heat pulsates through your body. 
Kai moans against your pussy as your ever-tightening hole clenches in time with the pulse of your hardened bud. You cry out as your orgasm washes over you in strong waves. 
When you’d come down from your high, Kai pulls away, panting for air. He wipes the slick off his chin with the back of his hand. You look at him in awe with doe-like eyes, never thinking that your dark web experience would be even remotely close to this.  
“Come here,” Kai says softly, moving off the bed to stand at its foot. You sit up and position yourself on all fours to crawl over to him. 
Your face is met with his clothed erection. You notice the tiny wet patch where the outline of his tip is. Your mouth waters thinking of what he has hiding under the fabric of his boxers. It was unlike you to be so ravenous for any man. 
“Stick out your tongue,” Kai tucks his forefinger and thumb under your chin and brings your face up to look at his. 
You maintain eye contact as your tongue sweeps across your bottom lip and then sticks out. 
Kai pulls down his boxers, never once breaking eye contact. He positions his leaky tip over the warm expanse of your tongue. He tasted salty, a flavour you weren’t expecting. 
Kai runs his tip hesitantly across your tongue. You begin to drool down your chin from a build up of spit. 
“Open your mouth for me, baby,” Kai maintains a firm grip on your chin as he forces your mouth open.  
“That’s it,” he groans, sliding the swollen, angry tip of his cock into your mouth, “just like that, baby”. You hold your breath as his cock fills your mouth. He rocks his hips slowly into the back of your throat. 
Kai lets out a soft moan as he feels your tongue on the underside of his cock, sliding from the middle of his shaft to the sensitive slit indenting his tip. 
“Such a pretty little mouth,” he says with a satisfied sigh. Unable to hold your breath any longer, you discover you can breathe from your nose.  
His hand lays steadily on the top of your head as he guides his cock deeper into your throat. You gag as he nudges the back of your throat. He holds your head securely in place. Panic sets in as you look up at him with a tear cascading down your cheek. You were hoping he’d take it as a sign to let go. But Kai persists, fucking your mouth in a way that has your throat ache. 
Placing a hand on his thigh, you try and push him away. Kai eventually takes the hint, yanking your mouth from around his cock, leaving a rope of saliva still stuck to him. 
You double over as you cough to soothe your throat. You swallow all the spit that accumulated in your mouth. Kai chuckles at your inexperience. He found your innocence amusing knowing he’s about to take it away. He softly pushes you back onto the bed. 
“Bit much for your first time?” Kai asks as you lay with your legs spread for him. You nod; not feeling able to form a coherent sentence just yet. 
“It felt so good though,” he says with a small whine, “I loved watching you choke on it.” 
Your eyes widen in surprise as he nudges his tip between your soaked folds. Your breath catches in your throat as his cock made the first advance inside you, splitting you open only slightly. Your cunt transuded with a bountiful amount of slick, seeping down the tip of Kai’s cock and drenching the sheets beneath you. Your body was more than ready for Kai. He thrust his hips forward, burying himself entirely in your cunt.
His eyes become impossibly darker as his pupils grew triple in size. 
The moan he lets out after being completely surrounded by you was low and animalistic. Your hands shoot out to grab a hold of Kai’s shoulders as a pang of discomfort shoots through your core. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as you hopelessly stare up at the man above you. 
“Kai, it hurts,” you whine as a tear falls. Kai’s expression doesn’t soften like you expect it too. He pulls out entirely, to just to slam back into you for a second time. You yelp in surprise and dig your nails into his shoulder blades at the sudden fullness. Kai begins to slowly rock his hips. Your mouth falls open and you squeeze your eyes shut as you try and adjust to his size. 
Kai can barely think straight, preoccupied by the way he’s stretching you out. He wonders how he managed to fit himself inside something so small and tight.  
As the tears continue to run down your face, Kai wipes under your eye with his thumb. 
“Kai! Please... talk to me…” you plead, digging your fingernails into his skin deeper. You were sure you’d leave bloodied crescent-moon indents in their wake. 
Kai doesn’t notice your pleading nor the pain your fingernails were trying to inflict. He was consumed by a need to finish inside you. 
Had you even thought of a condom? Kai certainly didn’t. He knew his intentions were to stuff his cum so far inside you it couldn’t spill out.  
You were his, and unbeknownst to you, this arrangement was far from over. Like Kai promised, he’d do anything to get his hands on you. Even if that meant he had to do it the hard way.  
Your mind began to race with irrational thoughts. You’d finally built up the courage to open your eyes again. Much to your disbelief, Kai’s were closed, and his face was twisted in some sort of sick pleasure. Yet, every thrust of his hips earnt another cowardly whimper from you. You were beginning to think you’d never adjust to his size. 
“Y/N,” your name sultrily rolls of his tongue making your ears perk up, “you’re taking me so well, baby.” 
Your lips curl into a small smile hearing his voice again. 
“I’m gonna cum soon, okay? But I need to go a little faster, do you think you can take it?” Kai’s eyes flutter open and suddenly he’s peering down at you. You nod, mentally preparing yourself to be at his disposal. Kai leans down and plants a small kiss on your cheek. 
“Say it. I need to hear you say it,” Kai growls, his fists balling the sheets by your head. You open your mouth to speak but your lips quiver in fear. You tongue juts out to wet them. 
“Yes, Kai,” you respond finally, before another gasp pushes its way passed your lips. 
Kai shows no mercy, snapping his hips furiously. The bedhead hits the wall again and again. The subtle knock rings loudly in your ears alongside every soft groan your cunt squeezes out of Kai.
He feels so deep inside you that you swear he’s rubbing up against your cervix. 
“Oh fuckfuckfuck,” Kai seethes between grit teeth as he chases his own orgasm. Your core ached, but you still ran a hand reassuringly through his hair. You weren’t sure if it would help, or how to help, but you knew once he was finished, it would be done. 
Kai snatches your hand in his, squeezing it in a tight fist as he cums. His last few thrusts were slow and sloppy. 
He pulls out finally, pulling his glistening cock away from your cunt. You hadn’t noticed the blood until you reached down to cup yourself. It felt a lot wetter than usual. 
“It’s normal,” Kai could read your panicked expression as you sat up in the bed. 
“It is?” you asked, still perplexed. This wasn’t how you ever pictured it. It wasn’t supposed to hurt and you weren’t supposed to bleed. 
“Yeah,” he says nonchalantly, pulling up his boxers without cleaning himself off. 
You nod, exhaling as you get off the bed to dress yourself. Your body continues to throb and ache as you slide on your tights and pull your shirt over your head.          You wondered when everything would stop hurting. 
Once fully dressed, you turned back towards Kai, prepared to seal the deal and leave this motel room. 
Nothing was ever that easy with Kai. 
When you’d turned, you were face to face with a knife, held out inches from your face and glimmering in the overhead light. Your eyes zero in on two more people wearing eery clown costumes.
You freeze in place, taking a precautionary step back. A maniacal smile spreads across Kai’s face as the clowns step forward.
“Kai?” you ask softly, raising your shaking hands up in the air to show you weren’t a threat. This was all too good to be true. Who the fuck are they and where did they come from?
“The money? Kai?” you try again, your words only coming out a whisper. 
“You get your money, sweetheart,” Kai reassures you and the clowns laugh. He pulls something that looks like a piece of rope from his pocket.
“...But I’m not done with you. Yet.” 
644 notes ¡ View notes
mingiswow ¡ 8 months
Text
Christmas in august | Lee Sangyeon
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Pairing: Sangyeonx fem!reader
Words: ~3k
Genre: smut MDNI, pwp, fluff
Content Warning: smut obv, mentions of people using the boys for clout and fame, mentions of alcohol, not proofread, ig that’s all lol
Smut warning: fingering (f receiving), nipple play, piv, unprotected sex (don’t do that… fr), semi-public sex, slightly exhibitionism, choking, little spanking, Sangyeon is a little asshole but just for a little
⚠ If you’re under the age of 18 and/or don’t feel comfortable reading that type of content, I have a lot of other content here.
⚠ English is not my native language, so pardon me if there’s any mistake. And you can always tell me what’s wrong.
A/n: I am deceased. The first concept photos for the boyz’s photobook got my imagination running wild. Sangyeon is my bias and his back picture??? Oof 🥵🥵 anyways hope you enjoy my little Sangyeon mind rot
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You were doomed. For real.
You promised your friend you’d behave. You promised her that you wouldn’t get yourself involved in trouble or would fight with anyone at the party - her knowing that you don’t get along with some of her boyfriend’s friends’ girlfriends. It’s not your fault that some of them are as fake as your nails and were dating them for money and fame.
“I don’t care if they are or not social alpinists, yn” your friend, Minji, said. “They are still the boys’ girlfriends”
“So you agree they are social alpinists” she rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.
She said all the things you shouldn’t do. Which you were not doing. But she never mentioned not eye-fucking Sangyeon.
Ever since Minji introduced you to Sunwoo you became as best friends as you and her, he was funny, loud, sometimes obnoxious, just like you and your friend. And it wasn’t long until he introduced you to his friends. Sangyeon caught your eye immediately. He was 100% your type. He was gorgeous, taller than you, funny, had the sweetest smile, and even sweeter eyes. Not to mention his ridiculously gorgeous body and that nose that you couldn’t stop but imagine how it would feel in between your legs if he ate you out. In your loneliest nights you’d touch yourself thinking about riding his face, his nose buried in your lower lips and strong arms holding you in place.
“yn? yn, are you listening to me?” Eric punched lightly your arm as you disassociated looking at the distance with the thought of Sangyeon naked upper body wet as he played in the pool.
“Uh? What?” you turned to him, eyes blinking. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here, sorry”
“You don’t seem very much here, babes” he laughed at you and you blushed, wishing none of them saw you stripping the older one naked with your eyes.
You excused yourself from the conversation and disappeared inside the house, going for the bathroom.
You closed the door behind you and took a deep breath in, exhaling with a huff. What were you thinking? Sangeyon had a girlfriend. They haven’t been dating for long but they liked each other. She would be here at any minute and if she saw the way you looked at her boyfriend, she’d kill you. It didn’t help that she already didn’t like you very much. Not that the other girlfriends liked you or your friend that much, but she almost despised you, it was almost as if she could smell your pussy throbbing every time you saw Sangyeon.
You splashed some cold water on your face, trying to wash away the dirty thoughts, and put some cold water on your neck and wrists, wishing to calm down your beating heart and rushing pulsing.
There was a knock on the door, waking you back from reality. Another deep breath was taken before opening the door. But on the other side was the last person you wanted to see.
“Oh, sorry, yn, did I interrupt you?” he asked, that sweet smile on his face and all you wanted was to punch it away.
“Oh, no, don’t worry, I finished already” you gave a half smile and tried to leave but he blocked your passage.
“Is everything okay? You seem unwell” you nodded, trying to focus your eyes on the skin between his brows, not on his luscious soft lips or his pale built chest waiting to be marked with your freshly done nails. “Are you sure? You seem pale” he took two steps closer, the back of his hand touching your forehead.
You took a step back, a little caught off guard by his sudden behavior. He took another step closer, his other hands holding your barely covered waist so you’d stay in place. Your skin felt like it was burning where he touched it. You knew he was just being careful, kind, like the leader he is, he was treating you like he treats the boys. You were one of the boys to him. Right?
His hand that was on your forehead touched your cheeks, neck and lowered to the place right in the middle of your chest, where your heart was pounding like it wanted to leave your body. And you wished it did so he wouldn’t notice.
“Oh my god, yn, your heart is beating so fast? Are you sure you’re okay?” you nodded.
“I-I am. Don’t worry” your voice was a whisper. You felt so stupid in front of him.
“Are you nervous? You seem nervous, yn?” he smirked and you felt your knees go weak, thanking for a brief moment the way he held you. “Am I the one making you nervous, yn?” You blinked at his statement. Yes, he was the reason but you thought he didn’t even notice.
You barely saw it happening from how fast it did. He pushed you back inside the bathroom and closed the door behind you two, locking it. His body was now flushed against yours, chest to chest, your thin beach dress doing nothing to separate the heat of your bodies.
He gave a chuckle seeing how nervous and flushed you got, cheeks burning with embarrassment. You thanked god he couldn’t see the state your bikini bottoms probably were.
“It’s so cute how you think I didn’t see the way you’ve been looking at me the whole afternoon. The whole time we’ve known each other actually” his smirk never leaving his lips and you gulped, so you weren’t so slick after all. “Oh princess, you think I’d be dumb enough not to notice?” you felt your walls clench on nothing when he called you princess. “But you wanna know how I noticed?” he asked and lowered his face to your neck, his lips ghosting over your heated skin, the small hairs prickling and shivering. His tongue suddenly licked a stripe from bottom to top, reaching your ear so he could whisper “Because I was looking at you too”, your breath caught in your throat as he bit your earlobe, legs giving up on holding your weight.
He chuckled, satisfied with his effect on your body with the bare minimum. His hands squeezed the plush skin on your waist and pushed you against the sink, sandwiching you against the hard cold marble and his hard warm body. You could already feel something as hard as his muscles poking your stomach through the thin material of his swim shorts.
Sangyeon slowly raised his hands from your waist to your face, holding it in place so you had nowhere else to look but his face. Your lips were parted, breathing difficult just by your nose. You were giving in to him so easily. Mind completely blank from anything else, every corner, every crease of your brain filled with him.
It was like you were floating, laid down in the softness of the clouds when his lips finally met yours. His plush and hot ones pressed hard against yours. Your eyes were shut tightly, afraid it was just a trick of your own mind, a dream. Another one of those delicious, dirty wet dreams you had with him. The man started to move his mouth and you lost it, lost every little bit of shame or what else you could feel besides need, hands circling his neck and kissing him back. Mouths moving aggressively, teeth clashing and tongues fighting. It was even better than you had imagined. The way his mouth moved hungrily against yours, as if this was his last opportunity, his last chance with you.
Due to air missing from both of your lungs, you cut the kiss, but his mouth didn’t stop, the muscles went right to your neck, kissing it delicately, careful not to mark you and give away what you were doing.
Your mind finally went back to place and you realized what you were doing. You pushed him away, conscience heaving.
“I- we can’t… please stop” you tried to leave the bathroom but he held you against the door. “Sangyeon…” you whined, trying to leave his hold.
“We broke up” you stopped in your tracks. He knew exactly what your problem was.
“What?” You asked more for yourself than to him. He chuckled and shook his head.
“Do you really think I’d do this with you if I still had a girlfriend? You think that lowly of me?”
“No! I mean no…” you blushed. “I… I couldn’t know. I… I’m sorry” you lowered your head.
He grabbed your chin between his fingers and raised your face to look at him, gently putting your hair away from your face.
“It’s okay, I should have said it” you smiled and nodded. “So… now that we’ve established that I’m single… can we…” you giggled at his sudden cuteness but nonetheless kissed him again, cutting his sentence.
He used the opportunity to lock the door behind you, and lowered himself a little so he could grab the back of your thighs and put you on top of the cold marble sink.
“Even tho’ I really wish I could listen to you scream my name,” he said against your mouth, changing his position to your ears so he could whisper, “the sweet little moans and whimpers that I bet you have are just for me, darling. No one can listen” you nodded, biting your lower lip instinctively to hold any sound. “I’ve been dying to have you on my sheets since day one, yn” your hands on his back stopped as he moved to look into your eyes again. “I know this is not the perfect first time for ourselves but I’ll make sure to compensate you another day” you smiled and held his face between your hands, just like he had done before.
“I don’t care about perfect, Sangyeon, all I need right now is for you to fuck me because it’s starting to get too hot in here” he chuckled and went back to devouring your lips.
He moved one of his hands between your bodies and started to touch your vulva through the fabric of your bikini. The material was starting to look darker in the spot where your wetness was being held. You held a low whine when he pressed two fingers against your clit, kiss never being broken with his actions. His same fingers moved the fabric to the side, the tip of the digits sliding up and down in your slick coated pussy.
“Fuck, Princess you’re so wet” you nodded, enjoying little movements he did on you. “Did I get you this wet?” You nodded feverishly again, holding a deeper whine when the tip of his middle finger poked your entrance.
He moved a little away from your body just to help you get out of your bikini set and dress, leaving you bare in front of him. You shivered with the way the cold air hit your nipples and your hot wet pussy. But you barely got time to feel anything else because Sangyeon attacked your nipples with his lips and I sorted his middle finger inside you without any difficulty.
Your back was thrown back and your back arched forward his face as he kept his assault on you. It was borderline impossible to keep quiet but you tried your best, not wanting anyone to discover the nasty things you two were doing in the bathroom.
His mouth was skillful in your nipple, biting, licking, pulling. It all felt so good especially when paired with the way his long finger was hitting your cervix just right.
“M… more” you managed to whisper, mouth hanging open after with mute moans leaving your lips that formed an O shape.
The man was feeling generous that day, not only because you guys didn’t have much time to play and tease but because he waited for so long to fuck that he felt like he could burst inside his shorts just by your sight alone. So without any remark, he pushed two more fingers inside your hole, earning a tiny high moan that left your throat before you closed your mouth to be careful.
His attacks on your nipples started to get more slow and chaste in comparison to how fast his three fingers were listening inside you. The spongy spot just right behind your clit being hit every time he’d curl his fingers and without a warning, you came around his digits. Fluids leaking from how wet you were, creaming his fingers and hand.
Without any shame in his face, he moved his hand from in between your legs and licked his hands clean, licking and swallowing every drop of your essence. The scene was dirty, nasty, almost perverted, but it turned you on in ways you couldn’t even imagine it would. You pulled him by his neck and kissed his lips, tasting yourself in his tongue. If Sangyeon was already head over heels for you, that was the moment he thought he wanted to marry you.
After breaking the kiss up, he took his shorts and underwear down his legs and you could see his rock hard dick, the length pulsing and the girth veiny, red and angry demanding to stretch you out from the insides. Your hands pumped his length a little, feeling how he was reacting to your touched, low hisses coming from his lips as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the small touch.
He finally aligned his tip to your hole and slowly entered you, raw, burning. You bit your lip hard trying to suppress a moan, the metallic taste of bliss invading your lips from how hard you were biting. Your perfectly manicured nails, done just for this event, pressed hard against his big built shoulders, the muscles tensing with the action he was making and from the way you were leaving your marks.
He didn’t care anymore. He was far gone. Both of you were. His dick thick inside you, stretching you like his life depended on it, not giving you time to think with the way he was fucking you. Fast, hard, delicious. Your mind was blank and all you wanted was to cum again. Your walls pulsing around his hot hard cock.
You were almost close when he stopped fucking you, leaving you empty just to turn you around and bend you with your chest on top of the sink. Your nipples hardening with the sudden contact with the still cold marble. He gave you a good couple of spanks in each one of your ass cheeks and entered you again. The new angle hitting you just right, the knot in your stomach starting to tighten again, your orgasm approaching.
Then a sudden knock on the door caught your breath, hand going to cover your mouth so any noise wouldn’t come out.
“Sangyeon? Are you there?” It was Sunwoo. “Have you seen yn?” Your eyes widened when Sangyeon didn’t stop.
He had other plans. That little asshole. He grabbed both your arms behind your back and pulled you flushed against his chest, one of his hands holding you pressed tight against him and the other one around your neck. You opened your mouth and thanked when no sound came out. The tip of fingers pressing your pulse points on the sides of your neck, head going dizzy in the most delicious way.
His hips slowed their speed otherwise the skin slapping sound would be too loud.
“Yeah, it’s me” he answered the younger boy, hips never stilling. “No, I haven’t seen her. She probably went out to grab more alcohol, no?” He answered so easily, so simply, like his cock wasn’t buried deep inside someone’s pussy. Your pussy.
“I don’t think so but I’ll keep searching, Minji is worried”
“Don’t worry, she didn’t go far, when I finish here I’ll look for her too” he gave a slow deep thrust and you came undone around his cock, legs wobbly and the only thing holding you was the fact you were pressed between him and the sink.
“Thanks man, appreciate” the younger one left and you heard the steps getting further away.
“Such a good dirty girl for me” he kissed your neck before pulling his dick out and coming on your back. The thick white ropes painting your skin.
You slowly regained your breath as he cleaned you and him from any remains of your actions. Sangyeon helped you dress up again, careful not to hurt you. Like he wasn’t balls deep you just minutes ago.
“Just so you know, I don’t want this to be a one time thing” he said to you after making sure you were okay and had regained (at least a little) of your leg strength. “I never wanted” you nodded, a smile on your lips.
“I don’t want it to be a one time thing either” you booped his nose, earning a sweet giggle from the boy. “To be honest, I’ve been into you for a while, but I was too scared to make a move and then you started dating so I didn’t want to be a homewrecker” he hugged your lower back, bringing you close to him and kissing your lips, just a simple sweet peck on your lips.
“Don’t worry, she was a homewrecker first. Long story, I don't want to talk about” you nodded and gave him another peck. “But I still want to take you on a nice date and get to know you better”
“More than you just got to know?” It was Minji’s voice behind the door and you could see her eyes rolling. “You guys ain’t slick at all. You got me worried you little pieces of shit” you heard laughs from the other side indicating she wasn’t alone. “Now leave this bathroom and stop sneaking around”
“Yes, ma’am” Sangyeon answered and you chuckled at how red his face got. Again the step got further from the bathroom. “I think we are in trouble”
“No, we’re not, she’s just acting though” you said, opening the door, holding his hand in yours and feeling a warm feeling take your whole body. “Now let’s go before they come hunting us”.
All eyes were on you two after you went downstairs, some smirks from the boys and jealous looks from the girls. But you couldn’t care less. Your best friend came running to you, grabbing your hand and pulling you to the kitchen.
“Now tell me EVERYTHING” you giggled at her sparkly eyes. Yeah, she was definitely just acting though.
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Masterlist | feedback and requests
494 notes ¡ View notes
alienstardustwrites ¡ 4 months
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I’ve got a really good one for a billy fic
7 and 35
where the reader is daughter lives in an estate and she lets billy sneak into her bedroom past midnight while everyone is asleep. NOW TELL ME THATS NOT GOOD!!!!!
This was good! I liked it! lol i hope i captured what you were picturing for this request. <3!! thank you for sending it in!
7. A romantic kiss 35. A kiss against a wall * Kiss roulette prompts. 
The Bullock Estate was an untouchable place in a small town of New Mexico. Your father was pretty handy with a gun and usually wasn’t one to ask questions if he had a gut feeling about someone’s intentions. He wasn’t exactly a lawman but earned their respect and was a reliable source when needed. You helped at the family hardware shop in town, he would go in and out. He trusted you to take care of the books. 
You heard the chime of the bell signaling a new customer was entering. “We’re getting ready to close. Come back tomorrow.” You hadn’t bothered to look up while you scribbled down on the notebook of the sales you had that day and anything you needed to order. 
“I saw the sign. I won’t take long,” he responded as he strolled through the front aisle, whistling a recognizable tune. Your eyes averted from the book to the man. A smile started to grow over your lips. 
“Oh? What could Billy the Kid be looking for in this little shop?” You closed the book and raised your eyebrows when he turned his attention to you. 
Billy smirked, dropping his forearms against the wooden counter, and glanced up at you. “Well, I think you would know best.” You leaned in closely and smacked your lips together. 
Billy laughed, touched your chin, and then kissed you lightly. You gladly kissed him back but cautiously. The relationship with Billy was one you kept tight-lipped. You knew better - you could only imagine your father’s reaction finding out you were roped up with an outlaw. 
“So, tonight?” He whispered against your lips. 
“Tonight.” You quickly moved back when you noticed someone else coming into the store. “I’ll get those nails for you. Just come by tomorrow.” You picked up some papers from the counter to distract yourself.   
“Thank you, ma’am.” Billy kept his cool, winked at you, and then headed out the door. 
Once you closed up the store, you headed back home. Your father was entertaining a few business partners, drinks and stories being exchanged between the loud group. You left the usual paperwork in his office and then went upstairs to your room. You closed the door behind you, locking it. 
You changed into some fresh clothes, then went to unlock the window. The home was quiet when you heard the light tap on the glass. You turned to see Billy and grinned, lifting the window. 
“Hurry up. Get in here.” You tugged him inside, and he laughed softly while he climbed over the windowsill and did his best to be as quiet as possible. 
“Empty?” He dropped his hat, along with his belt, and raised his eyebrows. 
“Quiet. So shhh…” You smirked sexily. His lips found yours immediately, lifting you and gesturing for you to wrap your legs around his hips. You immediately obeyed his request. You put your arms around his shoulders, kissing him deeply. He walked forward until your back was up against the wall. 
You mumbled some sweet words against his mouth and bumped your hips against his. He pushed up the bottom of the gown to expose your thighs; his cool hands rubbed against your skin. It sent chills through your body. You exhaled jaggedly while goosebumps populated your body. 
“Can I stay the night?” His lips left a trail of small kisses down your neck. 
“We’ll see.” You answered and kissed his jawline. You wanted him to stay - so badly - but you were still so uncertain. You wanted to protect him for as long as you could. You weren’t a fool knowing who the friends of your father were.
“We’ll see.” He grinned weakly and brought you to the bed, setting you down carefully, and moving on top of you. He brushed his fingertips against your jawline and kissed you deeply slipping his tongue past your open lips. 
You could feel the heat of the kiss was different, more yearning and hungrier. He didn’t want to lose you. It was becoming more serious for him, the romantic rendezvous weren’t just to get your pussy wet and his cock relieved. Each private moment was filled with more tenderness, devotion, and compassion.
“Bill…” 
“Yes?” He breathed scraggly. 
“Are you in love with me?” 
Billy stopped. He rested his forehead against yours and touched your moist lips with his fingers gently. Your warm rough breathing was becoming tangled with each other. “I wake up, thinking what it would be like to have you by my side. Being able to reach over and touch you. I sleep with a piece of me missing.” He swallowed mid-sentence. “It’s unconditional.” 
Your fingers grazed over his jawline, then his lips as tears began to trickle down the side of your face. You nodded and lifted yourself to link your lips with his. You held on to him for a long moment. Your heart raced, almost like it wanted to leap out of your chest. Billy rolled on his back bringing you on top of him. 
“You got me all over the place, baby.” He chuckled breathlessly and his lips brushed over your soft ones. 
Knock knock. 
“Shit.” You both muttered, quickly scrambling off of him and adjusting your nightgown. 
“Hide.” You whispered and saw him roll off the bed to the floor. You rolled your eyes and went to answer the door, taking a deep breath even though you felt flushed - you hoped you could hide it. “Pa, hi,” you smiled brightly. 
“Hi, daughter.” He grinned briefly and glanced behind you into the room. Then back at you. “Need you to go in early at the shop. Think you can?” 
“Yeah! Yeah. Of course.” You playfully saluted him. “Anything else?”
“That’s all.” He kissed the top of your head. “Thank you. Goodnight.” He took a step back walking down the hall. 
“Goodnight, Pa!” You waved at him and started to close your door. 
“Goodnight, Billy!” Your father called out. 
Billy shot up from the floor and met your widened eyes. He exhaled and rubbed his face trying to not laugh too loudly. You rushed back to the bed, plopped down, and smiled over at him. “We got caught.”
You covered your face, laughing softly, and then you climbed down the bed to land on top of Billy.  
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190 notes ¡ View notes
captain-barnes-writes ¡ 9 months
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Fallen Petals (Max Verstappen)
part one
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Summary: How a relationship wilts and comes to an end. 
Pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader
Warning: ANGST, so much angst, I LOVE ANGST lol, Wordy as hell hehehe, tension,  unresolved feelings, implications of cheating,  SMUT, sexual content. 18+
NOT PROOFREAD 
Word count: 3.6k (oops)
•
•
2021
Max Verstappen’s shoes and clothes were starting to collect dust in the closet. His towels unused for weeks, his toothbrush next to hers on the bathroom counter. Everything seemed to be mocking her. Everywhere she looked remnants of the man she loved were there tormenting her.
Things were coming to an end and she knew it.
She knew it as she sat on the chair on her usual end of the table. Her in her usual place and his space as empty as ever. Dinner served on the table. Two plates of rigatoni and wine served, plated ever so carefully to make everything special. A small homemade cheesecake for dessert sat in the fridge.
The pink peonies in the middle of the table, two petals had already fallen.
Her phone read 10 pm in her shaky hands. He was supposed to be home at 7. Three hours ago and yet not a single text was sent her way. Not an apology, not even an excuse.
Where are you?
Are you ok?
She could only afford herself to send two messages, feeling pathetic for even worrying for somebody who clearly chose to be elsewhere than with her.
A little scrolling on social media, story after story until came the one to pin the nail to the wall.
Lando posted a story (1hr ago)
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Max wasn’t one to really party, or to frequent bars or places filled with too many people. He wasn’t like that. Wasn’t one to not tell her of his whereabouts, even if she didn’t ask, he’d tell her. Lately things had been different, even that was an understatement. They had been on two different worlds, hers admittedly still welcomed him but his did not.
While she knew that his life was much like formula 1, fast, busy and chaotic, she didn’t account for the many times she’d be left behind in the midst of it all.
This was one of the times. Seeing him sitting next to a pretty brunette she knew all too well, of the history of her with the Red Bull team. Of her father, of her last partner. And maybe she found comfort in seeing Lando sitting next to him on the other side, but it wasn’t enough of it. She still felt the tightness in her chest.
Kelly was sitting next to him, not her. Not his actual partner.
In the beginning of it all, it was hard to understand, but she came to see that it came with the territory. His life was fast and their love would have to keep up. She would have to keep up.
But it had become increasingly harder and harder. The missed dates, the lack of texts and calls, the missed opportunities of spending time together. She missed him terribly and he was so nonchalant. Distant even at many times and her heart ached.
His life was chaos and she was his sanity, retaining him to the ground, enveloping him in a love that granted him comfort. At least that’s how it had been at first.
God, but his life relished on speed even outside the track. The chaos would envelop him and he would get lost in it all. In the clubs, the new people he met on the daily. The models and actresses. In the luxury that came with being a successful formula 1 driver. A world champion.
While she was ever so present, he wasn’t. He wasn’t there at all. Not much like before.
Back then he had been excited by a mere message of hers, any interaction that could be as minor as her liking one of his pictures. The little hearts he’d put under every single one of her pictures. The compliments. The flowers that found their way to her doorstep regardless of where in the world he was. The love that could be seen and felt even by those on the outskirts of it. Once visible and true, now it seemed only a shell of it.
Had it worn off for him? She couldn't even ask herself that. Couldn’t think about it or she’d break even more. Her thoughts were already tearing at her, the seams no longer mendable.
She loved him, but she felt suffocated being in his house. In the large dining room where she sat alone feeling pathetic for even bothering to wear a pretty dress. She felt as pathetic as the uneaten plate of food on his end of the table. She wanted to throw it all in the bin, throw the base on the floor. Scream and cry, but she didn’t want to be that person. She wanted to leave with her dignity.
She would leave it all as it was so he could see that she waited for him as long as she could, but that time had ran out.
She looked around the dining room that felt larger at that moment, got herself up as steady as she could and made her way into his bedroom. It felt stifling being in the room where they had made so many memories only they knew. Engraved in their minds forever even while they were apart.
The space looked as empty as ever. His side of the bed no longer smelled like him after more than a month away. So many weeks and his scent no longer lingered the sheets and pillows to bring the comfort she so desperately needed in those moments she missed him most.
Placing a suitcase on the bed, she began to place the few belongings she kept at his place. Her clothes, perfumes, shoes. The toothbrush that always had its place next to his was thrown into the bin. Everything that would warn him that she was no longer taking part in a space that no longer felt hers.
She couldn’t lie to herself any longer. Not when another brunette was always seemingly at the same events he was, even at his side at times. At first she pinned it on her father’s heavy influence on the sport, or the mutual friends that would always unite them in a way that would have them in a room together. But it was becoming more frequent, her being left behind more and more was not a coincidence.
The tears were flowing and she couldn’t pack fast enough. Her blurred vision making it difficult to see what garments she was even grabbing. How bunched up the clothes were in the shallow spaces of the suitcase. Her ears were ringing and she couldn’t even hear the footsteps of the man she adored at the door.
Max’s azure eyes ogled at the suitcase on the bed, the woman he’d cast aside time and time again stuffing the clothes into it. 
“What is going on?” Was all he could muster. She flinched and turned around immediately.
Max stood there with his customary blue jeans and white shirt. His hair slightly smoothed back. His eyes were wide watching as the girl’s puffy eyes rolled at his question.
“What does it look like I’m doing, Max?”
“Obviously you’re packing, but for what?” His attitude even off the track could get under her skin at times. This was one of those times when maybe an apology would be a good start. An explanation as to why he didn’t show up once again, as to why their dinner went cold and the candles on the dining room table had died.
“Because this,” She pointed at him and back to herself. “This isn’t working anymore.”
The man couldn’t walk fast enough towards her and grab her by the waist. She whimpered at the intrusion and how foreign it felt after weeks without him. Yet she still looked up at him and met his eyes for what she knew would probably be the last time.
“Max.” She sighed. “I haven’t seen you in weeks. You’ve been gone and literally the day that you’re back you don’t even remember that I made plans for us here. That I told you I would make you your favorite food and we’d spend the evening in, just us two.”
She was fucking crying and she hated it. Hated that a man had her in her feelings like this. But it had been a relationship nonetheless, a good one at times that still had its ups and downs. One that had her experience things she never thought she would.
He was silent.
“And yet you don’t say anything. You don’t give me an apology, an excuse, you’re not giving me anything. I know that you went out with your friends instead, if you could even call that to your newfound friendship with Kelly.”
“That’s not…That’s not it. I’m sorry. I really am. I’m just shocked at seeing you like this.”
She stayed silent too. Waiting for more than just an apology and quite frankly being in his embrace the way she was, she felt uneasy like she was betraying herself and everything she wanted to say.
“My phone died and I couldn’t contact you. They invited me last minute and were hounding me to go, I had no way to get out. You know how Lando is. I told myself I’d leave after one drink and that I wouldn’t eat much so I could come back. But one drink turned into two and I lost track of time.”
“That’s starting to happen quite a lot.” He winced at her comment. He knew it was true. How his mind was dwindling these days. Occupied with tasks, with meetings, with new friendships that had sparked as he traveled to different countries. With his outings, with a certain brunette whose presence became frequent at events.
How small talks progressed to mingling around to stay by each other’s side. How those talks turned into going for drinks, for dinners. It was friendly, he told himself. He knew better than to lie to himself, how there were always underlying motives behind every move and every word shared.
“And you still avoid talking about her.” She tried to push away from his embrace but he was too strong, feeling suffocated with a man whose love was faltering. Whose body she kissed and touched on the very bed they were standing next to.
She looked away from him for the very first time that night and turned her attention to the bed. They had fucked each other more times than she could count there. Made it their own space, their little haven and now it had been weeks since they had laid there together. She hadn’t touched him in weeks and seeing him again made her relieve all those moments again.
Her eyes were still teary, skin hot with pent up anger and disappointment and yet she was still thinking of how his lips were that same pale pink and full, his cerulean eyes wide, his hair so damn soft. And she would be lying to herself if she didn’t wish things were different. That he had come in through that door with his wrinkly smiley eyes and that it would all be pure happiness like many times before.
The thing was that it wasn’t.
Things were different now regardless of how much she still desired him. How she still loved him.  How having his mere hands at her waist stirred the butterflies in her stomach. But it was no longer just her and Max. Something had shifted in him lately. Attention elsewhere, mind wandering.
“She’s just a friend.” He reassured, one of his hands had moved from her waist to her face to make her look at him again. His breath hot on her face.
“I saw that she was at your little dinner. Sitting next to you as always.” She didn’t mean to sound so jealous. Surely, she had a right to be, but she didn’t want to show him how much of an effect it had on her.
“I didn’t invite her.”
“Sure you didn’t, Max. I don’t need the lies.”
“You’re my petal. I don’t want anybody else.” Why was he calling her that now. His favorite petname for her, adoring and private just for them both. To calm her down and reel her in again and avoid the topic she wanted to discuss.
“Your petal is wilting, Max.”
She paused.
“You’re not the Max I fell in love with. The old Max would’ve taken Lando’s phone and called me when your phone died, would’ve made sure I was the one sitting next to you, not another woman. My Max would’ve…” Her voice was shaky as she watches his eyes fall to the ground, his hand had fallen from her face.
“My Max would’ve made sure to see me as soon as he landed.  You’re not the same anymore and I don’t understand why. And you know what? Maybe I don’t want to know anymore so this hurts less.”
“Fuck baby... I’m sorry for hurting you these last couple of weeks. I’m a shitty person sometimes, I know.”
One of his hands held her jaw softly while his other hand touched her cheek tilting her head to look at him, to see that his eyes were teary too. They stared at each other for what felt like hours, an intense silence ensuing around them. The tension heavy as the couple who’d spent weeks apart were only inches away from one another in a room that held their best moments.
One of them made the move first, maybe it was him or her, it was too fast as their lips met for a kiss that was bruising. Weeks of pent up sadness, want and desire combined their movements of desperation as he clawed at the back of her legs, securing them around his waist.
“Fuck I’ve missed you.” He said in between kisses. His voice hoarse as he walked around the bed and dropped her on it. Still on top of her not wanting to part from her for even one second or he felt as though she’d slip through his fingers. She was letting him touch her, letting him spread her legs apart as his fingers moved the flimsy material of her underwear to the side, finding the little nub that he missed and starting the same rhythm that always had her writhing in his grasp.
“I hate you for making me feel like this.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” His fingers rubbed against her most private part, her slick already coating his fingers as he continued to touch her the way he knew she liked.
“You are the worst.” She was breathing hard as they pulled away from one another, eyes still sad and cheeks stear stained. He kissed the corner of her eyes, her eyes fluttering close as he became the sensible man she missed so much. He kissed her cheeks as though he was erasing the tears he’d caused.
“I am.” His voice was so low as their lips met again. His middle finger had entered her slick and it had been more than a month for her, she felt like she was seeing stars with just his hands. It had been much less for him, but this one really felt like home.
Admittedly his words carried more weight than he could admit. How nights could get so lonely as he traveled to different countries. One was almost always around, sneaking glances and how it had turned into lingering looks and then into so much more as the days passed. But she wasn’t like his girl, no one could ever come close to the actual feeling of home. How home was the girl in Monaco who loved him and kept him grounded, reminding him of what was important in life.
He was desperate to feel more of her. To be inside her. With his fingers pumping inside her for a bit more, he freed himself from his jeans clumsily. The garment falling to the floor along with his boxers, her panties had followed and within seconds his fingers had been replaced with his throbbing member.
He would be lying if his eyes didn’t roll back and a sigh of relief didn’t leave his lips as he felt her warm walls engulf him. She was letting him have her, to fuck her senseless. Moaning below him as he fucked her into the matress with his harsh movements. He hadn’t even given her time to adjust to him again, feeling so desperate to just fuck away the pain and sadness out of them both.
To him this was his way of making it up to her, of them making up and that things would be ok. To her this was a moment of shameful weakness. This wasn’t making up for her.
“I fucking love you, I’m sorry baby.” His hot breath was on her face as he looked down at her. She stayed silent instead maneuvering her fingers to tangle themselves in his hair making their lips meet again in a heated kiss that shared the same tension as that of the movements of their bodies below.
The room in a way felt like before again, didn’t carry that stifling and unbalanced feeling as before. It smelled like sex, sweat and their perfume combined once again. Much like the times before when they finally saw each other again, they always found themselves in this very room showing each other how much they had missed each other.
His movements were harsh. They almost always were when his trips away from Monaco were long. She was a mess below him, moaning into his mouth as he fucked into her harder, his fingers almost bruising at her legs. It was liberating for him this way, for her to feel how desperate he felt to make it up to her.
It was a mess of limbs, a heady of juices falling onto the bed below, of skin slapping against one another. It was all pornographic as best as she felt herself crumble into the pressure that had built itself inside her and washed over her in torrents as she pulled from his lips to cry out his name.
His movements became shallow and less turbulent as his own release was starting to pent up inside him, wanting nothing but to fill her with his cum. When he did, with tense muscles all he could do was groan in pure content as he filled his girl with his heavy cum. It felt like it had been so long without her and he realized how she much he needed her.
He fell at her side on the bed once he’d cleaned her up with a towel. Her little whimpers at the feel of the soft towel on her sensitive area had made him wince at the realization that maybe he had been a bit too rough this time.
But once he’d found his way to nestle to her side, she had gotten up and placed her underwear again. Fixing her wrinkled dress again to its old state.
“What--What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
“What?” He said incredulously, his own body pushing off the bed and placing his own garments of clothing back on.
She started zipping up the brown suitcase which had luckily for her not fallen off the bed despite the mess they had made on the bed.
“That was a moment of weakness for me. I know there’s more to what you’re letting on. I’m not letting that go. I know there’s more to you and Kelly than what you’re telling me. Why you’ve been pulling away from me lately.”
“It’s not the distance because we’ve dealt with that plenty. Our relationship wasn’t filled with excuses, missed calls or late text messages like it is now. You’ve been pushing me away and now I’m not the person you’re most excited to see, Max. I see that. Regardless of us having just had sex or not, I wasn’t the first person you wanted to see today.”
“You’re my girlfriend, you’re always the first person I want to see.”
“You haven’t made it seem like that for a while now.”
“It was a mistake. Today and all those times I’ve failed to communicate, I’m sorry. This life is hard sometimes, I get so lost in it at times. You’re the one person that keeps me sane and keeps me grounded.”
“I’m not that person for you anymore, Max. I see it now.” Those little droplets she hated so much and wanted to avoid began falling down her cheeks yet again. With trembling hands she grabbed the suitcase from the bed and began making her way out of the room.
Max felt desperate again. His heart felt like it was clawing at his throat, beating so rapidly as he watched the woman he’d been taking for granted start walking away from him and his life.
He was close behind, following her through the hallway into his living room. Pleading with her as the apologies fell from his lips, his own eyes were watery. He really was losing her for his own stupid choices.
He realized then that the grass isn’t always greener on the other side. His garden had began wilting, he’d foregone watering it, the petals fallen off the pretty flower he had once cherished and cared for.
“You’ll always be that person for me. I don’t want you to leave, petal. I really need you.”
She was crying as she continued the short trek to the front door. Hearing him plead for her this way was painful. But there was more to what he was letting on, more to what  him and that woman shared and she couldn’t falter. Not this time.
“It’s clear you’ve already found my replacement.” Was all she could bring herself to say without her voice giving out on her. She didn’t turn back to look at him once as she pulled the door open and closed it after herself.
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Hope you guy like this angst piece I wrote in a day! Might have its errors here and there but I love angst 🤭 and I also have been really enjoying some Max Verstappen hehehe
957 notes ¡ View notes
httpdwaekki ¡ 2 months
Text
milky green | l.f.
summary: felix asks you to paint his nails
wc: 1.4k
warnings: nothing, just the usual, fluff w alot of pet names lol
a/n: guys, i gotta be honest, really got lost in the sauce with this one LMAO. definitely did not need to make it as long as i did but we're here now lol. i'm gonna make this a mini series w all the boys, i'm thinking hyunjin or han next. but regardless, i hope you all enjoy this one. remember to drink water, take ur meds and ur loved <3
my library
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(pictures not mine! credit to owner!)
you were sitting in your living room, nail polishes strewn about, as you watched your boyfriend inspect each one. “woah, these are so pretty, angel.” he cooed in fascination. you giggled at his awe, “right?” he leans back, a light sage green nail polish in hand. “can i use this one?” he asks, holding it up.
“of course,” you smiled. “do you want me to paint them for you?” you ask. his eyes light up, with a smile so bright it almost blinds you. ”yes please.” he says, handing you the bottle. you set the bottle down, next to the base and top coat and grab a cuticle stick and trimmer.
“i’m gonna clean up your cuticles, if that’s okay?” you ask, putting your hand out for him. he nods eagerly, putting his left hand in yours. “what does that mean though?” he asked, confused look painted across his features. 
“so this,” you hold up the skinny wood stick, “ is called a cuticle stick.” you lay his hand on your thigh before showing him your hand. “you take it and you softly push back your cuticle.” you say, taking the stick and lightly pushing your own cuticle back.
“then, you take this,” you hold up the almost tweezer-like object, “and you trim the cuticle you just pushed back.” you explained, carefully trimmed the pushed back skin. “woah,” he carefully watches your technique. “why do you do that?” he asks.
“just makes the nail polish go on smoother and your nails look nicer.” you shrug, wiping off your nail, holding it up to him. “ta da!” you smile. he grabs your hand, and examined your work. “woah, that looks so nice, baby.” you giggle, grabbing his hand again,
“okay, okay, your turn bub.” picking up the stick you start pushing back the first one. “let me know if i hurt you, okay?” you glance up and catch him nodding with a soft smile on his lips. you’re intensely focused on the task at hand, your tongue sticking out slightly, glasses slowly slipping down your nose.
so focused in fact, you didn’t notice felix taking out his phone and snapping a sneaky picture of you. as you switched hands, your glasses were barely on your face. felix reached up and gently pushed them back up the bridge of your nose. “oh!” you squeak in surprise. your face heating up slightly in embarrassment. “thank you.” you murmured, hiding your smile by getting back to work.
but felix wasn’t gonna let that slide, he taps your chin, forcing your attention back to him. “hm?” you hum, face still warm, looking into his boba-colored eyes. “you’re so cute when you’re focused, you know that?” he asks, a smug smile painted across his face.
you groan, “felix!” his smile widens, “what, can i not appreciate how cute my beautiful girl is?” he asks, feigning innocence. “you’re being cheeky, mister lee.” you squint your eyes at him. he giggled, grabbing your face, placing kisses all over it.
“lix!” you exclaim, giggling, “come on,” you pushed him back slightly, “ i’m trying to run a business here!” you fake annoyance. he immediately put his hands up in surrender. “oh! you’re right i’m so sorry miss l/n.” he clears his throat, giving you his hand to continue your work.
“thank you.” you huff, before giggling and placing a kiss on his freckled cheek, causing a smile to bloom on his face. you get back to pushing back his cuticles and then trimming them, cleaning them carefully.
“okay, base coat time.” you smile, placing the previous tools on the table, grabbing a clear bottle from the table, giving it a quick shake. you gently grab his hand getting to work on the freshly trimmed nails. as you finish the first hand, you carefully lay it on your thigh before grabbing his other hand, repeating the process.
“alright baby boy,” laying his hand next to the previous one, “you gotta let them dry for a bit then i’ll put the color on okay?” switching out the base coat for the soft green bottle. you glance over, catching the slight blush, dusting his freckled cheeks.
“thank you.” he smiled, blowing on his nails. a shy smile made its way onto your lips as you got the color ready. “did you want a design or anything?” you asked, looking at the rainbow of colors spread out in front of you.
“whatever you wanna do bub.” he responded, continuing to lightly blow on his nails. “ however, i wouldn’t be opposed to a flower.” he said, glancing over with an unsuspecting look on his face.
you giggle at his antics, preparing the other colors to do a design or two. you grab one of his hands, mindful of the potentially wet paint. you lightly tap the top of his nails, checking the dryness. once feeling the smooth dry surface, you grab the green bottle once more, shaking the bottle before applying the color.
once you finish applying the color, you show felix your work, gauging his reaction. “well, what do you think angel?” you ask softly, examining his features. a small smile made it’s way onto his face before he shoots forward, placing a kiss on your lips.
you let out a noise of surprise, pushing him back slightly. “lix!” you chastise him, “your nails, be careful!” swiftly and carefully grabbing his hand, making sure the polish was okay. letting out a sigh of relief seeing the nail polish in the same condition as when you painted them.
you look up, catching the pout on your pretty boy’s lips. “what’s wrong?” you asked, matching his pout. “you didn’t kiss me back.” his frown deepened, looking at you with his boba eyes. you giggle, “i’m sorry bub.” you leaned over, placing a hand on his cheek, placing your lips on his. you feel his lips curl up into a smile, as he deepens the kiss.
“okay, okay” you giggle against his lips. “let me finish this and then you can kiss me all you want.” you pull back, thumb brushing his soft skin. he playfully rolled his eyes. “fine.” smirk making its way onto his lips before he stole one last kiss. you narrow your eyes when he pulls away, “you’re on thin ice, mister lee.” you jokingly threaten, pointing your finger in his direction.
he giggles,”okay okay come on.” putting his hands in front of you, allowing you to finish your work.
you diligently and precisely finish two coats of the soft green color, allowing the fresh paint to dry. you start on the design, deciding on a simple sunflower (duh) doing 5 dots in a circle of a bright yellow and a mellow brown dot in the middle. 
you grab his middle finger, bringing it close to your face, getting to work on the delicate design, tongue poking out once again as your focus intensifies. you hold your breath as you place the first few dots, releasing it once you pull back his finger, admiring your work. 
satisfied with your progress you continue, placing the last few dots, finishing the design. you inspect your work one last time before showing the design to felix. he’s engrossed in an anime playing on your tv, not even realizing you finished your design.
“lix.” you say, grabbing his attention immediately. he whips his head in your direction, a hum falling from his lips. “yes, bub?” you gently push his hand into his vision. a soft gasp leaves his lips. “jagiya,” he breathes, “it looks so good.” he looks over, eyes bright and filled with love. 
your face warm once more, “thank you.” you mumble, a shy smile on your lips. he takes notice of your timidness, places his hands back on your thighs, cautious of the wet paint this time, placing a sweet kiss on your lips. he smiles, looking back at his nails. “my jagi’s so talented huh?” he asks himself.
“thank you angel, i love them. “ you nod, smiling, “good, i’m glad you like them.” you grab another clear bottle, giving it a shake before grabbing his hand, painting the last layer of paint, sealing in the color and your artwork.
once you finish, you place his hands on your thighs one last time. “okay, just let them dry for a couple minutes then you’re all set. “ you smiled, tucking a bit of his hair behind his ear. he smiles widely, nodding his head.
you pick up his hands, laying your legs across his lap, placing his hands back in their respective places. he grins at you, giving your leg a loving squeeze.
and that’s how the rest of your night goes, you relaxing next to your favorite boy, watching anime, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
*feedback is always appreciated as are likes/reblogs!*
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