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2btheanswertothequestion · 1 year

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Eddie's porn stash is a pretty conventional one. An 'if you've seen one stash you've seen them all' type. It basically only consists of skin mags, some of them kinky but most of them vanilla. Normal stuff.

The oddest thing in it is a two-year-old calendar. You know those sexy firefighter calendars? Usually a charity thing? A hit with the housewife crowd? Yeah. Except this calendar decided to branch out and include a bunch of sexy men from a bunch of sexy professions.

So, in this thing, joining the sexy firefighter is a sexy doctor, a sexy construction worker, a sexy police officer (whose month Eddie tore out and burned because fuck cops but don't ever fuck cops), a sexy librarian, and so on. They're all really good-looking, but none of them hold a candle to the paramedic.

It's weird. Paramedics aren't normally part of the traditionally sexy professions. It's messy and sometimes tragic, but lacks the high-paying glamour that doctors and nurses enjoy. Eddie's had his fair share of fantasies, and none of them involved fucking a paramedic.

Until two years ago.

The guy in the calendar simply is that hot.

There's not even anything risqué about his picture. None of the pictures go beyond "this dude is chiseled and shirtless", because veering even slightly past the softest softcore territory would scare off the little housewives or something.

(Eddie is actually pretty fucking sure it'd increase the sales, but hey, what does he know.)

The point is, there's nothing that obscene about the pic. Just a guy kneeling in the back of an ambulance, first aid equipment scattered between his powerful thighs, shirt open to reveal his sculpted torso…

Dark hair spanning across his pecs, over his abs, vanishing down his tight tight tight pants. Hips canting upward, bringing attention to the size of his bulge beneath the zipper. Broad shoulders, ripped arms and large hands, veins protruding across the back. A pretty yet masculine face, with a strong jaw and a straight nose, full lips, a smattering of moles going down his biteable neck. Voluminous, golden brown hair swooped away from his twinkling eyes.

He's got this look in them, this slant to his mouth. Like he knows he's the hottest guy in the calendar.

The one month everyone will go crazy for.

Eddie has become intimately familiar with that look. No joke, in two years it's made him crack his marbles more than anyone else has done in his quarter-century lifetime. When all else fails, November-paramedic has his back. It's basically his longest relationship to date, which sounds a lot sadder out loud (and it sounded fucking sad inside his head, too).

You might wonder why any of that is relevant now, as he sits on the curb outside of The Behemoth with blood trickling from his temple, his band giving their statements to one cop while another hauls away the snarling douchebag that clipped him. How does it play a part in this god-awful night out, you ask?

Well.

"Sir?"

Eddie startles, too caught up in the thudding inside his head, made worse by the buzzing crowd, to notice the man approaching him. He looks up, his gaze gliding past uniformed legs, muscular forearms, a curved neck and honeyed eyes appraising Eddie, and oh.

Oh God.

Eddie's breath sticks in his chest and his tongue becomes a cognate to sandpaper, because it's the paramedic.

It's the paramedic. From the calendar.

He's hallucinating. He has to be. He collapsed on the sidewalk, and now he's having one last weird sex dream before his brain finishes seeping out and he fucking dies.

November-paramedic crouches in front of him. Eddie continues to gape like he's getting ready to catch the peanuts no one is tossing at him.

"My name is Steve. I'm with the ambulance," November-paramedic says. "What's your name?"

Eddie makes a noise incomprehensible to most Earth cultures before his brain registers the meaning of the question and stutters out the answer.

"I- Uh- E-Eddie. It's, it's Eddie."

November-paramedic – Steve – smiles kindly. Heat prickles across Eddie's cheeks and neck. It's not the same as the cocky, sexy smile he's got in the calendar, but still. He's smiling. At Eddie!

"Hi, Eddie." He nods toward Eddie's temple. "That's an impressive cut you got there. May I take a look at it?"

"Yeah? Yeah. Um, g-go ahead."

As Steve sets down his bag and rummages through it, Eddie scours his face to confirm that it really is the guy from the calendar. To his chagrin, it is. There's no mistaking it. Those eyes, like liquid gold. That jawline, a weapon in its own right. Those moles, applied so skillfully it must've been by an artist's hand. That hair, coming straight out of a commercial for luxury shampoo. It's lying flatter than in the calendar, either lacking product or having sweated it out, but it's still glorious.

Steve, having finished washing his hands, tugs on a pair of disposable gloves. The plastic snaps against his wrist, sending a shiver through Eddie. It centers between his legs. Shit, if he pops a boner now…

"I'm going to ask you some questions, okay?" Steve says while pressing a square piece of gauze against the cut. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Eh, Thursday?"

"Do you know where you are?"

"The Behemoth."

Steve nods and, with a lopsided smile, asks, "And are you a patron or did you and your head injury just wander onto the scene?"

Eddie laughs. Loud, merry, and verging on too long. It wasn't even that funny. Steve seems pleased his joke was a success, though. Unless his smile is the uncomfortable kind that one wears when faced with the unhinged. Eddie isn't sure how much blood he's lost.

"No, I, like, my band…" he says, stammering like talking isn't what he does best. Jesus Christ, it's just a hot guy! Eddie has made a fool of himself in front of those plenty of times – no need to get flustered about it. He clears his throat. "We had a gig and, after, at the bar, some guys got into a fight. Got ugly, so we tried to leave, but… alas!" He makes a dramatic sweep of his arm, nearly clocking Steve. Steve expertly ducks away without lessening the pressure on the wound. Eddie soldiers on, not daring to pause lest he lose his steam. Hopefully his burning face is enough of an apology. "Fucker wasn't even aiming for me. He missed his intended target and struck me instead."

"Right. Did you lose consciousness after he hit you?"

"Nope."

"Good. Did you drink tonight?"

"Half a beer, at most."

"Do-"

"Eddie!"

Gareth's nasally voice cuts off Steve's question. The next second, he's materialized beside them with a slightly alarmed expression. "Dude, are you…!"

He trails off, eyes growing into dinner plates. There isn't that much blood, is there?

Steve looks Gareth up and down, a crease between his brows. "Is this your friend?"

"My drummer. Gareth."

Eddie half-expects Steve to demand Gareth leaves so he can do his job in peace, but nope. That kind, calm smile is back. He even gives him one of those little upward-nods 'cool guys' like to do.

"What's up, Gareth? I'm Steve; I'm with the ambulance. Just making sure Eddie won't keel over later tonight."

"Uh huh…" Gareth kneels opposite Steve. He's smiling too, but his is shit eating. Eddie frowns in confusion, because what does Gareth have to be happy about? He was freaking out right after Eddie got hit, but now he's staring at Steve like-

Oh.

He's staring at Steve.

No. Noooooooooo! Oh shit! Oh fuck! Oh why, why has he kept his porn stash in a drawer without a lock all these years?! He can't recollect the reason Gareth opened that particular drawer on that particular day – all Eddie remembers is how Gareth, Jeff, and Marv snickered when he explained the inclusion of the calendar.

That was it, though. They moved on. Sure, there has been the occasional roasting after the fact, but it's not like he hasn't also mocked them for their weird shit. But that's not the point. The point is that Gareth is staring at Steve like he recognizes him.

Gareth's attention flicks toward Eddie. Eddie shakes his head as subtly yet pleadingly as he can. Gareth's grin gobbles down another turd. Eddie makes a valiant effort to explode Gareth's eyeballs with his mind.

"Say…" Gareth turns to Steve. "Have we met?"

"I don't think so. Eddie, do you have a headache?"

"Yeah, man," Eddie says, voice trembling. "Hurts like hell."

"I could've sworn I've seen your face before," Gareth says. "Like, I'm 100% sure."

"Are you dizzy or nauseous?" Steve asks, ignoring Gareth.

"Um, a little dizzy but no nausea?"

"Hmm, okay. Blurred vision or uneven numbness?"

"No."

Steve nods, glancing at his watch. Then, to Eddie’s dismay, he looks at Gareth. "I've never been to this bar before."

"Nono, not here. Somewhere else…"

Steve's lips purse and his brows knit into the most adorable thinking-face Eddie has ever seen. His heart skips a beat, then skips two more as Steve's free hand gently cups Eddie's cheek. The skin catches fire where Steve's gloved fingertips touch it.

"Let me have a look at your pupils…" Steve says, guiding Eddie's face and, holy shit, leaning in close for a better look.

Eddie gulps, half his blood rushing up and the other half down; he squeezes his legs together to prevent the little guy from saying 'hello' to everyone present. His eyes rove over Steve's face. His lips are chapped and the skin on his nose is dry. The nose itself is somewhat crooked. Did he get into a fight between the calendar photoshoot and now, or did they make the nose straighter for the photo? Why would anyone think it necessary to edit a face like this one? Even with its imperfections mere inches away, it's still the handsomest Eddie has seen.

Steve hums. It's a perfectly preserved vinyl. It's a metal festival. It's Eddie's new favorite song.

"Same size but pretty dilated… Keep your eyes open, please." He shines a tiny flashlight into Eddie's eyes before nodding, satisfied. "All right, looks good."

He leans back out of Eddie's space, returning Eddie's ability to breathe, and removes the gauze. His smile tells Eddie that the bleeding has stopped. As great as it is that he won't hemorrhage to death, it also means their encounter is approaching its end.

"You might've seen me at the university campus?" Steve says, fiddling with some plasters; it takes Eddie's horny brain five full seconds to deduce he's talking to Gareth again.

"No-" Gareth freezes, mouth hanging open. His smugness has evaporated. "Actually, I might have? You're a student?"

Steve chuckles as he patches the last of Eddie's cut. "No, but my friends are. None of them own a car, so I end up driving them everywhere. Right, Eddie, I think you're good to recover at home. Unless you feel like you should head to the hospital?"

Great question! Does he? On the one hand: riding in the ambulance with Steve, ensuring a few additional minutes of his lustrous eyes and smooth voice.

On the other hand: hospital bills.

"… no."

"Okay. Do you have anyone who can keep an eye on you?"

Eddie shakes his head. "I live alone."

"Then maybe Gareth could hang around for the next 48 hours?"

"Sure can," Gareth says without hesitating. Eddie's heart swells with affection for him, despite his (failed! Hah!) plot to mortify Eddie to death.

Steve is already packing his medical bag.

"I want you to rest and avoid stressful situations," he tells Eddie. "No alcohol, no recreational drugs, no driving, and no working until you feel completely recovered. You may take tylenol, but not aspirin or ibuprofen. And if your symptoms worsen or you develop new ones – seek medical attention. Got it?"

The last part is sterner, reminding Eddie of every male authority figure he's strived to disobey during his teenage years. He has no such desire this time.

"Got it."

Steve raises his eyebrows as if to say 'have you really?', and Eddie has to wonder if it's he who seems contrariant and/or stupid enough to ignore the medic or if this is something Steve does with every patient. If it's the former, he mustn't seem that contrariant, because Steve's features soften into trust. He stands, brushing dust off his knees.

"Great. You boys take care now. Have a nice night."

"Yeah, you too, man," Eddie calls after him weakly as he retreats to the blinking ambulance. "Thanks…"

He keeps his gaze on the broad expanse of Steve's back, soaking in the rippling of his muscles as he walks and, oh would you look at that, his ass is as nice as the rest of him. Eddie's been wondering for two years now…

"Dude!"

Eddie jerks toward Gareth. Did he say that out loud? Did he drool? Is his boner showing? But no, Gareth isn't disgusted or disturbed – he's excited.

Shit.

He'll never hear the end of this.

"Don't!" he hisses.

Gareth just laughs, eyes twinkling.

"That was-"

"Don't!"

"I can't believe it!"

"Gareth-"

"You are so red right now!"

"For Jesus fucking Christ's fucking sake-"

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Dedicated to @rougenancy for always listening to and encouraging my various thoughts, opinions, and ideas (they are constant).

Part 2

AO3

#me combining paramedic!steve with model!steve? it's more likely than you think #no need to tell me i'm a genius – i already know it #steddie #steddie fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #gareth stranger things #it's not important but i named the third guy 'marvin'#because i think he looks like one #this is part one out of [undecided]#i'll be winging it in the middle so that'll be fun #my writing #steddie fic: november paramedic

5K notes · View notes

sarahsmells · 2 years

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Hednesford, in bloom and buzzing

#charity shops #shop local #katharine house #tell it to the bees #buzz buzz #bloom

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macfrog · 4 months

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champagne problems sex on fire chapter ten

i'm not sorry!!!!! you'll never catch me!!!! (im, like, super sorry)

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: the secrecy between you and joel comes to a head. one huge, explosive, painful head.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, whew boy the angst is big in this one sorry, reader has a lot of internal struggle, daddy issues and commitment issues to the max (ha), memories of parental abandonment and adultery, sort of vague mention/description of reader having panic attacks, attempts to initiate sex (but alas, only one small mention of previous sex), Big Argument, alcohol consumption, cursing, sugardaddy!joel, soft!joel, fluff and angst. angst angst angst angst

word count: 11.1k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

The lavender is the first to wilt.

It stares glumly at the kitchen counter. Posture hunched and drooping. You stand before it, clutching a jug of water like you’re starving the purple sprigs for information. Why did he lie to me why did he lie why would he lie to me tell me why.

The daisies look on, awkward and curious. Their petals streaked with green – still fresh and still at least trying to bloom. The news hasn’t reached their delicate stamens yet – they still have blind hope. But they’re drinking from the same rotten water their lilac neighbors are. They must know it’s futile.

You fill the vase up and fix the lace bow – the one you’d transferred from the brown paper wrap to the vase last night, after seeing Joel out. He stayed until nightfall, until the rest of your apartment faded into a pale gloom, forgotten about while the two of you watched TV and kept secrets from one another in your warm-lit bedroom.

When he leaned down and held his lips over yours, you pushed yourself onto your toes and kissed him goodbye. He ruffled your hair, clipped your bottom lip lovingly. Said, I’ll call you tomorrow. Get some sleep, pretty girl.

You lay staring at the ceiling the whole night.

He was out all day Saturday at a charity event. He called you as he arrived home – you heard the elevator’s ding through the receiver, announcing its arrival at his top-floor apartment. And you stayed on the phone, the thing discarded on your mattress, as sleep blurred the edges of the world in and out of focus all evening.

Three times you thought about just telling him to come back over, hold you until you forgot what he’d even done. Pretend that the man who, possessed by lies and jealousy or something much worse, had taken your wrist and swept you off out of Jean-Marc’s penthouse isn’t the same one who brought you tea and Chinese food yesterday. The one who held you, blood and broken wings safe in his arms, while you wept into his body.

Three times you stamped the flame out, remembering. As if you needed reminding. Your stomach still sinks anytime the reel jerks back to its beginning behind your eyes. The words unfortunately and unavailable. The rustling of the bag in the kitchen. The padding of his footsteps drawing nearer and nearer.

Your phone buzzes somewhere across the room. You set the jug down and shuffle over, tilting the screen in the morning light.

We’re outside baby. Take your time.

You haven’t mentioned it to him, yet. Haven’t breached the conversation. You’ve no fucking clue where to start. It hurts too much to look at it just yet – like scalding yourself with boiling water and clamping a wet towel to the burn until you can stomach the sight of your skin, all blistered and bubbling.

The towel is still covering the wound. You’re still frantically pacing around the kitchen clutching it, heavy and sopping. You’re not sure what it looks like, but from beneath the cold cloth, it doesn’t feel good.

It doesn’t feel good at all.

Joel’s leaning against the Rolls when you totter down your front steps. Fall plucks the leaves from the trees one by one; they swirl down to the smooth pavement, brown and amber and golden. You’re in a floral tea dress, which took you an obscene amount of time to decide on, given the cocktail of nerves and confusion and outright panic rolling around your stomach.

Your heel scuffs to a halt in front of him. He pushes off of the car and swings your door open, squints at you in the sunlight. You watch his eyes move down your frame, a misplaced desire to impress him dripping through your veins, and then he looks back up.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says, and your veins sizzle. “You look…” he shakes his head simply, “…you’re beautiful.”

Your lips betray you. Your mind – that poor, dead lavender; your body – the poor, naïve daisies. Still has blind hope.

You can’t help but reflect his expression, attempting to mask it with a soft shrug. “Are the heels too much?” you ask, glancing down and lifting your foot.

Joel shakes his head instantly. “I like ‘em. And even if they were, we’re late. You ain’t got time to change.”

“You said you’d be here at twelve. It’s ten after.”

“I run a construction company, not a watchmakers. You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. Unconvincingly.

“I mean,” he circles a hand over his stomach, lifts his eyebrows, “you feelin’ okay? We don’t have to go – Martha wouldn’t mind, you know that.”

“I’m fine,” you chirp, and your painted lips flatten against one another as you dip into the car. “Hi, Rand.”

The driver lowers his sunglasses and tips his head in the rear-view. “Hi, baby.”

Joel shimmies along the leather, shifting his jacket from between you to scoop your body against his. You glance down, eyeing his soft sweater, the light shade of it paired against that of your dress. The glint of his watch as his wrist slips happily between your legs, hooking under your thigh. The bloody crimson of the birthday card envelope, trembling in the door pocket.

The car pulls off, dragging you from your daydream. Stealing you back from the dystopia where you and Joel match, where you go together. A couple. Removing the notion of it from your makeup, each cell in your body slowly reverting back to yours again. Just yours. No CEO boss to stake his claim to any of them.

Martha’s place sits at the end of a cul-de-sac; neighbored on one side by a retired couple who spent their entire summer arguing in the backyard, according to Martha, and on the other by a row of quaint cypress.

The front door, bordered by polished mosaic squares of glass, sits inside one of four gable roofs. Dark green shutters either side of each stark-white window frame. A smooth path snaking between neatly-fringed grass, a hierarchy of tiny bushes growing greener and greener the closer they draw to the front steps.

Come in through the back, she’d said. Gate will be open. We’ll be in the yard.

Joel makes some quiet remark just to you about how perfect the house looks. The red brick and marengo tile. How much effort gone into polishing the front, only to tell you to use the back entry. ‘s only for looking, he decides, and then offers his hand to pull you from the Rolls.

He bends over the car, hand flat on the roof, and calls back to Rand. “Do me a favor – don’t go far. Just –” he jerks his head in your direction, “– just in case.”

When he straightens up and the car purrs off, you shake your head. “I’m fine,” you whisper, and he hooks two fingers around the string of the giftbag, taking it from your grasp.

He replaces it with his hand, his huge palm against yours. “I know,” he mutters, glancing down the drive, “but it’s an excuse for when I get sick of Alan ‘n all his damn friends.”

“Henry,” you remind him.

He tosses you a half-second look, smirk scrawled on his lips. He knows.

She’s waiting for you by the French doors when you arrive – Martha. Glass of sparkling champagne in each hand. Your fingers slip free from Joel’s before you’ve even rounded the corner.

“Saw the car pull up,” she tells you, leaning to let Joel kiss her cheek. “Here,” she hands you a glass, then one to Joel, “and here.”

You sip at the bubbling drink, letting the sharp fizz assault your tongue. Letting the feeling wash down your throat, stinging and bitter. Joel seems to swallow his just fine.

He swings the bag in her direction, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “Just a little somethin’ from the two of us.”

You frown, holding a hand up to shield your eyes from sunlight too faint to cause the stiffness of your face and the drawn string of your brows. Where is Deb? And her two sons? And their shared gift? Isn’t it totally platonic and professional after all, to sign something from you and Joel?

Martha’s hands clasp. She reaches gleefully for the bag, smiling at the striped pattern. “I got no idea where he is. Last I saw, they were all headin’ up to his room. Some zombie game on his PlayStation. He promises me they ain’t playin’ the R-rated version.”

“That’s alright,” Joel says, “I believe ‘im.” He leans closer, a weight apparent at the small of your back. It shocks like a surge of electricity up your spine, hurts like a sudden muscle spasm. And then it soothes the pain, his thumb rubbing delicately. “’s a nice place,” he tells Martha.

She feigns disbelief. “Well, thank you, Mr. Miller, C-E-O,” she sings, and then, cocking an eyebrow, “y’all want a tour?”

You both nod politely, following her towards the kitchen doors. Joel nods towards a table by the barbecue – an island amongst a sea of candy and pastries, chopped fruit and bowls of nuts: a two-tiered, sky-blue cake. The name Henry piped in red icing – the letters swirling much like a birthday card you once read in a house on Maple Street.

“Nice little cake for Alan,” Joel mutters, squeezing your waist.

A stolen laugh shudders from your lips; the two of you snicker together, and despite your best attempts to cover your grin with your champagne flute, Martha spots you.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, sidling back over.

“Martha,” you clear your throat, “would you do me a favor?”

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“Would you please tell Joel your son’s name?”

She looks at you blankly. Blinks between you and the man at your side, both staring back expectantly. But her stone-set expression begins to crack, the lines deepening around her mouth.

“As in,” you clarify, “his real name. Not Alan.”

She makes to reply when the swish-thud of a window opening interrupts, the prepubescent bellow of an almost-teen from overhead.

“Mom!” Henry calls, his dark head of curls and long, boyish arms dangling over the sill.

Martha glares up at him. “What have I told you about hangin’ from there” she yells, fists propped on her hips. “What is it?”

“Mike brought Blood Cry III; can we play it?”

She shakes her head indignantly. “I have told you – how many times? No!” She holds her hands out in apology to you and Joel, and then scuttles off into the kitchen. “Go explore,” she waves, “I trust ya!”

Joel wordlessly takes your hand, leading you in Martha’s wake through the kitchen to the living room: its navy walls and white paneling, bookshelves spanning the entire length of one wall, and a pale-brick fireplace centering two leather couches. Very pristine, very perfect. Very Martha.

You amble around, slowing in front of the mantelpiece above which a gallery of framed photos hangs. Henry as a toddler on a green trike; Martha’s stepdaughter and her kid; Alan on a golfing trip. Your eyes jump from plump cheeks to missing teeth, sunhats and Thanksgiving meals, until they land on a photo of Martha and Alan on their wedding day – her veil pinned neatly into a permed updo, her puffy-sleeved dress and the lemon bouquet spilling from her hands.

Joel’s shoulder brushes against your own, his eye journeying across the photos, too. “Ha,” he tosses a finger towards the wedding photo, “nineties Martha. Nice hair, huh?”

You smile, lazily swatting his arm. “She looks beautiful. They seem happy.”

Joel agrees. “Wonder what their first dance song was.”

“I bet it was something classy. Sinatra or something. Martha wouldn’t be breaking the marriage in to anything cheesy, that’s for sure.”

He laughs, spinning off towards the dining room. “You ever thought about what you’d pick?”

You hesitate, rounding the table on the opposite side. “Uh…no. Not really.”

“Not your thing? Marriage.”

You chance a glance at him over a vase of lilies in the center of the mahogany table. The smell twists towards you, leering as it coats your skin and your clothes and the back of your throat in a sickly film that makes your head spin. “I guess not. I’ve never – Not since…”

He nods. He knows. “That’s fair,” he says, hands finding his pockets. The idea of Blake – his name, his shaking hands, the tiny box in his suit pocket – the thought of those images flitting through Joel’s brain pinches the air from your lungs.

You watch the silhouette of him as it crosses over the bay window, looking out onto the trimmed grass and smooth asphalt street. Something cracks deep in your chest. Something begins to unbind.

“What would yours be?” you ask him, and he turns.

“Depends,” he shrugs, “on when I’m gettin’ married or not. Makes no difference to me.”

You bypass the point he’s making. Turn away from it like you would a shadow in the night. “If you were,” you insist, “what would you pick?”

He nears you, never breaking your stare. His confident matches your nervous, his steady gaze on your shy. “Somethin’ special to me ‘n her. An our song kinda thing.” And then, as he brushes deliberately by your shoulder to head for the stairs, “AC/DC or som’.”

Your heels stick like they did that night in the dive bar. Ears hurt with a ringing loud enough to blur the edges of your vision. Your skin feels the same hot – only, not from the crowded room you’re in, or the mix of alcohol and sweat and something akin to lust seeping through your pores.

You stare fixedly at the view from the bay window, the perfect little cul-de-sac with its perfectly smooth roads; perfect for kids learning to ride their first bikes, perfect for couples wandering arm in arm, perfect for angry fathers taking off in cars packed with belongings.

When you were a kid, buckled into the back of your dad’s car, you used to fight sleep to watch the moon race you home. Her white glow surviving being split over and over again by the trees you’d whip past. Your eyes would flit from hers to the windscreen, watching the road up ahead as it threatened to twist and turn. No matter how fast you thought your dad must be driving, no matter which direction he turned – every time you looked for her, there she’d be.

It makes sense now. The notion of staying. Occupying somewhere in space or in time, and forgetting how to leave. Forgetting how to try. Forever fixed there, glowing in a brilliant melancholy, singing to nobody in the dark expanse of the sky. Waiting for the sun to make her return. Just waiting waiting waiting.

You – the moon, and your sky – that fucking driveway. The Toyota, the rust on its underside so bitter you could taste it like blood on your tongue. Searching all over for the scraps of yourself, the pieces he tore away as he fled: veins tangled around spokes, severed fingers tinged crimson and hooked around the steering wheel. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.

And then, the sun – some sharp-suited, quick-witted Texan; enough charm and ease to lift himself over the horizon, to give you something other than the glimmer in your own tears to reflect.

The moon stares down at you now as you sit, perched on your balcony. Your knees tucked under your chin, watching two cats wrestle down on the street below. It’s just gone two; Joel’s in bed fast asleep. You slipped from his grasp and crept out of your room, a blanket over your shoulders, and disappeared between the sheer curtains. Your chest tight, your breathing short.

It keeps happening, that thing from Paris. Your head begins to spin, your voice withers to nothing. Your legs push you to your feet and force you to flee, though you’ve still to figure out where to or what from. All you know is that blue-eyed stare of your ex-fiancé has been wiped, replaced by the dusted beard of your boss instead. The plastic ring between his fingers. The creaking leather of his office chair.

Those same four words keep circling your head, replaying on a loop between your ears: why did he lie why did he lie why did he lie. Like white noise droning around your skull, bubbling nausea in the pit of your stomach. No, darlin’. Why would I lie to you?

Why did you lie to me?

Why did he do any of it? Take you to Paris, let you meet his client. Why has he been sleeping with you, treating you like some kind of girlfriend? The word plucks goosepimples all over your body. His body around yours at Aspen Heights – what you wanted so badly to believe was endearment, was comfortability and generosity, now feels like territory-marking. Feels like the white-knuckled tightening of a leash in his wide fist.

The leaves of the trees across the street tremble, lit luminous green by the 7-Eleven sign they fringe. You watch as two men swagger out of the store; their chatter drowned by the buzzing of the fluorescent sign. They split off with a quick handshake at the curb, disappearing into two different cars, driving off in two different directions.

You sniff. Some skunky smell hangs low in the air. So thick that you can feel it coating your lungs from the inside out. You sink back into your chair, push your fingers into your eyes until you’re watching a mirage of stars pull across your vision. Blow a cracked, nervous breath into the sky. Slip your nose beneath the collar of your tee.

Joel’s tee, which pools in the dip between your stomach and thighs. You suck his scent in like one hit of some intoxicating drug, for every three hits of clean air. Just seeing you through. Pretending there’s no addiction there.

But fuck, if you’re not screwed. One half of you holding back on mentioning the email because – what the fuck do you even say? How do you begin to ask him about it? How do you approach the topic, without prefacing it with feelings you’re too afraid to admit even to yourself?

And the other half – for fear of what you might cause. What you might make him do. For the pure, cut-throat fear that he’ll become the third in a list of men to just – leave. To let you down, to let you go. Change between couch cushions. Wild flowers torn from the earth’s scalp.

Then, the fracturing realization that you don’t want him to go. That you’re used to him, now, in a way you never were with your dad or with Blake. Your dad – who would choose poker night over parents’ night. Who would choose a drink with his buddies over a movie with you and your mom.

Or Blake – who would schedule sex on the nights he figured he’d have enough energy to fuck you until at least he came, and would buy you chrysanthemums on your birthday even long after you’d told him you were pretty sure you were allergic.

And then there’s Joel. Joel fucking Miller. Who turned up at your door less than thirty minutes after Martha told him you were sick. Who said in the car ride to her house earlier, Tell me your favorite flower.

Why? you asked.

Just so I know.

Joel – who has never asked anything more than you’ve chosen to tell him about your father, but whose face still screws into an angry grimace anytime he’s forced to think of him. Who reaches out to adjust the broken heart around your neck, slip the clip back to your nape without you asking Who offers you the last slice of pizza, and when you refuse, compromises by splitting it. Giving you the bigger half.

Joel – with whom sex feels like a form of communication: Here are all the things I don’t know how to say, yet. Yet yet yet. A conversation, each movement deliberate; each nip and lick and bite weighted with purpose and meaning. It lives under your nails, behind your teeth. Here – I don’t know what else to do with all this longing.

Joel – who has not only set every foot right, but has carved his own path through your heart. Explored the caves himself, a lonely lamp hanging from his fist as he carefully, gently, politely weaved his way through a jungle of valves and tissue, monsters and darkness, slowly winding his way to the center.

Joel. Who has never let you down. Until that fucking email.

A 7-Eleven employee, some scrawny kid with a mop of black hair and a polo hanging from his skeleton, drags a cloth in wide circles on the inside of the windows. He swipes his forehead along his wrist, thick tresses disturbed, and stares out at the empty street.

You blink twice, and a figure materializes at your balcony door.

“Baby?”

“Jesus!”

“Woah, woah. Easy – ‘s just me.” The pale drapes surrender to his wide frame, letting him pass. “Sorry, pretty girl. You okay?”

“You scared the crap outta me.”

Joel bends before you, a sweet little chuckle in his throat, and presses a warm kiss to your forehead. You lift your chin, letting your eyes close over and your thoughts melt away on his lips. He pulls the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

“What are you doin’ out here at this time of night?”

You shrug as he settles into the wireframe chair opposite. Groans as he leans back. His wide chest constricted by a tight, gray hoodie splattered with paint.

“Just can’t sleep. Nice hoodie.”

His eyes dip to the mounds of your chest under plain cotton, the blanket slack around your breasts. “Someone stole my T-shirt. Stole somethin’ of hers back. Why can’t you sleep? You hurting?”

Yeah. “No. Just – not tired enough, I guess.”

“You want company?”

Not really. “Sure.”

He laces his fingers over his stomach as he settles back, studies you as your gaze skims the street below. He knows you’re lying. But it’s two a.m., and you’re weeks into an affair that you’re both pretty sure has gone past the point of no return, and so, voice plain, he asks, “What’s on your mind, angel?”

“How d’you know there’s something on my mind?”

“There’s always something on your mind. It’s you.” And then, readjusting in his seat, “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

You scrunch your nose with a sniff. Pull your arms inside the sleeves of his shirt and cross them under your breasts. “Your dad,” you say, locking eyes with him.

Joel lets it hang for all of three seconds. “My dad?” His face curls into a perplexed smirk, jaw tilting. He thinks you’re so fucking adorable, or maybe you think he is, and you’re not sure which one scares you more.

You laugh, chest lightening disobediently. It felt more comfortable when you couldn’t breathe. “What he did,” you explain.

“What he did,” Joel repeats, lifting his chin. Like a dog, sniffing out the truth. Something concealed in your fist.

So you unfold your fingers, holding it out in the palm of your hand: “Do you think he would’ve done it, still, if he knew what would happen?”

And then he really shakes off the humor. Sits forward, elbows leaning on his bare thighs. “What’re you talkin’ about, pretty girl?”

“Like,” you sigh, “if he knew he would split his entire family in two. You and your mom cut him off; Tommy moved halfway across the country. Was it worth it?”

“To me, or to him?”

You shrug again. He’ll choose the one he wants to answer. You’ll figure him out either way.

“Look,” Joel says, and hooks his fingers under the seat of your chair to pull you closer. He takes your ankles and you stretch your legs out, heels propped in the boxer-clad valley between his legs. A deep breath, hazel eyes pointed upwards like searching the skies for the words, and then: “People want what they want, right? They’ll do whatever they think is necessary to get it. He wanted to cheat, so he did. And he paid the price.”

“He wanted to cheat?”

It seems obvious to him. As though people seek out ways to hurt the ones they’re supposed to love all the damn time. The silver glint of a Labrador’s teeth as he sinks them into his owner’s skin.

Joel nods. “Wanted it badly enough that he did anything.”

“Lied?” you offer.

“Lied, cheated, left. Yeah.”

“And he risked everything.”

His head tips in agreement. “I guess he did. He was a damn idiot, you know? Had a wife who loved him, had two kids. He had the whole world in that house, and he threw it all away.”

“And,” the soles of your feet rest gently on the curve of his stomach, “would that – would it stop you? If you at least knew you were riskin’ something?”

“From cheating?”

“Anything. If you knew what you were risking was everything to you – would it stop you doing what you really wanted?”

His face tightens, brows knit with confusion and something else more difficult to place. “It depends. I wouldn’t risk something like you. I would n–”

“Somethin’ like me?” you interject.

Joel clears his throat. Looks up to the pitch-black sky again. “You…” He sighs. His answer is simple, black-and-white. There’s no way to hide it anymore. “I wouldn’t risk you, no. Not for the world.”

You fall silent. The moon stares down, seeming to melt around you. Her light like two steady arms holding you together, nudging you to ask the last question – the one spiraling around your mind like circling a drain.

Joel squeezes your ankle. “Where are you goin’ with this, baby? Are you asking me if I would cheat on you?”

Your heart jumps. The moon scatters.

Does he fall into the category of people who could cheat on you? Two months ago, he was just your boss. Two months ago, you hadn’t touched him more than a slap after a witty comment, the brushing of fingers as you handed him his morning coffee. But now…now, you’ve kissed his lips to shut him up. You’ve felt him come inside you. You’ve set foot inside his childhood fucking home, for Christ’s sake.

He makes you feel as though your heart is made of glass, delicate and laid bare but safe in his hands. He makes you feel as though a part of you exists outside of your own body – like there’s a piece of your soul wandering the earth by itself, touching base every time his hands are on your hips, his teeth in your neck.

Yeah. Fuck – yeah. He’s someone who could cheat on you. The way that email made you feel – he’s someone who could break your heart.

“I know you wouldn’t cheat on anyone,” you say, voice breaking. “No, I just – I don’t know what counts as a good enough reason to hurt someone you’re supposed to…supposed to love.”

Joel sits back in his chair again, the frame creaking under the weight of him. He reckons he gets it, now. You reckon he’s still wrong. “Come here,” he says, fingers flicking.

“What?”

He leans forward, takes your waist in his hands and pulls you from your chair into his lap, curling you up between his thighs. Safe. Protected by the shell of his body, protected by everything except from the thing scaring you most: the quickening of his heartbeat when you settle against it.

Your head slots under the curve of his chin, his voice a deep rumble over your skull.

“Your dad,” his chest swells, “he did what he did because he wanted to do it. Wanted it badly enough that he gave up you and your mom. And there wasn’t nothin’ you or her could’ve done to stop him, or convince him otherwise. You hear me?”

You turn into his neck, letting your tears fall hidden from view of streetlight or moonlight. You feel fucking tiny – a kid again, sat in a grownup’s lap, asking a never-ending series of why questions. Then, why did he do it? Why did he leave? Why are you staying? Why did you lie to me?

Joel presses his lips to your head, shushing you quietly, his body rocking back and forth like a boat on light waves. When he hears you sniffling, he holds you closer. Tighter. Your heart melds to your chest wall, desperate to seek his out. The hoodie he’s wearing smells like you, smells like him, smells like the chemicals of paint and the poison of love.

“It wasn’t your fault, darlin’, none of it.”

His arm hooked over your bare knees, the cotton keeping you warm. The other around your back, keeping you whole. You unstick yourself from his embrace, pulling your body straight until you’re straddling his lap, face to face with him in the light.

He looks up at you, almost afraid to blink. Afraid to lose sight of you at all. Your thighs lean heavily against his, your bodies locked together. You link your arms over his shoulders, anchor yourself to him as though the storm in your mind might sweep you away. And in the glimmer of light in his eye, the dazzling bulb of a lighthouse – you see the reflection of yourself.

Joel notices the shift in your expression. Holds you by the hips, follows the turn of your head. “You okay?” he asks, and you look down, avoiding his eye.

Glowing brilliant and lonely, blinking slowly. Your towering silhouette and caged-glass top. Drawing ships nearer just to ward them off when they pull too close. When they begin to notice the jagged shape of your shoreline, the ugly mess of your soul. Casting a blinding light on them, warning them to flee. And he didn’t fucking listen.

He docked anyways. Drew up on the beach, pulled himself into your body time and time again. You kept moving, kept warning him with each flicker of light, kept daring him to leave. And he never did. And there are pieces of you now living in him because of it, pieces you don’t understand how to take back. All you know, all you’ve ever known about Joel, is –

Your body sinks, hips lowering until you’re sure you’ve proven yourself right.

A stubborn weight between his legs. Not quite as hard as you’ve felt him before, not quite as heavy, but – a shape which sends a hot hiss between his teeth when you move over it, when the thin strip of your underwear courses over the thin cloth of his.

“P-retty girl,” Joel says, a groan seeping from the corners of his lips. A groan he holds onto with his molars, letting it snap like elastic when your hips circle again.

A weight as stubborn as the need slowly swirling in your chest. And pulled up into the cyclone are those same words: It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t nothin’ you could’ve done to stop him. Why did you lie to me? It wasn’t your fault.

It hits you at once, the sudden realization that you’re lighter than you were before you first touched one another – really touched one another. Parts of you missing, passed over gladly the second his hand reached for them. The taste of you behind his lip, gums absorbing you like nicotine.

And you’re kissing him, your lips harsh against his, his stubble hurting your skin. Your tongue seeking out those parts of yourself. No. You don’t have me anymore. I’m taking me back.

“Hey,” Joel whispers into your mouth, steadying your hips. He pulls back and holds you still. “Why don’t we slow down? It’s late, you ain’t feeling too good –”

“I feel fine. I want to do it.” You lick again between his lips though he doesn’t budge; your attempts to move again, ineffective. “Joel.”

“It’s been a long day, you’re tired. Work in the mornin’, baby, I just don’t think we oughta –”

“You don’t wanna fuck me?”

He pauses, his tongue between his teeth. His brows pinch, almost painfully. “That is not what this is, ‘n you know it. I can see how tired you are – you ain’t even slept yet.”

“I don’t care. I want you to –”

His voice lifts to something you’ve only heard within the four walls of his office. Like chiding one of his guys, like snapping back at their red ties and crumpled collars. “I know what you want me to do. I just think we should go back to bed.”

“’n what if I don’t want to go back to bed?”

Joel sighs, looking out across the street. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t get what the problem is,” you complain, still holding onto his shoulders. “You’ve fucked me in public before.”

“It ain’t that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Why don’t you go grab a sketchbook or something? Show me some of this artwork you been promisin’ since Paris?”

You blink back at him, watching the lighthouse swirl. The black waves begin to carry him off, sweep him from your view. “Maybe some other time,” you mumble, pushing yourself off of his lap.

Joel watches you, defeated. Keeps ahold of your hand when you stand between his knees. He swings your interlocked fingers gently. “Can you…can you tell me what’s wrong? Do you know?”

Your lungs pull in a deep breath, your shoulders rolling. “Same thing as always, I guess. Let’s just go back to bed.”

“Wait, pretty girl,” he tugs on your hand, reeling you back in, “waitwaitwait.” And then he’s standing, enclosing you in his arms again, asking, “What can I do to fix it?”

That same shrug. Tired. Deflated. Terrified. “If I only knew.”

You wait for Joel to move first, a sigh falling from his lips as he pulls the sheer curtains back, taking you by the hand and ushering you between. He follows your lead back into your apartment, sliding the door closed behind.

The living room is flattened by a gray silence, the liminal night swallowing up the air. Joel’s hand comes to rest at the nape of your neck, and when you turn to him, he says, “You wanna know if he thought it was worth it?”

You pause, fingers playing with the hem of his tee at your thighs.

He’s close enough that you can feel the heat near enough sizzling from his body. The right side of his face is shrouded in darkness; the chalky wash of streetlight painting the left. “My dad.”

You swallow hard, blinking in the shadow cast by his tall figure. The light clings wearily to his beard.

“She left him after two weeks. Went back to her husband. My dad died alone in an empty four-bed in Rosedale. You tell me.”

And then he pats the small of your back, takes you back through to bed – where you let him fall asleep on your chest, listening to make sure your fractured heart is still beating.

Joel Miller is in your shower. For the second time this weekend.

He’s not fucking you, not holding you against the rough tile wall as his cock draws come and blood and tears from your body. He’s not wrapping a towel around you, handing you a fresh tampon, kissing the parts of your skin still alight from your orgasm.

He’s just showering, before work. Using your peach-scented soap, pushing suds under his arms, over his stomach, between his legs. Lathering your shampoo like treacle between his palms, hair slick and foamy white between his fingers. Fixing the head so that his height fits under the stream of water, turning the knobs until it’s as hot as he likes it.

You’re lying across your bed, suffocating in the smell of his side and pretending none of it’s really happening. Face buried in his pillow, waiting for the intoxication to throw you under or wipe your mind clean or maybe just cut the air supply from your lungs completely. Whichever’s quickest.

The bathroom door opens; the sound of footsteps padding over to you. His weight sinks into the bed by your hip, then hovers over your back. His nose, still steamy and damp from the shower, nuzzles into the spot behind your ear. His lips leave a wet trail down your neck.

“You need another day?” Joel asks, kissing.

“I’m good,” the cotton absorbs the nervous edge of your voice, “just coming.”

“Stay home if you want, angel,” he says, hands roaming south to hold your waist. Like warning the pain, tempting it to show back up. See what he does about it. “I gotta go take this shareholders meeting, but I can come back as soon as it’s done.”

“Nah,” you groan, pushing your heavy frame up. Joel’s grip slackens. “I need the distraction, I think.”

He sits back, smiling dumbly when you straighten. His tongue runs along his teeth.

“You can use my toothbrush,” you mutter, heel of your palm wiping sleep from your eye.

“Hm?” He’s fixing the mess of your hair. Brushing one side flat, then the other; leaning back and forth with this dumb, half-there smile on his face. And your chest heaves, and you almost surrender to the impulse to throw yourself into his arms, almost lean into his cupped hands and burning caresses.

“I owe you. From Paris. You can use it, just this once.”

He scoffs. “I won’t use your toothbrush, darlin’. It’s alright.”

But you’re indignant. You already have every other part of me, don’t you? What’s one more? Just fucking –

“– use it. I swear I don’t mind.”

Joel’s head tilts, conceding. “Alright. Come get ready, then.”

Martha’s at her desk when the two of you wander back into the office. “Wait!” she calls, clicking around her desk as you pass by. She twirls a blue envelope between two glittery nails, holds it out to you.

Joel takes it, examining the childish scrawling of your names. “Nice, but – your calligraphy needs a little practice, Martha.”

“Hilarious,” she drones, sitting back against the desk.

You drift over to your own, dropping your back over the back of your chair, and shrug the coat from your shoulders.

Joel’s voice draws nearer as he speaks. “He have a good time?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Martha replies, and Joel sits the card from Henry by your monitor, “barely saw ‘im the entire day. Thanks for comin’. For his gift, too – y’all really…You ain’t gotta do that.”

“Was all my idea, wasn’t it?” Joel asks, smirking to you.

An airy laugh pushes from your chest, loose with nerves. “Som’ like that. Glad he had a nice birthday.”

Joel saunters back toward his office, hands in his pockets. Fucking casual, like the world isn’t crumbling beneath your feet. Like the walls aren’t closing in, the sky lowering by the hour, the sun being steadily eclipsed minute by minute. He nudges the door closed with his foot, leaving you, Martha, and an awkward mist of realization between you.

“Your idea,” she muses, once you’ve plucked up enough courage to face her again.

You pick up Henry’s card, staring at the smudged handwriting to mask the horror peeling its way across your face. “Thought it was easier that way, y’know?” You gulp. “Don’t make it into anythin’.”

She grunts, something shaped like Ha. Her arms cross over her body, her eyes flitting between Joel’s office and you. “I sure as hell don’t remember me ‘n Alan ever doing something like that before it meant anythin’.”

“What are you saying it means?” you ask, rhetorically, dryly – a little meaner than you want it to sound. “What’s…?”

Her plucked eyebrows lift, forehead creasing. “Nothing, sweet. I’m just saying – you two are close, now. It’s nice.”

“We were always close.”

She holds her finger up. “Uh, no. Not turn up at my son’s birthday party together, leave together, then turn up at work the next day also together close.” Her eyes narrow, and you almost believe she might’ve been hidden between the trees last night – hell, for a second, you believe she might’ve been that scrawny kid wiping down the windows of 7-Eleven.

“I’m just saying,” she continues, when your throat closes around your nothing answer, “if something’s happening, I’m rooting for it.”

It shoots from your jaw like a bullet. “Nothing’s happening.”

Martha’s just as quick. “Okay,” she says, sweet and light. Breezy.

And then she shuffles back to her chair, resumes focus on some email. Twists the dial on her radio and fill the tense silence in the office with some smooth seventies song which lifts the hairs on the back of your neck the same way it did in that Parisian hotel. The dark suite, his eyes black and seeking. His hands on your body like he knew every curve and dip already.

Didn’t you believe that he might? That his hands were sculpted to fit the space below your ribcage? The plush cushion of flesh above your hips. The hinge of your jaw between his fingers.

Didn’t you think, for one fleeting moment, that maybe he was made just for you? As if you were so fucking lucky. As if anyone might stick around long enough to earn that label. Yours.

You settle back into your chair. The bubble writing on the front of the card stares menacingly back at you, the shapes seeming to swell and shrink in size the longer you stare at them. A bad trip, you think, this whole thing is just a bad trip. I’m gonna sober up any second, and I’m gonna be in bed, still dizzy after that night at the bar.

And none of it’s gonna be real. It’s not fucking real.

But then – lying on the opposite side of your computer, delicate and tiny, sparkling in the sunlight from over your shoulder: your ring. Your ruby ring, two euros in a gumball machine by the Seine. Like it’s winking at you, the accent rhinestones a taunting smirk. And the sight of it slings a thin wire around your heart, tight tight tightens until you’re sure you feel the tissue slice in half.

You take the ring in two shaking fingers, eyes bleary with sleep and salt. Blinking the dispersed light away, red rays bleeding all over your vision as you tilt the plastic. Joel’s voice muffles against his office door, like fists echoing against the flimsy walls of your little daydream. Time’s up. Hand him back over. It’s not fucking real anymore.

You roll the prize back onto your desk, letting it scatter shards of ruby until it hits the keyboard, the rattle echoing around your ears as you pace over to his office door. Your knuckles drum once, twice, three times against the wood before he opens it, and then he’s –

Staring down at you, breath shallow between slack lips. And he reads it all over your face, the panic and the words swimming around the tears in your eyes, and he steps back, and you step forward, and then the door’s closing again, and you’re settling against the arm of his couch.

“Ken? Hey, Ken?” Joel strides back over to his desk, hastily reaching for the phone. The voice from the receiver doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. “Ken. Can I –? Jesus Christ.” He lifts the handset and drops it less than a second later, cutting Ken’s fucking droning, cutting the only sound in the room, cutting your blood short in your veins.

And then – “Alright. Talk to me.”

You don’t reply. He seems to tense up. Moves almost robotically over to you, lifts his hands to hold your shoulders. And when you lift yours to push him away, he almost flinches.

“Baby.”

Your jaw shakes once. You wrap your arms around yourself, squeezing the breath from your lungs.

“You’ve been actin’ off since yesterday,” he mutters, giving you some space. He’s moving slow, like he’s afraid you might lunge for him. “You gotta tell me. You’re scaring me, now.”

You haul your gaze from his open arms, his broad chest, the idea of letting him pull you in and calm you down. Your eyes land on his monitor. The text of that email flashes before you again. And your shell hardens.

“Is there anything you wanna tell me?” you ask, staring at the Apple logo. Your voice sounds timid, sounds so little that you swear you see Joel catch the words as though they’re made of glass.

His head tilts. His eyes narrow. It’s genuine confusion, you think. The penny hasn’t dropped yet. “…What?”

It pisses you off. Seems to shatter that glass into fifty angry shapes, brittle and sharp. The shards cut like a knife through the air between you. “Nothing you think I oughta know?”

He shakes his head slowly. “No, baby, I don’t…”

Your glare finally lands directly on him. Piercing straight into his eyes. But your jaw locks shut around the words.

“What the hell are you about to accuse me of?” Joel asks, mirroring your stance. Pulling his arms over his chest, jaw tight. “Cheating on you?”

Your chest jumps with a tiny laugh. “Why would I accuse you of cheating on me?”

“Sure sounded like that’s what you were thinkin’ last night.”

“No. I don’t think you’re cheating on me.”

“Then what is it?”

The gun fires. Gates open. Thunder rumbles. A fire lights in your stomach, blazing through your entire body.

“When were you planning on telling me about Jean-Marc?”

He goes quiet. Still. Realizes exactly what you mean in almost an instant. “How did you…? Where did you –?”

“I saw the email. On Friday. Gave me your phone to look for Alan’s Twelfth fucking Birthday, didn’t you?”

His face drops; a broken sigh falls from his lips. He looks up to the ceiling, something of a disbelieving, disappointed, fucking dismayed laugh loose between his jaw. “I wasn’t,” he eventually concedes.

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

You can’t believe him. You actually can’t believe him. Fists balling to hold your nerve, to hold the tremble in your voice steady, you ask, “Why?”

Joel’s body twists, rolls like some awkward wave as he readjusts, searches the surrounding room for an explanation. “There’s – there are a number of reasons why.”

“Start with the first one.”

“Alright.” He grips the wooden desk either side of his hips. Meets your stare, and it’s almost fucking admirable, the bravery with which he’s walking into this. You don’t scare him at all, not yet, anyway. Not even in the midst of a standoff in his office – guns loaded, eyes never blinking.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and then lifts his arm, waving his palm like he’s swatting the image of the Frenchman away. “He’s…He freaks me the hell out.”

“He freaks you out,” you repeat, voice flat. “Really, Joel? Big guy like you?”

You can’t help yourself. This is so fucking insane, it’s laughable. You’re like a snake shooting sharp shots at the ankles of a bear – and it’s too easy to take jabs when you’re still in disbelief at what’s fast turning out to be the truth.

“He’s sleazy, and inappropriate, and he doesn’t respect boundaries.” He counts them with three steady fingers. “Not mine, certainly not yours. I don’t like him, darlin’.”

“You like him enough to go have two meals with him in one weekend. Fly all the way to fuckin’ France for ‘im.”

“That was business. At least, the lunch was. The breakfast was a mistake.”

“What’s the second reason, Joel?”

He licks his lips. You can’t tell if it’s anxiety or anger. “You’re too good at your job. I didn’t wanna lose you.”

It’s simple enough. It’s more believable than six-foot-two Joel being afraid of five-foot-two Jean-Marc. You accept it a lot quicker.

“Any more?”

His expression drops. Yeah. There’s one more. And he doesn’t know how to say it.

“Joel.”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Got that one.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Expression unmoving. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

You suck in a deep breath, chest wobbling as your lungs fill. The snake retreats from the bear, jaw slackening. Your eyes sting, Joel’s figure blurs a little, and then you rein it back in.

“I didn’t want you to go. That’s all,” he offers, plainly. “Just…wanted you to stay here. With me.”

“’n what if I wanted to leave?”

“Then…” Joel’s arms lift again, gesturing to nothing, “…then we’ll work something out.”

You lift your chin, some sick expression pushing your eyebrows up. “We’ll work something out?”

He nods.

“Who’s we?”

And it’s the first time you see him falter. The first time he has to catch himself. “You said it yourself,” he says, “you ‘n me. This.”

You shake your head. No no no no. Not this. Not now. The snake coils up, preparing to strike again. “What, us sleeping together?”

“That’s…What?”

“You don’t think there are plenty other women you could be sleeping with here, ‘n plenty other men I could be sleeping with over there? You really want me to stay here just so you got someone to fuck?”

Joel’s lips fall apart. His grip loosens on the desk. “That’s all this is to you?”

“Uh, yeah. Last time I checked.”

You don’t believe yourself. You know you don’t. You don’t believe a fucking word being tossed out of your mouth. You’re being an asshole, deliberately being a dick to him, and you can’t stop. There’s a wall being built at rapid pace, shutting him out. Shutting you in. Bricks made of angry words, each one separating you a little more, hiding you from his view.

And then his mouth closes. Lips form a thin line. Brows lower, blocking any of the light you’re so used to seeing from his eyes. Dark, cloudy, angry. “Got it,” he snaps. “Anything else?”

“Huh?”

“Do you need anything else? Or are you just in here to piss me off?”

You lift from the couch, arms loose, hitting your hips with a slap. “Fuck off, Joel.”

“Oh,” he nods, “right. Fuck off, yeah. Keep goin’, baby. Tire yourself out. ‘s all you’ve been doin’, ain’t it? All this time? All you’ve been using me for?”

Good. It’s good. You want him to argue back. You want him to hate you as much as you hate yourself right now. You want to see the bear’s claws; make all the hurt you’re dragging up through yourself, just to dish at him, worthwhile.

“You know what?”

“What?” he spits.

“I knew you were gonna do something like this, eventually. I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

Joel follows suit, pushing himself off the desk in one motion, and then the pair of you are chest to chest, squaring up to one another atop his five-thousand-dollar rug. “You knew what?”

“Knew there was something about him. Knew you couldn’t stand him. And this is why, right? All ‘cause he wanted to hire me?”

He turns away and laughs, almost recognizable as the same laugh you could draw from him with a silly look on your face – except sharper, colder. “Not even close,” he says, reeling back in. “You didn’t see the way he looked at you? The way he talked to you? About you?”

“Of course I saw it, Joel, I’m not fucking stupid.”

“Then use your good sense ‘n catch up, baby. You’re right: you’re not fuckin’ stupid. You were like fresh meat to him, and what? You reckon I should’ve let him just – sink his teeth deeper? Really?”

It lights something in the back of your mind; a memory flickers to life. Loops like a static radio message through your ears. “Right,” you nod, “right. Because you don’t like other people’s hands on things that belong to you, do you?”

His head jerks back, face warped with confusion and…disgust. “The hell are you talkin’ about?” he demands, voice muscled with anger.

“Martha said it once. You don’t like people playing with your toys, or whatever.”

And that seems to hit him low in the stomach. Seems to knock the wind from him.

“Are you kidding me?” he asks, and you swear his breath cuts in his throat. “That’s what you think?”

No, you think, it’s not. You know him better than that. But admitting that you know him better than to use you as some little plaything – something he had any control over, some accessory to wear on his arm – would mean admitting that the problem lies elsewhere. Lies with you.

And that’s not something you’re prepared to do right now, either.

Maybe before you found that email. Before you found out he’d been keeping you on some invisible leash. Maybe when he had you in his arms, kissing you so soft you thought you might die right then and not even notice.

Maybe when he looked at you, twirling chopsticks clumsily in his fingers, face lighting in a grin when you giggled at him – and three words floated through your head. Dared to dance over the tip of your tongue before you caught them and hissed, What the fuck are you doing here?

But – no. It’s all fucked up now. And you can’t break the tightness in your jaw to admit any different.

“You don’t think there’s a chance I actually care about you? That I – Jesus, that I respect you? Are you this goddamn hellbent on convincing yourself that everyone’s out to hurt you?”

“Joel,” your voice says, and it’s not you controlling it. Some gravely, pained thing. A shriveled part of yourself, cowering from the light. You’re recoiling, physically backing up from him.

“Darlin’, I can’t –” He reaches for your wrist.

You whip it away. “Stop.”

“I am trying to understand you,” he pleads. “I’m tryin’ to figure you out. Why won’t you let me –?”

“I don’t want you to.”

A laugh ejects from his throat and plummets straight to the floor. “Yes, you do,” he says. “You don’t do everything we’ve done unless you’re in it.”

“In it?” you seethe. “In what? What are we in?” You pinch your fingers: air quotations around the words, or possible claws digging four more wounds into the same chest you wept into last night.

Your head shakes rapidly as you speak. “We were just sleeping together. We were just having sex. That’s all. We were just having sex,” you repeat under your breath.

“I wasn’t,” Joel says. Matter-of-fact. Like reading from a contract. He takes a deep breath, and then repeats, “I wasn’t.”

The words splinter painfully from your tongue. “Well, I was.”

And though your eyes are pinned to the buttons of his shirt, though his expression sits just too north for you to see the way his face pulls – you notice his head lift. Know that there are creases digging between his brows at the same rate cracks appear across his heart. You feel the warmth of his gaze slowly cooling. Freezing over.

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding a shaky palm out. The fear begins to sink in, plunging through ice water. He’s beginning to bargain. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should’ve, I should’ve told you ev–”

Your body moves as the words ricochet, refusing to let him finish his plea. “Glad we got that cleared up, Joel,” you say, near-leaping for the door.

But he’s faster. He steps in front of you, blocking your exit path. “Please hear me out. Please listen to me.”

Your body writhes under his gaze, twists like some little creature under a microscope. He waits for your go ahead before he continues. You toss your head, acquiescing.

“I just – I couldn’t stomach it. I couldn’t sleep at night thinkin’, what if you went for it? What if he managed to swindle you into taking him on? I wanted to get you the hell outta that penthouse the second he laid eyes on you.”

“So why take me in the first place?”

Joel scoffs. “I ain’t in control of you, baby! You had to figure him out on your own – and I thought you had. Christ, one minute you want me to step back ‘n let you make up your own mind, next you’re askin’ me why I took you somewhere? The hell am I supposed to do here?”

Read my mind. Don’t let him near me. Don’t let me go.

And at the same time –

Mind your fucking business. Let me make my own decisions. Keep your hands off me.

The truth is: you want him to go back in time. Take you back with him. Never touch you, never look at you any more than to ask for a coffee, or thank you for fixing up his office. Never make your heart skip that first beat, never set your skin on fire with that look in his eyes.

You want him to go back in time, and undo every knot he ever tied in your body. Let go of every string of your heart he has his fist around, every nerve which undoubtedly belongs to him, now.

Undo it all, so you might have a half-decent reason to hate him.

In the deepest, darkest parts of yourself, echoing around the caves you were always too frightened to explore yourself – you want him to tell you why he kept it from you. The real reason. And you want him to grab your wrist and pull you back into the room, back into his arms, when you inevitably flee at the sound of his reasoning.

Because you fucking know why he didn’t tell you. It’s scrawled on his face right now. And even though Jean-Marc is all of those things – sleazy, inappropriate, a scumbag in thousand-euro moccasins – that only makes up for part of the reason.

There’s a bigger piece to the puzzle, and you both know what it is, only neither of you will turn to face it. You’re simply cast in its shadow, playing blind chess under the silhouette of something you both refuse to acknowledge.

“You’re supposed to be my boss, and nothing else.”

He just stares at you. As if he’s waiting for you to say, Kidding! and laugh. As if he’s waiting for what you really mean to shove what you just said out of the way and tell the truth. It hurts all the more.

After a few seconds of awful silence, his breath falls from his lips in the form of a sigh, staggered with a laugh of disbelief. “I don’t…I don’t get it.”

But you’re tired now. You feel drained. You’ve less fight, energy gone to waste before you could make it to the real contest. Kicking his door down and yelling at him over Jean-Marc was the pregame show.

“What don’t you get?” you whisper, slumping back against the arm of the couch.

His answer terrifies you more than anything.

“You.”

You sigh, eyes falling closed in time with the drop of your head. Your breathing labored, your heart pounding. Fear. Adrenaline. Anger. Fear. Fear. Fear.

“You never let me in, did you? All that stuff you told me – your dad, your ex – like you want me to know. Like you’re lookin’ for me to do somethin’ about it. And then when I try, you slam the door closed again.”

“I don’t…I don’t want you to do anything about any of it,” you cry, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

Lie number one.

“Then what do you want? Tell me, pretty girl, ‘cause I’m – I’m at a loss here.”

“I want you to – fuck, Joel, why can’t you just –? I want you to back off.”

Two.

“I can’t,” he whispers, leaning closer. “’s the thing. I care ab– I lo– I…”

He rubs his eyes with his palms. Maybe his head hurts as bad as yours does. Maybe the office is becoming too bright for him to look, too.

“You think you’re broken,” he mumbles, “you think all that stuff makes you – I don’t know, what is it? Unlovable?”

There’s a spotlight creeping over you – bright white and burning. Lighting every inch of you up, every dark shadow uncovered. The monsters and the phantoms and the six, eight, twelve-legged beasts scuttling off in search of refuge.

Jeers and cackles from an audience behind him as he cranes the neck of the lamp and positions it right on you.

“Don’t –”

“…Worth nothin’? I don’t know, angel, but I can’t do anything about it if you won’t let me, and –”

“Joel –”

He’s not listening. He never fucking listens. He’s still going on, but your ears are ringing, and your vision is whitening, and your chest is constricting, and your throat is dry and your lungs are closing and your skin is hurting and your –

“What the fuck did you even expect?” you hiss, before your brain catches the words.

Joel halts. He finally stops talking. The room finally dims again. You can hear cars on the street. Your phone is ringing at your desk.

You repeat your question, quieter. Heavier. “What did you want from me?”

He’s frozen. Looks concerned. Looks…afraid of you. “I never wanted anything from you,” he says.

“No? Sure sounds like you wanted something.”

He doesn’t say a word. It gives you time, you think – time you know you should put into backing up, thinking it through, not saying it. But you don’t do any of those things. You fucking say it anyway, don’t you? You are your father’s daughter. The anger is woven into your skin, ivy around your bones. The fire behind your eyes isn’t love, or passion, or determination.

It’s rage.

“Is this what you did to Avery? This why you didn’t wanna marry her?” And then, steeling yourself, gritting your teeth: “What secrets were you keeping from her, Joel?”

He still doesn’t bite. Avery’s not the sore spot, and you know it. There’s a different weakness to him, now. Newer. She’s stood right in front of him.

“I mean,” you scoff, incredulous, “what did you think – that we were gonna end up married or something? AC/DC first dance? Big wedding in Italy, three kids and a fucking prenup to save your ass ‘n your millions?”

You swear you hear the crash from here. The bear hitting the ground, or the door of the Toyota slamming shut, or Joel’s heart falling apart, maybe. He gathers it up, sweeping it into his hands with what little dignity you’ve left him with, straightens, and –

He’s angry. Looks it, sounds it. Feels it. A way you’ve never seen him before – not directed at you, anyway. Accounting, when they fuck up the budget for the year. Jean-Marc, when he flirts with you too much. Never you. He’s never this mad at you.

Like kids in a playground, coming up with the worst, most poisonous insults to throw at one another – your words swing fast, and he only just manages to swerve them, hitting straight back with a punch made up of his own.

“Naw, you’d probably say yes to my face ‘n then break it off two days later, wouldn’t you?”

It’s low. It stings. Shocks the life back into you, once it’s looped twice around your ears.

Joel knows it. Sees the glint in your eye before you have the chance to clear away the tears. Hears the tiny gasp that escapes your lips. The bear just stepped right on top of the snake.

“Fuck,” he says instantly. As soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, he’s undoing it. “That wasn’t – I didn’t mean…” He’s stepping forward, trying to wrap his hand around your arm. “Baby, I’m so sorry –”

Your wrist slips from his grasp. “Don’t – don’t touch me. Don’t.”

“Hey,” he says, almost cooing, almost trying to fan the burn with light breaths, “look at me. Please look at me. I did not mean that, alright? I was just –”

You shake your head, staring off past him. “It’s fine, Joel. No, I knew exactly what you meant.”

He staggers backwards, running his hands through his hair; almost growling into his palms when he drags them down his cheeks. “Darlin’,” he says, and leans in again. He speaks slow and seriously. “I would give you anything. There is not a thing in this world that I wouldn’t do for you. I would do anything. In the whole damn world. This is – It’s not –”

“Anything?” you ask, your stone-set gaze refusing to meet his.

He mirrors your curious expression, his own brows lifting. He can’t believe you’re even asking him. “Yes. Anything. I care about you more than anyone in the fucking world.”

He probably says more to convince you. Probably promises a load of stuff, apologizes a couple more times. Probably says sentences that would lodge themselves between your vertebrae and paralyze you with fear, if your hearing weren’t muffled and your mind elsewhere.

Your shoulders tighten. Jaw ticks. When you pull your eyes to finally meet his, you nod. “Alright,” you interrupt, pursing your lips, “okay.”

“Okay?”

Another nod. Yeah. You’re about to do this. Father’s daughter aren’t you just your father’s daughter always running out always running off –

“This is over. It’s done. You don’t look at me, you don’t touch me, you don’t talk to me unless it’s somethin’ in your job description or mine. Hell, even then – see if Martha can do it before you ask me. We’re done.”

It wipes him clean. Every thought, every desire, every motivation – gone. Dissolved, by the venom seeping from your fangs. No more bear. He stares back at you, eyes glossy, lips trembling. He flattens them against one another, steadies himself. Angry, upset, fucking – heartbroken.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. His voice breaks. It sends a blade through your chest.

You hesitate. Your eyes are searing. Between your tears and the nauseating tilt of the room, you can barely see him.

The third lie rolls from your tongue like a marble.

“Yeah. It’s what I want.”

And you know it, better than anyone: you’re lying through your fucking teeth. The way you have been this entire conversation. Pasting over wounds and scars, bricks laid over sodden sand foundations. But you’re petrified – stood on your own, fighting your own corner. The only person who ever managed to make you feel safe, calm you down, lower your gloves for you – now stood opposite with his fists up, too.

Joel nods. Anything in the whole damn world.

“Fine,” he says, eventually. “Fine. We’re done.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #sugardaddy!joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fic #pedro pascal #sex on fire

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dargeereads · 2 years

Text

Happily Ever Afters for Hope: A Charity Collection for UNICEF - Delivery Day by Zoe York

5 stars

Delivery Day by Zoe York

Not one, not two, but THREE!!!! Yes, we get a glimpse at three beloved Pine Harbour couples after their HEA <3 Owen and Kerry, Sean and Jenna, and a surprise that will likely make you squeal in delight, as it did for me. Life is moving along in this short, but there is a lot going on, and a lot of love that binds them together. Loved it so, so, so, much!

0 notes

natigail · 2 months

Text

Phil: We need to give you a slit because we did a charity stream for Palestine and it's time to reap what you sow because you said you'd get a slit after we're all doomed, which you've filmed and now you have to slit it up. Any last words?

Dan: Why the fuck are you putting a hat on?

Phil *now with The End doomed merch cap*: It's my slit hat.

Dan: Okay, what does that-

Phil: I'm like a tattoo artist, I need to have the edgy energy. Wait *fixes hair*. There we go.

Dan: Yeah. Okay.

Phil: Are we ready? Can I get a "slit" in the chat?

Dan *whining*: No, what does that mean?

Phil: Slit, slit, slit!

Dan: Phil, do you know how to use this razor? Let's have a serious conversation here.

Phil: I do.

Dan: You are about to apply that *razor turned on, Phil playing around*. Stop looking at what your hair looks like with the fucking hat! You're about to do something to my face!

Phil: Okay. Which side do you want?

Dan: Phil. Right. Okay, let's talk about that. I feel like I've got an earring this side, so the slit should be there (opposite).

Phil: And where do you want it through?

Dan: I want it there. Do you see this, Phil? Like yours, it's like the arch of the thing.

Phil: Yeah!

Dan: It should be like that. You can't do it too far down, so people can't see the slit.

Phil: It's going to be more to the middle.

Dan: Okay. And Phil? Don't hurt me.

Phil: How could I hurt you?

Dan: Because you're about to apply a fucking shaver to my face!

Phil: And how do I use it? Do I just go *buzzing sound*?

Dan: Okay, you do it once and then you hold it there for a second and then you stop. You don't move. You don't slice.

Phil: No slicing.

Dan: You don't shuffle. Okay?

Phil: Can you look at me a little bit? Like side angle?

Dan: Wait, wait, I'm going to come back.

Phil: Yeah. We're ready? No, face me more.

Dan *flinches*: Don't- Phil!

Phil: You can't flinch!

Dan: Moment.

Phil: Yeah.

Dan: Don't think about the chat.

Phil: I'm not.

Dan: Don't think about what you look like in your hat.

Phil: I'm not.

Dan: I want you to concentrate.

Phil: I'm concentrating.

Dan: Seriously concentrate. Take a moment.

Phil: I am!

Dan: You're not doing a bit, you're doing my face.

Phil: I know I'm doing your face.

Dan: Fuck my life.

Phil: Look at me a tiny bit *gently moves closer, Dan barely holding in a laugh*. Shut up!

Dan: Why does it feel like you've completely changed the orientation of the razor?

Phil: I've done it! I've done it. Wait, wait. Does it? Ohh!

Dan: Ooh?

Phil: It looks good! It looks good, Dan!

Dan: Does it?

Phil: Yeah! It's quite wide. It's quite a wide slit *laughing*.

Dan: It's quite- Phil. Phil Lester just gave me a wide slit.

Phil: It's more pronounced than mine.

Dan: Oh my-please stop saying I have a pronounced slit. Fuck.

Phil: It looks good though.

Dan: Does it?

Phil: Yeah, you look like you've got an edge to you.

Dan: And now I look like I have an edge and I didn't before?

Phil: Yeah.

Dan: Okay.

Phil: That's great. What do we think in the chat? Matching slits.

Dan: Fuck my ass, what do I look like? I cannot see on this camera.

*proceeds to check up close in camera and it sure it a wide slit*

#dan and phil quotes #dan howell #phil lester #dan and phil #we're all doomed #eyebrows

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kaiijo · 1 year

Text

HE HAS A RIVAL FOR YOUR HEART — [BLUE LOCK]

characters: itoshi rin, mikage reo, nagi seishiro content: fem! reader, reader is a pro-athlete in rin’s but there’s no physical descriptions, feat. miya atsumu + bokuto koutarou (hq!!), kagami taiga (knb), characters are pro-athletes so i envision them as being in their 20s in this notes: when can this be me?

⋆｡° itoshi rin

Rin glanced around the stadium, taking in the lights and spectators and other athletes with disinterest and a mounting annoyance. He loathed having himself and the rest of the team paraded around like show ponies, but he supposed he could play nice (well, as nicely as he could) given that this was a charity event and that you were here.

You were the starting setter for Japan’s women’s volleyball team, and someone who Rin had taken a recent liking to. He found you to be pleasant to be around, never irritating or pushy and you were kind and talented. He had a certain fondness for you, not that he would ever admit that to anyone.

He spotted you a few yards away in the stadium. The charity event had professional athletes competing in something like a field day, and you were all grouped by the type of sport you played, which meant you stood with both your own team and the men’s national volleyball team.

Rin’s eyes trailed over you, a small smile making its way to his face as he admired how you looked in your uniform. His mood soured when he saw who you were talking to: Miya Atsumu. He had only met Atsumu a handful of times, usually when you invited a couple of friends to hang out, but he knew the two of you were close, if Atsumu’s frequent presence on your social media was anything to go by. Rin’s lips would curl into a sneer whenever he’d see Atsumu’s smirky face appear on his Instagram in a post from your account, envy clawing at his throat when he saw Atsumu’s arm thrown around your shoulders as you two took a post-practice picture together.

His eyes, unfortunately, met Atsumu’s gaze and Rin scowled at the smug smile and wave Atsumu gave him. He tuned out most of what the host of the event was saying, only listening in again when they announced that Japan’s men’s volleyball team would be going up against the national men’s soccer team in the first game.

His eyes met Atsumu’s again, and he glared when he saw you give him a high-five and wished him good luck. Then, you turned away from him and made your way over to Rin. He stood up straighter as you approached and you grinned at him, clapping your hands together. “Good luck, Rin.”

He replied, “I don’t need luck to beat these mediocrities.”

You just smiled and nodded and said, “I’m sure but I wanted to say good luck anyways.”

Rin paused for a moment, watching as his teammates began to get into position for the first event. You said, “I should get to the sidelines.”

You turned to leave and then Rin asked, “Don’t I get a high-five?” You snorted but raised your hand up anyway. Instead of simply hitting his hand against yours, Rin took your hand in his and intertwined his fingers with yours.

You stared at him as he grew a second head. “What’s this, Rin?”

He released your hand and shrugged. “Soaking up your supposed good luck.” He met Atsumu’s gaze for the third time and this time, it was Rin’s turn to smirk.

⋆｡° mikage reo

Reo glanced over the crowd of people in his apartment again, spotting his own teammates as well as other friends and friends of friends. He frowned when he didn’t see you anywhere. Chigiri, who he had been chatting with, patted him on the back and said, “Be patient, I’m sure she’ll show up soon.”

Reo sighed and offered him a tight-lipped smile. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket a few moments later and he reached for it frantically, a message from you on his lockscreen. He swiped across the screen to open it.

You [10:32 PM] sorry i’m running late!! you said u were ok if i brought a friend right?

Reo typed back a quick reply. Of course! The more the merrier hahaha

You [10:34 PM] perf! we’re about a block away

When you said you’d be bringing a friend, Reo had expected it to be one of your girl friends. When he opened his door, however, he didn’t expect to see the semi-familiar, six-foot-three form of pro-basketball player Kagami Taiga standing beside you.

You beamed at Reo, throwing your arms around his shoulder in a hug. “Thanks so much for the invite,” you said. You pulled back to introduce the two of them, and Kagami said, “I think we’ve met before. Mikage, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Reo chuckled but he could hear how strained he sounded. There were a thousand thoughts racing through his head, though the loudest one was Who is Kagami to you? You had called him a friend, but really, what did that mean? Was he just a friend or was he a friend?

He realized he had been just standing there, so Reo moved to the side and said, “Sorry, come in.”

As the night progressed, Reo found himself torn between being happy you wanted to spend time with him and irritation that you also insisted on dragging Kagami along with you. He forgot that you had spent a lot of your childhood in America, where you apparently had known Kagami. When you moved to Japan for high school, when you and Reo met, you lost touch with Kagami and only recently reconnected.

As you regaled him with stories about you and Kagami, not only from when you were kid but also from the past few months after you got in touch again, Reo resisted the urge to frown. The two of you sounded close and he didn’t appreciate the affectionate glances Kagami threw you when he thought no one could see. Was this it? Was he going to lose you?

“So,” Kagami asked, “how did you two meet?”

“Oh!” You smiled so brightly at Reo and he felt his heart skip a beat. “Back in the first year of high school, I saw Reo buy a drink from one of the school vending machines but it didn’t come out, so I offered to stick my hand up and grab it.”

Kagami snickered. “Were you successful?”

“Yup!” You wrapped an arm around Reo’s waist, leaning into him. “That’s how we became friends.” As you launched into stories about yours, Reo’s, and later on, Nagi’s exploits in high school, Reo couldn’t help but feel warmth spread through his chest as you spoke fondly about him. Maybe there was a chance for him, after all.

⋆｡° nagi seishiro

All Nagi had wanted was to have a lazy Saturday with you. They had been given a brief break in training and he immediately asked if you wanted to hang out with him, to which you enthusiastically agreed and asked if he wanted to come over to your apartment to watch movies, play video games, and relax all around. Nagi couldn’t have jumped quicker at the opportunity.

What he didn’t anticipate was one of your other friends, a pro-volleyball player named Bokuto Koutarou, weaseling his way into these plans too. Apparently, his team was also giving their players a week’s reprieve from practice and training. And suddenly, your two person plan became three and Nagi’s hope for a peaceful day was shattered because, as he quickly discovered, Bokuto Koutarou was very loud and very energetic.

Nagi pouted from behind his phone, peeking up at you and Bokuto, who were animatedly discussing something one of your mutual friends did. He didn’t even really care that he wasn’t in the conversation given that he had no idea what was going on; what he did care about was how Bokuto monopolized you and the way your eyes were so bright around him. Was that the kind of guy you liked? Hyperactive and noisy?

Nagi’s frustration only grew when his phone screen flashed a big GAME OVER sign at him. Then, he watched as Bokuto leaned close to you, reaching towards your hair and pulling out what he claimed to be a piece of fuzz or whatever, and Nagi felt his tenuous patience snap. Time to get serious, it seemed.

Nagi stood up from the chair he was sitting in, plopping on your other side on the couch and draping his large body of yours. Both you and Bokuto startled a little and Nagi felt a sick sense of pleasure when he saw Bokuto’s eyes narrow at him. Nagi’s voice came out in a low purr, feigning drowsiness as he asked, “Can we watch that Netflix movie we planned on today?” His eyes flickered up to Bokuto’s face, his silent message clear: Let’s watch the movie we planned on before we were rudely interrupted.

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #rin itoshi x reader #mikage reo x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #rin x reader #reo x reader #nagi x reader

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buckets-and-trees · 6 months

Note

Sweet, sweet Aspen. You have been a very bad girl. This soft!dark guy, your boss, caught you doing something wrong—something that could easily get you fired—but he decided maybe, jussst maybe, he should keep your indiscretion, and your resulting punishment, between the two of you. After all, he’s been dreaming about filling you with his cock for ages 😏

(I picked this GIF because it looks like he’s saying, “On your knees.” lolll)

well, dearly beloved sister ho, you know we were thirsting over a particularly ... inspiring gif.

I don't think you anticipated your ask to spawn THIS, but... here we are! THANKS FOR POPPING MY ANDY CHERRY!

Fandom: Chris Evans Characters Title: I'm Your Man Characters/Pairings: soft dark!Mafia!Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 3k

Summary: You've spent weeks working to pull off the perfect night for Andy Barber's big charity event. A rush job, but you worked meticulously and diligently over six weeks to coordinate the biggest event of your career to date. You weren't the only one with a plan for the night.

Content Warnings: extortion, explicit smut, DUBIOUS CONSENT, spitting, oral - male receiving, spanking, vaginal intercourse, breeding kink, unprotected sex

Logistical Notes: A NAUGHTY submission @the-slumberparty's Naughty or Nice challenge. Prompts incorporated are in bold.

Additional Notes: I didn't want to write a summary. There's only enough plot here to smut you up. Dividers by @rookthornesartistry and @firefly-graphics.

You sit up straight when you hear the door to Andy’s home office open behind you.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” he says as he strides across the room and takes a seat in the leather executive desk chair.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Barber,” you reply. Every part of your body is tired – tired in a good way from the long day of work – so you were eager to get home, soak in your tiny tub, and crawl into bed for the rest of the weekend, but it hadn’t been an incredible inconvenience when he’d asked if he could speak with you before you left.

“Tonight was exquisite, you did well,” he doles out the praise, and you try to quell the blooming in your chest. In the six weeks working with Andy Barber to plan the charity event you’d just executed for his foundation you had seen that he wasn’t one to casually compliment, hard to impress. You had taken more and more satisfaction out of each meeting, email, or text exchange as you consulted and then presented him with options for the event when he had fewer and fewer notes, knowing you had cracked his taste and gained his approval. He’d been your toughest client to date, but by far one of the most rewarding as he had excellent taste.

“Nearly perfect,” he adds.

Your smile falters ever so slightly, and suddenly your chest floods with a chill. “Nearly perfect? I’m sorry, sir, what didn’t live up to your expectations?”

This was far from your first event, you had built an incredible portfolio over the years, and you knew you were finally ascending to be one of the best event coordinators on the eastern seaboard – you had received an email request from a goddamn Vanderbilt to plan a wedding for them in a year and a half that you were going to respond to and accept in the morning. You weren’t arrogant, but you’d worked damn hard and knew you were good.

“You.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “I – what?”

“Only one misstep tonight.”

Your brain flies back through the evening, reviewing every moment, raking through trying to determine what you could have possibly missed.

“I’m very particular about what belongs to me, and I cannot abide theft.”

Your jaw drops.

“Empty your bag.”

Now your whole body is buzzing with incredulity. You shake your head.

“I know what’s in there.”

You almost didn’t take this job when it landed in your lap. He was the reason you knew you should have said no. There were whispers about his reputation, his real businesses. But you took the initial consultation because the pitch was more money than you’d made over the last three years. Then when you’d met him, he’d been so normal, so nice, maybe a little charming, and up until this moment you had convinced yourself there was no way any of those rumors had been right.

But before you even put your hand in your bag, you knew you were wrong to have thought he wasn't all those awful things.

Not one, not two, but three Rolex watches nestled in the bottom of the main pocket. Watches you'd never seen - wouldn't even have known where to find them.

You scoop them out and drop them on his desk, eyes burning with tears. “Why?”

“Yes, why? I was already giving you a fat paycheck. What a shame when I had just given your name to the Vanderbilts’ social secretary for their son’s wedding a few days ago, I’ll have to reach out and let them know.”

“No,” you breathe.

“I’ll have to discreetly let everyone in my network know it’s better not to invite someone in their home with such light fingers.”

Your breath hitches and your hand flies to your mouth to stifle an almost sob, trying to hold back the onset of tears. “Andy, no, please.”

His smile softens. “There we are,” he coos, “you finally called me Andy like I’ve told you to so many times.”

He leans forward resting his arms on his desk.

“Now, if you go upstairs, be a good girl, put on what I left for you in my room, and wait for me, maybe I can make all of this little misunderstanding go away.”

His steel blue eyes are hard, they demand an answer.

You cock your chin up wishing you could say no, wishing you could even scowl at him, but aside from the heat and hurt in your eyes, you know you can’t do anything more without risking further ruin, so ultimately you let your chin drop and nod, resigned to the impossible power this man wields.

“Now we’re back on track for a perfect night, sweetheart. I’ll be up soon.”

You don’t know how long he makes you wait, using the promise of soon as another show of his power, but long enough that your knees hurt from sitting back on your heels in a submissive, kneeling position with your head lowered, hands folded in your lap, and back to the door as the card in the white box left for you had instructed.

Also in the box had been a set of exquisite black lace and silk balconette bra and cheeky underwear. That they fit you like a glove had been both humiliating and alluring.

Even though Andy was the reason you almost said no to the job, even though he was the humiliating reason you were in this position – extorted into a nearly naked state, no question of what was to come – he was also the reason you took the job.

Dread pooled in your stomach, but along with the dread and humiliation, there were rivulets of shameful desire.

You had taken the job for the money and for how quietly charming he had been. He had never outright flirted with you, but he always left you with the question of whether he was. You worked hard for him because it felt good to win his approval. He praised you and you had preened under his intense blue eyes every time. You had forced yourself to keep everything professional.

All for nothing since you were in the farthest position of professional now.

When you finally hear him enter the room, your sit up straight again.

He tsks and says, “Head down, sweetheart.”

Andy comes around to stand in front of you. You see his perfectly polished shoes, the perfectly tailored trousers. His hand moves to your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him. He runs his thumb over your lips, circling them.

“Open your mouth,” he says.

You do.

He leans closer, then spits in your mouth, and you blink in surprise, a surge of humiliation running through you, but his grip on your jaw is powerful, so you don’t move away.

“Close your mouth but don’t swallow.”

He moves back from you then, and he begins to silently undress. He had already taken off his jacket, but he doesn’t hurry as he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt, the buttons down his chest, and then shrugs it off his shoulders. He places it nicely on a plush armchair on the side of the room. Next he sits on the edge of the bed and removes his shoes and socks.

The way he doesn’t watch you but does all of this in your line of vision, knowing you have to watch, is another move meant to communicate who is in control of this situation. Still holding his saliva on your tongue is starting to become uncomfortable. Your instinct is to swallow, but you don’t know what disobedience may mean with Andy, so you fight the urge, not wanting to tempt any more of his darkness.

He stands and takes the shoes and socks to a large closet off to the side of the room, and when he returns, he stands directly in front of you again, takes your jaw in his hands again.

“Show me,” he says.

Your eyes watch his face you open your mouth, showing him the pool of saliva.

“Good fucking girl,” he murmurs. You hate the small bloom in your chest those words immediately invoke again. He spits into your mouth for a second time, then with a caress that is too tender he urges you to close your mouth. “Swallow.”

You do.

Andy unbuckles his belt, unbuttons the top of his fly, then unzips and pushes down the waist of his trousers with his briefs, and reveals his hard cock for you.

He’s big.

You had gotten yourself off to the thought of him a few of times late at night alone in your bed, most recently a few days ago, and you hated that you had since you were now here like this, forced on your knees in front of him.

Your core is pulsing with heat at the sight of him though – bigger than you had fantasized, and bigger than any man you’ve been with previously. You know he’ll fill you in a way that will ruin you for other men. You want and dread it.

“Take me in your mouth, sweetheart,” he commands.

Instead of forcing his cock into your mouth, this is more possessive, having you submit yourself to pleasing him of your own accord. You know every way he’s manipulating you.

“If I have to tell you one more time,” he trails off, leaving the end open for your imagination.

You plant one hand softly on his hip and wrap your other hand around his shaft, leaning forward to take him in your mouth. As you push forward, he groans. He won’t hold back when he’s pleased with you – he never has, he knows it affects you. His hands go to either side of your head. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You do as he says, sucking him, bobbing up and down his length, and for a while he lets you control the speed and the depth, but his hands let you know he can and will control this when he wants to. After the first couple of minutes, he makes this clear when you push back to take a breath and wipe the mix of your spit and his pre-cum dripping out of your mouth and his hands firmly prevent you from moving off him. Instead, he pushes you down slowly – more slowly than you had been pumping – and doesn’t stop until your nose hits his lower abdomen. You try to push against his hips, and he pushes his hips forward with you still anchored on his dick. Your eyes well up.

“So pretty,” he says, “imagined you like this, but you’re more gorgeous than I thought you would be.”

Something in your chest melts. You wish he wouldn’t say things like that. It makes you weaker – weaker for him. He pulls back just an inch or two, then pushes his length into your throat again.

“That’s it, sweetheart, my perfect fucking girl.”

You whimper, and the tears spill over.

His right hand moves away from your face and around behind him. He’s quick, and when you can see his hand again, it’s to discover he’s taken his phone out of his back pocket. He takes photos of you, angling the phone a few different ways. Then he tosses the phone onto the chair where he’d laid his shirt.

Then he resumes his small, concentrated rutting, only easing out just enough to make the thrust back in worth it for him. As he does, he groans, swears, wipes tears from your cheeks, and the moment before it’s too much, he finally pulls you off him.

You fall forward, gasping for deep lungfuls of air, but he’s already putting a hand under your arm and hauling you up.

“Get on the bed,” he instructs, man handling you with surprising ease, doing most of the work your weak and aching legs can’t do to hoist you up onto his Alaskan king bed.

He’s immediately up as well and behind you, the last of his clothing stripped off. His fingers quickly undo the clasp of your bra and pull it off your shoulders and toss it away. He pushes you forward, toppling you down to the mattress. He slaps your ass, and you gasp and jerk. He brings his hand down on your round flesh again, with another sting, but the second one has you moan, and he lets out a satisfied, “Yes,” before giving you a third slap, the hardest, and you moan again, but this one more guttural, and you’d be mortified if you weren’t shocked over the way it translated to pleasure so quickly to your brain.

Then he yanks the lacy underwear roughly down and off your legs, tossing it away as well. He pushes between your legs behind you, splitting your legs open, and his fingers seek your cunt.

He hums in approval, “So wet for me. Ready for me.”

You huff and pant.

He leans over your back, pressing you down into the mattress. “Are you eager for me?”

“Andy,” you whine.

“Say it and I’ll fuck you good, sweetheart.”

You don’t want to. You bury your face in the covers.

He slaps your ass again, and you yelp.

“Admit you want me to fuck you.”

Another slap.

Another.

“Yes,” you finally concede.

“To breed you.”

You gasp, but he’s already hauling you further up the bed, and he drapes himself over your back, arms caging you in on either side of your body. His legs push yours apart as he leans down to press kisses over your shoulder blades, at the base of your neck, along your spine. He uses one hand to guide the thick head of his cock to your leaking entrance. He doesn’t care to stretch you. “Take me in your cunt, sweetheart, it’s mine.”

The only mercy is that he slots himself in slowly.

You press your hands up against the headboard and concentrate on taking deep breaths, on trying to relax your walls completely, because he’s entering you, in you, filling you, unrelenting invasion and it’s pleasure and pain and too much and not enough because every moment of more fullness is exquisite and you can’t even think about holding back the sound he’s pushing out from your diaphragm, up your throat, and out of your mouth, because that’s how it feels as he's filling you.

Once’s he’s fully inside of you, he presses his mouth right next to your ear. “I’m going to fill this pussy with my seed.” He anchors one hand on your hips, then begins pull out, only so he can start thrusting back in. “I want everyone to know who you belong to.”

You’ve never had an orgasm only from vaginal penetration, but the way he fills you as he fucks you, and at this angle, making you almost forget to keep breathing, you wonder if this is how you’ll go, strung out as his cock punishes you with the pleasure, but then his hand works around beneath you and his fingers quickly find your swollen and aching clit. You cry out, and one of your hands reaches back to cling to him, fingers clutching into his hair. He nips at your neck, chuckling darkly.

“My pretty girl, my good girl, taking my cock so well, you close?”

An immediate, “Uh huh,” is all you can manage.

“Then let go,” he commands, pinching your clit harshly.

You see stars, and you cry out for him.

Hearing you scream his name and feeling you clench around him is all he needs, and he pumps his cum into you, saying more dirty, filthy, possessive things, but you don’t know what the words are, because you’re completely lost to coherency.

He sinks his full weight on top of you when he’s completely spent.

Both of you are silent while you come down, heartrates returning to normal.

You wait for him to say whatever he’s going to torment you with next, but he doesn’t speak.

After more long moments, he finally pushes up enough to turn you from your front to your back. He cups your jaw again and strokes his thumb over your cheek. Your breath hitches at the intimate gesture in the aftermath.

“Aw, why are you crying now, sweetheart?”

No, you didn’t want more tears, and not these - the soft tears. You try to look away, but he forces your face back to look at him.

“I would have slept with you if you’d asked, Andy, why did you have to do it like this?”

“Because this is so much more than that, sweetheart. I didn’t want to just sleep with you, and I needed you to know from here on out that you’re mine. I own you. I’m very particular about what belongs to me. I didn’t want you to have any illusion that there’s a choice here.”

He brushes the tears off your cheek.

“I’ll have my men move your things here in the morning, and we’ll elope in a few weeks. I’m closing the deal on a resort in Lake Como, doesn’t that sound perfect? We’ll tie the knot and then spend our honeymoon there – we can stay all summer if you want.”

You hesitate.

“No one else is gonna take care of you like I do. Now I asked you, ‘doesn’t that sound perfect?’”

“Yes, Andy,” you whisper.

“Of course, it does.” He finally kisses you – and it’s dangerously soft. Warm lips engulfing yours, insistent, sucking your bottom lip between his. You whimper, and he licks his tongue into your mouth, lapping you up. He rolls over with you, putting him back on the mattress with you on his chest. He holds you pressed to him with one hand, the other hand securing your head so you can’t escape his kiss until he’s done kissing you.

It isn’t until you think you might pass out from how breathless you are that he finally breaks off the kiss. He shifts his pelvis up against you, his cock hardening again. “And I was serious about you carrying my child. But first you’ll ride my face until I’ve made you cry for a good reason, and then I’ll fill you up with more of my seed. You’re not leaving this bed the rest of the weekend.”

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

ARE YOU OKAY? AM I? DO WE EVEN CARE IF WE'RE OKAY?

read: -> THE MORNING AFTER

#andy barber x female reader #andy barber smut #soft dark andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #tw: dubcon #aspen wrote something #navy and roo's sleepover #i'm your man collection

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jessejaredstories · 8 months

Text

Walk on the Wild Side

Sergio was a walking gay man’s fantasy. He was tall and muscular as fuck. Beefy could barely even begin to describe him as everything from his biceps, chest, thighs, back, and even ass were massive! He made his living off of flexing his hot body as well as fucking other beefy dudes on camera. Sergio was truly living the life many could only dream of having.

But although Sergio was living the good life, he couldn't deny that something was missing. More specifically, something about his sex life. Sergio loved his very active sex life and was more often than not satisfied after every hookup he had. Yet at the same time, Sergio found himself wanting more. He wanted something new, and he knew exactly who to contact. Kris the Kink Witch.

Sergio reached out to Kris through Twitter DMs. Kris, like Sergio, also made his living off of recording and selling the videos of his gay escapades. He was known to be one incredibly kinky motherfucker online, and he took great pride in it too- as evidenced by his self proclaimed title the Kink Witch. But unlike Sergio, Kris took a much more professional approach to his line of work. For Kris, it wasn't about pleasure, it was about money. He meant business, and he never shied away from demonstrating that fact.

Fortunately, Sergio was also pretty well-known in the online gay community. Kris recognized Sergio and responded back to him within a couple of minutes. Their conversation went as follows...

S: Hey, you're the Kink Witch right? I've got a request in mind.

K: Yo. Yeah that's me. You want to film a collab together?

S: Not at all. I was actually thinking you and I can link up and have some fun. No cameras.

K: Sorry, I don't do charity work.

S: Trust me, I don't either. I just need to have some real fun and I know someone like you can help me out with that goal. I'll pay you a good amount too if you're interested.

K: Go on, I'm listening...

Sergio and Kris went on to negotiate the deal. In exchange for a kinky night of fun, Sergio would pay Kris $2500 in cold, hard cash. However, in order to earn that money, Kris needed to get Sergio to cum and to feel real pleasure while doing it too. But before they could seal the deal, Sergio gave Kris a heads-up by saying that he had already done almost everything anyone can think of. If it wasn't something new and exciting like he wanted, then Sergio had no problem calling the deal off. Yet despite his stark warning, Kris accepted the deal without any hesitation. It slightly unnerved Sergio how confident Kris was. He was pretty sure they both had more or less the same amount of experience when it came to sex. Could Kris really know something Sergio didn't?

Regardless of the initial unease Sergio felt, it was too late to back down now. Kris was already on his way to his apartment. Sergio passed the time by doing the usual prep work of cleaning himself out, just as Kris told him to. Yet despite his best efforts to distract himself, Sergio couldn't help but wonder what Kris had in store for him.

Does this twink really think he's gonna satisfy me just by fucking me? Ha! I've already taken on plenty of men, there's nothing new he can do there!

Sergio chuckled at his own thoughts. His curiosity was making his mind run wild. Luckily it didn't take much longer for Kris to arrive. He showed up at the entrance of the building and Sergio buzzed him in. Sergio then welcomed the young man into his home, and although he was excited to hook up, he couldn't help but wonder if he was in over his head by hiring some 20 something year old dude with messy hair and a dirty hoodie.

"Alright, you ready?" Kris said as he began to strip down to nothing but his underwear.

"Yeah, do you wanna go-"

"Wrong answer," Kris interrupted Sergio. "I'll excuse the first mistake but you'll only address me as Sir, Daddy, or Papi from here on out. Got it?"

Sergio was thrown off by how to-the-point Kris was but decided to just ignore it.

"Yes, Sir."

"Good boy, now whip out your cock. Get hard too,"

Sergio did as he was told. Kris did the same. Sergio was impressed with Kris' member. It was long and hairy with some decent girth too. Although his was definitely longer, Sergio's cock was the thicker one. They were both hung, Sergio like a bull and Kris like a horse. Once they were both erect, Kris reached down to his pants. He pulled out two rings out of the back pocket, one gold and one silver. He put the gold ring on, then handed the silver cock ring to Sergio.

"Put this on, then on the count of 3, twist it to the right."

Sergio held the cock ring in his hand. The silver hue of the ring almost seemed to glimmer under the light. He hesitated putting it on. It definitely wasn't the first time he wore a cock ring, but Sergio got an inexplicable feeling telling him that he shouldn't put it on. Kris noticed his hesitation right away.

"C'mon, don't be shy, put it on!" Kris said firmly. Sergio looked up and met his gaze but didn't say anything. A moment of silence passed, then Kris sighed.

"Look man, you paid me to do a job and I plan to deliver. You trust me, right?"

Kris seemed slightly more empathetic now. It was just enough to make Sergio trust him. Sergio nodded, then proceeded to put on the ring. He placed it on the tip of his dick and slid it down to the base of his rock hard member.

"Alright, ready? 1... 2... 3!!!"

Sergio and Kris then twisted their cock rings to the right at the same time. The moment they did, a wave of orgasmic sensations hit their bodies, causing them to throw their heads back with pleasure.

"UURRGGGHHHHH!!!" They both moaned obscenely loudly.

Sergio's vision blurred as he felt the wave of pleasure overtake him. His body trembled as the ring grew tighter around his cock, making it engorged. Then suddenly, Sergio became extremely lightheaded. He could feel his very soul leaving his body. As his soul stepped out of its vessel, Sergio lost all physical feeling as he became nothing but a mass of light. He looked ahead and saw the same had happened to Kris. Both of their souls had just stepped out of their bodies!

Sergio was mind blown by what he was seeing. But before he could even react, his soul began moving on its own. His soul was floating towards Kris' body. At the same time, Kris was floating towards his body. During the brief moment they passed each other, Sergio could've sworn he saw Kris smirking. His soul continued its march towards Kris' body, and as soon as it made contact, it began sinking into the soulless body. Sergio's soul aligned with its new vessel within seconds. Every single cell of Kris' was invaded by Sergio's soul, and he could feel ecstasy wash over him as his soon-to-be new body surrended itself to his control. Once it was done, Sergio immediately felt the difference as he longer possessed his jacked, beefy body but instead a hairy twink like Kris.

"Arghh fuckk.. what the fuck..." Sergio said with his new voice. All of the extraordinary sensations he just experienced made him fall to the ground. While he was busy trying to recover, he could see his body moving out of the corner of his eyes.

"Bro look at these fucking pecs! These are some massive slabs of meat on your chest!!"

Sergio watched as Kris bounced and groped his pecs with shameless joy. Slowly but surely, while Kris was enjoying himself, Sergio came back to his senses. He sat up, then kneeled down onto his knees. Well, Sergio was mostly back to his senses anyway. The sight of seeing a burly man play his own chest was filling him with lust. The only thing on Sergio's mind was how to best worship and please his master.

Kris noticed Sergio was basically drooling and smirked.

"What's the matter, you want something?" Kris stripped down naked, then bounced his pecs again. Sergio nodded his head vigorously. "Then ask for it, tell Daddy what you want."

"I want milk Daddy..." Sergio said with bated breath and dilated pupils. "Please, Sir, let me worship your beautiful pecs!"

"Good boy," Kris put his thumb on Sergio's chin and flicked it down, leaving his mouth hanging open with his tongue out. "Now show your Daddy what you can do with that mouth."

As soon as he heard he got permission, Sergio couldn't contain himself anymore and pounced onto Kris. He immediately planted his mouth on one of Kris' nipples and began suckling away while Kris enjoyed getting serviced. He was smirking all the while. His plan had gone off perfectly; the cock rings switched their bodies! That was the kink Kris had planned for Sergio, and he knew it would be the fun night he could've never predicted. After all, nobody knew how literal his title of Kink Witch was. But while Sergio was aware that they switched bodies, there was one little detail Kris kept to himself. Both rings would allow a body swap, but only the gold one would let the user retain their original personality. Because Sergio used the silver cock ring, his soul was forced to absorb Kris' hidden total sub personality when it took over his body. It might still be Sergio in mind and spirit, but it was now Kris in personality. With Kris possessing Sergio's muscular body with his mind still intact, the conditions were now set for him to complete the request Sergio made.

"FUCK yeah, just like that!" Kris moaned. He could feel as Sergio alternated between licking, sucking, and flicking his nipple with his tongue. His warm mouth felt amazing against his sensitive nipples. Kris pressed Sergio's face down into his chest. Sergio let out a muffled groan of pleasure as he motorboated Kris. They were both having the time of their lives, filling the room with their sensual moans.

Kris let Sergio worship his chest for a while longer before moving onto the next phases. Within the span of the next half hour, they made out passionately and intensely. Kris stuck his tongue inside Sergio's mouth as they grinded their bodies together, sharing their body heat together. Kris then began moving his mouth down Sergio's body, covering his neck and torso with hickies as he bit and sucked on his body. All while Kris had his middle finger firmly set inside Sergio's ass, massaging his hole and making him squirm while he claimed him as his sub.

Then, before the final act, Kris tore Sergio off his body. He had a hand wrapped around his throat, lightly choking the panting young man. Sergio's eyes were lit with an intense lust, begging and desperate for more. Kris smiled internally. He had him right where he wanted him.

"Fuck, Boy!! You really know how to please your Master, I wanna give you a reward... Are you ready? Are you ready for Daddy's present for his favorite sub?"

Sergio whispered "yes Sir, please Sir." Kris then pulled out a couple more things he brought and gave them to Sergio, who put them on enthusiastically.

Sergio laid there with his ass perked up. Kris came up from behind and laid his big, strong hands on Sergio's perky cheeks. He massaged him first, letting Sergio's bubble butt jiggle in his hands for a bit. He then spread his cheeks apart and leaned down to stick his tongue deep inside his ass.

"Nghh..." Sergio groaned. He could feel Kris' tongue swirl and flick around inside of him and it. Felt. AMAZING.

Kris ate Sergio out for a while, making sure his ass was nice, wet, and ready for his girthy cock. Once he had enough of using his tongue, Kris got back up and positioned himself just above Sergio. He let his dick rest in between his cheeks and moved it up and down, making Sergio squirm in anticipation. Then, with a wide grin on his face, Kris stuck his dick inside of Sergio. He let out a silent "fuck..." as he watched his cock head penetrate his bound up sub. He thrusted slowly, letting inch by inch of his fat member disappear into Sergio's hole. Kris was proud of his tight and warm hole, and now he finally got a chance to fuck himself in a very literal way. He waited a bit to let Sergio's wall expand to accommodate his dick, then began pounding away at him.

Loud obscene moans, guttural groans, and boorish grunts filled the room as the two men fucked. Kris found the perfect rhythm to move his hips, fucking Sergio like he was a jackhammer. Sergio closed his eyes as he took the dicking down like a champ. Somewhere in the back of his head was the vague memory that he and Kris had switched bodies. The thought of getting fucked by his own body made his pleasure increase tenfold. It was his own cock stretching out his hole and rearranging his insides. It was a strange thought, but Sergio didn't care. All he could think about was how he was Daddy's personal fleshlight and how much he was loving servicing a big, strong man like Daddy.

They fucked for a while longer until Kris couldn't hold his load in any longer. He pulled out, flipped Sergio over, tore off the jockstrap, then stuck his cock back on.

"C'MON! CUM FOR ME! COVER ME WITH YOUR- FUCKKKKK!!!!"

Kris finished mid sentence. He rammed his throbbing dick deep inside Sergio and let out all of his loads inside of him. Hearing Kris' satisfied groaning as he cummed along with the sensation of getting filled with his seed made Sergio shootout ropes of warm jizz all over. Within seconds, they had both become incredibly sweaty, potently musky, and drenched in Sergio's spunk. Sergio got his walk on the wild side and Kris completed his job.

Once they cooled down and cleaned up, Sergio collapsed onto his bed. Aside from the mind blowing sex, he was also exhausted by swapping bodies. He was a first time swapper after all, it was only natural.

But just before he could drift away into a deep sleep, he noticed Kris was still moving around with his body.

"Hey... what are you doing?"

"Daddy's gonna go have a night out with his bros. Don't worry about it, just go to sleep."

Kris hopped into bed with Sergio. He kissed him on the forehead, snuggled with him, and watched as he fell asleep in his embrace. Sergio was way too tired to question it, and Kris was glad. Kris then hopped out of bed and let Sergio rest inside his body while he went out to complete his next assignment: find a hairy, muscle bear with a big ass. Now it was his turn to bottom, and although Sergio woke up the next morning not knowing where Master was with his body, he had no problem patiently and eagerly waiting until Daddy returned home.

#male body swap

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d-criss-news · 3 months

Text

Meet Darren Criss with 2 House Seats to Little Shop of Horrors in NYC

You and a guest can Darren Criss Off-Broadway in Little Shop of Horrors and meet him after the show in NYC!

Dates Experience will occur within the following date range(s): Feb 21, 2024 to Mar 16, 2024

Since bursting onto the pop-culture landscape over a decade ago, Darren Criss has embodied the kind of kaleidoscopic artistry that’s entirely uninhibited by form or genre. The multi-hyphenates illustrious career spans television, film, music and stage.

He’s currently starring opposite Evan Rachel Wood in the Off-Broadway production of Little Shop of Horrors. In 2021, Criss shared the Broadway stage opposite Sam Rockwell and Laurence Fishburne in American Buffalo, which received a Tony Award-nomination for Best Revival of a Play. He also co-hosted The Tony Awards: Act One with Julianne Hough. The duo kicked off their hosting duties with a rousing performance of singing and dancing to an original tune written by Criss, titled “Set The Stage.”

In 2015, he returned to the stage as Hedwig in Hedwig and the Angry Inch. In the titular role, critics alike raved, including The New York Times calling his performance “mesmerizing.” He made his Broadway debut in 2012 as J. Pierrepont Finch in How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying.

About the show: Based on the 1960 film by Roger Corman and featuring a book by Howard Ashman, music by Alan Menken and lyrics by Ashman, Little Shop follows meek plant store attendant Seymour, his co-worker crush Audrey, her sadistic dentist of a boyfriend and the man-eating plant that threatens them and the world as we know it.

Chriss’ portrayal of Andrew Cunanan in Ryan Murphy’s award-winning television series American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace was met with widespread critical acclaim, earning Criss a Primetime Emmy Award, Golden Globe Award, Screen Actors’ Guild Award and Critics’ Choice Award. Known for playing Blaine Anderson on FOX’s global phenomenon Glee, he was nominated for two Screen Actors Guild Awards for Outstanding Performance by an Ensemble in a Comedy Series. He also received an Emmy Award nomination in 2015 for Best Original Music and Lyrics for the song “This Time,” which appeared in the series finale.

#darren criss #aclu of southern california #feb 2024 #little shop of horrors #little shop of horrors bway #charity buzz

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landogalore · 19 days

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DEJA VU

carlos sainz x singer! reader

MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY, SMUT: unprotected sex (PLS WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT GUYS), oral sex (female), creampie.

word count: 2.7k

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The routine began the same as every night had previously started, following the identical steps to prepare herself before stepping onto the stage.

The brunette hair swirled down, reaching just below her shoulders in perfectly shaped curls. she allowed her eyes to glance at herself in the mirror, the bright spotlights shooting towards her face, enhancing her facial features so beautifully it would put any person into a trance. the silver eyeshadow has been carefully placed in the corner of her eyelids, the glistening effect causing her sapphire eyes to become bolder, brighter. As she admired herself one last time, she was able to reminisce the events that led up to this, how her talent was able to become known, and the people who cherished her along the journey.

She originally attempted to boost her career by busking, sitting on a stool in the Spanish humidity, singing the songs that she hoped would attract the most attention from the public, eventually persuading them to drop a mere euro into the bucket below. To most people, this would appear to be a normal method to try and get funding which could help increase her popularity, but to the determined singer and her family, she looked like a pathetic charity case.

‘You can’t continue with this, hija.’ her mother would constantly remind her, her dream was just a fantasy she created, unable to ever truly become the reality she longed for.

‘It can go on no longer. we’ll help you get a stable job.’ her father agreed, once again the truth that she was failing hitting like a bullet, leaving a wound that would slowly shatter her confidence.

‘Just one last day, please papá.’ she begged, she needed one last try, a song to say goodbye to the dream that she imagined when she was a child, the commitment she gave needed to be for something, it had to be.

————————————————————————

Similarly to every other session, she placed the empty bucket beside her while she set up the equipment. The streets in Madrid were always busy, bustling with a mixture of both locals and tourists. And like all the other days, she began to sing, a tiny beacon of hope still fighting in her heart, that she will be noticed.

Two hours went by, and the usual process happened, euros gifted to her by a range of people, even a young toddler waddled over to drop a few pennies into the bucket below. This was finally the end, she thought to herself. She sighed, admitting she needed a break before continuing once again, placing the equipment back into her backpack before slouching onto a nearby park bench.

‘You’re the singer, no?’ A voice asked from beside her, turning to face the stranger who somehow recognised her. His dark hair slightly blowing across his face from the gentle breeze, covering small areas of his features. Although, they struggled to hide the large chocolate coloured eyes smiling towards her, leaving the girl almost mesmerised.

‘Yeah! Well, I busk nearby.’ She confirmed, her grin growing at the realisation she had eventually been recognised for her abilities, the man’s lips beaming wider at the answer.

‘Are you available friday?’ he queried, the girl’s eyes widening in shock at the question. was he about to ask her to sing at a venue?

‘Uh..’ she panicked, her whole body buzzing with excitement, ‘definitely! i’m not busy at all on friday!’

‘Great! I’ve got a few friends coming to this event later this week and our singer decided to get food poisoning and cancel. I’ll give you my number and send you the rest of the details.’ He further explained, reaching out of his pocket to grab a notebook, ripping a small tear out of a page. ‘You got a pen?’

‘Yeah!’ she rummaged through her backpack and handed him the pen, her voice unable to contain the positive emotions overwhelming her, seeming a bit too enthusiastic to give him some basic stationery.

‘Here.’ he passed her the tiny sheet which she also placed inside her bag. ‘I’m Carlos.’ he introduced himself, reaching out his hand, the new view of his arms highlighting the prominent veins, despite mainly being covered in body hair.

‘Maddison.’ She grabbed his hand back, shaking it as she stared directly at the man, a mixture of both delight that she can now sing somewhere that isn’t 20+ degrees in the outdoor heat, but also that she had met Carlos…

————————————————————————

Is this Carlos?

Yes! Please be at this address at 7pm. I’ll see you soon 😊

————————————————————————

When she arrived, the immediate elegance of the building shocked her. It seemed like she had been transported to the victorian era, contrasting the usual settings she had been accustomed to previously.

She inhaled a large gasp of the oxygen outside, trying to control her breathing rate and calm down the nervous butterflies that fluttered around her stomach.

She hesitantly stepped inside of the venue, but became immediately mesmerised by the luxurious decorations that covered the room. It was truly something she had never seen before.

“You’re here.” The familiar accent greeted her once again, her eyes shifting to see Carlos, dressed in a dark suit that appeared more expensive than what the girl had in her whole bank account, feeling almost humiliated by the dress she had slipped on in an attempt to blend in with the crowd. “You look-” He began.

“I know… I’m sorry it’s one of the only dresses-” she apologised, already believing she had ruined a part of the night.

“You look stunning, Maddison.” He interrupted, finally finishing his sentence, admiring the girl standing before him, the unexpected compliment causing her cheeks to flush into a vibrant red shade. “I’ll take you to the stage.” Carlos added, indicating for the singer to follow him, which she easily complied.

“Is there anything specific you want me to sing?” She questioned, unsure on what the routine was for the night.

‘Just sing the songs you like, not always just the popular ones, but the songs you’re confident with.’

‘Got it.’ She smiled; she was now able to play the music that matched her tone perfectly rather than adapting. The contagious expression she wore reflected onto Carlos’ face, before he stepped closer to the girl, leaning in towards her ear.

‘I’m sure that anything you sing will be amazing, cariño.’ He murmured softly, backing away and leaving to allow her to set up the equipment desired for the upcoming performance.

The celebrations continued throughout the night, all the guests pleasantly entertained, she didn’t know much about the reasoning behind the event, but narrowed it down to being a birthday party.

After further confirming that the microphone was functioning correctly, she adjusted the stand to her height, placing the device into the slot as she started to introduce her act to the audience.

‘Hi everyone!’ She spoke, all eyes in the room now focused on the girl standing on the stage. “I’m Maddison and I’ve been asked to perform some songs for you all. This one I will sing is currently one of my favourites!’ She finished, shifting from talking to singing as the speaker began to play a melody.

The music differed to the usual tunes she sung while busking, the more tranquil genre suiting her voice almost perfectly, allowing her to stay comfortable while the whole crowd stared. However the only person she truly focused on was Carlos, his chocolate eyes glistening towards her like he was enthralled not just by the singer’s talent, but also by her immense beauty. The man couldn’t comprehend the reasons why he felt such ways for someone he had approached on the street just earlier this week, all he could do is watch in mesmerisation, cherishing the moment.

————————————————————————

At the end of the night, only a few were still gathered at the party, mostly waving their goodbyes; however, the singer and Carlos being a part of that small group.

When she finished her act, the man waited patiently nearby the stage as she packed away her equipment, desperate to just see her once more, even if it was the couple glasses of alcohol he sipped previously influencing these thoughts, the girl remaining unaware of his presence.

‘Your singing was so beautiful.’ He perked up, catching the attention of the girl as she swiftly turned her head around to face him.

‘Carlos, you’re still here?’ her eyes widened, shocked that he had remained at the event for such a long period of time. ‘I thought you would’ve left already.’

‘Never.’ He stepped closer, standing tall above her, just a few inches away from her face, his brain practically entranced by her beauty, he didn’t care anymore, at this moment all he craved was her, everything about her. ‘I needed to see you again Maddison.’ His voice softening as he approached further towards the singer, his hands moving upwards to gently caress her cheek. Despite the strength the man’s hands appeared, his touch seemed so gentle and loving.

‘Carlos.’ Her breath hitched at the sudden action, hundreds of questions overwhelming her mind. Why did he want her? Is he drunk? Does he know what he is doing? Why did she want him to kiss her so badly?

‘Say it, please cariño.’ The beseech escaped as almost a murmur, praying that she had heard the sentence, his vision purely focusing on the singer’s plumped lips.

‘Kiss me, Carlos.’ She pleased, immediately being met with the man’s lips smashed onto hers, bringing her into a passionate kiss. Her wish was his command. His tongue entered her mouth as the touch became slightly rougher, grasping onto her cheek tighter but still somehow keeping that caring feeling.

‘Not here.’ She pulled away from the connection, placing the hand that was originally situated on her cheek down towards her own palm, signalling for him to hold it. ‘You don’t want an audience now do you?’ The singer lifted onto the tips of her feet to whisper into his ear, lust clearly visible in her throat.

‘You’re right querida.’ He agreed, a smirk slowly forming on his mouth, ‘I’m the only one who deserves to see you naked, desperate for my cock.’ The words leaving his lips making the girl’s thighs warmer, closing them together to release the pressure that was craving something, craving Carlos.

Eagerly, she followed Carlos away from the grand atmosphere, the room shrinking into a narrow hallway before the man reached their desired destination, twisting the doorknob to reveal the bathroom that still remained as elegant as the rest of the building.

Instantly entering, their lips joined together once again, the girl’s body slammed against the counter nearby the sink while Carlos sped up the pace of their kisses, becoming desperate and sloppy, but she definitely wasn’t complaining.

His tongue continued its attack, although separating from her lips, travelling downwards to her clear neck, the man excited to paint his canvas with marks that will leave large bruises.

As he sucked onto the clear skin, the girl couldn’t help but let high- pitched moans crawl out of her throat, not caring about the red, stinging stains appearing, just praying for this sensation to continue forever.

‘This dress is so pretty on you, ángel.’ Carlos smirked, his fingertips brushing against the slim straps on the one-piece, ‘But you’ll look much better with this all off.’ He looked up at the girl for confirmation to continue, which she eagerly nodded in consent as he slid the fabric down her shoulders, slowly removing the clothing in an attempt to tease her. He refused to break eye contact as the silk dropped down to her thighs, revealing the lacy bra underneath, which he also unclipped to uncover her breasts.

‘I need you, Carlos.’ She pleaded, impatience prominent in her voice as the light strokes made her whole body shiver with lust. ‘I need you in me.’

‘Steady cariño.’ He giggle consumed with mischief, ‘Gonna have some fun with you first.’ He planted sloppy kisses trailing from her collarbone downwards towards the lower area of her chest, the crumpled fabric preventing the man moving any further. ‘Can I?’

‘Yes, please.’ She answered, the material rubbing down her legs as she was left almost naked, just a small piece of dampened lace covering her vagina.

‘Mierda.’ He murmured the curse at the sight of her dripping pussy. ‘You’re already that wet for me, bet you’re gonna taste so good.’ His warm breathed pressed near her entrance, leaving a tickling feeling that only made the girl ache for the man even more.

His mouth began to press against her lips, swirling his tongue around areas of her clit, causing inaudible sounds to slip out of the girl’s mouth.

‘Carlos.-’ Was the only word she could muster, unable to focus while the man licked against her walls, her legs beginning to tremble due to the immense pleasure.

‘Dios, you sound so beautiful saying my name.’ He complimented, still working at her pussy, the visible muscles in the neck twitching, only allowing her to become even more aroused of the thought of his defined body. ‘Are you gonna cum for me, princesa?’

The question finally pushed her to the edge, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, allowing the release, gripping tightly on the marble countertops she lay on for support as the liquid leaked out. However, it was quickly being cleaned up Carlos.

‘I knew it, you taste perfect.’ He chuckled, enjoying the meal before him, ‘Can’t wait to get me inside you now, is that okay?’ He looked upwards at the girl, her eyes now fuzzier and makeup smudged.

‘Please Carlos, I need to see you.’ she begged, placing her hand against his shirt, her fingertips pathing their way towards the top button, undoing each button carefully, similarly to the teasing the man had used previously.

‘Like what you see?’ He snickered as she stared in awe at the exposed abs and thick body hair. Continuing, he swiftly unbuckled his belt, slipping his trousers off and tossing them nearby her already removed dress. The man stood now only in his boxers, his bulge noticeable.

He proceeded undressing, the duo both now fully naked, however the room still stayed warm from their lust that circled the atmosphere.

‘You ready?’ Carlos asked, waiting for the confirmation from the girl as he approached, moving his dick nearby her hole.

‘Yes, fuck me Carlos.’ She pleaded, immediately greeted with his cock filling her up, a loud moan escaping from her lips. ‘Oh my god.’ She gasped, shocked by how truly large he was.

‘Mierda, Mads.’ He groaned at the tight sensation, nobody had ever made him feel like this before, almost as if she was the perfect piece to finish the jigsaw, ‘You make me feel so good, hermosa.’ As he increased the pace, the pleasurable screams grew louder. Fortunately, there was most likely not a soul left in the building, allowing more freedom.

‘I’m gonna cum again, I can’t hold on any longer.’ She whined, the thrusting from Carlos turning all the muscles in her body numb, desperate to release the pressure.

‘We’ll do it together, cariño.’ He suggested, preparing for a countdown so they can both relieve themselves together. ‘1, 2, 3.’ Instantly after, they both moaned in sync, their bodies vibrating as they spilled their warmth into each other, connecting together in more than one way.

‘Are you okay, princesa?’ Carlos pulled out of her, his hand carefully caressing her cheek that glowed with vibrance. Her now tangled hair flowed down her face, slightly hiding some features, but he could still spot her beauty.

‘Perfect, especially now I’m with you.’ The girl giggled.

————————————————————————

Despite that moment being so long ago, the memories are still imprinted in her brain, remembering every detail, including every detail of him.

‘Are you okay? princesa?’ Her fiancé wrapped his arms around the singer’s waist, nuzzling his head softly into the crevice of her neck. ‘No before- stages nerves?’

‘Don’t worry Carlos.’ She reassured, the stage didn’t frighten her so much anymore, confidently able to stand before a large audience. ‘I’m perfect, especially now I’m with you.’ She spoke, and a flash of deja vu sent her back once again, to that Friday night, to the man eager to find a replacement singer, to Carlos.

HOPE YOU ENJOYED <3

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ks-dreams-fantasies · 7 months

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a/n: I haven't been on here in forever! This one is about Travis Kelce because I think everyone should be obsessed with him. Here, Enjoy !

Warnings: Fluff, Teasing, Smut (F receiving)

Words: 2,391 (Not proofread)

Pairing: Travis Kelce x Reader

MIDNIGHT FUN | TRAVIS KELCE

The night was alive with the buzz of the charity event. Good music was playing, the clinking of glasses could be heard as well as the hum of conversations from people talking and laughing. All kinds of fortunate individuals filled the room: singers, actors, athletes and many more. In the heart of the elegant venue, amidst the sea of well-dressed guests, you stood making cocktails behind the main bar.

You were too busy serving drinks to notice the pair of eyes burning into you. You finished making your Negroni before handing it to the guy that was waiting at the bar, giving him a smile. He tipped and thanked you before moving away, leaving you to make direct eye-contact with the tall and muscular man standing behind him, a few feet away from you. He was in a conversation with some other guys, but he wasn’t really paying attention to what they were saying, his gaze focused on you. You diverted your eyes, as a short blond lady waved at you, you moved towards her and her friends for their order before getting right back to work.

From where he stood, he could see your body moving smoothly behind the bar. You were in your element, and it showed. Your eyes were sparkling with a quiet confidence as you meticulously crafted some exquisite cocktails for all these known faces. Travis, never one to shy away from seizing an opportunity, excused himself before approaching the bar.

You turned your attention to his towering presence, your gaze meeting his with a mix of professionalism and intrigue. ‘’Evening, what can I get you sir?’’ you asked, your voice carrying a subtle note of confidence.

Travis, ever the charismatic figure, studied the array of bottles with a playful glint in his eyes before looking back at you. ‘’I’ll have whatever you’re having.’’ He replied, his voice carrying the resonance of someone accustomed to taking risks. You squinted your eyes, smirking with a hint of playful challenge.

‘’Are you sure you can handle it?’’ Travis chuckled, his confidence unwavering. ‘’I can handle anything baby.’’

You accepted the challenge with a nod before turning around to retrieve the bottles you needed as you blushed lightly. As you began crafting a complex cocktail, your fingers moving with precision, Travis couldn’t help but to look you up and down, analyzing your every move.

You were wearing a little classy black dress, that was hugging you in all the right places and showing just the perfect amount of cleavage. He licked his lips looking as you poured the liquid mixture into two different glasses.

You handed him his drink before he held his glass and nodded his head towards you. You watched him take a sip as you took yours, your eyes dancing with amusement.

The cocktail was a masterpiece, a blend of flavors that left Travis genuinely impressed. ‘’You have a way with those drinks.’’ Travis remarked, leaning casually against the bar. You glanced up, a playful smile playing on your lips. ‘’Well, it’s all about finding the right combination, isn’t it?’’

His gaze held yours, a magnetic pull that neither could deny. ‘’I’d say it’s more the person behind the bar. The drinks are just a bonus.’’

You arched an eyebrow, your eyes sparkling with amusement. ‘’You clearly know what to say to charm the ladies.’’ He grinned, unfazed. ‘’Good thing I have plenty more where that came from.’’

You laughed before some older guy called for you to serve him. ‘’If you’ll excuse me.’’ You said before attending the other guests leaving Travis with interest and desire in his eyes. He went back to his teammates, Pat nudging him with his elbow. ‘’ Shut up, man.’’ Travis responded with a chuckled.

After a while, your colleague came back behind the bar, signaling that it was your time to take a small break and get some fresh air in the back of the building. You sat down on a bench outside, taking in the breeze on your warm skin. You couldn’t help but think about your interaction with Travis. His confidence on the field was only matched by his charisma off it. You had to admit, he was smooth.

Travis was there to support a cause close to his heart, an organization that provided opportunities for underprivileged youth. He was enjoying his night, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the pretty girl behind the bar. From the corner of his eyes, he spotted your figure back behind the marble counter. Travis had been talking with Jimmy Fallon and Paul Rudd about the upcoming game against the Jets. They exchanged for a little bit, before Travis noticed his glass was now empty. He excused himself from the pair to get himself another drink.

He strode through the crowd, his tailored suit fitting him like a second skin, a charming smile on his face. Your eyes met again once he approached you. ‘’Hi again.’’ He said with a grin ‘’Your drink was so good, it’s already empty.’’

‘’Well, what do you want me to tell you, I’m good at what I do.’’ You replied playfully ‘’Would you like another drink?’’ He nodded softly leaning closer towards you. ‘’Surprise me.’’

His low voice made you clench your tights slightly as you smiled and started to work your magic. You extended your arm handing him a new concoction. You leaned in close, your voice a sultry whisper. ‘’I call this one the ‘Midnight Fun’, one of my personal favorites.’’

‘’Oh yeah? And what kind of fun should I be expecting at midnight?’’ Your pulse quickened, the air suddenly charged with an electric energy. You felt bold so you got on your tiptoes, moving your upper body over the bar, you face resting near his ear. ‘’You would be lucky to find out.’’

The moment the words left your mouth, Travis’s eyes turned dark. You stayed there a few more seconds, giving him a perfect view of your chest before you pulled away slowly with a wink.

Before he was able to speak, you turned around hearing a low grunt coming from his throat. You moved further down the bar, glancing at him over your shoulder, smirking with a sense of victory. Travis’s eyes were glued to your ass, not even trying to hide it as he tugged his bottom lip between his teeth.

‘’She’s got you wrapped around her finger man.’’ Pat said as he landed a hand on his shoulder, chuckling lightly.

As the night wore on, the lively atmosphere of the charity event seemed to fade into a background hum, leaving you and Travis in your own intimate world. You found yourselves in a playful dance of glances, your chemistry becoming more palpable with every passing moment.

‘’ You know, I never got your name.’’ You didn’t even have to look up to know who it was, you recognized his voice and his cologne the moment he approached you. ‘’Y/N’’ you answered as you grabbed some bottles, starting a new drink for the clients on your left. You asked him his name in return, and he looked slightly taken aback. You knew who he was, but you didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing that you were a football lover just yet, so you made it seem as if he was just another guy at a charity event.

‘’I’m Travis’’ he answered, leaning in closer to you, his voice a low, velvet caress. ‘’I must say, you have a way with your hands Y/N. The way you handle those bottles…’’

You met his gaze, a sly smile playing at the corners of your lips. ‘’Oh Travis, it’s all in the wrist action. You have to know just how to … control the flow.’’ He chuckled, the double entendre not lost on him. You finished the drinks, handing them to the two ladies, waiting patiently for their cocktails before looking back at Travis, a small grin on your face.

His gaze never wavered from yours. The room seemed to shrink around you guys, leaving only the two of you in your own intimate bubble. ‘’I have to admit, I’m rather envious of those lucky bottles. They get to feel your touch all night long.’’

You leaned in closer, your lips grazing his ear. ‘’If only you knew just how much I can do with my hands.’’ You leaned back and could see the desire in his eyes. Your fingertips drifted on his firm hand that was laying on the counter in front of you. ‘’If you’ll excuse me, I have to use the restroom, I’ll be right back.’’

He wanted to follow you but he wasn’t sure if he should, he looked at you go as you swayed your hips, glancing at him over your shoulder, winking at the tall man. He followed close behind, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to what he was about to do.

He grabbed your waist tightly and pulled you into an unoccupied bathroom, pushing your back to the wall after he closed the door and locked it. You looked up to him at the noticeable heigh difference. You exchanged looks and you both could feel the tension in the small room.

He took one step closer to you as he stared at your lips for a moment, coming back to your eyes. He sighed and you just couldn’t take it anymore. You grabbed him by the neck and crossed the small distance between you so that your mouths could touch.

Travis cupped your face with his right hand as his left one grabbed your waist again. The moment was heated, the kiss was rough and filled with desire. Your hand navigated to his chest feeling his toned muscles contract at your touch. You sucked on his bottom lip, gaining a low grunt from him before you smiled slightly against his mouth. You pulled your face back for a second, and could feel him breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling against your body. Travis went back to your lips hungrily, and in that moment the only thing you could focus on was him and the feeling of fire pooling in your lower abdomen.

He bit his teeth down on your lip and dragged it backwards, eliciting a moan from the back of your throat. He pressed his body to yours like it was even possible as he buried his face into your neck, kissing along your jawline. He ran his tongue on your exposed collarbone, hands circling your body as they landed on your ass, squeezing the flesh roughly.

‘’Fuck, Travis.’’ You panted, your hand running across the waistband of his trousers.

‘’I’ve been wanting to do that all night, baby.’’ His voice rasped as he continued to travel his hands down your body. He caressed your leg before bringing it up to his hip, as the hand he placed on your thigh began to slither up towards the part of your body that needed him the most.

Travis’s fingertips finally get to the fabric covering your heated folds. You nodded before he effortlessly placed his hand over your black lace underwear, perfectly over your slit.

‘’Already so wet.’’ He playfully whispered as he rubbed upwards, feeling the wetness in between your tights. He slid your underwear down your legs as he bent down to pick them up and carefully placed them in the front pocket of his blazer.

‘’I’ll keep those.’’ He said smirking and looking up at you. You looked down towards him, your eyes meeting once again, as you anticipated his next move. He brought your right leg over his shoulder for much better access. He started kissing and licking the inside of your thigh carefully, edging you closer as you moaned quietly.

Before you could understand what was happening, he swiftly grabbed your other leg and placed it against his head, standing up again to his full heigh as you shrieked in surprise and excitement. Your body was now resting against the cold tiles, one of your hand was resting on the ceiling and the other on the back of Travis’s head as his shoulders supported the entirety of your weight.

Before you could even ask him to do anything, you felt his mouth apply pressure to your wet pussy, his tongue lapping at your folds with expertise. The new sensation caused you to let out a soft moan and you could feel Travis smile against you.

The knock on the door startled you, but Travis dismissed it quickly.

‘’Occupied’’ he said loudly, so the person on the other side of the wall could hear him properly. He quickly went back to devouring you like a starved man, moving his tongue skilfully, reaching all the right places as he snaked a hand around your thigh, his fingers moving towards your clit.

You could feel the familiar knot in your lower abdomen begin to tighten as you moan loudly.

‘’That feel good baby?’’ he asked cockily and proud as you nodded while mumbling incoherently. You were a mess. Your head was thrown back, lips parted and panting as your chest moved up and down rapidly.

‘’Travis, I’m … I’m so, oh my god’’ you tried to say as he moaned against your pussy, sending a wave of vibration all over your body. You could feel yourself getting closer by the second. His mouth continued to work your folds, your breathing getting heavier, and your body started writhing as you cried out his name, coming. He licked you clean and took his time with you, leaving a trail of kisses on your thighs as he slowly and carefully put you down on your feet.

‘’What time do you get off?’’ you smirked. ‘’Why, you want me to return the favor?’’ you answered back, winking at him while you tried to control your breathing. He laughed quietly before stepping closer to you to give you a small kiss on the lips.

‘’Actually, I was thinking about an early breakfast, if you’d care to join me.’’ he asked you, as he took your hand in his, playing with your fingers, looking at you to study your reaction carefully. He was genuinely interested, he wanted more, more than just a hookup.

‘’I would love that’’ you smiled back, blushing.

#travis kelce #travis kelce nfl #travis kelce x reader #travis kelce imagine #travis kelce oneshot #travis kelce fic #kelce x reader #nfl imagine #travis kelce smut #nfl fic

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misshoneyimhome · 2 months

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「2️⃣5️⃣0️⃣ FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION」

“I like waking up with you” I Nico Hischier (🌺)

Summary; While Nico Hischier may struggle with expressing his emotions, leading to occasional frustrations and arguments, a strong relationship can withstand any challenge.

Tropes & warnings; no warnings; strangers to lovers, couples fight; very mild-smut descriptions;

Other notes; so as I finished, I sort of realised that it doesn’t really have much plot - it’s just pure fluff; still hope it’s readable 😅 inspired by the lyrics from ‘PILLOWTALK’ by Zayn Malik 🤍

Word count; 1.7K

・✶ ｡ﾟ

You and Nico fell in love quicker than you ever imagined possible. In a way, it felt as if fate had brought you together on purpose, weaving your lives into a beautiful tapestry of love and passion. It was as simple as the fairy tales you grew up with; from the moment you met him on that crisp autumn evening, you knew your life would change forever. It was love at first sight.

Your love story began at something as simple as a charity event for the New Jersey Devils, right at the start of the hockey season. It was a night filled with glamour and excitement, the room adorned in the team's red, white, and black colours.

You were there as a friend of one of the team’s partners, however, as the event had unfolded, you suddenly found yourself standing alone, without the companion you’d arrived with.

Yet, in a mere moment, lost in thoughts as you gazed into thin air, among the buzzing crowd, your eyes suddenly met Nico Hischier's. His big, brown golden eyes captivated you instantly, sparking a connection you simply couldn't deny.

And to your surprise, Nico confidently made his way through the crowd in your direction, never breaking eye contact. And when he stood before you, his smile was nothing but magnetic.

"Hello," he said, his voice smooth with a hint of a sweet yet rough accent. "I couldn't help but notice you from across the room. Would you mind if I joined you?"

Though his boldness took you aback, there was just something about him that had you drawn in. And before you knew it, you were engrossed in deep conversation, completely oblivious to the world around you.

"I must admit," Nico said with a playful glint in his eyes, "I didn't expect to meet someone as captivating as you at this event."

His words warmed you, causing a blush to rise to your cheeks. "I could say the same about you," you replied with a soft smirk, completely unable to look away from him.

And as the night then progressed, you felt an unexpected strong and deep connection to the Swiss captain, as if you'd known each other for ages. So as the evening slowly drew to a close, you couldn't shake the feeling that this might just be the beginning of something extraordinary.

To say the least, you were absolutely right. As the weeks passed and turned into months, your connection with Nico only grew stronger. And before long, despite your initial hesitation, you moved from being just good friends to something definite more.

It was no secret between you, that you’d had concerns, influenced by the idea of dating a professional hockey player with a demanding lifestyle and packed schedule. However, Nico dispelled those worries with his steadfast commitment to you. He didn't just start calling you his girlfriend sooner than expected; he proudly introduced you to everyone as his partner anywhere you went, demonstrating his dedication through every word and deed. In a way, it was quite remarkable how, despite the demands of his career, he always found time for you, placing your relationship above all else.

Because Nico's life as a hockey player did indeed involve frequent travel, rigorous training sessions, and the pressure of performing on the ice. There were nights when he returned home exhausted, his body aching from a challenging game. Yet, even in those moments, he never failed to show you love and appreciation. Whether through a heartfelt text before bed or a lengthy phone call while on the road, he made sure you felt valued and cared for.

And especially one aspect of your relationship that remained constant was the physical connection you shared. The chemistry between you was electric, igniting flames of desire that grew hotter with each passing moment. Your intimate moments together were nothing short of explosive, leaving you both breathless and exhilarated every time.

Incredible sex became a defining feature already in the very beginning of your relationship, the kind that would make the neighbours blush and the walls tremble. But you never paid any attention to the noise complaints or the curious glances from passers-by. In those moments of passion, it was just you and Nico, lost in each other's embrace, consumed by the intensity of your love.

During those intimate moments, you felt the deepest connection with Nico, as the barriers between you dissolved and you revealed your souls to each other in the most vulnerable and intimate way possible. Every time you lay intertwined in the aftermath, your bodies still tingling with pleasure, you were certain that you were in love.

However, naturally, challenges arose along the way. No relationship is without its flaws, including yours. Arguments erupted over missed dates or suddenly cancelled plans, tensions escalating like an impending storm. Yet, as always, Nico had a knack for smoothing over rough patches, turning conflict into connection. With just a smile or a tender gesture, he could transform the atmosphere between you from a war zone into a paradise.

It was a turbulent relationship, to say the least. Nico's ability to express his absolute joy and deep love for you was unmatched, his affection evident in every touch and whispered word. But beneath that outward display of affection lay a layer of resilience and reticence when it came to his concerns and fears.

And it didn't take you long to notice that he tended to bottle up his negative emotions, keeping his worries hidden deep inside. Nico was skilled at putting on a brave face, particularly as the team captain, even when the weight of the world seemed to be bearing down on him. And while you admired his strength and resilience, it also led to frustration and tension between you.

There were times when you wished he would open up, and share his fears and insecurities with you. However, whenever you broached the subject, he would shut down, enveloping himself in silence. In those moments, the distance between you almost felt insurmountable, like an unbridgeable chasm. But, no matter how bad your arguments could be, Nico never let you go to bed angry or sad.

One evening, after a rather heated argument, you sat on the edge of his bed, tension thick between you.

"I'm sorry, y/n," Nico said softly, his voice tinged with regret. "I didn't mean to shut you out like that. Sometimes I just feel the need to be strong for everyone else, and I forget that it's alright to lean on you too."

His words resonated deeply within you, highlighting the complexities of his role both on and off the ice. You reached out, taking his hand and gently squeezing it as you met his gaze.

"You don't have to be strong all the time, Nico," you reassured him, your voice gentle yet firm. "I'm here for you, through thick and thin. We're a team, remember?"

And a faint smile slowly grew and played on Nico's lips as he nodded, gratitude shining in his eyes. "I know," he murmured, his voice heavy with emotion. "And I'm thankful for you every day, y/n. I don't know where I'd be without you."

Navigating the highs and lows of your relationship required a delicate balance. Yet, through it all, your love for each other remained unwavering, and you were determined to face the challenges together, hand in hand.

In fact, maintaining this steadfastness was surprisingly simple; Nico never allowed you to even consider the idea of walking away. And truth be told, you had no desire to. Despite the ups and downs, everything between you felt pure, raw, and intensely passionate.

The past year had been nothing but a whirlwind for both of you, with highs of victories and lows of defeats. Throughout it all, you had been each other's support, standing strong through thick and thin. And with the off-season offering a brief break from the hockey season's demands, you cherished every moment spent together, aware that Nico would soon be back on the ice, fully engrossed in the game.

Then as the autumn leaves then began to change, marking the start of a new season, Nico's excitement was beyond palpable. He simply couldn't contain his joy at the prospect of another year filled with his beloved sport and the woman who had captivated his heart.

And as you lay together in the gentle morning light, Nico's words enveloped you like a warm embrace, filling you with love and affection. His vulnerability caught you off guard, as his declaration of love lifted your spirits.

"I like waking up with you," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion, echoing the sentiment you had shared countless times before.

Your heart fluttered at his words, warmth flooding through you at the depth of his affection. You gently reached out, brushing your fingers against his stubbled jaw as you spoke softly, a smile gracing your lips.

“I like waking up with you too…” you murmured, your voice filled with tenderness.

But it was evident there was more on his mind. "I can’t believe I have you in my life... I love you, y/n…" Nico's voice quivered with emotion, his gaze locked on yours as if seeking reassurance.

And you couldn’t deny the way your heart swelled with love for him, mirrored in the depths of his gaze. "Nico," you whispered, reaching out to stroke his hair, "I love you too, more than words can express."

The moment hung heavy with emotion and possibility. Then, with a surge of determination, Nico voiced the question he'd been pondering for a while.

"Move in with me, y/n," he implored, hope and longing evident in his eyes. "Please. I want us to wake up together every day, fall asleep in each other's arms. Will you move in with me?"

And you couldn’t help but let a tear slowly well in your eye at the sincerity of his request, overwhelmed with love for the man before you. So without hesitation, you simply enveloped him in your arms, whispering your answer in his ear.

"Yes, Nico," you choked out, your voice thick with emotion, "Of course I'll move in with you.”

As you held each other in the gentle dawn light, surrounded by the promise of a new beginning, you knew this was just the beginning of a beautiful chapter in your love story. With Nico by your side, you felt ready to face whatever the future held, confident that together, you could overcome anything.

#2️⃣5️⃣0️⃣ followers celebration #nico hischier imagine #nico hischer x reader #new jersey devils imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine

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missmatchablossom · 3 months

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Gojo x Reader Royalty AU

summary: you are a princess in an arranged marriage with the crown prince of the country, satoru gojo. when you finally come of age and move into his palace, the two of you are forced to spend time together as the future queen and king of the nation. the future king definitely seems to have a thing for you though.

a.n: the intro is a bit long but gives some context to the story! feel free to skip right to the dialogue. also, this was totally inspired by the kdrama "Princess Hours" or "Goong" if anyone remembers that lol

Part I.

Intro

It’s been officially two months since you became officially engaged to Satoru Gojo, the nation's crown prince. Two months since you uprooted your entire life to live in his palace of gold and glamour, spending your days slaved to lessons about your royal duties.

It was your grandfather's wish; he was the one who promised the hand of his granddaughter to the future crown prince of the nation, solidifying your position as queen before you were even born.

That’s how you ended up betrothed to Prince Suguru, the crown prince of the nation. At least he was, up until he abdicated one year ago. It wasn’t clear what happened, only that it was a sudden decision that still left the country reeling. By law, his younger brother Prince Satoru inherited his spot, and by proxy the right to marry you.

Once you officially became of age, you moved to live at Gojo’s palace with him. You had both been so busy the past two months that there was barely a second to talk, but tonight would be different. Tonight was your first public event as a couple.

Evening had just fallen, and the palace was buzzing with preparations for a charity ball being hosted. Major politicians and other royal figures would be in attendance, and it was the first social event where you and Gojo were expected to greet everyone as a couple.

The hours you spent getting ready flew by, and before you knew it you were being led to the entrance of the ballroom, where Gojo was waiting for you.

The clicking of your heels alerted him to your proximity, prompting him to swiftly turn around to gaze at you. He was a dream, dressed in a navy suit with gold accents. The crown atop his head was a sophisticated array of cerulean jewels, the perfect match to his eyes. It was so swift you almost didn’t catch it - the way his eyes widened, the way his jaw slacked ever so slightly. But you blinked and the vestiges of his surprise were gone, replaced by the disarming smile he had around you. Around everyone.

“You look lovely princess,” he commented easily, lifting your gloved hand to his lips.

It was a casual greeting - you knew that. But it was hard to reason with your heart beating wildly in your ears.

“Thank you. You are dashing tonight your highness,” you complimented back, gathering the satin around your legs to give him a curtsy.

He nodded his thanks, carefully placing your hand in the crook of his elbow as you both turned to the double doors leading to the ball. It was time for your grand entrance as the crown prince and princess, future king and queen of the country.

You couldn’t help but think of the ruthless stares of all the guests this evening, judging every step you take, every breath you breathe. Your fingers turned to ice as your nerves began to rise, body becoming rigid as you prepared to steel yourself.

“I’m with you.” Gojo said, lips touching the shell of your ear. His warmth drove away your nerves, causing your body to buzz with his nearness.

You turned to flash him a grateful smile, which he returned with a squeeze against your fingers.

The ball went off without a hitch, following your grand entrance. You were almost immediately pulled in several directions following Gojo’s lead, smiling gracefully at each new person you were introduced to.

Almost everyone fawned over the two of you, sweetening your ears with flattery. But every compliment was backhanded, sprinkled in to soothe over their real sentiments.

“My, you look amazing together! It’s too bad about Prince Suguru, he was so outstanding.”

“His Highness Suguru was a fine prince, it must be hard to be cast in his shadow, you poor thing.”

“It must be hard to suddenly have all the roles of the crown. Please do reach out if you need my support, I imagine you’ll need it. But do not worry, I pledge my loyalties to the two of you.”

Each comment burned at your throat, even if they weren’t directed at you. You would’ve said something, but Gojo handled himself better than you would’ve in this situation.

The confidence with which he spoke, the proud set of his shoulders, the ease with which he fielded all questions, it was as if being crown prince was his birthright. It was like each jab at him lit a fire in his eyes, and he somehow made each person leave the conversation feel stupid for questioning him.

People attempted to belittle you as well, but you quieted them with the same ease as Gojo, which earned you a smile and side-eyed glance from the prince the first time he saw you do it.

The ball ended, and thankfully the amount of nobles approaching you quickly diminished once they learned they couldn’t shake you two.

When you bade your last farewell, you both seemed to exhale deeply at the same time, turning to look at each other. He still somehow looked like he just got ready, despite hours passing since the ball began. His silver hair remained set perfectly, not a strand out of place. The shine in his cerulean eyes did seem a bit dimmer, though.

He stared at you with the same intensity, then placed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall, catching you off guard with how little space there was between you two.

“See something you like princess?” he said. His lips were curved, his voice silken in the late hours of the night. How this man had the energy to flirt with you after the night you had was beyond you.

Normally, you’d shrink away from a comment like that. But you felt a rush of confidence after standing your ground against all the nobility at the ball today. So you mirrored his position, leaning up and tilting your head so you were only a foot away from his face.

“I do, actually,” you said, grinning as you caught the widening of his eyes. He blinked a few times, as though he struggled to compose himself.

“Are they always like that?” you asked, feeling brave. He raised a brow, and you elaborated.

“Belittling you, always bringing up Prince Suguru,” you said.

He hummed, looking away for a second.

“Yes. They’ve always vocalized their preference for him. They do it now to get a rise from me, to see me ruffled.”

“Why?” you asked. His eyes slid back to you, and you couldn’t look away from the intensity in them.

“Suguru was trusting - easier for them to manipulate. But they were never able to control me. They’re afraid of me.” he said, smirking like the thought pleased him so. He stared down at you, studying for your reaction.

“Should I be afraid of you?” you asked curiously, tilting your head at him. He reached a hand towards the side of your face, twirling a loose strand of hair around his finger.

“After I saw you handle them in there, I’m starting to think I should be afraid of you,” he said, tucking the strand behind your ear, eliciting a shiver out of you. The smirk never left his face.

You felt the blush creep up your cheeks as you answered.

“I’m glad you’re aware,” you said, the smile evident in your voice.

The sudden chiming of the grandfather clock caused you to jolt in place, and you swear you heard Gojo stifle a laugh.

“It’s midnight,” he stated, and you noticed him reaching a hand up to his temple, his knuckles making small circles against his skin.

You yawned, finally realizing how tired your body was after your long day.

“I’ll walk you to your room,” he offered, and you nodded, trailing after him.

You smiled to yourself as you watched his posture immediately change now that you were alone. He slouched his shoulders and crossed his arms behind his head, almost leaning back as he took languid steps beside you. His legs were so long that it would’ve taken ages to catch up with him if he wasn’t walking so slowly.

You reached up to yank the tiara out of your hair, shaking it free of the tight updo that was pulling at your scalp. His eyes studied you curiously as you noticed him kneading his temple once more.

“Headache?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Yeah, my eyes are sensitive to light. The bright lights inside the ballroom give me headaches,” he replied.

You mulled over the words you were about to say, thinking it was probably too forward of you.

“I know a remedy for headaches. Wanna try?” you asked anyways, heart thumping in your ears.

He looked at you curiously, an easy smile on his lips and he nodded.

“Alright, I’ll need somewhere you can lay down,” you said quietly, hoping the evening hid the blush on your cheeks. He raised his brows, chuckling a bit.

“I have a couch inside my study. It’s a few doors down,” he said, nodding towards another door.

You reached it quickly, following him into a sizable room. He flickered on a couple of lights, encasing the room in a soft glow. A black desk stretched across one side of the room, right in front of a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that covered the entire wall. A large sectional was positioned in front of his desk, the black leather complimenting the other black and navy accents of the room. His rich sandalwood scent was filling your senses, intoxicating you with him.

He closed the door with a soft click, and you suddenly became aware that you were alone behind closed doors with the devastatingly handsome Prince Gojo.

He smiled slowly, making no move to approach you first as he stood by the door.

“How do you want me?” he drawled, causing your eyes to widen a bit.

For the headache remedy. He was talking about the headache remedy, nothing else.

You pressed your lips together, turning to seat yourself at the end of his sofa. Smiling shyly at him, you patted the tops of your thighs.

“You’ll have to place your head in my lap, if you’re okay with that,” you said.

You could’ve sworn you caught his eyes widening ever so slightly, but he recovered quickly and gave you a small smile.

“I don’t mind,” he said, and he settled himself next to you on the couch and leaned down towards your lap. You wanted to laugh at how truly long he was, his lithe body filling up almost all of the sofa, but you were too distracted.

Distracted by how his silvery hair felt like silk against your thighs. Distracted by the smell of sandalwood filling your space with his close proximity. Overwhelmed by how ethereal he was up close, like the most acclaimed artists would spend their whole lifetimes trying to create someone as lovely as him.

“Like this?” he said, and you noticed his thumb rubbing over his pulse point again.

You bit back your smile and nodded.

“Close your eyes, please,” you asked, and he complied. You sucked in a breath as you admired how long and full his lashes were. It was so unfair, actually.

You gingerly reached your fingers towards each side of his temple, drawing gentle circles.

He let out a sigh as he leaned into your touch, his features relaxing.

“Feels good?” you asked, chuckling to yourself.

“Mhm,” he said, not even bothering to open his eyes or use his words.

You sat in comfortable silence, massaging his temples and willing his headache to go away.

“I know it hasn’t been long since we’ve been engaged, but you can talk to me, you know. About the Sugru stuff, or anything else that might bother you. I’ll listen,” you said quietly.

His eyes opened slowly, and you stopped your ministrations, letting your hands pause besides his face. He reached a hand up to grasp one of yours.

“Are you upset that your engagement to him broke off?” he asked evenly, not revealing his feelings toward the matter.

“No,” you answered truthfully. Gojo’s slight exhale almost made you smile.

“I didn’t interact with him much, to be honest. I can’t say I really knew him,” you continued.

“I want to know you though,” you added shyly, and his cerulean eyes flicked to yours. He smiled brilliantly, and you realized it was the first time you truly saw him smile.

“I’ll tell you anything,” he replied, gently guiding your hands to move back to his temple in a wordless command. You were more than happy to obey.

“Okay. Favorite dessert?” you asked, your fingers at his temple again.

“Kikufuku. But I’ll eat anything sweet. You?” he replied, his eyes still closed.

“Anything matcha. But I also love strawberries and nutella,” you said, pleased as he hummed his approval.

“Favorite color?” he asked.

“Hmm, navy and sage green. You?”

“I like all shades of blue. And black, and white,” he said, and you laughed, eyes scanning that exact color palette in this room.

“I can tell,” you said, and he opened his eyes to smile boyishly at you.

The two of you continued to go back and forth, time escaping you as you discovered new things about each other.

You mused over the new information you had about your fiance. He likes cats, romance movies, and plants - especially ones with pretty flowers. His favorite food is udon, and he can’t stand peas. He has an enormous family, but he’s only close with a younger cousin named Megumi. He looked especially happy to be talking about messing with him, and you hoped to meet him soon.

“Do you ever feel scared about becoming king?” you dared to ask, feeling the tiniest bit closer to him after playing 20 questions.

He looked thoughtful for a while, and you ceased your massage on his temple.

“I know I have what it takes to be the greatest King this country has seen in a long time. And I have every intention to become just that, for my people and for me,” he said solemnly, spoken with the confidence and pride of a true royal.

“It’s rare, but I do feel scared sometimes. I never thought I’d have to do this alone,” he admitted after a while, his brows furrowing slightly as he appeared lost in thought.

“What do you mean?” you pressed gently.

“Suguru was supposed to be King, I knew that. We had the same vision to grow up and make our kingdom the most powerful, to rule together. But he changed suddenly, like a switch snapped and he was a different person,” he said, throat bobbing as he spoke.

“He’s not well. We haven’t spoke since he gave up the throne,” he almost whispered. You blinked a few times as you stared at him, Prince Gojo. A capable future king, but a younger brother at the same time, who was grieving over his brother.

You wordlessly slipped your hand into his hand, and he tensed for a second before relaxing and wrapping his fingers around yours.

“I’m with you,” you said, using the same words he gave you earlier.

Loaded silence filled the room. You worried you might’ve scared him off, might’ve forced him to talk about things he wasn’t ready to address yet because a few beats too many passed without him saying anything.

“You’re not alone, my prince. I know it wasn’t your choice, but I’m here to share your burdens. Hear your truths. I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, meaning every word.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice heavy with emotion he wasn’t ready to share yet. But you smiled as he squeezed your hand.

“Mhm,” you responded, beginning to thread your right hand through his pearl locks.

His eyes shot closed once again as he let out a soft groan, leaning his head back to chase your touch.

“Fuck, if you keep doing that there won’t be any words out of me for a while,” he said, and you laughed.

“You’re just like a cat,” you noted, the smile evident in your voice. You lightly scraped your fingernails against his scalp, finally seeing all the tension dissolve in his face.

“I would be happy to be a cat if I got to sit in your lap and get petted all day,” he drawled and you blushed at the deeper tone he adopted.

You opened your mouth to say something but stopped yourself as you noted the sated, sleepy smile on his face. The big, bad Prince Gojo was relaxed for once, and he looked painfully handsome.

Shaking your head to yourself, you continued silently stroking your hands through his hair, watching as his breaths slowed and became even. His lips parted slightly as his body relaxed with sleep, the side of his cheek turning to lay against your thigh.

You smiled to yourself, not ceasing your touch until you fell asleep yourself.

#gojo x reader #gojo fanfic #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #arranged marriage #forced proximity #female reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you

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lizzieisright · 1 month

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Stop the world (I wanna get off with you)

masc!reader x fem!Abby

Palestine: what can you do

Summary: You're tired of all this mandatory social stuff during another charity gala you attend. You watch Abby and wish for the time to stop so you two can have a moment.

Tags: Rich reader wears tuxedo, no other descriptions otherwise. Abby wears a dress (and she looks fucking stunning). For smut in the second half: fingering (r!abby), oral (r!abby), no power dynamics.

Notes: I blame Arctic Monkeys for this. (it wasn't even supposed to have smut, but I got carried away.)

/-/-/-/-/-/

It's been two hours since the gala started. You don't like those things: your social battery dies after the fifth person starts small talking with you - but you visit them anyway. It's for the greater good and you love charity, especially since your successful business lets you earn more money than you'd ever need in this lifetime - so you put them to work.

There's also two other, smaller reasons why you visit these events, and they're personal to you.

The first reason is vain. It's an excuse to wear the finest tuxedo you have - even though right now your bow-tie is undone and lies on your collarbone quite fashionably, and you can't be bothered to stand up from your seat as you nurse your non-alcoholic drink and stare at the most expensive pair of leather shoes you own. You're tired and ready to go home, but you catch the glimpse of yourself in the mirror and smirk - you look hot. Hot and rich. Your ego can’t get bigger.

The second reason has been going around the room talking to people and laughing, holding a glass of champagne and barely drinking from it.

The second reason is wearing a gorgeous silk golden dress that shows off her cleavage, her shoulders, her waist and her long legs. Her hair is plaited into a fluffy braid which makes it look weightless and beautiful. Your second reason looks like an amazonian goddess and you can’t take your eyes off of her.

You kinda wish the world would just stop for the two of you.

Abby catches your gaze and smiles - you smile back and raise your glass. You don’t want to go and talk - she is really the only person you like in this room - and you’d prefer to have your conversation private; although getting Abby alone isn't easy to do when she is working. Abby chuckles at your tortured expression but goes back to the conversation, nods as she listens.

Abby is magnificent and you admire her for what she does: she is very successful for her age, one of the leading doctors in the hospital that is hosting the gala. It’s rare when you could see her in anything else than scrubs, let alone a beautiful dress, and you don’t even feel bad about it - Abby wears scrubs because she helps people. She saves lives. All these fancy dinners and galas and dresses are tools for her to help her cause - to create more charity programs, to get medication more accessible, to get medical care accessible. There are no words to describe your admiration for Abby, but you hope your actions show enough.

So you don't distract Abby from doing her work, but keep watching her from afar, enjoying her every move, every curve that this dress shows, every flick of her braid and every sparkle of her eyes. She is just so fucking beautiful.

Half an hour later you start to get a little impatient - so you go to the balcony to let your ears rest from the whole buzz around you. You’re tempted to find Abby at this point, but she finds you first. You hear the clicking of her heels on the marble and smile before turning to face her.

“Hi.” Abby says sweetly and you melt.

“Hi.” You say almost dreamily, as if you can't believe she is here.

You take your jacket off to put it around her shoulders, and Abby blushes, beautiful pink highlights her freckles. You watch her in adoration and she blushes harder when she notices the depth of tenderness and love in your eyes.

“You look gorgeous.” You tell her and Abby can’t keep herself from smiling, a little shy. “I’m glad you decided to wear a dress today.”

“If it wasn’t for you, I don’t think I would’ve dared to.” Abby says. She is impossibly cute when her youngish shyness takes a hold of her. “I still have to meet some people.”

“Yeah. We’ve got people to see, places to go. I know.” You chuckle and caress Abby’s cheek reverently. She closes her eyes for a moment, basking in your touch. “I wish we could just stop the world and get off.”

Abby laughs quietly, a melodic sound that feels like home.

“I love your tuxedo.” Abby admits and toys with the ends of your bow-tie. “It does look better undone.” There’s a small implication of something dark and hot in her words and you feel the fire starting in your lower stomach.

“Love, you’re impossible.” You sigh, not letting yourself gently grab Abby by her hips. Not the time, not the place. “You have to meet some people, remember?”

“Yes.” Abby grins and gives your jacket back. Her perfume and your cologne are now mixed and you love it. “Maybe there is someone you’d like to talk to as well?”

“With the exception of you, I dislike everyone in the room.” You deadpan and Abby laughs.

You follow Abby inside anyway and now you have her on your arm, her forearm resting on yours. You’re tired, but Abby is tired too, and you support her as she goes on the last round of meeting and talking and telling people about her projects. Abby is very determined and passionate about her work, and you chuckle in your head - you have enough money to spoil Abby for the rest of her life, and you honestly dreamt about it: just having a housewife to take care of - but instead the love of your life is a constantly exhausted overworked doctor who wants the best for people. The irony of the situation never fails to amuse you.

“It was nice to meet you, Dr. Anderson.” The last person on Abby’s list tells her and you sigh in relief. “You’re doing very important work for all of us.”

“Thank you. It was nice to meet you as well.” Abby smiles politely and you finally walk her away from the crowd.

You put your jacket around Abby’s shoulders again and support her as you lead her to the car. You can’t wait to be home already.

“The night is cold today.” Abby notices when you get in the driver’s seat. You push the temperature higher and turn on the seat heating for Abby. “Thank you.”

“I know you love it when your butt is warm.” You tease her and Abby smacks your thigh lightly. “It’s cute.”

You live in a penthouse with a gorgeous view over the city - Abby felt a little awkward the first few times she came here, this level of luxury wasn't something she was used to even coming from a neurosurgeon's family. Now she calls this place home.

At home you open a bottle of wine and take Abby to the balcony. She looks stunning in the city lights as the wind plays with her hair and the free silk of her dress as she stands leaning on the glass railings. She looks at you and there’s so much tension between you you feel like it’d be a good idea to undo a button on your shirt. Abby’s eyes are piercing and warm, the dark trickle of her pupils follows your hand as you open your shirt.

You love how it feels as if you took her home for the first time, as if both of you are uncertain how the night will go but you also hope for the same ending. It makes you chuckle when you hand Abby her glass of wine.

“It reminds me of the night we met.” You tell her and Abby matches your chuckle. “I couldn’t look away from you.”

“You looked so grumpy and you kept staring at me, I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful before.” You take a sip of your wine and Abby blushes.

She is still not used to being found attractive when she presents more feminine - it took her years to gain confidence when her trained muscled body was enveloped in gentle and fragile silhouettes of dresses. But the night you met you looked at her like she was holy - and you still do - and it definitely helps.

“I’ve never seen someone so hot being so miserable before.” Abby teases you and you both share a quiet laugh. “I don’t think if it wasn’t for your scandalous donation I would’ve come up to you.”

You remember how fast your heart was beating when Abby approached you to thank you - she was shy but cheerful and you put all effort into making a good impression that night.

“I love you so much.” You tell Abby and finally put one of your hands on her hip. You rub your thumb over her hip bone and feel like you’re home.

“I love you too, my antisocial knight with an undone bow-tie.”

You beam but try to conceal it.

“My love.” You kiss Abby’s forehead, your lips linger on her skin. “My life.” You kiss her cheek and squeeze her hip a little. You move your mouth down and leave a kiss behind her ear. “My wife.”

Abby giggles and kisses you, her mouth pleasantly cold and you wrap your free arm around her waist to press her closer. Abby feels the fabric of your slacks and your belt buckle through her thin dress and it makes her shudder; she suddenly feels hot.

“Fuck.” Abby sighs and opens her legs, her golden dress riding up on her hip when she tries to wrap her leg around you.

You chuckle and kiss her cheek apologetically before moving away. Abby pouts a little and you laugh kindly before you take her glass of wine from her and put both of your glasses on the near table. You don't want to ruin Abby's dress by spilling wine on it, although you wouldn't mind having Abby's perfect body covered in wine so you could like every drop and watch the dark liquid contrast with her light skin.

“Come here.” Abby sighs and you obey, kissing her again and finally hooking her thigh over your hip.

You push Abby into the railing behind her and she hugs your shoulders while she kisses you back. You moan into her mouth, your hands roam from her waist to her hips, hungry and ready to devour her piece by piece. Only now, when you hold Abby so tightly, you notice that the silk of her dress is smooth under your fingers - there’s not ridges or bumps that would evidence there’s something underneath.

“You’re not wearing underwear?” Abby shudders when she hears your voice drop an octave, desperate.

“It ruined the look.” Abby shrugs and pushes her cunt into your crotch, the cold silk is so thin she thinks she can grind against your belt buckle and cum just like this. “And now it seems I’m ruining the dress with how wet you got me.”

You growl and kiss Abby again, rough and passionate, not letting her take a breath. You knead her waist and thigh, riding up her dress until the slit is high enough for your hand to slip under, to the wet heat between Abby's thighs. You cup her pussy and kiss her neck, and Abby whimpers quietly.

“Wanna know what I'm thinking about?” You murmur into her ear while your fingers find her clit and start rubbing it slowly.

“Yeah.” Abby presses you closer, squeezes your waist as if you will walk away. As if you'd ever leave her.

“That I should've fucked you back on that balcony.” You growl into her ear and chuckle when Abby's hips start moving against your palm. “Should've gotten you dripping and shaking for me. Let you walk around and pretend to be okay while clenching your thighs so your cum wouldn't drip down on the floor.”

“Fuck.” Abby whimpers and her movements become more energetic. “Fuck me, please.”

“What do you want?” You lick Abby's collarbone and she whines.

“Fingers.”

You hum and smear Abby's cum all over her cunt before sinking two of your fingers in. You watch Abby's face as you slowly feed her your fingers: she is beautiful. Her cute little frown, mouth opened but no sound escaping it and crimson red blush on her cheekbones - she is God. Your God.

“Gorgeous.” You whisper and curl your fingers inside her.

Abby's pelvis jumps and you giggle, surprised at her sudden sensitivity. You fuck her slowly, carefully - Abby might be big and strong, but she is such a delicate woman. You make sure you treat her as such.

“I love you.” Abby sighs while her cum drips down your hand and her thigh.

“I love you too.” You kiss her shoulder lovingly.

You move away just enough to have some space between the two of you, your fingers still slowly fucking Abby's hole and your thumb lazily playing with her clit. Now the world has stopped and you can have her all for yourself.

You gently brush your fingers over her shoulder and move the strap of the dress down so you could free her tits. Abby helps you and soon the top half of her dress is bundled up at her waist. You lick your lips as you watch Abby's nipples tighten from the wind, her cute little tits are all for your eyes only.

You lean down and take her left nipple into your mouth, sucking on it gently, and Abby twitches, her cunt fluttering around your fingers. You're still slow - Abby gets so turned on when you take your time with her; the anticipation makes her so much more sensitive.

“Baby.” Abby whimpers and presses your head closer. “You're so good.”

You tenderly nip at her nipple and thumb her clit at the same time, and Abby clenches on your fingers.

“Baby, give me one more. Please. Make me full.”

You buck your hips instinctively at her words, so turned on your brain barely functions by this point. You're not packing today and it's a damn pity, but you don't waste time on thinking about it - instead you take your fingers out fully.

“You're drenched, love.” You smirk and push three fingers slowly to the hilt. “Take it.” You rasp into Abby's ear as her walls close on your digits.

Abby whimpers and bites her lip, her eyes rolling back from how good you feel inside her. It's a little tight, but Abby loves it, loves how you're stretching her. She loves the feeling of your fingers brushing over her hot walls, your soft fingertips and hard knuckles and the pad of your thumb on her clit.

You push at Abby's sweet spot to make her moan and she digs her nails into your shoulder, her thighs starting to shake.

“You look like a goddamn goddess.” You tell Abby in awe, but you're so turned on you can't keep your hips from bucking against her. You step closer and start grinding on her thigh, the harsh fabric of your underwear and slacks making the pleasure more intense. Abby moves one of her hands down and squeezes your ass, moaning desperately.

“Fuck, cum with me. Baby, please, cum with me.” Abby moans and you start grinding rough and fast, grunting when the stitch on your pants digs into your clit just right. “Go faster, please.”

“So polite.” You say, panting, but you pick up your speed and Abby just gets wetter and wetter: you think you've got her cum on your cuffs by now.

You pinch her nipple with a free hand and Abby moans louder. She puts her forehead on your shoulder and whimpers right into your ear, making you rut on her thigh harder. You're close, and Abby is close - you feel her beautiful cunt getting tighter and tighter around your fingers. You slow down and Abby clings to you, her hips bucking into your hand.

“I'm close.” Abby pouts and you lick her neck.

“Oh, I know. Can feel how tight you are now.” You smirk.

It's a sweet torture for both of you - you also slow down with your grinding - but you know Abby's orgasm will be stronger after being close like this.

“Can't wait to bury my tongue in your cunt.” You tell Abby and she gets so desperate in your hands. She clings to you, bucks her hips and tries to take your fingers deeper, and it melts your heart.

Fuck it, you think, and then you drop to your knees. If Abby is your God, you need to worship her accordingly.

“Baby, what-” Abby tries to say, confused when she loses the feeling of your hot cunt on her thigh, but then it dawns on her. “Please-please-please.”

You put her thigh that was on your hip over your shoulder and push her dress up, until the entirety of it is bundled around Abby's waist. Abby is looking down at you, her mouth open and her eyes pleading, and you finally lock your mouth on her pussy.

“Oh my god.” Abby whimpers when you suck on her clit. “Oh my god, baby, I'm gonna cum, fuck-”

You hum, your eyes rolled back in ecstasy as Abby's taste envelopes your senses. Her cunt is always so soft and so hot, and you can't help yourself: you bury your face in it, licking her up from her hole where your fingers slowly fuck up into her, and to her clit. Abby holds your head with her hands and starts bucking her hips into your face, riding your tongue, and you relax: you let her use you as she pleases.

Abby's voice becomes higher and louder, and she presses you closer with the heel digging into your back. It's kinda painful since Abby is still wearing her stilettos, but you don't care. You're high on her, and being pulled closer, having her scent and taste and warmth surrounding you is pure bliss. You're still slow and it makes Abby more desperate as she chases her orgasm, but she doesn't ask you to go faster - instead she bucks her hips rougher and doesn't leave you a choice but to eat her out like she wants it.

“Baby, wait, fuck, wait-”

Her approaching orgasm feels different, too intense - and she knows what is going to happen, but she is always embarrassed when she squirts right on your face - she wants to ask you to stand up, but she can't, lost in her pleasure.

You know she is going to squirt as well, her walls are so tight around your fingers it is literally hard to move them and your wrist starts to cramp now, but you keep fucking her, because you want her to squirt all over your face.

“Fuck!” Abby screams and folds, holding to your head for dear life and unconsciously pressing you closer to her cunt with her thigh on your shoulder, almost suffocating you, drowning you in her cum.

You would die as the happiest woman on Earth if this would be your last moment: between the legs of the love of your life, drenched in her cum.

Abby is still whimpering and you keep your fingers moving gently just to prolong her pleasure, and you keep eating her out just to get all her cum, softly moving your tongue around.

“Fuck.” Abby pants and watches you between her thighs. You're absolutely pussy drunk, soaked to your chest and you look high. Abby giggles, embarrassed, and puts the loose hairs away from your forehead. “I soaked you.”

“Yes. Thank you.” You kiss a trail up Abby's thigh that's on your shoulder.

“Come here.” Abby says weakly and you carefully put her leg down and get up, holding Abby by her waist. You know her legs are shaky and you want to support her. “I'm a mess.” Abby chuckles and you kiss her neck.

“You're beautiful. I'm definitely fucking you next time we go to an event. I don't care.”

Abby giggles and kisses you, not minding that your whole face is covered in her cum. You kiss her back and pinch her nipple gently just to make her jump.

“Let's get you warm.” You tell Abby when you notice the goosebumps covering her arms and chest.

“You haven't cum yet.”

“You can worry about it when you're warm and clean.” You kiss the tip of her nose and lead her back inside.

Abby repays you thoroughly in the shower.

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson smut #abby anderson

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