#does age makes you wiser

[french-goodbye]

please never fall in love again

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: dating steve harrington is hard, especially when girls keep hitting on him.

notes: i wrote this a while ago but eventually forgot about it in the midst of all my wips lol. title from the song please never fall in love again by ollie mn.

you stare at the back of your boyfriend's head with narrowed eyes and your chin resting on your hands, an anger you know you shouldn't be feeling boiling beneath the surface of your skin. he, of course is none the wiser, as he is to most things, just chatting with eddie completely carefree by the bar.

you love steve harrigton, you really do. you think you fell in love with him on your first date and never really fell out of it. you've already planned your whole life with him, from getting married and having kids to growing old with him and sitting side by side on a wrap around porch. he's sweet, kind, he's great with kids and it doesn't hurt that he's easy on the eyes and great in bed.

his biggest flaw, however, is not exactly his fault. the worst thing about dating steve harrigton is the amount of women who hit on him on a daily basis. whether it's old ladies at the grocery store telling him he looks like their dead husbands or bored soccer moms looking for a little thrill or, the worst of all, the girls your age who slip him their phone number in old receipts over the counter at family video. these women are always there, like blood sniffing sharks, somehow finding a way to make a suggestive comment or a flirty joke.

most of the time, it doesn't really bother you even when it does happen in front of you. steve's the kind of guy who'd never cheat on you, simply because of who he is and how obsessed with you he is. sometimes, however, they can get a little too close and personal and you can't help but wish steve was a little less attractive. just a little.

and it's not that you don't trust him either, he's always quick and firm to shut them down when it happens. it's that they're the ones you don't trust, the girls with big permed blonde hair and fake tans and bright pink lipstick who look at you disdainfully when they realize you're together because they can barely take their eyes off of him for long enough to notice you're standing right next to him.

you're out at a bar celebrating jonathan's birthday when it happens this time, steve and eddie having offered to get everyone another round, the two of them leaning against the bar talking while they wait when a girl from the booth in the corner approaches them. she's clearly a little bit more than tipsy and obviously focused on steve as she talks to them, avidly taking him in and resting her hand on his forearm. he doesn't even blink, just smoothly leans away from her and tells her something that makes her leave as fast as she arrived.

you can barely hear nancy as she complains about her male coworkers on her summer job, as you heatedly stare at his stupidly nice hair and broad shoulders as your boyfriend laughs at something eddie said, hand scratching his neck. you're still watching him with scrunched eyebrows and a sour expression when you feel robin poking your cheek, making you look at her and gently slap her hand away.

"why are you poking me?"

"why are you staring at steve like he kicked your puppy?" she asks, frowning, looking back and forth between the two of you like a tennis match.

"i'm not" she gives you a flat look with raised brows. "fine," you huff. "why do women always hit on him? we can't take him anywhere"

"no idea, you tell me"

"urgh" you groan, throwing your arms around her and resting your head on her shoulder. "god, i hate men"

"amen sister" you hang onto her for a second as she takes a noisy sip of her empty drink through her straw and taps your back sympathetically a few times before gently pushing you away as steve and eddie walk back to your table, drinks in hands and still chatting distractedly.

she softly claps her hands, enthusiastically and telling you a quiet "yay" as she turns back to nancy and jonathan, as the two argue wether or not their coworkers are sexist (they totally are).

you're still laughing at robin's drunken antics when steve comes to your side again and sets your new drink on the table in front of you, resting his hand on your lower back. you let him but when he leans over you to press a kiss to your hair, you promptly dodge away from him and out of his reach. from the corner of your eye, you can see how he frowns at that and silently watches you for a second as you pretend to listen to what nancy says.

his hand on your lower back climbs all the way up to the back of your neck so he turn your head his away, forcing you to look at his big brown eyes staring at you like you just kicked his puppy and you almost feel guilty. almost.

"what's wrong?" he asks.

you shrug, "nothing's wrong."

"are you mad at me or something?"

"no" you slowly shake your head in negative, shrugging.

"gimme a kiss then" he rests one of his hands on your face tilting your head his way while the other on your neck guides your face to his. you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek and look away, accidentally making eye contact with the girl who just hit on him. she's watching the two of you, quickly looking away when she notices she was caught staring.

"you saw that, huh" he tells you, hands settling on your waist instead so he can look at you.

"hard not to" you huff, picking invisible lint from your pants.

"then you know nothing happened"

"of course i know that, i trust you" you complain as you roll your eyes and gesticulate to show your frustration "but i-it just makes so insanely angry when they touch you like that, like they have any right to-" you stop your ranting mid sentence when you realize the look on his face. "what? why are you looking at me like that?"

"nothing" he clears his throat and looks down to uselessly smooth non existing wrinkles on your top. you watch him though narrowed eyes and gasp when it hits you, making him look at you again. "what?"

"you like it when i'm jealous" you accuse, lightly poking his chest.

"no, i don't"

"yes, you do. i can't believe i never noticed it before" you huff an incredulous laugh, remembering all the times girls hit on him in front of you and he said nothing but affirmations of how much he's in love with you and how he could never want somebody else, acting more attentive and affectionate than usual later, pressing you against his body and kissing kissing kissing you until he was the only thing on your mind.

"okay, it's not what you're thinking" he replies running a hand through his hair nervously.

"what am i thinking, harrington?" you ask, lifting one eyebrow as a smirk makes it's way to your lips.

"it's not an ego thing" you laugh softly at him, letting your fingers run soothingly through the hair at the nape of his neck, finally giving into the temptation to get your hands on him. "it's just- i like knowing how much you want me just for yourself, how much you care about me."

you stare at him for a moment, taking in his sincere brown eyes and his fluffy hair, feeling impossibly endeared by the boy in front of you. he fidgets under your stare, so you smooth your hands down his shoulders, feeling the muscles underneath his shirt.

"well, i do care... a lot" you tell him, pretending to be coy and batting your eyelashes at him. "but it's not like i blame her"

"what?" he looks at you blankly, confused.

"i mean, look at you" you pull him closer and then closer still, still smirking. "those nice brown eyes, the pretty hair, those shoulders... nevermind how much of a charmer you are. damn harrington, no wonder women keep throwing themselves at you."

"babe" he groans embarrassedly, "they're not throwing themselves-" he dramatically drops his forehead on your shoulder making you laugh at his discomfort, letting brown strands of hair slip through your fingers as you comfortingly pet his hair and he squeezes your waist in reprimand.

"it's true!"

he pulls you closer by the grip he has on your waist and burrows his face in the crook of your neck in lieu of an answer. you let him have it even though you would like to see his face and the way his blush is probably spreading from his cheek to his neck and rest your chin into his shoulder as you hug him.

"but one of these days i'll have to step in and defend your honor"

"please don't" he pulls away and cups your neck, thumbs brushing your cheek and staring at you disapprovingly, his eyelashes touching at the corners, the hint of a smile still on his face.

"i don't know, maybe i'll have to challenge them to a duel to the death" you disagree and look at him from under your eyelashes. he gives you an affectionate look that'd make you nauseous were it not directed at you and presses a long lingering kiss to your lips.

"shut up" he whispers against your lips. you gladly do, at least until eddie and robin start throwing balled up paper napkins at your head. it's worth it though.

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things x reader #mine

[sadsongsandwaltzes]

I’ve noticed an overwhelming trend of 20 something/early 30s not adapting well to parenthood, and motherhood specifically (woman to woman, here)

This is the first generation of now adults that have been raised with a default state of rest. The concept of working and doing what needs to be done from sunrise to sunset is foreign, so something as demanding and difficult as motherhood seems overwhelmingly impossible.

If you view life as your default being watching TV and checking off a few things from a list during the day, you surely aren’t going to adapt well to that which forces you to actively live. It’s a complete lifestyle switch — to a life where you must do everything intentionally, even rest. Which is by far a better way of living, but it has been robbed from these younger generations.

And adding to the problem is lack of community. Folks are herded through life like cattle with little interaction with those outside their own age. They don’t have an older, wiser guide to follow through life, neither do they know how to make sense of the little ones. Enter all the atrocious baby and parenting books that do no good but cause stress and confusion for these young parents, but they eat them up because they have no other point of direction through parenthood. They’ve never really cared for the little ones outside of a four hour Saturday night babysitting gig a couple times in high school. They’ve never had to manage a household. They can hardly manage themselves.

And while this post is about a concerning trend of parents not being able to raise their own kids, it’s really just one symptom of the larger problem that I’ve already pointed out: we no longer actively live as much as we passively exist.

There are more and more people who are amazed at the concept of Actively Doing all day.

And I speak with such authority here because it’s a mindset shift I’ve lived through. I can get done in one morning what used to take me a week. And I have hobbies. And I have been learning new skills. And I have more responsibilities. And I have had no trouble taking these things in stride as life has marched on since having this mindset shift.

A lot in life really does come down to mindset. And that is the problem plaguing folks my age and younger.

[valeskafics]

"Rūklītsos" - Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Reader

a/n: this might be one of my fave things i've written, ngl, enjoy gothelmond 🤭

Summary: Found by Prince Aemond on the streets of Flea Bottom when both of you were children, he saved you when you were on the brink of starvation, hiding you away in the Red Keep as his little secret - his precious flower.

TW: DUBCON, dark/possessive/yandere behavior, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, some infantilization, gaslighting, mirror kink, fingering, tiddy succin, oral m and f receiving, corruption kink, loss of virginity, breeding kink, p in v sex

Word Count: 3,600 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

Living in your tower, life often proceeds as one day blurring into another, with you attempting to occupy yourself by painting, reading, whatever you can to make the time pass. You have no shortage of paints, though it does seem that the walls are starting to run out of room for your artistic ventures. You also have a plethora of books at your disposal, your caretaker offering to procure more on any subject you find interesting.

Aemond found you when you were a young girl, both of you only around ten years of age, soon after he returned from Lady Laena’s funeral on Driftmark. You were begging for coin on the streets of Flea Bottom, orphaned and alone. Aemond immediately offered for you to come live with him at the Red Keep. Not in his chambers, of course, but in an abandoned tower. He fixed it up for you, making you promise never to leave, telling you that this was the only way he’d be able to protect you. And you, naive little girl that you were, believed him.

You know, probably better than anyone, that Prince Aemond is handsome. The two of you have grown up side by side. You saw his boyish figures morph into the sharp ones he has now, that jawline so sharp that it looks as though it could draw blood, his prominent nose, his beautiful flaxen locks, and, more than anything? His sapphire eye. You were the first person he showed it to outside of his family, and he remembers to this day the way you stared at it in awe, saying how pretty it was, tracing your soft fingertips over his scar. It was only a few days after you’d met him, before he even admitted to being the prince, and so he knew you spoke in earnest.

That was when he knew he was in love with you. That he would do anything to keep you safe and by his side. Anything.

Perhaps his intentions were indeed noble at first, just wanting to help a girl who was suffering alone on the streets, to save her from being destitute, from ending up working at one of the pillow houses or somewhere even worse. But as the two of you grew older, his intentions changed. His touch lingered longer than necessary, as did his gaze in places where a gentleman should not look. You remained none the wiser, thinking of Prince Aemond as your dearest friend, the one who lifted you from abject poverty, the one who brought you food and drink every day, who brought you books and paints, who spent all his free time with you.

How was a sweet, innocent flower like you meant to know the depths of his obsession?

The day before your twentieth nameday, Aemond climbs up the steps to your tower, feeling quite pleased with himself that he has acquired the perfect gift for his sweet little flower. When he opens the door, you come rushing to greet him as you always do. You’re always so excited to see him, and why wouldn’t you be? For the last ten years, his face has been the only one you have seen. His voice has been the only one you have heard. He’s quite pleased by the sweet smile on your face as you embrace him.

“Good morrow, Aemond!”

“And a good morrow to you too, my sweet flower,” he says softly, smiling at you as he admires the lilac gown you’ve put own, the flowers you’ve managed to weave in your hair as if in anticipation of seeing him, “What a lovely dress you’re wearing today. And your hair, even more beautiful than usual. Is there a special occasion?” Aemond teases.

“Of course there is!” you say, almost indignantly, “Tomorrow is my nameday!”

“Hm, are you quite sure?” Aemond feigns confusion, “I distinctly remember your nameday being last year, dōnus riñus.” (sweet girl)

“Well, that’s the thing about birthdays, they’re kind of an annual thing,” you sass, the two of you moving to sit at the small table where you sup together every day.

“So they are,” he chuckles, “And let’s see, how old are you turning?”

You stare at him so incredulously that he can’t help the full-blown laughter that escapes his lips, “You know it’s my twentieth nameday!”

“And why should I know that?”

You move to slap his shoulder, earning another laugh, “You’re so mean, you should know because we’re the same age!”

Aemond catches your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your palm before smirking, “I have a gift for you, sweet girl.”

You look at him with bright eyes, full of hope, “You’re taking me out of the tower?”

He sighs, shaking his head, “No, darling, I am afraid not.”

You gaze up at him with those sweet, innocent doe eyes that make him weak in the knees, willing to grant you almost anything, “But why not? Don’t you trust me?”

Aemond cups your face in his hands, running his thumbs over your cheekbones, stroking your soft, delicate skin, “Of course I do,” he presses his lips to your temple, “I trust you with all I have.”

“Then why won’t you let me outside?”

“Because,” he says, resting his forehead against yours, “You are too sweet and innocent for the world outside this tower, “The outside world is a dangerous place. Cold and dark and selfish and cruel. You must stay here, with me, where it is safe, rūklītsos. Don’t you see? I cannot let you leave the tower,” Aemond watches as you avert your gaze sadly, lifting your chin so that your eyes meet his once again, “You aren’t sad, my pet, are you?” (little flower)

He watches as you shy away slightly at the nickname before speaking, “I just… I just wished to have one day outside…”

“Ñuhus rūklȳs,” Aemond sighs, still caressing your face with his hands, rough and calloused from hours of training with the sword and yet somehow so comforting against your skin, “Are you not happy here with your prince?” (my flower)

“It’s not that at all,” you say quickly, “I just…”

“Just what?” Aemond tilts his head to the side, “What is it you are trying to hide from me, pet, hm,” his grip tightens on your chin ever so slightly, not enough to hurt but just enough to emphasize his point, “Another man, mayhaps?”

Your jaw drops as you look up at him, “How could you ask me that?”

“Because I can tell you’re hiding something,” he states, gazing into your eyes with all the rage and jealousy that a man in love, nay, a man obsessed, would have, “Tell me the truth, flower. Is there another man you speak to?”

“No, my prince, you are the only person I have spoken to for nearly ten years now,” you declare vehemently, resting your hands over his, nothing but sincerity in your voice and gaze.

He regards you for a moment before nodding, pressing his lips to your forehead, “I believe you, my pet,” you let out a relieved breath at his words as Aemond continues to stare at you with that intense blue eyed gaze, “Now, allow me to give you your gift, hm? Close your eyes, sweet girl,” Aemond reaches into his pocket, keeping his eye trained on you all the while, and all you can hear is the quiet rustling of him pulling something out of his pocket, and then a clinking sound, “Open.”

When your eyes flutter open, you’re met with the sight of the most beautiful necklace you’ve ever seen. It is a chain made of fine silver, not unlike the one Aemond wears most days, and at its end is a beautiful sapphire pendant in the shape of a heart. You let out a quiet gasp, your hand flying to your mouth as you admire the fine piece of jewelry.

“The sapphire is cut from the same one that replaced my eye,” he informs you proudly, “This is a necklace fit for a princess, my sweet girl. Fit for you.”

Your lips part for a moment as you try to gather the words to say before you finally speak, “It’s so beautiful. I fear I’m not worthy of such a fine jewel, Aemond.”

“Of course you are,” he immediately refutes your claim, leading you over to your vanity.

You watch in the mirror as Aemond unclasps the necklace, bringing it around to place on your neck, his fingers brushing against your collarbone ever so slightly as he does, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You move your hair out of the way for him, moving it forward so that it hangs over the bodice of your dress. He fastens the necklace, running his fingers along the nape of your neck. Aemond rests his chin against your shoulder, inhaling deeply, taking in your scent of jasmine mixed with rose, so beautiful and enticing.

You turn to face him, the sapphire nestled between your breasts, drawing his attention there even more than it normally would be, “Do I look pretty?”

Gods, Aemond can hardly resist pulling you into his arms and taking you right then and there when you speak to him with that sweet little lilt to your voice.

He gives you a smile, one with a deep-seated hunger behind it, a lasciviousness to his gaze more evident than ever before, “You always look pretty, my sweet. But you look absolutely divine with this necklace on.”

You preen under his attention, beaming up at him before turning back to your vanity and taking a seat, brushing your hair, humming to yourself. Aemond stands there, content to watch you for a time, before he decides to take a more hands on approach. He gently lifts you and moves to sit in the chair, placing you squarely in his lap. You look at him in the mirror as he takes the brush from your hand and begins brushing your hair himself. After he finishes his task, he presses a kiss to your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Would you do something for me, pet?” Aemond murmurs, “Something for your sweet prince?”

You nod, “Of course. Anything within my power.”

He moves to rest his hands on the supple flesh of your thighs over your gown, prompting you to take a tremulous breath. He’s getting dangerously close to where you know only a husband is meant to touch, and yet you say nothing, your lips pressed together as you wait to hear his request.

“Would you show me,” he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your neck, just beneath your ear, his breath tickling your skin as he questions, “What you look like wearing only my gift?”

For a moment, you seem to forget how to breathe. What you look like only wearing his gift? You may be naive, without much experience in the ways of men or the world, but you understand the implication behind his words all too well. When you and Aemond were thirteen, he snuck a copy of Lady Coryanne Wylde’s “A Caution For Young Girls” out of the archives and brought it to the tower, the two of you being entirely scandalized by the words Lady Coryanne wrote. You remember the feeling between your thighs as you and Aemond took turns reading from the entirely debauched work of literature, if one could even call it that.

“I don’t catch your meaning, Aemond,” you say, deciding the easiest course of action is to feign ignorance.

Aemond tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eye and pursing his lips in a show of faux offense. You should’ve known he’s too sharp to fall for that.

“I think you do, pet,” he chides in a mocking tone, moving his hands further up your thighs, closer to where you’ve spent many a lonely night touching yourself, imagining your fingers were his, “I think you know exactly what it is that I want, my little petal.”

He moves his hands away, making you nearly whine at the loss of his touch, only to gasp as he moves his fingers to begin untying the back of your dress. Bit by bit, he deftly undoes your dress, allowing it to fall to your waist. Your arms immediately move to try and cover your breasts, prompting Aemond to chuckle.

“Rūklītsos, there is no need for that,” he all but purrs in your ear, moving to lift you slightly, your dress falling in a crumpled heap to the floor, as Aemond sets you back down on his lap, “Now stop hiding from me. I want to see my beautiful gift on you, pet.”

You listen to him, letting your hands fall to your sides. Aemond moves your hair back so that you are fully bared to him. His gaze moves along your form in the mirror, heady and intense, admiring the way his gift looks, perfectly placed between your full breasts, so soft, bared just for him. You look as though you are aching to be touched. He moves his gaze downward to your soft thighs, to the patch of curls covering your most intimate spot.

“You are so beautiful, it drives me mad,” he says after a moment, his chin resting on your shoulder once again, one arm wrapped around your waist while his other hand rests your thigh, making its way up slowly, “You are mine and no one else’s, little petal. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Aemond,” you breathe, your eyes meeting his in the mirror.

“Say it louder, pet,” he demands, hands now on both of your thighs, spreading them apart so that your legs are draped around his, your cunt on full display, prompting you to turn your gaze from the mirror, entirely abashed and unable to look, “Say that you are mine and only mine.”

He trails his fingers along your wetness, smirking to himself as you whimper, “I belong to you, my prince, I am only yours. I will only ever be yours.”

You let out a gasp as Aemond pushes two fingers inside of you, his free hand moving to turn your face back to the mirror, holding it in place, forcing you to watch as he pumps his fingers in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace, “Then prove it, pet,” he whispers, “Prove how much you love me. Watch me as I bring you to your peak on my fingers.”

You obey him, watching as he begins to move his fingers in and out of you faster and faster, the wet sounds they create making you feel embarrassed beyond belief. Your breathing devolves into soft pants as you grip Aemond’s thighs for support, crying out pathetically as he rubs against your sweet spot over and over as though he wishes to torture you. Aemond watches the way your chest heaves with each breath you take, the subtle bounce of your breasts as he fucks you with his fingers, over and over until you spill yourself on his fingertips with a cry of his name.

Aemond removes his fingers from you, keeping eye contact with you in the mirror as he brings them to his lips, licking them clean, letting out a low moan as he does. You look at yourself in the mirror, your slightly mussed hair, your dilated pupils, the thin sheen of sweat covering you, and you hardly recognize yourself. However, you don’t have much time to pay that any mind when Aemond lifts you in his arms, carrying you to your bed. He places you down gently, grinning when you gaze up at him with a shy smile.

“What is it, pet?”

“Can I,” you swallow thickly, “Can I make you feel good? With my mouth? Like Lady Coryanne did for her lover in the book?”

Aemond knows at that moment the Seven are real and that they favor him. He immediately nods his head, undoing his breeches, his cock already hard, the tip an angry red color, evidence of his arousal already dripping from the tip.

You move your hand tentatively to touch him, your lips parting in surprise, “Are you in pain? It feels so hard…”

He smirks, “Such awful pain, pet, pain that only those lips and that pretty little tongue of yours can abate.”

Aemond guides your head toward his cock, letting out a low moan as your tongue pokes out, giving a few little kitten licks to the tip. You’re such a little fucking tease and you don’t even know it. Your lips wrap around the tip, your head bobbing up and down slightly before you pull off, moving to lick along the underside of his cock, pressing against the vein there, making him throw his head back with a low hiss at the sensation. Such a curious little thing you are, he muses as you drop to your knees and begin to mouth at his stones, your soft hands resting against his thighs. Your mouth finds its way back to his cock, taking him in as far as you can, and he lets out a guttural groan of your name as you begin pleasuring him, forward and back, the warm, wet cavern of your mouth enveloping him in the way he’s dreamed for so long. He spills himself on your tongue, watching as you swallow his spend, looking up at him through your long lashes.

He pulls you to your feet before pushing you back on the bed, ridding himself of his tunic and moving over you, his lips finding your neck, hands groping at your breasts. You let out a soft moan of his name as he squeezes your tits, kneading the supple flesh in his hands before he kisses a trail down your neck to one of your nipples, taking it in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as it pebbles beneath his ministrations. You rub your thighs together, the feeling making you throb between your legs once more as he mouths at your breast, switching his focus to your other one before kissing down your stomach to your bare cunt. He spreads your thighs before pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your cunt, his tongue delving deep inside you. You let out a mewl of his name, your hands flying to his hair as you try to push him away, the pleasure being almost too much, but Aemond continues his task. He alternates between lapping at your folds and suckling at your sensitive pearl, making you choke on a sob of his name, his tongue driving you absolutely mad.

“Aemond, please,” you whimper, not knowing what it is you’re even pleading for - more? Less? Your release? You don’t know.

He continues, bringing you to your peak not once but twice against his tongue as he strokes his cock, working it to full hardness again. When he pulls away, his lips glisten with your juices and he immediately kisses you, making you taste yourself, the sensation being not at all unpleasant.

“My other gift for your nameday,” he murmurs in your ear, “Is that you and I shall be wed on the morrow. I will bring a septon to bind us to each other, but tonight, we consummate our match.”

You barely register his words as he thrusts into you, eliciting a low whine from your lips as his cock fills you, splitting you open. With how wet you are, it doesn’t cause as much pain as you had anticipated, but still, you’ve never felt this full before. He stills for a moment, allowing you to catch your breath before he moves in even closer, pushing your knees up to your chest, his knees resting on either side of your hips as he begins pounding into you at a relentless pace. He fucks you so hard and so deep that all you can do is part your lips in a silent scream of his name, the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot with every thrust, his stones slapping against your skin.

“Going to breed you, pet,” he growls in your ear, “Going to spill my seed inside your tight little cunt, watch it leak out of you, and then I’ll fuck you and breed you again. And when my oaf of a brother inevitably drinks himself to death, I’ll be king, and you’ll be my sweet little queen. I’ll fuck you on the Iron Throne, fuck another heir into you, watch you grow fat with my babe. You want that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Aemond,” you cry out, feeling yourself tightening around him, his thrusts slowing ever so slightly as he nears his own peak, “Oh gods…”

“My sweet flower,” he murmurs, moving his thumb to make small circles against your pearl, causing you to moan out his name, “Such a perfect little cunt for me, so wet, so tight. Going to fuck you every morning, every night, going to make sure my seed takes.”

You soak Aemond’s cock as you reach your peak with a scream of his name, his own release following soon after as he spills his seed inside you. As he pulls out, he uses his fingers to push his spend back into you, smirking as he states that it isn’t to be wasted.

As you lay in his arms you question, now that you’re to be wed, whether you’ll be let out of the tower.

Aemond looks at you, as though what you’ve said is a joke before he murmurs, “No, petal. You won’t ever need to leave our bed.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond fic #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond x reader #house of the dragon #my writing #fairytale au #aemond oneshot

[luv4fushi]

HEYYY🦅

I really likes your megumi drabble. HE SO CUTE😭😭 i kinda wish you write more megumi 🩷

megumi fluff (?) and angst at your service! sorry it took FOREVER i had 478274 exams these past few weeks ughhh sorry & ily thx for the req ~~~

he likes me, he likes me not

jjk fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

all megumi fushiguro does is apologize when he rejects you. everything changes because of your confession.

content: angst, fluff if you squint, all characters aged up to 17-18!!!, misunderstandings, confessions, eventual relationship!, megumi is so bad at feelings, ooc megumi a little sorry, takes place at jujutsu tech high school and shibuya has NEVER happened so life is good, yuji and nobara are your besties

wc: 5.1k

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“i like you.”

for a moment, the world stills. everything comes to a halt.

megumi is sitting across from you at your favorite cafe, just down the street from tokyo jujutsu high, the school you’ve been attending for nearly two years now.

in that short amount of time, you’ve grown into a person you think the past you would’ve liked. you’re taller now, more fit and lean. you’ve got bounds of experience from your missions piled on your shoulders, the unwavering burden of being a jujutsu sorcerer making itself at home.

you’ve grown in other ways, too. you’re stronger now, you’ve got a good hold on your emotions. you haven’t seen your parents in months, but the sting doesn’t hurt anymore. you’re wiser. older. you’ve got a handle on your feelings.

then there’s megumi fushiguro.

oh, how enamored you’d been.

he’d spared no glance when he first met you. you had trudged into the classroom, eyes darting at the unfamiliar faces. gojo satoru, the undeniably handsome teacher of yours, introduced you brightly albeit the low energy of the room.

you had weaved your way into the jujutsu world, just as you had been able to slither your way into the lives of your newfound friends.

but megumi, oh, megumi fushiguro.

it had taken you laborious months to befriend the raven haired boy. his uninviting attitude hindered your relationship with him for some time, and you had half-heartedly decided to pursue something else, but your near death experience during a particularly difficult mission with him had sent him reeling. he had held onto you the entire time you cried for your mother.

you don’t talk about that day. he doesn’t mention it, either.

“what?” his eyes, dark blue, blink in surprise. his lips are parted slightly. “what did you say?”

your throat constricts. then, the words flow: “i’m in love with you.”

love. it’s too strong of a word. you’re not even quite sure what it means, or if what you feel is actually love.

the cafe begins to bustle with life again. the barista from behind the counter steams some milk—almond—and she glances up at a customer approaching. the music from the overhead speakers filters it’s way softly into your ears. it’s a cheesy love song, and you can’t help but feel like it isn’t the right time for that.

“are you serious?” he says, almost spitting out his drink.

“i mean,” you shrug, “yeah? i wouldn’t bring you all the way out here to fuck with you.”

he blinks again. his lashes flutter perfectly. it’s annoying how perfect he is. there’s a slight hue of pink to his cheeks, but not enough to confirm anything—just speculation.

“i’m sorry,” he begins, breathing it out all in one go. “i’m really sorry.”

if you’re being honest with yourself, you’d seen it coming from a mile away; megumi fushiguro is different. he’s got the composure of a brick wall. the perpetual frown on his face never, ever leaves, not even when he’s with you. he doesn’t crack, doesn’t shake. his soul is hardened from things that he’ll never speak of with you.

“it’s okay,” you say, but it’s not.

you’ve changed—grown into a person you’re proud of, but you’re still stuck sometimes. you’re still a pushover. still just a small shrimp in the vast ocean. still apologizing for your existence.

“i’m sorry,” megumi repeats.

you know he’s apologetic, that he really means it, just from the way his brows furrow slightly. you know him too well for your own good. you don’t think he can say the same about you.

“it’s fine.” your voice breaks. you duck your head in embarrassment. rejection has never hurt you this badly. “you don’t have to apologize for not liking me back. it’s not your fault.”

you wonder why you’re comforting him when he’s the one who has ripped your heart out completely.

“i’m gonna head back,” he mumbles out, hesitating to reach out and dab away your tears with the napkin he’s been wringing around his thin fingers. “you… should come, too.”

you shake your head. “i think i’m gonna finish my coffee.”

he offers a smile. “you can finish mine as well, if you’d like.”

“nah,” you say, scrunching your nose through watery eyes, “black coffee isn’t really my thing.”

“yeah.” his laugh is soft, almost forced, but you can tell it’s genuine. “i know.”

oh, you think. it really hurts.

he knows.

something inside you snaps. your lungs feel itchy. your ribs squeeze. you think that it would’ve been easier to never say anything at all.

megumi leaves the store. the jingle of the bell above the frame rings through the air. you’re left with your cold cup of coffee and megumi’s cup across from you.

the barista gives you a look of pity. you chug down your drink and chug his, too.

it’s bitter.

-☆

megumi arrives to his dorm exactly five minutes after four pm. he slips off his sweater and changes into a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. his mind is blank, except for the image of your teary eyes.

he swallows nervously. maybe he’ll sleep it off.

“yo, megumi.” yuji slams himself against the door impatiently. “how’d it go?”

megumi sighs, the irritation swiftly making its way into his fatigued body. he opens the door and yuji tumbles in without an invitation.

“what are you talking about?” megumi mutters with another sigh.

“the confession,” yuji says matter-of-factly.

megumi stares. “you knew?”

yuji’s smile slowly removes itself from his lips. “…yeah? it was pretty obvious.”

“what was obvious?”

“that she likes you…?” yuji tilts his head. “and you like her back, right? so i figured you guys would be all cuddled up in here.”

megumi doesn’t say anything. the gears in yuji’s head begin to turn as he looks around the room, noticing the comfy attire megumi has on.

“you said that you liked her back… right?” he raises an eyebrow. “because it’s not a secret that you do.”

“i left.”

“you left her there?!”

“i didn’t know what else to do.”

“so you said ‘yes, i’d like to be your boyfriend’ and then dipped out on her?”

“i didn’t say yes.”

yuji pauses. he looks at megumi, then at the made bed, then back at megumi.

“for fuck’s sake,” he groans, running his hands through his pink hair. “i’m gonna go.”

megumi stands there, appalled. the door is shut harshly and the hinges squeak. he’ll have to scold yuji about that later. for now, he wants to take a nap.

maybe he’ll feel better about everything when he wakes up.

-☆

on the other side of the building reserved for dorms, yuji crosses his way into the girls’ section. it still feels wrong no matter how many times he’s made this trip before.

he meets you on the way there. you’re dragging your feet, headphones strapped on your head, and lips quivering.

“hey,” he calls out, tapping your shoulder. “you okay?”

he waits until you hang the silver headphones on your neck. they’re megumi’s, he realizes as he sees the fading stickers on the metal plate.

“hm?”

“you okay?” he asks again. his eyes scan you for any signs of distress, and he can practically see it radiating off of you.

“yeah,” you hum, “i’m cool.”

“want me to grab nobara?” he suggests with a grin.

“sure,” you say.

the sun feels hot on your back. you hate the way the school is so widespread for having such a small population.

“i can grab some ice cream,” yuji rambles. “and i’ll get us a notebook so we can write shitty things about megumi.”

you pat him on his back, but his sturdy body almost sends you flying backwards. he catches your wrist just before you fall, and he’s laughing at your expression with glee.

“you’re so funny,” he says through his fit of laughter. “you’ve gotten scrawnier. you needa eat more! i’ll get us snacks, too.”

you pout. “shut up, yuji. not everyone can be as buff as you and todo.”

“oh, todo is a whole different story.”

“tell me about it,” you say, playfully rolling your eyes. “i’ve seen him beat you up into a pulp.”

“hey! in my defense,” yuji says, his hands coming up to the sides of his ears, “i couldn’t do much against him!”

you’re nearing nobara’s dorm, which is right across from your own. you like how homey hers is compared to yours. she’s got a knack for interior design, or so she claims.

she swings the door open the moment you reach the inside of the building. you’re halfway down the hall when she sticks her head out from the frame of her room. her black roots are showing more than usual.

“how was it?” she asks once you’re close enough so that she can whisper.

you want to tell her that there’s no point in keeping it a secret. you had told yuji about your feelings far before you even mentioned to her, mainly because yuji had been your first friend at jujutsu high. megumi isn’t here, either, so there’s no reason to whisper when everyone knows.

“bad,” is all you reply with.

her eyes soften a considerable amount, an expression you’ve never seen on her face before. she takes a small breath and pulls you into her room by your arm.

you’re met with her fragrances, vanilla and strawberry—a nobara kugisaki signature scent. she had begged gojo to buy her shelves to place her k-pop albums on and sure enough, the white furniture stands proud at the far corner of the room. there are fake vines hanging from her ceiling right above her desk, where she has an organizer messily places over a few books.

“you wanna dye your hair?” she jokes, looking back at you. “my roots are coming in so we might as well dye yours while we touch up mine.”

“is orange all you have?” yuji’s nose twitches. “i don’t think she’d look good in orange.”

“gee, thanks,” you sarcastically respond.

“sorry.”

nobara clicks her tongue. “wanna unpack?”

“kinda,” you say, your body going limp once you’re at the foot of her bed. you sprawl yourself on the silky sheets and stare up at the ceiling.

“get out, yuji,” nobara demands. she doesn’t even acknowledge his downturned lips.

“i know everything already!” he whines. he shuts the door behind him with much more care than he had with megumi’s.

“still!” she insists. “i wanna have a girls’ talk.”

“i’m one of the girls.” he crosses his arms.

nobara’s shoulders sag. “fine, but you need to go buy ice cream.”

“was planning on that already,” yuji replies. he taps quickly at his phone, presumably asking gojo for his credit card.

when yuji leaves the room, he promises that he’ll get your favorite flavor. once nobara senses that his presence is completely gone, she turns to look at you.

“i’m sorry for making you confess,” she whispers. her tone is comforting, genuine, soft. she takes you into her arms and squeezes your shoulders. “i really thought he liked you back.”

“it’s not your fault,” you reply earnestly. “i chose to do it out of my own selfish feelings.”

“you can cry,” she says, patting your head. at times like this, nobara seems years wiser than you are. her touch is warm.

you bite your lower lip. “don’t wanna. i think i’ll be fine.”

“okay,” she says, and you feel her chest vibrate with the word. “you’re allowed to cry, though. megumi would’ve been a shitty boyfriend, anyway.”

all you can do is let out a watery laugh. you don’t tell her that he would’ve been an amazing lover. he would’ve taken you out on dates at your favorite places because he’s observant like that. he would’ve known your favorite foods, though he knows them even as friends. he would’ve kissed you tenderly because that’s the type of boy he is. he’s the type to love carefully, like he’s afraid he’ll lose someone forever if he doesn’t.

“i’m up for dyeing your hair,” nobara pipes up after the silence that penetrates the room. “yuji’s right, though… i don’t think orange would suit you… ha.”

you giggle. “let’s just touch up yours, yeah?”

yuji’s footsteps can be heard from outside the door when you’re a third of the way done with nobara’s roots. she complains about how long he’d taken, but there’s no real malice in her voice. he explains that he had ran into trouble obtaining gojo’s card (“i had to beg him for it!”).

the ice cream is all melted. it’s gooey and delicious and makes you smile. as you look around your friends, your crinkled eyes say more words than you ever could.

“you’re welcome,” yuji says into your ear. “you don’t have to thank us for any of this.”

-☆

the next morning comes by quicker than you want it to. you mentally prepare yourself for seeing megumi in class at eight in the morning. you haven’t made a mistake as bad as confessing your dying, unrequited love on a wednesday afternoon quite like this before.

nobara had suggested walking with you the night before, but you’d sternly told her that you could handle it. looking back, maybe you should’ve agreed with her offer.

megumi isn’t in class when you come in. he’s usually there at least five minutes before gojo starts teaching. something inside you tells you it’s because of yesterday—as much as you hate to admit it.

he walks in through the sliding doors a few minutes late, but gojo pays him no attention. megumi has privileges like that—at least, with gojo. he’s practically your teacher’s son, and though you’ve never heard of the full story, you’re well aware of gojo’s slight favoritism.

the class is short. all jujutsu sorcery classes are. they mainly consist of typical real school lessons, only because under the law, jujutsu tech is still a high school. the other, much bigger portion of class with gojo is focused on maintaining cursed energy and providing yourself with the best possible victory in battle.

when it’s over, you don’t know if you should be relieved or upset. you won’t be able to see megumi after this, assuming that he’ll avoid you for a good month or two. however, you think you’d rather die than attempt to make conversation with him.

“don’t do anything stupid,” gojo warns, signaling the end of class.

you hear yuji snicker quietly and say, “yeah, nobara.”

the bickering brings a smile to your lips. from the corner of your eye, megumi shifts in his seat.

you decide that it’s best to let the feelings marinate, as stupid as it sounds. it’s an infinitely better choice than moping around and begging megumi for a chance. you may be soft, but you’ve got pride.

“see you guys,” you announce, more to yourself than to anyone.

“alright,” yuji calls after you, “see you later.”

you can’t help but feel a little disappointed with the lack of clinging when it comes to you. your absence doesn’t seem to cause a ruckus like it does for most people. you wonder if it had been yuji retiring early; would everyone else ask him to stay a minute longer?

that’s how life is for a while.

you attend class, spar a little, and sleep. some days you go out into the city with nobara. you avoid the cafe, even though it’s your favorite. perhaps it’s because you’re still embarrassed by megumi’s rejection. on other, slower days, gojo takes you all on outings because he’s basically everyone’s replacement father.

it’s still as tense as ever between you and megumi.

the boy doesn’t make any effort to reach out. you don’t blame him, though you should. he steals small glances at you, particularly when you’re smiling and forget to cover your teeth with your hands. that’s all he takes from you, and he can’t be the only guilty one, because that’s all you give.

on this day, gojo takes you all out to the fair. it’s annual, taking place in the beginning of summer, and it’s a great way to practice forming barriers and such. the fairs always bring out a few nasty curses that need to be exorcised—the four of you are already used to being dragged out here for that sole purpose.

as if gojo knows, he sends you out in pairs. of course, you’re paired with megumi fushiguro. at first, you open your mouth to reject gojo’s demand, but you notice the way megumi doesn’t seem to care and your resolve hardens.

“it’s really awkward around you guys.” gojo pretends to act busy, flicking something from his nails. he’s got his sunglasses on and the ladies around him fawn.

“huh?” you and megumi look at him with accusing glares.

“is something going on between the two of you?”

“no,” you say almost entirely too quickly.

“right,” he drawls, a smirk forming on his face. “anyway, good luck out there. get rid of the little ones and then—i don’t know/-meet up with yuji and nobara if there are gross ones that’ll kill you.”

megumi nods. “okay.”

“this was what i was talking about,” gojo mutters as he walks off. “it’s soooo awkward…”

megumi gives you an apologetic look. “for the record, i don’t think it’s awkward.”

“it’s fine,” you say. you find that you’ve been pardoning him quite a lot. “you don’t have to lie.”

his face flushes. “i’m not.”

“i confessed to you and you don’t like me back, so there’s really no need to tiptoe around it anymore,” you rush out. “just treat me like normal. i don’t really care.”

he looks hurt, and you want to laugh.

you discover that, in those days of being alone, you’d rather megumi treat you like a friend again than be completely ignored. at least then, you’d have a part of him. at least then, he’s not slipping through the cracks of your heart, becoming a distant memory.

you want him to be anything but a memory.

“you want me to treat you like normal…?” he repeats your words. he paces himself just a few steps behind you when you begin to walk away from the conversation. “what does that mean?”

“i think you know what being friends is like,” you attempt to joke, but it comes out harsher than intended.

the fair is getting more crowded by the second. the shopkeepers are yelling out cheap deals and there are children that snake in and out of the lines of people. paper lanterns are hung at the front of tents to attract foreigners—it seems to be working because there are more people surrounding shops with lanterns than without.

megumi takes a breath. “how could i do that?”

your steps falter. “what do you mean?”

“how can i go on to treat you like normal,” he says softly, “when i know you’re in love with me?”

you bite the inside of your cheek and taste blood. “i don’t know. you’ve done it before without knowing my feelings. you can do it all over again, right?”

you look over your shoulder to see his lips part. he’s given up on the cool-guy persona. his vulnerability begins to show through the dents in his personality.

“you’re saying that you’ve liked me for that long?”

“yeah,” you admit. something about this is more freeing than you could’ve imagine. “i think i always have.”

a man shoves himself into you. he’s older with a beer belly and a scruffy beard attached to his face. he barks at you to move out of the way as he drags his young daughter through the sea of people. megumi’s warm hands come to rest on your waist, pulling you aside and closer to his toned chest.

you do your best to ignore your beating heart.

“i’m not,” megumi starts shakily, “lovable. i don’t know why you like me.”

your body goes cold. it's even worse than when he'd rejected you.

“curse,” you say, detaching his hand from your body. “i feel it around the back alley.”

the night ends. nothing is solved. you go to bed and curl into yourself.

-☆

loving megumi is weird. there’s an odd sense of comfort to it, like you’ve known him for longer than you actually have. he makes you feel safe even though he's gruff and a little mean about it. maybe that's just part of his charm, though, because it makes you love him even more.

he seems to have taken your words seriously; he starts to treat you like normal again. he doesn't avoid you anymore, and the obvious tension surrounding you two has disappeared for now. he lets you take a few of his sweaters when you forget to do your laundry and he buys you your favorite snacks sometimes.

it gets to be too much. you almost wish he'd go back to ignoring you. the grass is always greener on the other side.

summer goes by slowly. it's the prime time for bad feelings to manifest into curses. you push away your lingering feelings, convincing yourself that you've gotten over it. it's been more than enough time now, coming up on two months since you've confessed. you don't want your resentment, if you can call it that, to form any bad curses—you'd hate for them to be attached to megumi. that'd be a burden too hard to carry.

a few missions involve partnering up with megumi. gojo thinks you two work well together; there's a sort of synergy that you have with each other that is hard to come by sorcerers nowadays. you don't mind the compliments, or at least you pretend you don't.

the missions aren't difficult, but maybe that's because you've grown stronger. megumi has, too.

summer passes. it still hurts.

"you're confusing me," you whisper.

you and megumi are shopping for a surprise birthday party that gojo is forcing you guys to throw for nanami kento, a good coworker of his. you've met him more than once, and you're not really sure if he'd appreciate such a last minute party. regardless, you and megumi are tasked with finding enough balloons to fill the poor man's office.

megumi doesn't allow you to hold any of the bags. he lies and tells you that it's out of habit—nobara makes him carry her shopping bags every time they go out—but you know he's doing it just because he wants to. you're perfectly strong enough to carry a few paper bags, and he doesn't carry nobara's bags like he claims he does. megumi doesn't even go shopping with her unless yuji's there and even then, yuji holds the bags.

"sorry?"

"why are you doing this?" you refuse to look at him.

"doing what?"

"this," you say, gesturing at the two of you. "why do you act like we're close enough to do this?"

you cringe at yourself, aware of how hypocritical you're being. you had wanted this, wanted him to go back to being a friend, to treat you like he had before you went and ruined everything. why are you angry? why do your eyes well up with tears as he steps closer to you?

"we aren't close?" he asks. his arms fall to his side.

passerbys give you curious glances. he takes off his sweater, the one he always wears depsite it being humid out, and wraps it around you. the paper bags filled with confetti and paper plates are set down by your feet. he pulls the hood over your head to hide your wet eyes.

"we are," you mumble out sorely, "but not like this."

"i'm sorry," he says, and you're brought all the way back to the day you had told him about just how much you liked him.

"'s not your fault." you sound like you're trying to convince yourself and not him. "i'm being an asshole. you can forget about this."

you don't want him to feel guilty. he can't help how he feels, after all. you don't want him forcing himself to love you.

"what you said that day," he coughs out. the bags crinkle as he lifts them from the pavement. he continues, "what did you mean by 'always'?"

you squeeze your eyes shut and he pauses next to you. you can feel his soft gaze on you and you're glad you can hide behind his sweater, the cloth draping over you like an oversized blanket.

"i don't know..." you tilt your head up to look at him. he looks like the boy you think you'll always love. "i think i was doomed from the start."

"doomed?" he says, a little amused. "loving me is dooming? how sweet of you."

you need to remind yourself that he's not playing with your heart; this is how he copes—and how you cope, too. he must know you better than you had thought.

you nearly scoff. "it's because you're you. you're so good at being you that it hurts."

megumi slows. you hadn’t even noticed that he'd been guiding you down the sidewalk the entire time until now.

"i think it applies to me, too," he say quietly.

"what?"

"'always' applies to me, too." the clarification does nothing to settle your nerves.

"i don't understand," you blurt.

he gives you a look, as if to say, "really?", but he keeps talking, "i think i'm used to this feeling because it's always been there."

"what feeling?"

he shrugs. "you pissed me off when i first met you. you're really stupid, you know?"

your face morphs into an irritated expression. "thanks. you're pretty great yourself."

he laughs and it sounds like music to your ears. "i wasn't finished, dummy."

"sorry."

"you're pretty... a lot more than you think you are," he admits shyly, "and i guess that annoyed me because i kept feeling all weird around you. i got used to it, i think—that weird feeling. but it's always been here. it never left."

you stumble, tripping over your feet at megumi's statment. you don't want to interpret it the wrong way, but with how he's looking at you, you can't help but maybe think that he likes you too.

"this isn't how i wanted to tell you, but," he breathes in sharply, "i don't like it when you cry."

it's awkward. perhaps a little funny, if you really look at it, but it's megumi and you can't hate him. you'll never find it in yourself to truly hate him.

nanami's surprise birthday party isn't much of a surprise. though gojo nor nanami say it, you all know yuji is a favorite of theirs, and no one is surprised when yuji says that he had accidentally revealed the party a few hours prior.

gojo has fun. even shoko, who never shows up to any of these events because of her busy schedule as a doctor, seems to enjoy herself. nanami pretends like he's not entertained, but he has on a fond smile that looks weirdly similar to the way megumi smiles. you're all old enough to party now, as gojo puts it, so it's a little less like a classroom celebration and more like a familial one.

it's the third of july, nearly two months and a half after your confession, when megumi hints that he feels the same way about you.

you don't know what to make of it.

-☆

"i like you."

you're in the middle of getting ready to go out with nobara and her favorite upperclassman, maki, when megumi tells you he likes you back. your eyes widen and the mascara you've just finished putting on smears on your lid.

megumi hands you a makeup wipe as if he's done it a million times before. (he hasn't, but he just knows.)

"w-what?" you stutter out, your breath catching in your throat.

"it took me a while to figure that out," he says.

he's flat on your bed, covering his face with his arm. his t-shirt rises with each of his nervous movements. according to the rules set by gojo, he shouldn't even be here in your dorm. he shouldn't be on your bed and listening to your playlist through your shitty speaker gifted to you by yuji.

"are you joking around?"

"what?" he sits up and turns to you, frowning. "why would you think that?"

"is this you pitying me?"

"i just," he sighs, frustrated, "i needed to tell you before i chickened out. i meant what i said the other day, you know?"

"about you getting 'used to' the strange feeling?"

he nods and then slouches back against your pillows. if it had been any other day, you would've felt shy about sleeping in his scent.

"yeah," he says, running his slender fingers through his jet black hair. "i really did mean it. i think i just—i don't know—pushed you away because i was afraid."

you've given up on applying your makeup by now. your hands are shaking too much, anyway.

"i'm scared sometimes, too," you reply, catching his eyes in the reflection of your vanity mirror.

you see the side of his lips turn upwards. he looks as handsome as ever. he's gotten older since the first time you met him, and it hits you harder now that he's on your bed, his features sharp and his body lanky and tall. there's a sort of intimacy that you sense between the two of you.

"i'm not afraid anymore." his legs swing over the bedframe and he easily reaches the ground even though your bed is raised. "i'll be brave for the both of us."

oh.

"what do you think?" he tilts his head.

you stay home that night.

-☆

"so are you guys dating now?" yuji exclaims.

you both freeze.

"fuck off," megumi says instead of answering the question.

"god," yuji huffs out. "finally! all those peptalks and you don't even tell me that you got the girl?"

megumi blushes from beside you. neither of you had expected yuji to be awake to witness you two watching the sunrise on the hill beside the school.

"you know," yuji grumbles, "it took a lot of convincing to have you realize that you've been in love this entire time, megumi. the least you could've done was tell me."

megumi ignores him and snuggles further into you.

"why are you up so early?" you ask, shuffling underneath the blanket that is covering you and your boyfriend.

"instinct." yuji's shoulders drop, defeated. "'k, i'm gonna leave you guys to be romantic and shit up here. have fun explaining this to nobara later."

nobara almost wrings your neck out when she catches megumi holding your hand that saturday morning. she tells him that he needs to make up for the months he left you feeling sad. he says he's already forgiven, and he's not wrong (because you're weak when it comes to him, just like he's weak when it comes to you).

you think that you would've chose to love him no matter the outcome. loving him is easy like that.

a/n: oh my god. this was a word dump and not proofread. i am so sorry this took forever to come out but i ended up changing the plot like a billion times cus it wasn't good enough.. LOL. hope u enjoyed this!!! thx for making me write more megumi because i love writing him (he's been my fave character since the anime came out three years ago hehehe). ngl it was kinda rushed bc i wanted to get this out but i think it turned out fine!!!! ok thx once again ily muah xx

#jjk x reader #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi angst #megumi x you #i love megumi sm #he’s been my fave since i was like 15 so you know i had to write this up #sorry this took forever #yuji and nobara are really good friends #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

[futureman]

his favorite girl, part iii

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: tensions rise as your second lesson continues, but joel still refuses to admit his feelings to you—or himself. you'd concede defeat if you really believed he didn't want you. or if his actions weren't constantly contradicting his words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, no outbreak, guitar teacher au, age gap (30 years), slow-burn, sexual tension, finger kink, smut, angst, f!masturbation, mild exhibitionism, mentions of guilt & shame

word count: 3.4k

series masterlist | part i | part ii

You have no idea how you're supposed to survive another afternoon with Joel, let alone an entire semester. He's basically Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, hiding under the visage of an unfairly sexy, middle-aged musician, but you never know which one you’re dealing with until he pushes you away or calls you his girl.

Today, he feels like a dangerous combination of both.

After your verbal agreement to keep things professional, yet again, he concedes and finally sits next to you on the couch. Guess that safe distance he was so desperate to maintain is null and void now that he’s made his feelings clear—sort of.

You assume his proximity is an olive branch, but it sure doesn't feel like one. Now, he's close enough to smell his cologne, an earthy, woodsy scent that's so Joel, it makes your head spin. It's also making this lesson infinitely harder to focus on.

You’d never even considered the possibility of him shutting you down this hard, but then again, a hot fling with an older guy wasn’t why you showed up on his doorstep in the first place. If he'd just admit he's interested, maybe things could be different, but he won’t, will he? So, what other option do you have?

You’re not going to throw yourself at him like some pathetic schoolgirl with a crush, even if that’s exactly what you are. You want him to want to touch you, to crave you the way you're sure he does, but right now he wants to teach you chords. Starting with C, apparently.

“We’re gonna try this chord again, alright? Same as last time, nice and slow,” he starts, reaching back to pull something out of his pocket. He presents you with a small, black piece of plastic that looks like a clamp, identical to the one on his guitar. "This here's called a capo. Go ahead and fit it right over the third fret—it’ll raise the key of the guitar. M’thinkin' that'll make things a little easier for ya."

You push your feelings to the side and accept it, following his lead and squeezing it into place before glancing up for his approval. He gives you an encouraging smile and nods, and your heart rate kicks up wildly in your chest.

God, why does his praise feel so good? And why does it feel like it’s been so long since anyone was this patient with you, or genuinely wanted to see you succeed? You realize you want him to keep looking at you like that, regardless of the nature of your relationship.

"S'perfect. Now, your fingers'll go here, here, and here," he arranges his fingers one by one on the three strings that make up the chord and strums. He lets it ring out for a moment, then looks up at you expectantly. "Any of this ringin' a bell from yesterday?"

Vaguely. Mainly, you're remembering how tempting his fingers looked while he was playing, but you'll have to do better than that today. Instead, you focus on mirroring what he showed you.

"Like this?" you ask hesitantly, pressing down on the strings and mimicking his motions. Tough nylon bites into your skin just as painfully as last time, but the sound you produce is pretty. Nothing like the muted, garbled mess from your previous attempt.

You meet his eyes, and they're filled with none of the surprise yours contain. He just looks pleased, like he had total confidence in you even if you didn't.

"Exactly like that. See? You're doin' better already. Must'a done your finger exercises last night like I told ya,” he says proudly, none the wiser.

If only he knew that’s exactly what you spent your night doing. Practically the entire night, if you’re being honest, and to no avail. It might’ve unintentionally improved your dexterity, but you're still stuck on everything that did or didn't happen yesterday. The only lasting result is how unexpectedly conflicted it made you feel. You nod, biting your lip to keep from grimacing.

“Sure did,” you play it off with a laugh. "I wanted to be as prepared as possible."

Prepared for something a little more physical than playing guitar, but that's a moot point now, isn't it?

You sound as fake as you feel, but luckily he’s so eager to continue the lesson, he doesn’t notice. Again, you follow his lead and try your best to ignore your disappointment and bury the residual hurt. You have a sneaking suspicion you're going to be doing a lot of that, but inexplicably, it's getting easier.

You're starting to realize it's not in spite of Joel. It's because of him. In a brief moment of self-indulgence, you let your gaze linger on his rosy cheeks and the newfound serenity in his eyes.

His enthusiasm is infectious, and his love for music radiates like a Texas heatwave, burning hotter with every chord he strums and string he picks. Even his posture is loosening, and the soft smile on his face seems like a permanent fixture.

It's that same warmth from earlier. That intimate connection you felt blooming in your chest from sharing in his joy. Cautiously, you allow yourself to hope, if not for you and Joel, then for your degree. For the goals you have yet to achieve that, regardless of the past 24 hours, still mean everything to you.

"So, what's next?" you ask eagerly.

His eyes light up, and you know you've asked the right question. He shifts across the strings to a new chord, his smile widening as you quickly move to match him.

"Next, we're learnin' F," he grins, nodding toward your finger placement. "Then, I figure we can run through some pickin' patterns if you're up for it.”

"I'm up for anything you are, teach," you reply earnestly, and the smile you give him feels genuine this time. You really do mean it in every sense. "But be gentle with me. It's been a while, if that wasn't obvious."

His smile falters, and something unreadable flashes in his eyes. After a moment, you realize what you said and how it must’ve sounded. You open your mouth to clarify, but before you get the chance, his expression clears. He chuckles, and it's a light, tinkling thing that fills your chest with a heady combination of relief and longing.

Of course, he’d take it in stride. You’re struck again by the resemblance to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, left wondering if you're still imagining things. The subtle twitch of his fingers must be a figment of your imagination, too, or at least that's what you tell yourself. It doesn't matter now, anyway.

"'Course, I will,” he drawls companionably, his words commanding your attention, compelling you to hang on to each one like a lifeline. “Like I said, we'll take it nice and slow. Ease you back into things until you're ready for somethin' harder.”

It takes everything you have not to choke on your spit. Ignore it. Ignore it. Focus on the lesson and how incredible it’s going to feel when you finally finish the song and pass your damn class.

But you can’t. He’s too close, and he smells so good. You’re only human.

"I think I'll surprise you," you retort cheekily. You’re so fucked. "Plus, I like it hard. Just need a little build-up to get me there."

His hand tenses in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it movement, and you can't help the overwhelming feeling of pride pooling in your belly. You've never backed down from a challenge and you're not about to start now. This one is apparently still ongoing.

"Well, all right, then," he says smoothly, and this time when you shiver, he looks pleased. "Let's hear ya strum it, and then we'll work through the rest. Think you can handle that?"

You straighten up, sitting confidently with your fingers poised over the frets, ready to play. As you shift in your seat, your thigh presses firmly into his and sends a rush of heat straight to the pit of your stomach. "Yeah, I can take it.”

He shakes his head with an amused, yet undoubtedly shy smile. You bite your lip coyly, nodding at the sheet music you've just noticed on the rug at his feet.

"Are there more chords in this bar or is it just picking until the next line?"

It's a toss-up whether or not he heard any of what you just asked if his rapt attention on your lips is any indication. You're still teasing your bottom lip with your teeth, and it's not until you laugh that he finally snaps out of it. He shakes his head a little harder as if to shoo away the distraction, before reaching down to inspect the piece of paper.

He concentrates a little too hard on the page, looking but not seeing, so you reach over and point at a confusing string of notes that connect and repeat with seemingly no rhyme or reason. His gaze shifts to your daintily extended index finger, and you're hit with an intense feeling of deja vu, except this time, your roles are reversed.

“Can you show me how that part goes? It looks like gibberish to me, to be totally honest,” you prod him, trying to reel him back in.

As if on autopilot, he quickly discards the sheet and shifts his hands into place, ready to teach like he wasn't just daydreaming about your fingers wrapped around his cock, covered in his release. And if he wasn't, then you sure were.

“Y-yeah, sure thing. That line's just the intro, but the flow is somethin' else. Probably one of my all-time favorites," he says, his endearing mask carefully slotted back into place.

But you're onto him now. Begrudgingly, he tears his eyes away from where you're matching him on your guitar, waiting patiently for his next instructions.

"It really ain't as bad as it looks," he continues. "The timing's purposely a little off, but it's adaptable. This one's real easy to add your own spin to if that's somethin' ya wanna try."

With all of the skill and grace of a practiced musician, he plucks through the line to give you a preview of what was previously only lines and circles on a page. The notes blend seamlessly, a mixture of picking and what you vaguely remember to be hammering, and it evokes something you never expected.

An unidentified emotion takes root and feels startlingly like yearning and hope, carried by the short melody. It's beautiful. He circles back to the beginning, hopping along the frets slowly just for you, and he's beautiful. You watch him, enamored by his fluidity and ease of motion.

For him, all of this is innate. His guitar is a natural extension of himself, something he was born to hold. You used to think you were born for it, too. The reminder is a painful one, but thankfully you're not left to dwell on it for long.

"So, how 'bout it? Ready to give it a try?" Joel's voice cuts through the fog, as honeyed and mellow as the music at his fingertips. You want to hear that voice call you beautiful again and feel him panting against the shell of your ear while he stretches you out around his thick fingers. God, you want.

Yet, your hands move of their own accord and fall into place—it's the C chord. Apparently, you really want that, too.

"Ready, teach," you nod, and you know you must look like a lovesick fool.

Right now, you really don't care because your gorgeous guitar teacher is beaming and excited, and beneath it all, there's still a tinge of something that makes you believe all of this is real. A lust for more simmering just below the surface.

"You have my full attention, promise."

——

The next hour is spent walking through various strumming and picking patterns, and acquainting yourself with the fluctuating tempo. It's tricky, but you're committed. Again and again, you repeat the same bars, following Joel's interjected advice and corrections, and your mistakes become less obvious until they're all but gone completely.

Rewarding doesn't even begin to cover how a successful run feels. Even the pain blooming beneath the reddening indents on your fingertips feels good. Calluses are beginning to roughen the soft skin, but you earned them.

They're yours and yours alone, proof that you worked your ass off and achieved something remarkable. The results speak for themselves, bouncing around the walls of Joel's living room and breathing new life into the space. Your contribution to his little corner of the world.

And Joel looks so damn proud. He stays patient through every flubbed hammer and too-hard pluck, grinning when you complete the section without his guidance. Your lesson's already gone on long past its scheduled time, but neither of you seems to notice. You likely wouldn't bother to mention it even if you did.

Time trickles by like the slow drip of molasses, thick with the sweetest tension, yet the longer you play, the more a familiar ache starts to creep in and make your progression a little more difficult.

Your hand is cramping, and it hurts. You pause mid-strum to shake it out and stretch your fingers, sighing at the brief respite.

"Hurtin' again, huh?"

You huff out a laugh, remembering the last time he asked you that question. The throbbing in your joints would more than welcome another massage from Joel, but you don't exactly trust yourself to come back from that. You have to stay focused until the next line of the song, at the very least.

"It's really not that bad. Guess all those finger exercises are paying off," you joke, but you don't expect him to catch the underlying punchline. "I kinda figured it wouldn't go away overnight, anyway."

You can tell he's thinking about it, too. He nods understandingly, tapping a restless, arrhythmic beat against his guitar.

"S'all part of bein' a guitar player, unfortunately," he agrees, his entire body tense like he’s resisting the urge to reach out and inspect the subtle changes to your delicate skin for himself.

Your mind starts to wander as his tapping changes to slow circles swirled into the wood grain. You can't help but wonder if your new calluses would feel good sliding up and down his cock, if he'd like the coarse hint of pain teasing the ridge or circling the tip. You wonder what his own would feel like pressing into your clit. The skin of his middle and ring fingertips is noticeably rougher than the rest and with a little pressure—fuck.

You're wet. That can't happen. You have to concentrate. But his movements are starting to speed up, and you can almost feel them sliding through your messy heat.

The intrusive thought is thankfully interrupted when he stops the lewd motion and continues his reassurances like it never happened. Why does he keep doing that? It seems so pointless to keep pretending you’re not on the same page, but you’re not about to call him out and scare him off again.

You tell yourself to focus on the pain. Focus on what he’s saying, not what he’s insinuating.

"Pain's a good thing. It means you're stickin' it out and makin' some real progress," he says fondly, and it's almost enough to reclaim your attention. "Says a lot about the kind of person you are, too, what you do with that pain and how you let it shape ya. You're a good one, I can tell. Committed, like I was."

It's so much sweeter than anything you'd expected him to say. It helps.

"Fair enough. Still kinda sucks though," you grumble, but the slight quirk of your lips betrays your tone.

"Yeah, yeah. What happened to likin' it hard?" he asks playfully, and you feel that telltale whoosh between your legs.

You shift uncomfortably, subtly trying to unstick your underwear from where it's cemented to your core, but the unexpected friction makes you flinch. He picks up on it immediately.

"Look, why don't we take a break? I'll grab us some drinks while you rest up, and we can dive back in whenever you're ready," he offers, his voice raspier than before.

"Yeah, that, um...that sounds good. I'm actually gonna run to the bathroom real quick if that's cool," you reply, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel.

It's hot as hell all of a sudden, even though the AC hasn't stopped kicking since you got here, and you have a feeling cold drinks won't be enough to cool you down. He hesitates before nodding, then points down the hall.

"'Course. S'the first door on your left," he says, brows furrowing in concern. You all but speed walk past him to your temporary haven.

Backing into the door the moment it closes behind you, you squeeze your legs together as tightly as you can, but it only makes it worse. The ache is almost unbearable, and you know for a fact that you'll waste the rest of the lesson if you try to go back out there like this.

The entire afternoon has been such a complicated back-and-forth of conflicting feelings and confusion, but you still have no idea what do to about it. You want him to fuck you, but you also want him to teach you. He wants to teach you, but he also wants you in ways he won't admit to you. Or himself.

Your head is cloudier than it's been all day, and your thoughts are a jumbled mess of desire and rationality, both fighting for dominance. So, now what?

There was only one way to clear the fog last night, but you really shouldn't. You're in his bathroom for christ's sake, and he can't be more than 15 feet away, pouring you a glass of lemonade in the kitchen.

You do it, anyway. With one hand shoved down your pants and the other slapped over your mouth, you decide your best course of action is to rub one out in Joel's bathroom to rid yourself of this distraction once and for all. And it feels good.

The moment your sore fingertips press into your clit, your hips buck into your touch and you lose yourself to the friction. You're even wetter than you realized, and your fingers keep slipping from where you need them most, so you change tactics, ramming two of them inside you instead.

So much for resting your hand. Your motions are frantic, bordering on desperate, and you can't bring yourself to stop now that you've started. Wet squelching mingles with your muffled moans and fills the room, noisier than you’ve been all day even after an afternoon of playing guitar.

But you're getting a little too loud. The door rattles on its hinges every time your palm slaps into your heat, and your hand isn't nearly enough to mask your increasing volume the closer you get. Maybe you'll get lucky and he won't hear a thing. Or maybe you'll get really lucky and he'll hear everything.

You're too far gone to care. Just a little more. You can feel yourself starting to squeeze your fingers, and you just need a little bit more—

Then, there's a knock at the door and Joel's voice tentatively filters through.

"Everythin' alright in there?" he asks kindly, but he sounds wrecked.

It's obvious he heard everything, and yet he's still trying to be polite, desperately clinging to his morals and good, Southern manners. Too bad that turns you on.

Not bothering to respond, you keep going, fixated on how vivid a picture your unstifled moans and reckless actions must be painting. You wouldn't be surprised if it's just your imagination again, but you swear you can hear labored breathing and a litany of muttered curses coming from the other side.

He knocks on the door again, harder this time, and you quickly realize that any patience Joel had left is gone. You've finally pushed him past his limit.

"M'givin' you sixty seconds to get back in that livin' room," he grits out roughly. "You're finishin' out here."

The door shakes as he pushes off of it and stomps away, leaving you in palpable silence.

thanks for reading & stay tuned for part iv!

divider by @saradika-graphics

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[joeloverture]

comeuppance | qz!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | notifs blog

pairing: qz!joel miller x f!reader summary: [post outbreak] when your recklessness causes an arms deal to go south, joel makes sure you regret it. warnings: (18+ mdni) qz!joel, age gap (late 20s/early 50s), written with hbo!joel in mind but with game!joel lore, guns, mentioned executions, misogynistic names outside (and in!) a sexual context, canon-typical violence as in murder (joel kills a soldier 'on-screen'), reader is a little shit but joel is worse, darkish & dubcon, spanking as a punishment, gunplay, attempted boot humping, degradation, humiliation, one kick to the cunt, mean!joel, orgasm denial [no use of y/n] word count: 2.7k a/n: this is my (admittedly late) submission for @iamasaddie's writing challenge 2.0! my prompt was 'you can't hide forever'. the genre was technically dark but joel himself isn't scarily dark here. thank you so much to aly for, once again, bringing this fandom together with her challenges. it's a steep task but she does a great job every time! and even more thanks to @joelsdagger and @lovesickonmybed for helping me brainstorm! (i have half of a brain without my wonderfully creative friends).

It only takes one deal gone south to fuck everything up.

You know the compass is already ticking that way the moment you and Joel, your longtime smuggling partner, enter the abandoned warehouse. Much like everything else in the Boston QZ, it’s falling apart. The corrugated metal walls are pitted with rust, and old blood is caked all over the floors. In another life, it might’ve been a slaughterhouse, but there’s no real way of knowing. It’s been long enough that any signage has deteriorated. The building’s state of decay, however, isn’t what messes things up.

It’s the singular man that walks in from the opposite side of the atrium.

FEDRA’s favorite executioner. Slitted eyes far apart, thinned out lips, and graying black hair. Rarely seen away from the gallows, only recognizable to you from all of the nightmares you’ve had of his face being the last you see.

If it were drugs, you’d think nothing of it. FEDRA soldiers buy quietly from you all of the time – but they have no need for guns that they don’t already have.

Joel steps forward, merchandise in the duffel bag over his shoulder, none the wiser. A knot ties itself in the base of your throat. You’re too busy trying to figure out what to do, what to do, what to do that you barely even realize that the soldier has a gun aimed right between your eyes until you’re looking right down the barrel.

Your hand jerks to your holster, drawing your pistol in one swipe.

“Drop your fucking gun!” he barks in your direction. It clatters out of your hands. “Don’t you dare fucking move.” Your hands fly up as you take a step back, nearly stumbling into a nearby crate. “Joel Miller and his bitch,” the man sneers. “What a lucky find. You two have quite the bounty on your heads.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Joel says, face completely blank.

“Easy for you to say,” the guard says with a nagging smirk. “Your little cunt here already did. Pretty fucking dumb not to check who you’re selling your merchandise to, huh?”

Joel tenses, ultimately huffing through his nose. “Can we get this over with?”

“I’ll make it easy, Miller. Come with me alive so I get paid, or come with me dead so I still get paid.”

Joel’s fingers twitch behind his back, and after almost three years of working with him, it’s impossible not to pick up on the subtext. Keep him busy. His hand is already reaching for the revolver in his back pocket.

“Turn the other way. I can make this worth your time,” you say. “But you’re lucky if those sons of bitches you work for even offer you half the reward they’ve posted for us. Dragging the bodies from Area 5 to the closest checkpoint… you’d have your work cut out for you.”

“Yeah fucking right,” he spits. “You two have been running around free for too damn long. Causing too much trouble. Not anymo–”

The man’s mouth freezes around the words by the time the bullet soars throat the canvas fabric of Joel’s duffel bag and through the man’s jugular. The soldier’s hands claw for his throat while he gargles on the blood as he begins the descent to the ground. New blood, still pumping directionless from the split artery, joins the old.

Much like him, where he’s slumping against the ground, chest moving until the very end, your hands clutch at your own throat. “We need to go,” you say, knowing the rest of FEDRA will come looking for the firefight at any second now. Joel doesn’t move. “Joel!” You reach out to tug his sleeve, but he doesn’t react. “Jesus– move!”

Joel turns to face you, gun still hanging from his hand. His fingers flex around the grip. “What the hell were you thinkin’, little girl?” You can hear his breathing, amplified from how close he is to you. His once inexpressive face is now red, lips curled, skin tight like a crushed soda can. 

“I– what?”

“Not vettin’ your buyers. First fuckin’ thing I told you all them years ago, wasn’t it? Gotta check so you don’t sell shit to the wrong guy, yeah?” He stalks closer to you – you stumble back.

Not vetting the now dead executioner, whose blood is currently creeping up to the soles of your boots. Your mistake, yes, a potentially catastrophic one that you’ll definitely never make again after this, but he’d been on your ass about finding buyers and after an entire day of burning bodies, the last thing you wanted to do was go asking around about the ‘John’ in search of guns that you’d talked to over the radio tower.

“We’re alive, aren’t we?”

Joel finally jerks his sleeve away from your grip. Your hand falls slack by your side, burning from his fire stoker touch. “And you oughta count your fuckin’ blessings for that. Dumbfuck of a girl, gonna get me killed,” he spits. Spittle flies across your neck. 

You flinch – and not because you’re scared. You’ve never seen him like this before. You hear noise in the distance, the moving of FEDRA trucks, no doubt. “Joel! We can do this later – we need to fucking go–”

“Then you better start running,” he says gruffly.

You don’t need to be told twice.

You sprint out of the atrium, cursing as your bloodied soles carve tracks behind you. A stack of crates blocks the door, which you vault over and shimmy your way through the broken glass panel. The hallway ahead of you is dark, and you have no idea where the fuck you’re going, only that you can’t stop. Each impact of your foot on the ground is like being struck by lightning, carbonating the racing blood pumping through your body. More glass crunches behind you, and a shock of terror pierces you when you hear Joel’s snarls filling the corridor.

There’s a metal cart in your way, which you send whirling in Joel’s direction. He grunts, presumably hitting him in the stomach before it goes clattering on the ground. You make the most of the diversion, hurtling forward and lurching through a cracked door.

Dead fucking end.

An office, by the looks of it. Desks all over the place, leftover tasks still pinned on cork boards from outbreak day, chairs on their sides. You hear Joel huffing and puffing behind you, and fear forks through you. You fall to your hands and knees, crawling underneath the labyrinth of desks and tucking yourself against a wall, carpet-burned hand to your mouth to muffle your breathing. Your chest avalanches with every single breath.

“You ain’t off the hook,” Joel says, voice getting closer with every word. You can hear the thump of his boots against the carpet. See the spread of his shadow roaming across the wall. You squint through the seam of two desks. He's looking over his shoulder when you haul yourself across the room to the next closest desk.

You look around for anything that might get you out of this long enough to slip back out of the door. If you can make it back to the apartment, maybe he can cool off on his own walk back. You reach up for a stapler and take a brief second to peek over a filing cabinet before flinging it against the wall. It snaps open, spilling decades old staples all over the floor.

“Only a clicker’s fallin’ for that,” he tuts at you. His boots land on the floor again, one, two, three steps closer to you. You wince, balling your hands into fists. 

All you can hear is the thrashing of your own heart. You scooch away from the desk – maybe if you throw something small at him, like a pack of sticky notes, it’ll be enough to abduct his attention long enough for you to slip by–

“You can’t hide forever,” Joel goddamn coos at you. You see him bending at the waist, scoping out the undersides of desks, seeking you out–

You crawl out from under the desk and book it to the door.

Stupid. Fucking. Idea.

Joel hauls you back by the belt loop, laughing as you cry out. You try squirming away, kicking at him, but his other arm wraps around your torso. It hits you then that you have no idea what he might do to you. You’ve trusted him with your life before, but what would he do when you risked his? You’d always been too scared to find out. He spins you, slamming you over the desk. You cry out as your chest meets the wood. His hand drags your wrists together, pinning them at the small of your back.

“Let me – the fuck– go!” you yell at him, trying to bend your elbow at the right angle to nail him in the chest.

He tightens his grip so much that you can barely move an inch. “Made your fuckin’ bed, gotta lie in it, sweetheart,” he tuts, shaking his head at you. His hand grazes over your ass, and you stiffen as he looms over you. He is just a man. Your mind spins to the worst-case scenario. No, no, no, no–

“How about an… old-fashioned corporal punishment to set ya straight?” Within the next second, he’s yanking your jeans down your thighs.

Oh. Oh fuck.

“Joel–” you exhale, breath shuddery. “Knock it off–”

“No panties? I was gonna be nice and spank ya over them…” Joel frowns at you. “Poor baby. ‘S gonna sting real bad.”

You snap at him, “What, you want me to go to the local QZ Victoria’s Secret?”

Joel swats, hard, across your asscheek.

You’ve seen how intense Joel’s brute strength can be. You’ve just never been on the receiving end of it. A cry pushes out of your throat, and you hunch over the desk as you struggle helplessly against Joel. Tears spring at your eyes.

Mercifully, Joel runs his calloused palm over the smarting skin. “Shh, shh, shh, shh. ‘S okay, Jus’ gotta teach ya a lesson. Make sure it sticks.” He strokes the nape of your neck as you whimper into the desk.

You tense up in preparation for the second hit, but, if anything, it just makes the impact worse. It prickles your other cheek, leaving your knees shaky. And God help you, your clit twitches. Twitches. Your thighs are already heating up, and you can’t help but squirm in a good way underneath Joel. A single tear slips over your waterline, and you have to tilt your head into the shoulder of your shirt to wipe it off. You don’t want him to see you weak – not that weak.

The next spank makes him grunt from how hard he swings his palm into your backside. “Joel!” you shout, pain nearly splitting you in two. Your feet raise off of the ground as you prop yourself up on the desk, kicking uselessly at his shins. All he does is chuckle at you.

Horror sinks like a cinderblock in your stomach when you realize that your hole, leaking slick, is practically fucking winking at him. You thank the darkness. It’s about the only good thing about this place.

“You don’t like that?” he mock-pouts at you. It’s enough to make you throb. The opposite, you’d say if you could.

A series of spanks follows, but at least these are lighter, and in rapid succession. Still, you jerk with each impact, squirming so that your fingers dance in his grip. “Stupid little girl. Thought you could sell our shit to a FEDRA bitch and get off scot-free? Really thought you could get away from me, huh?”

You try clamming up, desperately attempting to close your legs together. You squeeze your thighs together, relieved at the pressure – and then you hear a resounding click behind you.

You still.

Joel’s gun, still fucking hot from the bullet it’d fired right into the executioner’s throat, traces up the small of your back… all the way to your throat. “Could put one right here,” Joel whispers, more to himself than you. “Show ya what happens to girls that don’t follow orders.” He jams it into your skin, and you hiss at the pain, at the bruise it’s sure to leave. And in spite of it all, you fucking gush. God, you’re fucked up.

He wouldn’t kill you – he needs you more than you need him. But common sense isn’t enough to prevent the thrill, the arousal smiting your body from head to toe.

“I’ll reconsider if ya give it a kiss.” He nudges the barrel carefully against your lips and you stop breathing for a second, maybe two. “Go on. Give it some lovin’. Suck it like a cock. I know you’re good at it. Hear all the guys you bring over.”

You whimper at the thought of Joel listening to you getting your hook ups off – at the thought of him fisting his own cock while he listens. Obediently, you part your lips, slowly, ever so slowly, taking the gun down your throat. It fills your mouth up in such a strange way – all hard edges. It’d be freezing cold if not for the fact that it’s a weapon of death, a scythe in its own way. One press of the trigger, and you’d be just like the guard. You suck even harder at it, eyes rolling back in your skull. Your thighs twitch, stripes of slick running down your thighs. 

Joel reaches between your legs, grabbing at the meat of your inner thigh to spread you open. Instead, he gets a handful of the arousal that’s been pooling between your legs since he first bent you over the desk.

You freeze, pausing your ministrations on the pistol. He himself freezes before he drags his hips over your folds. His finger pads hover over your swollen clit before he properly rubs you once, and then twice. Your hips cant into the closest thing – his hand.

Joel makes a disgusted noise and swats your leaking pussy before shoving you forward and stepping back. You’re panting, properly fucked out even though he’d barely touched you. Cross-eyed, tongue hanging out, face hot. He looks you up and down, brows furrowing with revulsion. “Horny fuckin’ bitch. Creamin’ all over me. That long since you got action that a spankin’ and a gun in your mouth is all it takes to get you riled up? Pathetic.” He shoves the gun back in his pocket, still shining with your saliva.

He wipes your wetness all over your leg, grabs the back of your collar, and drags you to the floor in one foul swoop. You fall on your hands and knees again, ass still stinging from his treatment, lightheaded from how needy you are. Even his brutal treatment makes you whimper. 

You reach for his calf, pulling yourself up to brace your dripping cunt against his boot. You rut against it, not even fully cognizant of your movements as you roll your hips, praying that he lets you have this if nothing else. Your orgasm, wetting his boot thoroughly. Your scent, clinging to him on the walk back to the apartment. You buck into the boot, moaning as the toe bumps against your clit. It might be enough, if you could just do it one more time–

Joel tears his shoe out from underneath you, face pinched with aversion. “No!” you cry, still grabbing for his calf. You fall onto your back, legs spread and panting. Your ass needles from his spanking. The ceiling tiles spin above you. 

The same toe you’d been humping kicks into your cunt, and you yelp, curling in on yourself. Another tear slides down your burning cheek as you reach down to cup your sore pussy. Even that pressure feels like touching a live wire. 

Joel looks down at his shining boot and makes a disgusted noise. “Does humiliatin’ yourself always get ya dicked down?” 

He turns around, already walking away from you without a care in the world. The gun grip pokes out of his pocket, taunting you.

“Pull your goddamn pants up and get a move on. Curfew’s soon.”

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller/reader #joel miller fic #writing challenge 2.0

[fragileheartbeats]

"your a woman, you supposed to take Rhaenyra's side!!"

My dude, why would you discriminate for her just because she's a woman? You guys just go blind because she's a woman. You're the one who give her a pass because she's a woman.

I never understood these feminist fight.

Feminism is about equality, but nothing was equal between Aegon and Rhaenyra.

Their childhood and adolescence were different like the earth and the sky. Their age, their marriage, the way others treated them and in short everything about them was unequal.

When reading F&B I didn't care much for Aegon when he was introduced as this lazy, unambitious sot. But as the war progressed I couldn't help but notice his resilience, courage and intelligence and root for him.

Look at what Aegon was like in the earlier parts of F&B. He drank a lot, groped and pinched serving girls, potentially fathered multiple unacknowledged bastards, and was an all-round dick. He wasn’t as fierce as Aemond, as courteous as Daeron, or as gentle as Helaena. He started a fight at the family feast when Jace offered a dance to Helaena (the same wife whom he was serially unfaithful to). While the Greens launched their coup, he was at some degenerate “revels”. When Aemond murdered 13-year-old Luke, he threw a celebration and called it “a good start.”

But after the Dance’s actual battles began, Aegon really lived up to his title! He had Criston Cole capture Duskendale and Rook’s Rest, and then fought on Sunfyre to take out Rhaenys when she fell for the bait. Despite his crippling injuries, he survived. Even after his sons were butchered and King’s Landing fell, he fought on. Aegon and Sunfyre recovered on Dragonstone, with Sunfyre killing Grey Ghost along the way. Then Aegon and his forces took the castle under the Blacks’ noses. He and Sunfyre won yet another dragon battle against Baela. And again Aegon clings onto life in the face of crippling injuries. Then he traps and kills Rhaenyra while uttering a fantastic line "Rhaenyra: My lords will find me. Aegon: If they search the seven hells mayhaps." He returns to KL as King. The various self-proclaimed monarchs and the Shepherd are promptly defeated. It is a hell of a comeback considering Aegon’s state when he left the capital.

It's remarkable how quickly he grows into his role as king and how devoted to his cause he becomes by the end. He is determined to reclaim his father's throne, to restore order to kings landing by putting down the rebellion and punishing the insurgents, make peace with his enemies, he already plans to marry a Baratheon girl not for love but for duty to get an heir again. From the irresponsible, lazy drunk he supposedly was you would expect him to be vain, selfish and hedonistic, someone who only pursues his own pleasure and expects others to do the hard work, but no the hardships and responsibilities shaped him into someone who takes duty seriously. Even though prone to make rash, and imprudent decisions he also had the favourable quality to listen to the counsel of wiser and more experienced people around him and nearly always follows their advice. I think towards the end of the Dance it's painfully clear he is a better ruler than Rhaenyra.

Aegon had a 13 to 4 dragon disadvantage and a 53 to 28 House disadvantage, does this seems equal to you? Yet he still won (now if you wanna tell me "But Rhaenyra's lineage continued" pls shut your mouth because we are talking about the winner of war and the win you guys are so proud of is a fucking joke)

It’s hard for me to call him a bad King because he was given the worst situation of any King in Westerosi history with a civil war where you’re at a disadvantage starting out. The Greens should’ve been steamrolled but thanks to Aegon resiliency and Rhaenyra’s incompetent they weren’t.

People show you who they really are when they are tested and things are not going their way. Rhaenyra was tested and failed to rise to the occasion every single time. I find Rhaenyra utterly, utterly pathetic, without any redeeming quality as a ruler, as a person, as a woman.

By marrying and having kids with Daemon, she pretty much guaranteed a three-way civil war between Daemon's sons, her bastards, and her brothers the minute she dropped dead. So it doesn't matter if it was Aegon who sat on iron throne, this war was supposed to happen.

We saw Rhaenyra rule. She was a disaster. A ruler who puts their selfish desires above duty will always be a disaster. That's what Rhaenyra was: a selfish entitled person who didn't give a fuck about anyone other than herself. It's a miracle she had such decent kids.

Rhaenyra had a better council. The Sea Snake was wealthy and powerful, Rhaenys was beloved by many and respected as well. Meanwhile, Aegon's advisors were mostly Hightower cronies and quite a few were motivated mostly to spite Rhaenyra. Yet she fucked that up.

Rhaenyra literally was kicked out of the throne because people were tired of her reign, no one had this opposition besides Maegor.

People also like to excuse her cruelty and stupidity during her brief reign as a queen because she lost her children during the war. But Rhaenyra was a selfish entitled person long before she became queen or lost any of her kids. She wanted Aemond, who was just a boy, punished for calling her boys bastards, which they were. She murdered and advocated torture to keep up the lie. Let's not forget how she murdered Vaemond Velaryon for speaking up against Lucerys inheriting Driftmark ahead of trueborn Velaryons.

Or how she ignored the entire reason she was made heir by marrying Daemon anyway when she was made heir to keep that psychopath from the throne. All these things happened before Rhaenyra lost any of her children or got usurped. The losses didn't change her. They just worsened what she already was.

She ordered daily executions, established "knights inquisitors" to hunt down innocent children, would not offer peace terms, imposed ridiculous taxes while throwing a lavish birthday party for her son, and then tried to have her allies murdered.

She is insanely selfish - am I the only one who thinks she's a very very scary narcissist? Never in the whole course of her life has she had a single concern about others - it's always about herself, her children who she sees as an extension of herself. Even the great narcissist Cersei has shown some small sympathy towards Sansa when she was engaged to Joffrey. She never even bothered to visit or care for her father, instead she was chilling with her creepy uncle on Dragonstone.

She uses and manipulates, and tramples over others and treats her allies like absolute garbage. Corlys Velaryon was first grandcucked, then got his son murdered either by her or her husband, then got his granddaughters deprived of their birthrights and betrothed to bastards. Yet for some reason still supports his great abuser. What did he get in return? Being thrown in the black cells for trying to save the life of his innocent and loyal bastard son.

She inspires zero loyalty and devotion from either her people or the nobles. She insults important nobles who have never offended her, doesn't make alliances, calls the small folk scum and taxes them to death. No wonder they call her Queen Maegor and threw her out of the city. She doesn't make one single selfless and smart political decision. The Vale and the North might have supported her on paper - they hardly did anything until the war was almost over - she had no real allies except some semi-god Rivermen who were scared into supporting her by Daemon.

She is an utter coward and liar. Her youngest son and teenage stepdaughter both took to dragon back before her, as she hid like a coward and sent others to die for her. She took it for granted that others should die for her ungrateful and pathetic cause. She gaslights others into lying about her bastards' parentage and maims/executes everyone who disagrees.

She is a cruel, stupid and atrocious ruler with zero redeeming quality. She filled her council with idiots like Bartimus Celtigar and some Kingsguard/Commander who don't know a single thing about ruling. She listened to the counsel of that child-murderer Mysaria. She never made allies or made sensible political decisions. Her eldest son Jace has ten times her diplomatic skills.

She was extremely cruel during her short reign as Queen. She beheaded people daily, filled the city with terror, imposed crazy taxes including taxes on bastards, imprisoned any dissenters, made people pay to watch executions, threw a feast while people starved and resulted in all the dragons being killed.

She never defends the rights of other women, she thinks she is the special exception to the patriarchy. Just ask Lord Rosby's daughter. She usurps her stepdaughter's birthright in favor of her bastards.

She fully deserved her fate, because she spent her whole life avoiding duty and responsibility, using, abusing and manipulating those closest to her, ruled like a tyrant and led to the extinction of her dynasty.

Tell me one positive quality of this utter failure of a Targaryen has and I will refute you.

Aegon suffered much more than Rhaenyra but he didn't give up, all these events only made him grow and become stronger unlike Rhaenyra who fucked everything up and got worse day by day. He lived in real world and knows if he don't fight for himself no one gonna do that, but Rhaenyra was still on her I'm my daddy's princess so I do whatever the fuck that I want era. like a leech, Rhaenyra relied on others to survive, she was delulu. Oh did I mention she sold her crown and ran away like a coward? Did I mention Aegon had to clean the mess that she made?

And did you guys noticed almost all the rulers after Aegon II are mad, stupid, useless, coward? Just like Rhaenyra.

Now you can disagrees with me, that's ok but don't even try to fight with me about her or try to change my mind because it's not gonna work. Idk about you but I don't want my feminist icon to be someone like Rhaenyra.

Oh and if you wanna use "but Aegon was a rapist" card go read the fucking book or this post.

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #house of dragons #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #hotd #anti team black #anti rhaenyra stans #anti rhaenyra targaryen #pro team green #team green #aemond one eye #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii #aegon targaryen #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #alicent hightower #dance of the dragons #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #king aegon #hotd aegon #hotd aemond

[just-a-torn-up-masterpiece]

Can we get some more jealous Wednesday from you your writing is just so great! Maybe an angsty thing where Wednesday has a friends with benefits situation with reader and they get into an argument about it and reader avoids her for the next few days hanging out with another person and Wednesday watches this all go down and as days go by getting more jealous how touchy this person has been and she drags reader away up to her room and could you give it either a fluffy or smutty ending please? 👀

casual love

masterlist word count: 2332

any ‘wednesday’ fic i do will be set at ‘nevermore university’ so the minimum age of any character will be 18

wednesday addams x fem!reader

18+ : angst with a happy ending, smut; fingering, brief choking, heated kissing, jealousy, implied dom/sub, pretty soft smut tho

A secret, that’s what you were. Just a way to pass time in the privacy of her dark room, it didn’t mean anything to her and it didn’t to you to begin with. A casual relationship is what you both had agreed upon, no strings, no feelings, just a tryst. A way for you to blow off steam.

And it was great, it really was. Until you let your heart control you - but it happened all at once. You didn’t notice until it was too late, the way she kissed you felt different and any compliment she gave in passing made you bashful. What once was meaningless sex suddenly meant something to you; you had fallen for the painfully unattainable Wednesday Addams and she was none the wiser.

It was bittersweet. You’d often imagined your first love, how you’d get butterflies around them and their kiss would feel like fireworks, how their lips would taste oh so sweet and when you’d hug you’d never want to let go. But expectations only hurt you in the end.

The worst part of it all is that you were right, you had fallen down the rabbit hole of romantic cliches with flushing cheeks and an eager excitement at the knowledge of her company. You’d fix your appearance any time she’d knock on your dorm’s door and greet her with a smile, a swirling in your belly when she’d give you a smile in return. 

It was all you’d imagined but it wasn’t real. Feeling this way was forbidden, as stated in the agreement the pair of you had made. So now each sweet kiss comes with a sour aftertaste and the sex leaves you feeling empty, clinging onto something you can never truly have. You think it’s better to have her like this than not at all, but how long can it last?

So you’re holding on to a hope that you know will crush you, the idea that she could feel the same. Lying beside her half naked in your bed after an evening of lust all you can do to stop the nauseating sadness is stare up at your ceiling. The way her arm brushes against yours gives you goosebumps and it’s enough to make you cry. 

“Wednesday, I’m not sure I can do this anymore.” The words came out before you had a chance to think them through. You couldn’t look at her, focusing instead on the lightbulbs dimly lit filament with your nails picking at a loose thread in the material of your t-shirt. 

“Why not?”

You coughed to clear your throat, sadness beginning its change into anger at the way she seemed so unbothered. Any chance of quelling the simmering feelings was that hope you clung onto but you’d be a fool to entertain the idea of her loving you back. 

“Because I broke our number one rule.” You sighed, wiping the tear that fell from the corner of your eye before it reached the pillow. You thought you heard her breath hitch and that glint of possibility flickered for a moment until all she said was ‘oh’. You kept quiet, you both did, with Wednesday leaning against the headboard and you feeling hot with embarrassment. With sadness. And anger.

“I suppose we should stop this, then.” She spoke, classically indifferent just as always. You’d usually find it endearing but right now all it does is heighten that bubbling fury. “I thought we’d agreed to keep feelings out of this-”

“Get out, Wednesday.” You interrupted through clenched teeth but she just looked at you, lips parting for just a second as though she was about to speak and when she didn’t words rose from your throat like acid. “I said. Get. Out.” You sat up to look at her, gesturing towards the door, watching as she noticed the pure anger over your face and the glazed over eyes, whites turning pink with held back tears. 

You didn’t watch her as she left, fixing your gaze on your hands in your lap with the tears spilling now, causing you to gasp out a sob with the aching in your chest. 

–

Wednesday didn’t truly understand what she was feeling, feeling much at all was rather new to her so this strange hollow sensation doesn’t make sense. She wandered the hallways back to her own dorm with her eyes cast down, wondering why you had to spoil it.

She thought it had been going well, she wasn’t like her parents with how obsessed with all things romance they are, she didn’t need love. What she needed was something to pass the time, to satisfy the urges that she finds herself having. She would never fall in love. 

Wednesday didn’t care, not at all, she didn’t return your feelings so what issue is it if you try to move on with somebody else? She doesn’t care when, the next day, you quite obviously avoid even glancing in her direction. Keeping your eyes so far away it was as though she was an eclipse.

It definitely didn’t bother her to see you spending more and more time with Bianca over the following few days, laughing in her company and allowing her hand to linger on your arm. Anyone would imagine themselves crushing the offending hand with a hammer and some brute force - it didn’t mean anything. 

“Wednesday, go and talk to her.” Enid spoke with a nudge to her best friend’s arm. You were lingering in the hallway with Bianca and Yoko and Wednesday had barely taken her eyes off you. Enid saw the way she looked at you, longingly and in adoration, if only her best friend wasn’t so oblivious.

“Why would I do that?” She muttered in response, dragging her eyes away from where you laughed, leaning into Bianca’s side in a much too close fashion for Wednesday’s liking.

“Because you obviously care about her.”

“You’re delusional Enid, I think those nail polish fumes are getting to your brain.” 

“And you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous, I just don’t see how she could’ve moved on so quickly.”

“I thought you weren’t an official thing?” Enid answered with a teasing smile, catching Wednesday in a little bit of her own logic. 

“We weren’t. I’m not like my parents, Enid. I don’t fall in love, I don’t get butterflies in my stomach or whatever other nauseating concepts you all like to babble about. It wasn’t anything, it was just casual.”

“People who don’t have feelings for somebody usually don’t stare down anybody who so much as puts an arm around them. Whether you like it or not, Wednesday Addams, you have been bitten by the love bug.” She grinned, a perfect contrast to the scowl on Wednesday’s face.

“I can assure you no insect has bitten me, I’d rather enjoy such a thing.” She muttered, crossing her arms in front of her chest in annoyance, a burning anger bubbling inside of her at the sight of your head leaning against Bianca’s arm as the three of you chatted.

“You laugh at the things she says-”

“I find her amusing.”

“You invited her to our dorm to watch movies.”

“We have the same taste.” 

“You let her read your manuscripts.”

“She’s one of the only intelligent people around here.” Wednesday shrugged.

“You know her coffee order, you bought her her favourite book, you let her meet your parents, you-”

“Enid. You may be my best friend but I am not immune to the annoyance of your incessant rambling.” She interrupted her with a raise of her hand.

“My point is, you have feelings for her. And they’re definitely not negative ones.” Enid returned with a smirk. “And you’re definitely jealous.” She added in a whisper. She expected an arguing retaliation, a comment on her being stupid or ‘too wrapped up in trying to witness a real life rom com’ as Wednesday had once labelled it. But instead she was met with quiet, seeing Wednesday intently looking behind her with her jaw clenched dangerously tightly and her hands balled into fists. 

She glanced over her shoulder to find you being pulled into a hug and turned back to the empty place that once held the body of her best friend. 

Thick soled black shoes clicked against the wooden hallway floor as Wednesday walked past her, nearing where you stood, oblivious to her approaching form. You weren’t aware of her presence until she grabbed your arm, yanking you away from the group as they just watched in a stunned silence as she dragged you away without a single word.

“Wednesday, what the fuck are you doing?” You asked her as the way her fingers grasped at your upper arm were bound to leave a mark behind, and you knew how much she enjoyed that. 

“I am sick of watching her put her hands all over you.” She hissed, dragging you through her door before slamming your back into it firmly with her hands on your waist. 

“You lost any right to give a shit the moment you walked away.” You returned in an equally angered tone, trying to fight against her strong hold of you. A hand made its way around your throat at your attempt to move.

“You’re mine. Nobody else is allowed to touch you. Only me.”

“And why the hell should I do as you say?”

“Because I broke the rule too.” She rushed out, hovering her lips over yours. “It has been brought to my knowledge that I’m actually in love with you.” Her breath was warm against you and you closed the space between you with a push of your lips against hers, reunited with more passion than before. 

It was an easy rhythm to fall back into after a few days apart, with her hands pushing beneath your shirt to feel your skin beneath her palms and yours pushing the jacket past her shoulders. 

She stepped backwards with her hold still on your waist, locking eyes with you with a small smile tugging at her lips which you returned until you reached her bed. She guided you onto your back, climbing on top of you to straddle your waist as she pulled her shirt over her head, ridding you of yours shortly after. 

Her lips kissed along your collarbone softer than they had before, teeth grazing your skin, licking tentatively across your neck with a bite and a suck to leave a mark behind. It was more tender than before but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to show who you belonged to,to let everyone see.

She reunited your lips once more, pushing her tongue past your lips along with slow and heated kisses. Your tongue flicked against hers only to be pushed with dominance whilst she smirked against you at the small whimper you let out. Everything about the kiss was intense, messy and palpable with little thought and precision, just two bodies moulded together in lust. 

Her hips pushed into yours, mindless grinding against one another with desperate attempts to relieve the aching feeling between your thighs. The way she pulled at the button of your jeans just showed how truly hungry she was for you, slipping her hand past the waistband of your underwear with a teasing fingertip sliding through your folds,

“God, Wednesday, touch me. Please, I need you.” You murmured into her mouth, it was as though she was addicted to the feeling of your lips moving with hers the way she wouldn’t pull away. It was different than before, less transactional, not something for a quick relief but something neither of you wanted to end.

She groaned into your mouth at how you felt around her fingers when she pushed them into your pussy, revelling in the warmth she’d missed as she began a steady pace, curling them into you perfectly whilst her kisses never wavered. 

It felt so good to be kissing you, letting herself feel everything she’d been trying to ignore. How she loves the flavour of your lip balm and how you play with the hairs at the nape of her neck when you hold her close. She let herself enjoy the way your teeth gently tug at her bottom lip and how you sound when you whimper into her mouth when her thumb rubs over your clit and how excited she gets when your hips buck in an attempt to chase your release because it lets her know just how good she makes you feel. 

She let herself feel, finally letting herself experience what is an act of love between two people and no longer just a casual fling - a quick fuck with a focus on pleasure before parting ways. 

Wednesday could feel you getting close, soaking her fingers while your hips matched the rhythm of her pushes into you and your nails dug into the skin of her back leaving crescent shapes behind. 

“I want to see you fall apart for me.” She spoke through her heavy breaths, breaking away from the kiss to look down at you and your parted swollen lips. Her cheeks were tinted pink and her eyes were even darker than their regular shade. Her hair was slightly ruffled from your hand and she looked at you with pure lust. The sight along with the fingers fucking into you was enough to bring you over the edge, clenching around her digits with a moan of pleasure and an arching of your back off of the bed. 

She watched you intently as you came down from your orgasm whilst she pushed her fingers past her lips, sucking your juices from her skin appreciatively until they were licked clean.

“Fuck, I love you, Wednesday Addams.” You breathed.

She greeted you with a rare large smile, immediately grabbing your face between her hands and smiling into the kiss she pressed to your lips. She loved you too and she’d spend the rest of the day showing you just how much. 

#wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday fanfic #wednesday addams x reader smut #wednesday addams smut #wednesday x reader #wednesday x reader smut #wednesday smut #wednesday imagine #wednesday x female reader #wednesday x y/n #wednesday #wednesday netflix

[loveliestlovelygirl]

tangle of strings

pianoteacher!anakin x student!reader

synopsis: mr. skywalker has been your piano instructor since you were fourteen years old. from the moment you met, you knew he was the one. he never expressed his feelings for you vocally, despite all the time you spent together. but after you turn eighteen and prepare to leave for college, he changes his tune.

w.c: 6.9k

warnings!! {minors dni}, dark content, grooming heavily featured, sexual content occurs after the reader is 18, p in v, fingering, oral, fem!reader, gentle dom!anakin, sub!reader, "loss" of virginity, jealousy, religious themes

the content you consume is your responsibility ♡

The piano is the only thing Mr. Skywalker told you that he loved.

He was never spotted with a girl or anyone for that matter in a romantic sense. He was always single, which never made sense to anyone in your small town because he is handsome. He’s always been handsome. His yearbook pictures from high school proved it.

When you would go over to his house for piano lessons, he would show you many things from his life, like his award cabinet, filled with every trophy and certificate he’s won from piano competitions or his yearbook photos. Those photos were one of the first things he showed you. It was one of your first memories of just you and him.

Mr. Skywalker takes a big stack of books off the shelf in his library all at once. Using his strength to balance the dusty books on his arms, he brings them to the reading table where you sit. He takes off the top one and opens it up before you.

Eventually, you find his picture. You cover your mouth as you giggle. He had thick glasses making him look like a nerd. But he was cute. So, undeniably cute to you. You wish he could be the same age. You would want to be his friend. You would want to kiss him.

If you were the same age, he could be yours.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he muses, his large body looming behind you as he looks over your head to gaze at the picture. “I used to be the kid everyone picked on. When I’d get home, I would write a song about how I was feeling. Some of those songs inspired the ones I play at my shows.”

When he talks, you gush. His warm voice is safe. He’s the kind of person you could tell all your secrets to.

And you did tell him everything you couldn’t tell your parents. You’d tell him your deepest secrets. Like the boys you crushed on. Or your new feelings of lust towards them that caught you off-guard as a teen. He understood you like no one else in the whole world. He was the first to know about your first kiss when you were sixteen. And he seemed… jealous when you told him.

“I don’t know how it happened,” you say. “One moment, we were talking and laughing. And the next thing I know, Drew is pushing me down on the bed to kiss me!” you squeal. “But don’t tell my parents. They’ll think I’m a whore.”

Mr. Skywalker pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry. I always keep your secrets. Drew is the boy in your history class, correct?”

You nod, amazed that he would remember. The last time you spoke of Drew had been several months ago. But he always pays attention to even the smallest details. That’s how you know he cares.

“I don’t know if he’s good for you,” he mutters, noticeably bitter about something. “Does he really know you? I think… he doesn’t. He’s probably just trying to use you.”

Mr. Skywalker is much older than you. And wiser. So you take his advice to heart. Maybe you shouldn’t see Drew tonight after all.

“How many times have you been kissed?” you ask him, your voice all innocent. Although your motives were anything but pure. While you might have just shared a kiss with Drew, there is one man who is truly the object of your greatest desires. You just haven’t found a way to tell him.

He shakes his head. “You know I’d rather talk about you.” That’s what he says when you pry too deeply into his private life, which only adds to your secret obsession

Anakin has always been the one thing that rivals your obsession with your instrument of choice. And it’s the only secret you kept from him all through high school because you knew he couldn’t possibly feel the same way about you.

Even if the small touches, the secret looks, and long hugs seemed to indicate otherwise. You were too afraid to ask him what it all meant. He never gave that kind of attention to anyone else.

And as an awkward teen, you were furious that you couldn’t express your love to him directly. You kept telling yourself that you would when you’re older. When you turned eighteen, you would confess to him.

Since you couldn’t tell anyone, even him, about this secret, you’d use the piano to share your soul, to put your feelings out into the atmosphere. When you play, no matter where you are, you feel him sitting on the bench beside you, watching over you. 

He taught you everything you know now. He’s the reason you chose to major in Piano Performance in college to the great horror of your parents. But what did they expect? They watched you sacrifice your youth for excellence in your craft. The nights were filled with pools of tears, cries, and screams as you played until you got the part, section, or note just right.

When your fingers rest on the ivory keys, you feel him and nothing else. He’s your muse in every song you write. 

The piece that won you a full scholarship to your dream university, you wrote it while thinking of Anakin. Your beloved piano teacher. Your closest friend. Your secret love.

He’d been in your life for so long, giving you lessons when you first showed an interest in music. How could you not love him?

He went to the same church that your family attended every Sunday. He played piano sometimes during worship service if the music minister was out on vacation or fell ill. Church was how your father met him, and they became good friends. He often came to your Sunday lunches.

Your mom always cooked fried catfish or fried chicken because that’s what your dad wanted. Mr. Skywalker, as you called him back in your high school years, would eat two plates of food. He’d say things like “I haven’t had a home cooked meal in years,” even if he was at your house just last week. You would laugh the loudest at his jokes. As you think about them now, you realize they weren’t funny, but you’re in love with him so it doesn’t matter.

After lunch, your parents would take care of the food and dishes, giving alone time with him. Like a young pup, you’d follow him outside on the back porch where you’d sit side by side on the creaky old swing.

“Do you cook or bake?” he asks you.

You haven’t the slightest idea of why he’d ask such a thing. You still lived with your parents. Your mom does most of the cooking. Your dad grills sometimes. “No. I get scared that I’ll burn myself.”

Suddenly, he reaches over for your left hand, the closest one to him, from your lap and holds it between his great palms. “Cold,” he whispers. He massages your fingers to revive them. “I wouldn’t want you to burn your hands. They’re so perfect… for playing.”

Anakin looks down at what he’s doing to you and his expression sours. At the time, you don’t know why. You wonder if you said or did something he doesn’t like because the mood changes instantly. He drops your hand and pats your thigh.

“You have piano hands, remember?” he reminds you. He smiles at you, and you feel secure again.

That’s exactly the thing that you always tell him. His hands spread out further than a whole octave, while you struggle to hit the two octave notes simultaneously without pulling a muscle. His fingers are long, and his palms are wide. You can’t compete with that.

You wonder what other things he’s good at with hands like those.

For the entirety of your high school existence, you pined and pined after him. He was always on your thoughts every minute of every day. You never grew sick of daydreaming about him. And on occasion that was reflected in your grades though you maintained a high GPA regardless. Every week was just your going through the motions of life mindlessly, only waiting for two short hours out of the week on Friday which was when you took lessons with him.

You lived solely for those two hours in which he gave you piano lessons free of charge. He said it was because you had such potential, but still to this day, you like to think he reciprocated some of your feelings even before he actually made a move on you.

For those two hours, you would sit right up against him on the leather cushion of the piano bench and play for him whatever pieces you were working on or things he assigned you from the previous week. He was never harsh with you even when you weren’t getting something.

You throw your hands on the keys, striking a dissonant chord that makes you both wince. Mr. Skywalker instantly pulls your hands away.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he said with concern. “I promise you’ll get this. It just takes time. I know you practice too much as it is.”

“I want to be good! I want to be a star!” With that, you break down instantly and cry. He never minds when you cry in front of him.

“One day, you will be. I believe in you,” he soothes you, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head as if you belong to him. He hugs you. “We can try again when you’re ready.”

“Okay,” you say, leaning against him to hear the echo of his heart. His heartbeat is sensual to you, even at sixteen. You can’t explain it. These stupid hormonal feelings you have for him are so wrong. But when you look up into his passionate eyes, you see the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. You have to marry him. You have to.

From the time you were five, you were afraid of thunder and lightning. Terrified by it actually. The fear is still with you today. But it was so much worse in middle school and high school. You started taking lessons from Anakin when you were fourteen years old. And you were still such a child then. You remembered the time it stormed so hard during your lesson that you had to spend the night at his house because it was too dangerous for your mother to come pick you up. But that also meant you couldn’t hide your abnormal fear of a thunderstorm from Anakin.

He had this giant plush rug under the piano. When you asked him about it, he said that it caught the sound. At the tail end of your lesson, the night you had to stay over, lightning struck close to his house and spooked you so much that you shrieked and slipped under the piano, curling up on that soft rug like a scared puppy.

Anakin was such a sweetheart because he followed you there.

“Hey,” he whispers, rubbing your back, “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

You cry into your arms, hiding your face. “I know! I know it’s stupid of me. I just—”

“It’s not stupid. We all have different fears.” After he says that, he lies on his back beside you. “But I won’t let the storm hurt you, okay. We can stay here all night.”

And that you did. You cowered under the grand piano in his parlor all night long. That was the first time you ever cuddled with a boy, only he was a man almost twice your age. But that didn’t bother you. And it seemed not to bother him. He let you hold onto him through the night and squeeze him a little harder when you heard thunder. It has been one of your most precious memories of your piano teacher.

You had always known Anakin could be a little jealous. Any time you would mention your school friends the air would get tense, as if he didn’t want you to have anyone else in your life but him. He never said that, but he didn’t have to. There was always rage somewhere beneath the still blueness of his eyes, but his rage was never directed towards you until you told him that Drew wanted you to be his girlfriend.

You were seventeen. And you were so excited to have your first boyfriend even if you weren’t in love with him. At least people might not tease you for still being a virgin because it wouldn’t be so obvious. Anakin never did make fun of you for your innocence. He always said that it’s okay to wait until you’re ready or for the right person.

Immediately after you share the news of your official relationship with Drew, he freezes and closes the lid to the piano keys.

His jaw is tight. His voice is tense. “Maybe... we should be done for today.” He doesn’t even acknowledge what you said, as if he’s afraid to.

But you have no one else to celebrate with. Drew is a secret you keep from them because he’s not involved in church. “Did you hear me?” you press.

He grinds his teeth hard, and you hear bone against bone. Anakin nods. “I did.”

You nudge his arm. “Well?”

“Well what?” he snaps bitterly. He turns slightly to glare at you. “You know how I feel ab—about him.”

You roll your eyes. Anakin is a dramatic guy sometimes. “Drew isn’t that bad. He can be sweet. And he’s going to take me to prom!”

Anakin rises off the piano bench and pats down his black slacks. “So, you don’t care what I think then?” He’s staring down upon you with overwhelming disapproval. The muscles of his arms bulge when he crosses them over his chest.

Palms against the leather cushion, you hold yourself up. You notice yourself trembling when you realize that he’s not teasing you. He’s very upset... with you. Why would he be—does this mean—does he feel something after all?

“Of course, I do, Mr. Skywalker.”

“I told you not to get close with him!” he shouts. You’ve never heard him raise his voice at  you. “He has bad intentions. He’s just a dumb kid. What does he know about loving you?”

You start to sob. “I’m sorry. I thought you might be... happy for me?”

He scoffs. And it sounds like you disgust him right now. “I don’t want to hear about him ever again. I don’t want to know anything about your little boyfriend. Do. You. Understand?”

Having him speak to you that way made you feel like a little girl. And you hated that feeling more than anything else. You knew that you were innocent, and you hated yourself for it because it made you feel inadequate to love the man you really wanted.

But now you’d do anything to have that innocence again. You didn’t realize at the time how free you once were. Growing up was harder than you thought it would be. It almost broke you.

You were lucky to have someone like Anakin to build you back up again, even if he was the one that tore you down that time.

After he yelled at you, you rushed out of his home as quickly as you could. The silence lasted a day. And then he drove to your house and knocked on your door. He held in his hands a bouquet of white roses and on his lips was the apology you were waiting for. 

Nothing changed between you after that. Until your next birthday came around.

Up to your eighteenth birthday, your interactions were mostly harmless. But when you turned eighteen, an official adult, the tension between you had changed. The energies you both entertained shifted and became... dare you say... sexual to a degree. Anakin seemed to treat you a little differently now that you were fair game.

To celebrate your eighteenth birthday, he was there. In fact, he was the only one you insisted that mother invite. Not Drew or any of your school friends. Just Anakin. And he had to be there because he really was your one true friend. You couldn’t imagine celebrating your birthday without him. He was always a guest at your birthday parties, but he gave you a special gift this year, one so unforgettable that sometimes you hear it clear as day.

Anakin wrote you a piano solo. One that was simple, sweet, and addicting. You told him to play it again and again. After cake and presents, you made him teach you how to play it. You were very proficient now, and often could play things just by hearing them once. But the chords he chose for your song were unique and shouldn’t have meshed so well together. But they did. Just like you and him. Unlikely friends. Star-crossed lovers in your head.

The two of you stayed at the piano all evening, messing around with the song. By the end, you both had figured out how to layer the notes and chords in an even more perfect duet. Playing piano with him was almost the best birthday gift in the world to you. But it was not what you wished for.

You wished for a kiss.

But that would mean you’d have to tell him how you felt. And you were terrified. As an adult, now you could. It was more empowering than you thought it could be.

But you never did find a chance to tell me on your birthday. You were too afraid to ruin your night with a love confession. You know he would do the right thing and reject you, but that didn’t stop you from dreaming for the impossible.

When you walked him outside to his car—you insisted—your secret birthday wish came true. Not in the way you expected. But a kiss did happen. Your piano teacher kissed you on the cheek. Your face burned the whole night through. You couldn’t sleep because you wanted to know what it meant. He had never used his lips to touch any part of you before.

Physical contact had always been an important part of your bond with Anakin since the beginning. There were always the hugs that lasted just a little too long. And he seemed to always find an excuse to hold your hand. But he was your piano teacher, and the hand-to-hand contact always felt necessary and never strange.

But following your very special birthday, you found him staring at you a little longer, a little more deeply, and he seemed to always find an excuse to touch you, not in a sexual way but in a way that led you to believe the attraction wasn’t one sided.

He’d tuck your hair behind your ears, brush the side of your arm, and sit impossibly close to you that you swore you could almost hear his heartbeat. Anakin had never been hesitant to touch you before, but if there were any boundaries before, they were forgotten by him. And you enjoyed it. His new attention made you feel special and wanted. And that was all you ever wanted.

You began to touch him too. And seek physical attention from him. You would nuzzle his arm. Slip your fingers between his. Tap your shoes against his. He’d always notice, and he always hugged you or kissed your cheek in response.

You two were getting closer than ever before. Sometimes... you would barely touch the keys, getting lost in conversation. At this point, Drew and any other boy you were interested in before might as well have been dead. There was only room in your heart for Anakin.

And you had discovered a way to tell him without using your fragile words.

You sit on the bench waiting for him to get off the phone with his mother. She called him shortly after he let you in. About ten minutes later, he comes back.

“Sorry. I was worried she was in trouble,” he says, taking his spot beside you. “Now, where were we last week?”

“We... didn’t really go over anything.”

He bites into his full lower lip with a mischievous look in his eyes. “What are you paying me for then?”

You laugh because you’ve never once paid him for his time. You nudge his thigh with yours. “Honestly, I don’t really think there’s much more you could teach me.”

He raises a brow. “Oh really?”

You nod. “Actually, I’ve been writing something for you.”

His jaw lowers, and his mouth hangs open slightly. “How long have you kept this secret?”

“Since my birthday.”

He slips his arm around your back and rests his hand on your hip. “I’m impressed. Show me?”

You gulp heavily. That had been the plan today. It is ready for him. He’d never judge you even if it were bad. But you know that it’s not. You know that he’ll know what this piece means. He knows you too well. He’s too perceptive of everything. You wrote it in his favorite key, C minor.

With your hands a little shaky, your fingers glide softly across the piano and press down powerfully in chords. Through music, you profess your love. Anakin sits beside you and waits for you to finish. When you do, he’s waiting, staring with tears thickening his dark eyelashes. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything, but you know... he knows how you feel.

You tug on his shirt, drawing him closer. A war of heart and mind reflects on his face. He’s doubting what he wants. His resistance is half-hearted. It isn’t long before he scoops you up in his arms and kisses you. This time his mouth is on your lips, wetting them, and tugging them apart to fill you with his tongue.

Drew was never this good. His mouth was sloppy and tight. Anakin kisses like he’s done this a thousand times before. And he kisses like he wants you. Like he’s wanted you for such a long time, despite how wrong you both know that is.

He holds you down in his lap, and you hug him tightly, carding your fingers through his dreamy hair. You start to feel lightheaded because you haven’t been able to breathe, but you don’t want to stop him. If you stop him, he might think and realize that he doesn’t want you anymore.

But you’re dying. Turning blue. You tap his shoulder. And he stops devouring you. His lips sparkle when he smiles. “Too much for you, baby?”

You sharply inhale, finally catching your breath. You shake your head. You want more. You need it. More isn’t even enough.

You spend the whole lesson entangled with one another until your mother comes to pick you up.

For the next month, that’s all you did. Kiss and kiss and kiss. Breathe and breathe and breathe. And kiss some more. You wondered why he was waiting to take you to his bed. You wanted that with him, but he never asked you to go that far. He seemed afraid. Even when his affection was overflowing in passion as you always knew it would be, it was clear that he was holding himself back. Did he need you to tell him what to do?

Your make out sessions extended beyond just your lesson time. Whenever he would come over to your house, he would go upstairs with you to your bedroom, and you’d end up tangled in the sheets. Though with every item of clothing on. Your parents never suspected anything was happening to their young, virtuous daughter. They trusted him completely. And so did you. You would have done anything he asked of you no matter the risks.

Even at church, he’d find a way to get you alone. In the girl’s bathroom. During the preacher’s sermon.

Anakin lifts you onto the sink and spreads your legs out so that he can fit between them and get close to you. Thumb under your chin, he tilts your face up to his. He grins before going in for a kiss.

Your lavender baby doll dress rides up your thighs as he inches closer. He presses up against the crotch of your panties. The dampness is cold against your tender flesh. His erection only grows as the friction between you builds, your bodies rubbing against each other in a clothed attempt to satisfy yourselves sexually.

And now you’re glad you waited and didn’t mess around with Drew like he wanted when you were together. Because that means Anakin could be your very first.

He freezes up when you try to unbuckle his big belt. Anakin looks at you strangely, almost disturbed by your actions.

You lean to his ear and whisper, “I. Want. It.” You had thought your seductive voice would be enough to cast him off the edge of all hesitation, that he’d bend to your will and give you what you want.

But all you did was kill the fire.

Head shaking, he backs away. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

And you didn’t see him for nearly a month after that. But you don’t regret what you said. You were tired of just endless make out sessions. It seemed so immature, and you knew you were ready for something real.

All of those memories, those beautiful capsules of your favorite times with Anakin, are the reason you find yourself on his doorstep, a quarter till midnight in the pouring rain.

Complete desperation.

You took your moms car without permission just to drive over despite the threat of a storm. And you’re still deathly afraid of them. But you came anyway. Because tomorrow, you’re leaving for college. You might not get another chance to fix things. Death would be better than living another moment without him.

“You haven’t been answering my texts or my calls, Anakin.”

The door is barely cracked open, just enough that you can see his pale face. Dark circles surround his rainy eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, not even making eye contact.

Thunder echoes behind you. The wind blows your hair around. Leaves rustle, filling the silence between you both. It’s going to storm soon. You had been stupid enough to drive to his house just before a storm. But you couldn’t take not knowing what had happened to him and why he was dodging your calls.

The eyes that used to linger a little too long won’t acknowledge you even as you stand in front of him.

“Why are you being like this? This isn’t you!” you nearly scream. You’re so afraid that he’s not only pushing you away but also ejecting you from his life completely, as if the memories you share can be erased. He’s engrained in almost every memory you have.

“It can’t happen. Go away.”

He tries to close the door on you, but you stick the toe of your right shoe in the crack before it shuts.

“Please… please don’t do this.”

Anakin’s eyes are bloodshot as if he’s been crying. “What I want isn’t right. I can’t do it. I don’t know if I could live with myself after.”

Does he really hate me so much? Is that the truth? Perhaps it’s your naivety, but you won’t let him go so easily. You have suffered in silence for nearly a decade, pining after him, waiting for him to reciprocate the depth of your feelings. Your hands shake as you reach out to him. If he would just… hold your hand like he used to, then maybe everything would be alright.

Your fingertips brush against each other. You feel the spark instantly, and it travels down your spine, leaving you wanting to touch him more.

“What about what I want?”

Anakin blinks several times before he speaks. It’s as if he didn’t consider your feelings in this decision. “You’re… not in a position to see things clearly. You’re—”

“Don’t say it!” you exclaim, squeezing your fists. “I’m not a child. I’m all grown up. And you know it. You see it.”

Anakin sighs a long time, his eyes scanning down your body. “Of course, I see it. But that doesn’t make it okay.”

Though you can never overpower him, you still try to force the door open. “Just let me in. We can talk. Just let me talk to you.”

Anakin’s frown is firm, and his stillness enforces that he’s not backing down. “I don’t know. If I let you in… if you cry… I’ll want to hold you. Then things might happen. I don’t know if I can control myself around you.”

Hugging yourself, you gaze upwards, into eyes that finally meet yours. His eyes reveal his mourning, his grief, his lust. It’s the latter that sends shivers through your body. The knowing that he wants you is more than you can take.

“I don’t want you to.”

There.

You said it.

You have told him exactly what you want. And if you hadn’t made it painfully obvious before, he knows now that you’re no longer thinking like a little girl.

Following a sigh of defeat, he backs away from the door, and you move in.

All the lights are off in his home. He must have been sitting in the dark like a vampire. The piano lid is open. He never left it open unless he was actively playing.

Anakin strides across the room to seat himself on the piano bench. He taps the spot next to him. “You’re right.... We should talk. Talk. Nothing more.”

Sitting beside him here feels like the most natural thing in the world. Here, you’re not afraid to speak from the heart. He’d never judge you even if he disagrees. But you’re not so sure he disagrees this time.

He wants you too.

“I couldn’t let you go back. I can’t believe you drove in the rain.”

You shrug. “It’s just rain. The storm hasn’t—”

The windows flash like they would in a horror flick, and thunder comes after. With a whimper, you grab onto his arm.

“I can drive you back home once we talk,” he says emotionlessly, gently pulling you off him.

But you double down and grab his arm, tugging him back again. “Don’t push me away.”

He doesn’t do it again. He stills. And sighs. “That’s the last thing that I want to do.”

With your chin resting on his sleeve, you look up at him, wide-eyed. “Just kiss me like you always do. And don’t think about it.” You stretch your arm out and fiddle with the top button of his dress shirt. “I’m not thinking.”

His chest rises and falls with his breaths. He doesn’t stop you as you unbutton his shirt.

When you rise on your knees, you’re at eye level. He’s so much bigger than you even now. He makes you feel so small. Holding onto his arm, you lean close and peck his clean-shaven cheek. He winces as if you pricked him with a needle.

“Angel, I shouldn’t.”

You kiss him again, closer to his lips, almost tasting him. “It’s me. Don’t you want me?”

Finally, he turns and looks in your eyes. Then at your mouth. “Don’t tell anyone. You... understand how this might look. What they might say about—”

“I’m good at keeping secrets,” you whisper. “What’s one more?”

You finish unbuttoning his shirt for him. Taking care of him feels good. You run your fingertips down his chest and his abdomen. His bare skin. It’s soft and warm. Suddenly, he grabs your wrist.

“Cold hands,” he murmurs. He takes your hands between them. He rubs his hands over your fast to warm them with friction.

“Sorry.”

Still rubbing your hands, he stands and leads you to the back of his grand piano near the flashing window.

Any other time, you would be trembling in fear because of the loud storm, but tonight you’re trembling because of the new feelings bubbling inside you. You’ve never been so aroused before.

“Can I hold you?” he says as pulls you into his embrace.

You can hear his steady heartbeat and feel it pumping right against your sensitive ear. Your piano teacher holds you against him and tangles his talented fingers in your hair. He sniffs your neck before taking a bite. His teeth pinch your flesh, and his tongue soothes you. The pain he leaves in several spots along your neck means that he’s marked you as his.

Your own heart is racing at lightning speed. You can’t think. In his arms, you’re helpless to his whims. You need him to tell you what to do. All you want is to please him.

“I’ll do anything,” you whisper to him so weakly you question if he hears you.

Anakin slowly unzips the back of your dress. “Consider this a teaching moment.” His voice doesn’t sound like it usually does. The undertones are sultry and possessive. “I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to—” He stops to pull down your dress, and his eyes wander over your pretty body. You wore transparent lace underwear and a matching bralette. He can see everything you hide from the rest of the world.

And he tells you, “You’re perfection.”

That makes you want to kiss him so badly. You try to lift yourself to reach his lips, but he’s too tall.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I want you to lay down first.” He guides you under the piano.

You lie down on your back atop the giant rug. Instantly, relaxation takes over as you remember all the times you used to lie here with him, hiding from the storm. Never did you think this would be the place where you’d give yourself to him. This must be meant to be.

He follows you after fully undressing. His body is every inch a man’s.  His size makes you feel so small. He runs the risk of crushing you with his weight.

Lying on his side, he looks down at you, watching his own fingers running under the elastic of your lacy panties. “Take these off and spread your legs.” He whispers kisses to your cheek. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Nodding, you do as you’re told and wiggle out of your underwear. He snatches them from you and crunches them in his hands before throwing them over his shoulder. You proceed with fanning your legs open. The air is frigid as it touches you.

Anakin is looking where no one else has. “I’m so proud of you for waiting. Saving yourself just for me.”

You gasp as he kisses you between your legs. He kisses you there for a long time. It feels strange and wonderful. The feeling building inside you makes you moan and your toes curl. You feel so good your body aches. You hear your own heartbeat. You breathe but can’t find relief. Nothing soothes the need inside you but his mouth, his lips, his tongue. And before long you hit the breaking point, pleasure storming through your body from your place beneath him. Your cries are dampened by the thunderous sounds outside, but he hears you. He stops to look at your face. Making eye contact with him heightens the vulnerability of the situation. The intense way he looks at you burns. He notices every little change in your expression.

Anakin knows he made you feel good, but he still asks, “Did you like that?” He brushes the wild strands of hair away from your face. You know you’re precious to him. He sweetly kisses your forehead. “I like your taste.”

Your cheeks are seared by that comment. You cover your eyes, not wanting to let him see how he’s affecting you. “I did like it.”

“Do you want to do more?” He kisses your lips this time, and you taste yourself. “I don’t want to push you if you’re not ready.”

“I am ready!” you lift your head up and cup his cheek. “Don’t make me wait longer. I’m leaving tomorrow.” You bite your lip, knowing how dangerous what you’re about to say is because of who you’re saying it to. “Do you really want some college guy to be the one who gets me first?”

As if trying to reject the image you gave his mind, he closes his eyes and tightens his jaw. “No,” is his short answer. From the way his lips are pressed together, you know he wants to say more, but he’s saving you from his own selfish anger.

“Me either.” You rub his cheek with your thumb. “Anakin,” it feels right to call him by his first name instead of Mr. Skywalker, “I’ve waited for you. I always knew this would happen.”

He chuckles lightly. “I never gave you permission to use my name. Don’t forget—” he grunts as he slides two of his fingers between your slick folds and pushes them inside, “your manners, young one.”

These same fingers were the ones that rested atop yours when you were first learning to play piano. They pointed to the right key when you played the wrong note. They pointed to the sheet music to guide you along for all these years. They held your hands when they were cold.

And now he’s using them to teach you something new. But he’s just as skilled at fingering you as he is with music. You’re like his new instrument. He’s plucking all the right strings in just the right way to make you cry out for him. With your body pliant, he controls when you come. He doesn’t make you wait for it. He uses his thumb too and nudges until you come. It’s wetter than the last. And he instructs you to lick his fingers off when he’s done.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks again. “Don’t hate me for asking.” He hangs his head a little.

What he doesn’t understand is how insatiable he’s caused you to be. There were so many times you thought you might explode from how desperately you wanted him. But now it’s okay if that does happen.

“Keep going. Please,” you beg. You’re not ready to stop. You’ve waited for this moment since you were fourteen years old. If it were up to you, you’d live here forever.

“If that’s what you really want,” Anakin moves from lying at your side to settling himself between your legs.

“It is,” you reassure him. Holding onto his neck, you pull yourself up a bit. “Can you kiss me too?”

He grins before pushing you down, his large hand spread out over your soft stomach, and he chases your lips as you fall. You’re partially distracted by his mouth as his cock slides inside you. You had expected it to be more of a challenge, all things considered. Throughout high school, your friends always complained about how much it hurt their first time. Some girls bled too. And that had scared you, which is one of the reasons you never took Drew up on his many offers of a “good time.” Deep down you knew he wouldn’t treat you right. But Anakin clearly is experienced with having sex. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as you thought he had been all those years.

This being your very first time, it does sting when he fills you completely, his bony hips pressed against yours. You feel the tightness and the stretch. But you enjoy how it feels. You’re so close to passing out just because this is as close as you can get to someone.

Anakin rocks in and out slowly. Maybe he can feel that you’re tired. He’s being gentle with you despite how much he wants to rail your cunt to shreds. You can tell when he’s holding himself back. He has that weary, pained look in his rainy eyes. A part of you wants to tell him that it’s okay. Let go. But you both know that you couldn’t handle the full extent of his lust.

“Can I come inside you?” he asks before sinking his teeth into a bruise along your neck.

Short of breath, you answer, “I said... anything.”

“Okay,” his shaky voice whispers. He buries his face into the curve of your neck and moans your name into your skin. He pulls your hair gently as he finishes, his heat spreading through your core. It’s so much that you feel it leaking out.

After, he holds you there all night long. He doesn’t let you leave. And you wouldn’t want to escape.

The three words he says to you as you leave his house the morning after, you realize that he’s lied to you all the years you’ve known him.

The piano isn’t his only love or his only obsession.

It’s an outlet, and yet a mask for his sin nature which you understand more deeply than any other girl ever will.

He’s kept his real obsession hidden from everyone but you.

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[toxicanonymity]

The Contractor. Silence can never be bought, only rented (pt. 6 of 6)

4k / dbf!Joel x f!Reader / pt 1 / master list

STORY MASTER LIST

Warnings/Notes: I8+ some angst, dry (wet?) humping, unsafe PIV SEX (!), legal age gap. Acronyms - RICO is about organized crime. barely edited.

It’s so close.  It’s finally here. His hand slides under your shirt, runs over your back then pulls you closer. He feels so good, it’s like a dream.  But the more you wake up, the more your thoughts creep in.  You want the truth.  You pry your lips away from his, and right away, he latches onto your neck.  “What did my Dad want?” you ask. Between kisses, he murmurs, “don’t worry about it.”

Joel shows you his phone and your dad is at the gate.  He thinks in silence for a moment. 

“Well, we’re not doing anything,” you offer, but your heart is pounding.  “Don’t let him in.”

“I’ve gotta let him in.  What’s he gonna think if I don’t?”

He rubs his beard and opens his home automation app.  “You’re in the pool house,” he decides.  He turns on a dim light in the pool house.  

“What does he want?” you ask.  

“Hell if I know.  Go through the basement.” 

“No way.” 

“Come on, Trouble.” 

“I’m not going through the tunnel alone.” 

He seems endeared by your fear.  “Do it for us,”  he says with a wink that makes your heart jump.  Then he gets up to take the drinks to the sink. 

“Wait,” you say. 

He freezes. 

“What were you gonna say? Now that I know . . . ?”

“Now that you know, I don’t have to worry about you finding out later and being mad.”

You kind of doubt that’s what he was going to say.  “I’m mad anyway,” you say. 

“Figured.  It’s okay.”

A car door opens and closes.  

“Go,” he whispers. “I’ll come get you when he’s gone.” 

You make it to the pantry stairs just in time.  

-

When your dad comes in, Joel says, “Welcome back.” 

Your dad asks, “Where’s my girl?”  

“Sleepin’ it off in the pool house, I reckon.  Didn’t want her to drive.” 

There’s a long pause and your heart races. 

Your dad says, “Good, good. . .thanks.” 

Damn, Joel is smooth.  He asks your dad, “Somethin’ you didn’t wanna call about?”

“Yeah. . .” 

You’re tempted to stay and hear more, but you’re also afraid of what you might hear.  You creep down the stairs quietly.  You think about going to the theater instead and waiting in one of those recliners.  It’s silly, but you really don’t want to go underground to the pool house.  The tunnel is climate controlled and has automatic lights, but it’s still spooky without windows.  

-

You’re standing near the tunnel entrance trying to work up your nerve when you hear raised voices, and now you can’t resist.  You quietly make your way back toward the stairs to listen.  If no one is going to tell you what’s going on, this is your chance to find out.  It occurs to you there’s no reason for you to go all the way to the pool house except that Joel doesn't want you to hear this.  Otherwise, you could have hidden anywhere and your dad would be none the wiser. 

A cabinet slams shut and Joel demands,  “How many aren’t you tellin’ me about?”

“Not tellin’ you? I just found out!  I’m not in charge, you know that.”  Glasses clink with ice. 

“North of the fuckin’ border again. God damnit,” Joel says. He’s even more heated than he was in the car the other day. 

Your dad asks, “What do I have to do to get you all in on this? Let’s get it done and be done with it.”

“You know what I want.  I want out.”

“You’ll be out.” 

“I want it in writing.” 

Your dad scoffs.  “You want a paper trail now? When the whole point was to keep your charges off paper?” 

“Not the charges, damnit.”

“Then what do you want in writing? You made some bad guys go away in exchange for evidence going away, now we’re square?” 

“It was supposed to be a six month contract.  Here we are, how many renewals later? And I’m still consulting.”  You can picture the air quotes with the way he says it.  

“Still better than 20 years for RICO,” your dad says. 

“Never woulda gotten the max. . . You know what? At least the wiseguys have a code.”

Your dad sharpens his tone.  “Ever wonder what happened to that evidence?”

“FUCK”  A glass shatters. “I’m never gettin’ out. Just say it.”

“This is the last-” 

“Don’t string me along with this one last job bullshit, then the job’s a whole fuckin’ cartel.  Call it what it is.  I’m an asset.  Not a contractor if I don’t got a fuckin’ choice.”

“You’re gonna be out.” 

“You won’t even give me your word.”

“Joel, you have my word.”

“Alright,”  Joel calms down a little.  “And what about you?  You ever think about your daughter in all this? You want her on tiktok seein’ your head roll off one day ‘cause you couldn’t take the loss and retire?”  

“Don’t talk about my daughter.”

There’s a moment of silence, then your dad continues. 

“We’re on the same team, buddy.  I want this over as bad as you do.  C’mon, let’s look at the intel.” 

You’re sick to your stomach.  Whatever this is sounds like it’s about your dad’s ego. What’s new. You shrink back to the tunnel and jog through it so it’s over fast.  

-

You’re laying on the couch in the pool house, and you don’t even want to think about what you just heard.  So you’re replaying the earlier conversation in your head.  The one about your stepmother and  . . . gross.  Something doesn’t sit right about it.  You’re trying to figure out why Joel would have felt guilty for you blackmailing him into sex. 

It hits you that the only reason he’d feel guilty is if it were his doing. . . If he realized you thought you had leverage and saw an opportunity.  Deprive you, make you want it that bad, see if you’d try to twist his arm into it.  And once you got there, game over?  Was he just getting off on having the power all along? Then you ask yourself the real question.  If that’s the case . . . do you wish none of it ever happened?  It’s an easy no.  

So you put that to rest and can’t help but think about what you overheard between Joel and your dad. You want to know how this all happened, but from the way Joel was talking about heads rolling off,  you’re most worried about what he and your dad are up to right now.  You want to hear it from Joel.  You want to know what his real job is.  The truth might be the only thing you want more than to fuck him.  And if he won’t tell you the truth, maybe he doesn’t deserve the latter. 

You’re exhausted from being in the sun all day.  There’s a big, heavy blanket – silky, not exactly cozy.  It’s like a rich guy blanket, probably put there by an interior decorator.  You curl up on the oversized couch and pull it over you.  There’s a bedroom, but you don’t expect this to take as long as it does, so you don’t get in bed.  You stay on the couch.  It feels like Joel is taking forever, but you’re too tired to even look at the time. You take off your shorts and bra, swaddle yourself in the blanket, and drift off. 

-

You don’t hear Joel come in or take off his pants or put his stuff on the table.  You feel cold for a moment when he lifts the blanket, but then he gets under it with you and takes you into his arms, and he’s warm.   

You stir, and Joel whispers, “You wanna get in bed?”  

You shake your head no.  

“It’s right there . . .”

“No,” you manage weakly.  You’re not remembering any of the drama at the moment, just enjoying being in his arms and too sleepy to move.  

“Ok,” he whispers, and kisses you on the head.  You fall back asleep with your head in the crook of his neck. 

. . . 

In the middle of the night, you wake up in his arms with one of his legs hooked over both of yours and his boxers pressed against your panties, which are soaked with arousal, you can feel it.  He’s only somewhat hard, but it’s enough to make you need it, bad.  He smells freshly showered but you can still catch a hint of his sweat, which makes you need it worse.  Your nose brushes his beard as you look up at his face. 

He blinks awake with sleepy eyes.  He presses his lips into yours for a long kiss that starts light, affectionate, closed-mouth, then becomes desperate, invasive. You accept his tongue greedily. He hardens right against your crotch.  His hips roll into yours, and before long, he’s rock hard, and you softly moan “mmm” into his mouth.  

He whispers, “Are you on-” 

“Yeah,” you cut him off.  Then he covers your mouth with his lips again.  Yeah, you’re on birth control, and the question makes you throb as he kisses you.  It’s so close.  It’s finally here. It’s grinding into you right now.  His hand slides under your shirt and runs over your bare back, pulling you closer against him, and he moans softly.  He feels so good, it’s like a dream.  

But the more you wake up, the more your thoughts creep in.  You really, really want the truth.  It dawns on you this might be your best shot at getting it. 

You pry your lips away from his, and right away he latches onto your neck.  

“What did my Dad want?” you ask him. 

Between kisses on your neck, he murmurs, “don’t worry about it.”  

“Tell me what’s going on,” you demand.  

He rolls his arousal into your clit and you bite your lip to suppress a moan while you wait for his answer. 

 “Not now, sugar. . .”

He lifts your shirt swiftly but smoothly and palms a breast, then is hard-on drags down your thigh and you feel a damp spot on his boxers. He takes your nipple into his mouth while he pulls your shirt off, and you help him, despite your reservations.  You need the truth, but you’re aching.  Your body needs to be filled by his. 

“Not now. . . so, when?” you ask. 

“When I’m back,” he sighs.  

“Back from what?”

He doesn’t answer.  He lightly drags his lips over the top curve of your breast, over your shoulder, up your throat, your jaw, to your ear.  

-

His boxers find your drenched panties again and press against you in just the right place.   He’s so stiff, it takes your breath away, and a soft moan falls out of your mouth.  He whispers, “This is all that matters,” and you want him to be right so bad.  He nibbles then sucks your neck right under your ear. He grinds his rock-hard member into you in a slow rhythm at just the right angle.

“This,” he says, looking from your eyes to your mouth and back.  He wraps his arms around you, grinding into you rhythmically.  He kisses you again, and his tongue erases whatever words were on yours.  Blood rushes to your lips with the gentle suction of his own. With his face still on yours, he slowly, carefully takes his boxers off under the blanket. 

You slide your hand down his abdomen and your breath hitches as you graze the light padding of his lower stomach.  You find that small, circular scar and gently caress it.  He flinches, then moves your hand to his cock.  It sends a  bolt of need to your aching clit, but you still have to ask. 

“What’s it from?”

“C’mere,” he says, and latches onto your mouth again as he thrusts into your hand.  

You want his lips on yours forever.  You want nothing more than to just give in and fuck him.  You push yourself up with your arm and he rolls onto his back.  You shrug off the blanket.  He watches you in a trance as you straddle him with his cock still in  your hand.  You thumb his scar again and he says, “you know I served.”  Right.  Of course.  

His stomach rises and falls, and his head tilts slightly as he watches you nestle his naked cock at your drenched, silky underwear, right against your clit.  You roll your hips into him and moan at the friction. 

“Let’s lose these, sugar,” he pants. He hooks his fingers into your underwear and you lift each leg to slowly slip out of them.  

-

You settle back in, then close your eyes, tilt your hips, and use him to pleasure yourself.  You drag along his cock, from your clit to your dripping entrance and back, making his manhood shine with you, and he groans.  Then you lay your hips onto his again and his hips rock against you, with his unfathomably hard cock gliding firmly against your slick.  

He moans and breathes heavily.  “I gotta be inside you, sugar,“ he says as he grinds into you rhythmically.  

“I’ve gotta know the truth,” you reply, but it physically pains you.  

He groans.  “Fuck,” he pants. “What do you wanna know?”

“What you’re up to,” you say as you use your hips to massage yourself with his stiff manhood.  

He takes a deep breath.  “It’s complicated,” he says, and you inwardly acknowledge he’s probably right.  You stop moving and start to back yourself down his thighs.  You bend at the hip and hover over his cock. 

“Are you still in construction?” You stroke him slowly.  

“Still own the business.”  He adjusts his hips under you.  

“But that’s not all you do.”  You bring it almost to your mouth and take a deep whiff of his musk which makes you twitch with need. 

“No,” he quietly admits. 

You think about how to simplify this and get it over with.  You throw caution to the wind and ask,  “Do you kill people?” You thumb the precum beading at his tip.  No immediate answer.  Then, you take his salty tip into your mouth for just a kiss and he groans.  You take it out.

He sighs.  “You really wanna know?” He thrusts into your hand.

You give it another kiss. “Yeah.” 

You slowly crawl back up his body and lay half on him and he rolls toward you so you’re on your side like before.  You hook your top leg over him.  You search his eyes for an answer, but he looks down at your bodies instead.  His large hand engulfs your ass cheek, caresses it with his palm, then gives it a firm squeeze and pulls you hard against him, and your wet pussy meets his stiff cock again.  

“What do you think?” He asks quietly, then buries his nose in your neck and whispers, “Cause you’re prolly right.”  Your heart skips a beat.  You wanted more, but at the same time, it feels like he just told you everything he has to tell - or that’s what you’re trying to believe, for your body’s sake.  You don’t feel anything about what he just said. All you feel is him, and that’s all you want.  

-

He groans as he grinds into you, and his neck vein bulges. He rolls his arousal harder against your slick seam and kisses your neck. “Come on, sugar,” he says.  

You open your mouth but don’t have any words, you can only breathe.  He ruts against you again and you close your eyes with a moan.  You’re throbbing, physically aching, swollen with need, dying to have him.  

“Gotta be inside you now baby,” Joel repeats, smooth and low.  He thrusts hard against your clit, slow, but so hard.  His mouth devours yours, and your nipples harden against his broad chest.  When his stiff member drags back down your clit, he hesitates at your entrance, then puts his hand on your ass, and the tip of his cock is caught by a tilt of your hips.  Tension swells and tightens deep within you. 

He begins to slowly push the firm head of his cock into your tight, wet hole and reads your face.   You have to remind yourself to breathe. Your brow furrows.  You bite your lip and inhale through your nose.  You both adjust your hips so the angle is just right.  He pushes a little more, and the stretch of his girth makes your whole body dizzy and desperate for more.  He pauses and you just barely nod. 

The arm under you pulls you closer with his hand flat on your back while his other hand braces on your leg that’s hooked over him.  Then he pushes his stiff length into you with a grunt that becomes a loud sigh, and you gasp as his thick cock makes room for itself inside you.  He pauses when he’s mostly in, and you look into each other’s eyes.  

“Now fuck me,” you whisper.  

“Yes ma’am,” he growls.  He backs out all but the tip, then plunges into you completely.  Your mouth falls open with a moan as your bodies are finally joined and he bottoms out with a shudder.  

His lips latch onto yours as he retreats, then slams into you again with a grunt.  He buries himself in you, slow and hard, each time somehow better than the last.  Your hips roll into him, and together, you gradually up the tempo.  You kiss sloppily, half your mouths breathing heavily and vocalizing against each other’s cheek. Each exhale is a moan.

His hips roll fluidly against yours and his whole body tells you how bad he’s been wanting this. Every time he fills you up, you could cry from how good it feels.  He opens his mouth wide and puts it on your neck again, gently sucking your delicate skin into his mouth.  He grabs hold of your ass and uses the arm under you to gently put you on your back without fully pulling out.  Your legs wrap around him and he sheathes himself entirely once again.  

You hook your fingers under the bottom hem of his t-shirt and pull it over his head.  He takes in the view of your whole body again before he leans back down.  

“You look so goddamn hot,” he says, looking down at you, thrusting into you. He looks hot, too.  

The moonlight reveals a faint farmer’s tan from the barbecue.  His pecs and triceps are pumped up and flexing as he moves in rhythm.  His hair is messy and perfect.  The silver bits of his beard glisten. 

He leaves space between you and reaches down to thumb your clit, almost putting you over the edge, but you quickly take his hand and pull his body back into yours.  

“About to come?” he asks.  You nod and take a deep breath.  He thrusts into you hard then slowly rocks his hips deep inside you with his neatly trimmed hair grinding into your clit.  The tension bursts inside you and you groan his name as a massive wave of pleasure overwhelms you.  Then another.  You clench around him and your body jerks erratically.  Your nipples go almost painfully hard and drag against him.  

He pushes deeper than you thought possible, balls tightening against your ass, and you gasp and moan. Then he grunts, pulses inside you, and his whole body shudders as you milk his cock.  You keep pulsing as he fills you up with his seed. Your whole body is drunk with him.  When you’re both finished coming, he looks at you, and himself, then you again as he catches his breath.  He strokes your face and says, “god damn.” 

You almost forget you’re two different bodies until he slides out of you, leaving a void your insides try to fill. He lays on his side and takes you in his arms again.  

-

He looks so peaceful.  At the moment, you don’t care if you still don't know what’s going on.  You don’t even care if he manipulated you into wanting this so desperately.  All you care about is whether this is going to happen again, and you’re terrified of finding out it’s not.  You start to worry about him going to do this job. 

After a long silence, you say,  “You don’t wanna do it, do you?”

“Do what?” 

“Whatever you have to go and do.”

The peace evaporates from his face.  He sighs.  “No. . . No, I don’t, sugar.”  He rubs his temples with the thumb and pinky of one massive hand.  

“Then why do it?”

“No choice,” he says. 

“That’s messed up,” you say.  “I mean, not having a choice.”

“Yeah, well, it was my own dumb ass.  Thought I was gettin’ outta somethin’ worse.  Didn’t know what I was gettin’ into.” 

“How do you get out of it now?”

“Finish the job, call it a day, see what happens.” 

“Really?”

“It’s been a long time comin’.” 

A couple seconds after he says it, a little smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.  He doesn’t have to make the joke out loud.  You playfully pinch his cheek. 

“Worth the wait?” he asks with a smirk.  

You shrug, and he says, “I’ll take it.” You can feel your whole face and body glowing.  You don’t need to spell it out.

-

You get pensive thinking about why now, why tonight.  “You weren’t just pissed at my dad, were you?”

He chuckles, then almost seems to panic when he sees you’re serious. “God, no, Trouble. . . “   His heart rate visibly quickens on his neck.  He didn’t even have to ask you what you meant.  He wraps his arms tight around you and kisses your head.  

“So whatever happened to ‘not tonight’?” you ask. 

“Couldn’t help it,” he says.  “Neither could you.”  Well, that’s true.  “Plus, now I don't have to worry ‘bout you findin’ out you didn’t blackmail me.  That woulda broken your sick little heart.”

“Maybe,” you say, still a little paranoid, but you push the thoughts away.  

“I don’t think your dad needs to know about this,” he says.  “That woulda been a sick serve though if I was mad at him,” he chuckles.

“Did you just say sick serve. . . “

“Sick serve,” he whispers in your ear.

“I don’t think that means what you– where do you pick this stuff up, anyway?” 

“Prolly Jesse, he never shuts up.”

“So, Jesse’s-”

Joel puts his thumb on your lips.  “Said too much already,” he says. “ You gotta keep it to yourself, okay?”  You give his thumb a little bite before he takes it away. 

It’s funny, you never had anything over him before, but now you kinda do.  Not that you’ll do anything with it.  Too dangerous. 

“Yeah,” you say.  

After a long silence, you ask, “What are you gonna do when it’s over?”

He sighs and adjusts his arms around you.  “This right here,” he says.  “If you want.”  

You fall asleep in his arms again. 

-

When you wake up, he’s gone.  It’s light outside.  Birds are chirping.  You have a text from him that says “Stay here if you want. Back in a couple days.”   You don’t stay there.  It’s too creepy without him.  You go back to your apartment, but you worry about him a lot and check your phone constantly.  A few days later, you get off work, and when you walk out of the bookstore, he’s parked there, leaning against his truck, ankles crossed, wearing Ray Bans and a t-shirt, jeans as tight as ever, arms tucked under his massive biceps.  

“Here comes trouble” he says as he pushes himself off his truck.  He puts his hands on his hips and lets his pants adjust as he pops out one knee.   

Your lips meet as he wraps his arms around you.  

“All done?” you ask.   

“Let’s celebrate,” he says.  “Got that same suite on the river.  Booked it for the rest of the month, so I reckon I’ll be around.”  

-

Thank you for reading and engaging with this story for all six parts, y'all have been so awesome!

FWIW I see this as a happy ending with ominous undertones lol. I think I will come back to these two in the future (assuming there's still interest now that they've fucked). That's why I didn't blow my whole load in over explaining the subplot in this part. I initially included the sub plot so there would be an interesting basis to come back to them after the main story.

I just started another (darker) dad's best friend story: Left in Lincoln. In addition to smut it's also slow burn horror but no gore. Heed warnings. . .

-

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[thefrogdalorian]

The Best of Both Worlds

Din Djarin x Female Reader Modern!AU

Summary: When a new Star Wars TV show called The Mandalorian premiered, you found yourself completely enamoured with the titular character. Enjoyment of watching the lone bounty hunter travel through the galaxy quickly turned to obsession. There was just something about the show that captured your imagination. Now, you spend much of your free time — when you're not working a fast-paced, minimum wage and incredibly stressful job at a prestigious London Museum— speaking to your online friends about your love for the show. There's just one thing... Despite how much you love The Mandalorian, no one knows the identity of the man behind the helmet... either in the show, or in real life. You only know him as Mando. No one has ever seen his face, no one knows his name.  Even after the countless hours of speculation from fans online, which even you have occasionally participated in, no one is any the wiser to the identity of the mysterious man who wears the shiny armour.  Surely, given the depth of your love for the show, you'd recognise if the man who you spend so much time obsessing over online was to ever cross paths with you. Right?

Content Warnings: Reader is AFAB, uses she/her pronouns and in her mid 20s. Age gap between her and Din is noted but not really central to the story. Grogu is human, hints of past trauma/child abuse before Din adopted him are mentioned but not described in detail. Some mature scenes later on in the fic but not explicit smut... because I just cannot write x reader smut! Author's Note: SO very excited to finally share this fic! Thank you to the lovely @suresnips for being my beta. I really appreciate you ♡ This baby was originally my NaNoWriMo 2023 project and was inspired by this post from @toxic-seduction that I saw one evening and couldn't stop thinking about! POVs will alternate chapter to chapter from Din to reader. It was fun to write that way! Set in London for a few reasons: partly because I love the movie Notting Hill and it has some of those vibes (if you squint), also, the village where Din lives is based on Elstree Studios just outside London, where the OT was filmed and ultimately because NO WAY was I writing a modern!AU set in the states, it would've been painfully obvious a Brit wrote it. While there are lots of references to places in London, I don't live there so it might not be truly accurate (Londoners don't come for me). Also, to be political for a sec, reader works at the British Museum and I hate that institution. This was actually the line of work I was interested in when I was at Uni but for many different reasons I did not pursue it. However, it works for the plot of this story and as you'll see, she doesn't exactly love it either and goes on a few rants. Just wanted to make that clear that her job there is not an endorsement of it or anything. I can't stand them or their historical apologist bs and I wish we would give back all the things we stole (including the Parthenon Marbles)! Finally, it was incredibly important to me that the actor behind Mando in this fic clearly be the fictional character of Din Djarin rather than the real person Pedro Pascal, because rpf is not my jam! I hope I did that pretty well but just wanted to warn that if you're expecting me to use Din as some kind of way to write a Pedro fic, this won't be for you! Okay, I'll shut up now! This fic is fully written, just needs editing so hopefully I'll get a couple of chapters up each week, but life happens. I'm very proud of this one and I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Also if you would like to be added to my taglist for this fic, please let me know! Happy reading ♡

❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁

Why Does It Always Rain On Me? [Reader POV]: After a dreadful day which saw you drenched by a rainstorm after leaving a hectic day at work, you reflect on your love for Mando and upcoming excitement for the sci-fi convention you will soon be attending with your internet best friend.

He Is My Only Priority [Din's Pov]: The character of The Mandalorian is known and loved by millions. But there is another, much softer side to the man who portrays him that Din Djarin is determined to keep hidden from the world, despite the challenges that presents for him and his beloved son, Grogu.

This Is Why (I Don't Leave The House) [Reader's POV]: Your internet bestie arrives in preparation for the Star Wars convention you will attend together. Everything is set for the greatest weekend of your life! Until you arrive at the con and find yourself overwhelmed by all the crowds and noise. At least you have numerous incredibly realistic Mando cosplays to distract you from how stressed you feel, and there's one in particular which is uncannily accurate...

Curiosity Killed The Cat [Din's POV]: Despite his reservations and against his better instincts, Din heads to a Star Wars convention that he was invited to. Although he fears that his cover will be blown, curiosity gets the best of Din and he can't resist attending a panel. But Din doesn't exactly find the answers he was looking for. Instead, he finds something far more precious. Something that he would never have expected...

He's So Tall (And Handsome As Hell) [Reader's POV]: Being back in the real world and returning to work after an incredible weekend at the convention where you had so many fun experiences is taking its toll on you. The thought of collapsing on your couch in front of The Mandalorian is the only thing keeping you going. However, the universe has other plans for you. News of an out-of-hours tour for a private client that you are asked to lead almost sends you over the edge, but when you finally meet the man, he is the opposite of what you were expecting. Weirdly, he seems familiar...

With A Little Help From My Friends [Din's POV]: Din returns to the set of The Mandalorian to begin filming a new season. Despite his experience and capability, he finds that he struggles to focus as his thoughts remain firmly fixed on a certain someone...

You're The Sunflower [Reader's POV]: Despite feeling certain that you'll never see the ridiculously handsome man you gave a tour of the museum to, a special delivery is about to change everything...

Your Face Hung Up High In The Gallery [Din's POV]: After a difficult few days of filming The Mandalorian, Din is excited to spend time with you as he finally takes you on your first proper date...

Have I Known You Twenty Seconds or Twenty Years? - (Reader's POV):  Despite a messy evening which led to you waking up in an opulent hotel which you have no memory of falling asleep in, memories of kind brown eyes and breathless kisses soon come flooding back to soothe your soul. Your relationship deepens as the two of you spending time together whenever your busy schedules allow. But one night, a turn of events causes you - despite Din's reassurances - to wonder if everything you have been working so hard to build together has just come crashing down around you...

There's A War Inside Of Me - [Din's POV]: The realities of the secret he is keeping from you begin to weigh heavily on Din's mind and he seeks advice from a certain curly haired co-star on what his next move should be. Things don't go exactly according to plan, not least because of the typically awful English weather...

It Could Be Love, We Could Be The Way Forward - [Reader's POV]: With your respective busy jobs keeping you and Din apart, a mystery date after a hectic day at work is exactly what you needed.

The Calm - [Din's POV]: When filming overruns and conspires to keep Din from the fun weekend he planned for you, he agonises over his decision. Fortunately, he manages to salvage the weekend, even after a calamity involving a rowboat...

P.S. - I tried to be inclusive for all body types and skin tones in this fic, but if I missed something, I do apologise. If you do spot something that takes you out of the fic, I am more than happy for constructive criticism as I wouldn't want anyone to be excluded on those grounds. I am always trying to do better and would love to know where I went wrong so I can improve and be more aware of these things going forward, so I would appreciate it if you could let me know if you do spot anything. Thank you so much! ♡

#my fics #tbobw #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #din djarin #pedro pascal characters #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro boys

[stop-talking]

Older; not Wiser (pt. 1)

Derek Danforth x fem reader

2.5k words

Tags: 18+, age gap, reader is 20, no use of y/n, smoking, shotgunning, brat tamer Derek, bratty reader, filthy shit, porn that's mostly plot, grinding, clit stimulation, Derek has dirty thoughts, (duh), idk just read it this is mostly buildup to smut

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Derek stumbles into his private study tired, high, and eager to take a break from the party raging in the rest of his mansion. He often retires to this room, as no one is allowed here but himself. Not even the maids.

So why is there a pretty young woman lounging in his recliner?

No, not lounging... you look far too tense for that. In fact, you don't even seem to notice his presence at all until he's towering over you.

"I believe this is my seat, sweetheart." He says, trying to keep his voice firm and suppress a smirk as he takes a hit of his blunt.

You scramble up from the chair immediately, squeaking out a quiet apology.

Ah, so you know who he is. AND you listen. That's good.

Derek chuckles to himself as he plops down in the plush lounge chair, a cloud of smoke escaping his lips.

You apparently don't know what to do yourself after the little evection, simply staring at your feet and tugging on the hem of your dangerously tiny dress.

Fuck, you look good.

"Oh, c'mon. Don't be like that. We can share." Derek pats the armrest of his chair, giving you what he hopes in an inviting smile.

After a few seconds of simply blinking at him in shock, you shyly make your way over and take a seat on the armrest. Your arm hooks around the top of the chair as you get comfortable, but you're careful not to touch him.

Derek can't help but smirk slightly at your timid nature. Is he really that scary? Whatever. He'll take it as a compliment.

"So, does she speak?" He asks after another slow hit of his joint. You look so pretty through the dim smoky haze.

"Not much." You admit, fixing your gaze on your lap in an attempt to avoid eye contact.

Derek looks at your lap too, but quickly has to turn his attention elsewhere. Fuck. That dress really is too short.

"Something tells me you're sober." He teases, waving his blunt in front of you.

That earns him a nod, so he pushes further.

"Want me to fix that, sweet girl? Looks like you need to relax a little."

You pause for a moment, then reach for his blunt. He pulls it away from you with a sharp tsk.

"Not like that. Open up for me, doll."

Your eyes widen with surprise as he brings a hand up to cup your face. He takes a long pull from his joint, enjoying the pretty little look you give him.

When he gently tugs at your bottom lip with his thumb, you obediently open your mouth, leaning down towards him.

His lips meet yours, and he exhales a lungful of hot smoke, depositing it directly into your own mouth. You eagerly take everything he gives you, melting into his touch. He can't help but want to give you more.

"Derek..." You whisper, eyes fluttering open as you stare down at him with a blissed-out look. Oh, that definitely relaxed you.

"Yes, doll?" He has to fight to suppress a smirk as he slowly tucks an arm around your lower back. In a failing attempt to be respectful, he lets his hand rest on your outer thigh, instead of shoving it right between your legs like he truly wants.

"Can you do that again?" You ask sweetly, leaning in a little closer now.

How could he ever say no to you?

"Only if you answer something for me, sweetheart." He practically purrs, gently caressing your cheek with the hand that's still holding the blunt. He's careful not to burn you, as the last thing he'd want to do is mark up that pretty face of yours.

Your neck, though...? No, he shouldn't go there. Not yet.

You hum a response, leaning into the touch and closing your eyes. One of your legs slips down from the armrest, falling on his lap instead.

Whether it's intentionally seductive or simply a sign you're growing more comfortable with him, Derek can't tell. He welcomes the touch either way, tugging you just a little closer with the arm he has around you.

"How'd a pretty girl like you end up all alone at a party, hm? Surely someone out there is missing you."

There. A not-so-subtle question. Is the little trespasser single? Not that it really matters. He'll have you either way.

"Oh, uh... I dunno... I was just feeling overwhelmed, and... well, I've been to parties before, just..."

After a minute of stumbling over your words, Derek waves a hand, cutting you off and putting you out of your misery.

"Just not a Danforth party?" He finishes for you, chuckling.

You flush a bit and nod, clearly embarrassed. Hm. You hadn't exactly answered his question, but, well... If you are in a relationship, it clearly isn't that serious. Not with how you're halfway to sitting on his lap.

"C'mere, sweetheart. You need to relax. It's overwhelming out there, huh?" He speaks softly, pulling you ever-so-slightly closer and giving your thigh a light pat.

Your arms slips around his shoulders in return, and he takes one final pull from his rapidly shrinking blunt in an attempt to hide his smugness. God, you're so damn eager. It's endearing.

After dropping the remnants of his joint in a nearby ashtray, he pulls you down to meet his lips again. You graciously accept his breath, and Derek swears he hears a moan spill from your pretty mouth.

"Feel better?" He asks, cradling your face in his hand.

You stare down at him with pure admiration, inching even closer as your eyes glaze over. The weed is clearly starting to take effect.

"What? You wanna take a seat, sweet girl?" Derek pats his lap, and apparently, that's all the invitation you need.

Before he knows it, you're situated sideways across his legs, with your arm still hooked around his neck.

He lets out a breathy laugh and tucks both his arms around you in return, one around your lower back and one just behind your knees.

Now that you're all up close and personal, he finally gets a good look at you. Fuck, you look young. His heart starts to race for a moment, irrationally fearing the worst. He knows there's a strict 18+ rule for all of his little parties, but still... couldn't hurt to check.

"Just how old are you, doll?"

"Twenty. Why?" You blink at him curiously, making yourself comfortable against his chest.

Shit. Okay. Twenty. That's not... too bad, right? His brow furrows, and he grips your thigh a little tighter as he pulls you close.

You must pick up on his hesitation, because you cup his cheek with your free hand and gently turn his head to look at you.

"Why? How old are you?"

"Take a guess, sweetheart."

Your faces scrunches adorably as you study him, and Derek has to hold in a laugh.

"Like... twenty-five?"

"Hm. You must be higher than I thought." He finally allows himself a small chuckle, taking your hand from his face and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it before lacing your fingers with his.

"That or you're just trying to flatter me."

You flush a bit at the kiss, but don't seem too phased otherwise, giggling softly and avoiding his gaze.

"How old are you, then?"

"I'm twenty-eight, sweetheart. You're practically a baby." Derek lets out an amused huff, squeezing your hand a little tighter as he slumps back in the recliner.

If you're surprised by that realization, you don't let it show. Instead, your free hand finds its way into his hair, lightly tugging at a handful of his curls.

"Yeah? And you practically have one foot in the grave, old man."

Derek should be mad at that. Both at the sudden intimate touch, and your disrespectful words. But looking into your eyes, seeing you smile at him like that? God, it just melts him.

Of course, he isn't quite ready to let you get away with that little quip either, so he gives your exposed thigh a playful smack.

"Play nice, little girl." He growls, returning your sass.

That just gets another giggle out of you. He marvels at how much you've changed from the shy girl he met just minutes ago. Hm. Must be the weed.

"You haven't smoked before, have you?" He muses, voicing his observation. He's sure of it. That light in your eyes. It has to be your first high.

"I mean... not really." You stare down at him with a smile, mindlessly twirling a lock of his hair around your finger.

Alright, that's enough. At this rate, you're gonna make him soft for you.

"Okay, sweetheart. I'm gonna call you a ride home." He huffs in amusement, shifting and reaching into his pocket for his phone.

"What? Why?" You frantically tense your grasp on his hair, giving him a look of genuine hurt.

Ow. Derek grunts, grabbing your hand and gently prying it from his curls.

"I'm not letting you go back out into that party like this, pretty girl. Look at you. Practically naked, and higher than a kite." He playfully tsks at you, running a hand over your exposed thighs for emphasis.

Fuck, you really are one wardrobe malfunction away from exposing yourself. Part of him is tempted to peel back the fabric of your tight little dress and try to catch a glimpse of your panties... if you're even wearing any. He wouldn't be surprised if you'd decided to forgo them.

"Who says I want to go back out into the party?" You start inching up his lap, getting dangerously close to his crotch.

He knows he should probably push you off, call you a ride, and send you home. Maybe give you his phone number, if he's feeling bold. But he doesn't want you to leave. Not when you're so damn fun.

"Woah, woah. Careful, little girl." He gently nudges you back down to his legs, desperately trying to keep you off his awakening dick. It stirs slightly in his pants from the movement, and he tries to discreetly adjust himself with a hand.

"I want to stay here with you." You whisper, giving him a pleading look as you reach to cup his cheek once more.

"No." He says firmly, though his cock is screaming at him to say yes.

"You're too far gone for this, sweetheart. I shouldn't have given you that second puff."

Derek reaches for his phone once more, determined to call you a ride and get you home safely.

Before he can even unlock the damn thing, you snatch it from him, dropping it onto the floor and out of reach. He tries to protest, but his angry growl quickly turns into a moan as you position yourself over his straining cock.

"I. Want. To. Stay."

Derek's nails dig into your thigh in retaliation, and he grits his teeth in a failing attempt to bite back a groan.

"You don't know what you're asking for." He growls, roughly grabbing your jaw and pulling you in closer.

"Then show me."

He does.

Derek kisses you with as much force as he can muster, biting your bottom lip and tugging it down to allow his tongue access to your mouth. He takes over the kiss, trying to swallow you whole.

After a few minutes of oral abuse, you pull away, dazed and panting.

"Too much for you, sweetheart?" He teases, unable to fight back a chuckle.

"No," you pant, "not nearly enough." With that, you reach a hand down and grope at his clothed cock, eyes trained on his own.

Fuck.

Your intentions are now explicitly clear, and Derek can feel his mind and body pulled in two different directions. Logically, he knows this is probably wrong. But his dick doesn't care about logic, and his brain is quick to agree.

He lets out a low growl as you start palming him through his clothes, and finally decides to do something about it. Two can play at that game.

"Oh, you're trouble. Aren't you, little girl?" One hand roughly squeezes your thigh, and the other slips between them, working his way up.

"Hm-hm." You just hum in agreement, melting against his chest and nosing into his hair.

"Yeah? This what you want?" He asks, finally reaching your panties. Fuck, even through the fabric, he can tell you're absolutely soaked.

His thumb traces circles around your clit through your underwear, and the needy little sounds you make only encourage him further.

Derek can't help but think this is a perfect way to spend the evening. He'll sit here and help your rub one out till you cum in those pretty panties, then hold you till you fall asleep on his lap. It'll be a damn good nap, too, considering he'd given you some of his own joint earlier. Good shit.

And then after, well, he'd either call you a cab or have someone fix up a room for you. He wasn't going to let anything happen to his new toy.

"Want more."

Derek is pulled out of his contemplation as you squeeze his cock again, more urgently this time. He hisses a response, trying to stay firm.

"You'll take what I offer, doll." He pulls his hand from between your legs, and lightly smacks your thigh as a warning.

This doesn't seem to go over well with you, as you begin to pout and backtalk him.

"What, scared? Does this old thing even work anymore?" You taunt him with another tantalizing grind of your palm against his dick.

Okay, that's enough of that.

"You wanna test it out, sweetheart?" He growls, harshly grabbing your wrist to put a stop to your little tease game.

"Maybe I do." You giggle, blinking down at him with an false innocence that he might have fell for, had he not just felt how soaked your pussy is.

Christ. You really are trouble. Derek soon finds his hands on your hips, guiding you to straddle his lap. Maybe he could let you ride one out on his thigh. That wouldn't be so bad, right?

Or maybe he'd have to make yet another change to his plans. You start to slide up his lap, and in the blink of an eye, you're pressed right up against his straining cock.

"Look, little girl." He growls at you through gritted teeth, tightening his grip on your hips in an attempt to ground himself.

"I'm not gonna go easy on you."

"Good. I'm not scared."

Derek can feel every gentlemanly urge leaving his body at your words. Well, he had tried the respectful route. His resolve in the face of your teasing should be applauded, truly.

You start to desperately grind against him, and finally, he snaps. You've made it clear what you want from him, and he can't hold back from giving it to you any longer.

He's going to to fuck you absolutely dumb.

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Author's note: I'M SORRY TO LEAVE THIS OFF ON A CLIFFHANGER but I am currently too sleepy to write!! But I want y'all to have SOMETHING, so here's a little treat!!

Part two will 100% be out tomorrow, and it will (probably) be the only additional chapter. This was just supposed to be some quick smut, not a whole series.

(It'll also be from the reader's perspective, this whole scene just felt right in Derek's.)

LOVE YOU GUYS!! HOPE I DIDNT MISS ANYTHING TOO GLARINGLY BAD BECAUSE THIS IS BARELY EDITIED AND IM SLEEP DEPRIVED !!!

#jhutch #josh hutcherson #derek danforth #the beekeeper #derek danforth x reader #jhutch1992 #derek danforth x you #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #josh hutcherson smut #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson x you #josh hutcherson x y/n

[merakiui]

Hey, so you've written step-bro and step-son scenerios for the twst boys. But do you have any thoughts about a step-dad scenerio?

(cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, stepcest, age gap but reader is written to be 18+)

Stepfather Crewel who loves you so much (and not in the platonic way). He wants you to know real, true love so that you won't fall for someone with a rotten personality or a penchant for doing scummy things! You should have high standards when it comes to your partners! Don't settle for the bare minimum. After all, your stepfather always has your best interests in mind. When it comes to fashion or makeup, he offers the best advice and insight. So this (allowing him to train your body to respond to all of his touches and words) shouldn't be any different. He's just getting you ready for when you inevitably do this with your lover (which will likely never happen because you only need your stepfather).

Vil is much the same. Your stepfather is so critical of your partners. Every one you've since brought home to meet him has yet to pass his test. You understand that your stepfather is only looking out for you, but does he have to be so harsh all the time? His standards are much too high. T_T at this rate, you don't think you'll ever find someone who'll he'll approve of. And so what? It's not like you need his approval; you're an independent adult. But then your last lover breaks your heart and the only one there to offer consolation is your stepfather. And with the alcohol numbing your logic and lowering your guard, you find yourself falling into bed with him.

Stepfather Floyd took to you right away! He's so sweet and caring, thinks you're the sweetest thing. You think he's very fun. He always brings you a little something from his time at work (he never discloses the exact specifics of his job, though). Sometimes it's a fancy-looking ring or a cute plushie. The gifts range in opulence and price, but you love all of them because they're genuinely thoughtful. To anyone else, this just looks like a stepfather spoiling his stepchild. But all of these gifts are courtship. Floyd loves you.

Stepfather Riddle... oooo maybe you sleep around and he doesn't like the fact that you're always sneaking out and being so disobedient. He's all for a spot of (safe and legal) fun every now and then, but you live such an unsafe, carefree life. As your stepfather, he worries for you. So he thinks he'll teach you a lesson. It's easy to catch onto your pattern. You think you've outsmarted him, so it's a shock when he pokes his head out the window and offers his hand to help pull you up. Oh, did you think you were being sly? Please, nothing slips past Riddle; he's not stupid. Obviously you don't know any better. You argue you're an adult, but Riddle's older and wiser. He bends you over his knee and spanks you for every week you've taken to slipping out of the house. You're his only stepchild; he just wants you to be safer and to stop opening your legs for anyone and everyone.

STEPFATHER ROLLO. orz he makes you help out around the church. You'd rather be doing anything else, but Rollo insists it's good for children and adults to help their parents when it's needed. You stick your tongue out at him. He's not your real father; you don't care. Rollo tries to build a happy rapport with you, but you're having none of it. It's frustrating, even more so because he genuinely cares for you (perhaps more than what's considered normal and healthy). He's not quite sure he wants to let you leave the house when you start expressing your desire to move out and pursue work/school elsewhere...

#twisted chit chat #n/sfw #tw: stepcest #tw: age gap

[lowkeychenle]

Within the Piano Keys [ZCL] (M)

Description: For as long as you could remember, Chenle has been your neighbor and childhood best friend. That is, until one day he disappears without a word...or so you thought, since your mother hid all the letters he sent you.

Genre: Fluff/Angst/Smut triple threat ygm

Content Warnings: This fic contains letters from Chenle (purely fictional duh) but does mention things about the graduation system/the Dreamies going through a rough time just FYI! Just a brief mention. And also, smut. this has smut, but it's soft and cute smut because why not.......so literally that's it I think? Who I am these are some light content warnings

Word Count: 7,707

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x Reader (feat (briefly) Jeno & Jaemin, mentions of Mark and Jisung)

Juliet's Masterlist | Requests

Author's Note: This gif actually kills me someone send 911 emergency services sos zhong chenle is killing me AGAIN

The ghost of the past will always find you.

There’s no outrunning destiny. Who and what you were made to be. And you sure as hell love to try—pushing yourself to change as much as possible to keep Fate on her toes. Sometimes, it’s inevitable. Sometimes, people are placed on the Earth with a specific purpose, and you were sure yours was him. At a mere seven years old, your life changed forever—in a way you never saw coming. When you think about it, you don’t think Fate saw it, either.

Because you met him then.

You remember the day in vivid detail. The soft, sweet melody of the piano drifting through the house, up the stairs, and beneath your bedroom door where you stand, looking for your butterfly hair clip you adore oh so much.

When your frustration reaches its peak and you sit down with a huff on the edge of your bed, you hear it. Your heart seems to beat along with the music, every key pressed making you wonder just who is playing downstairs.

It’s from Phantom of the Opera, a song titled “All I Ask of You.” The melody is full, transcending your body into peace the moment you realize what it is.

After taking a deep breath, you hesitantly make your way down the winding, spiral staircase, fingers tracing along the railings as if they’re too delicate to actually hold on to. Your steps echo downward, but as the young boy comes into view, you stop.

Not even your noisy intrusion breaks him from his music-induced trance. His entire body moves along with the sound, his eyes closed as he presses each note with perfection. His black hair is a bit longer than it probably should be, with a middle part to expose his forehead. His defined brows are furrowed, and even at his age, you’ve never seen someone look wiser than this boy does right at this moment.

You feel the song in your bones, deep within your soul in such an existential way, you aren’t sure if you’ll ever feel anything like it again. A silly, juvenile thought. You don’t know it right now, but you’d feel like that every time you were around him.

As the song comes to a close, he holds out the last note, inhaling deeply as if he hasn’t been breathing the entire time.

His eyes flutter open, warm brown irises immediately meeting yours. You hadn’t expected such depth, but you’d learn eventually never to expect anything with him—in the end, you would only build yourself up to fall…over and over and over again.

Here you stand, locked in a metaphorical embrace with a kid who can’t be any older than you, yet he seems…different. Like he’s seen enough in his lifetime to age him beyond physicality.

That was the day you started to believe in fate. The day he left was when you stopped.

Hours turned into weeks, and before you know it, the boy next door became your friend. Most times, you’d sit on the bench while he plays piano and watch incredulously. His musical talent always astounds you—he can sing, play instruments, write songs and compose them.

Sometimes, he’d ask you to sing the songs he played, and even though you felt nowhere near as talented as him, you did what he wanted. He’d join in with you occasionally, your voices blending together seemingly effortlessly.

Those weeks turned into years—two kids learning more and more about each other. He’d become more than a friend. You were twelve years old when you realized the connection you had with Chenle. When everything pieced together, and you understood that some hearts, some souls, are much older than you could ever fathom. Your heart, you were sure, stretched beyond your years, and your soul was kindred with Chenle’s in a way that could only mean you’d known each other in a past life. Slowly, slowly, slowly…he was everything, all at once.

“You’ve almost got it,” he whispered to you, adjusting your ring finger on the keys. “Just gotta move over a little bit more.”

You pouted. “My hands aren’t big enough, Lele.”

“Stop that.” He chuckled, shaking his head and nudging your shoulder. “That mindset is gonna keep you from learning.”

“Well, if my mindset doesn’t do it, the arthritis at a young age will,” you snipped.

His eyes sparkled with humor, crinkling at the edges as his smile widened. “You’ll get it eventually. Keep trying.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll tell you that you suck and you should never play again.”

You snorted. “Promise?”

He held up his pinky. “I’d never lie to you.”

You looped yours with his.

“You’ll get it.”

Chenle never gave up on you. He kept pushing you to be the best you could be, and you gladly followed his direction. You never quite got as good as he was with the piano, but you’d gotten decent at least. The two of you would hang out every day, spending every waking, free moment together until your mom told him it was time to go home.

You’d never thought about love and what it meant. For you, loving Chenle was as natural as breathing, and as time went on, it only got easier.

You turned fourteen before Chenle. If you had known this was the beginning of your last year with him, you would’ve appreciated it more. You would’ve told him all of the things lingering on your mind—how you loved him, so purely and genuinely.

Just days before your life blew up in your face, you almost told him.

He sat next to you on your bed, arm wrapped around you as you rested your head on his shoulder. The soft golden light of the lamp illuminated him gently, and the movie playing in the background edges you closer and closer to sleep.

“Do you ever think about…life?” he asked.

“Hm?” You scrunched your nose, your half-asleep state not registering what he meant.

“Like…what your plans are. What you want to do and who you want to be with.” His thumb brushed your skin soothingly. “We have to figure it out soon, don’t we? We’re almost adults.”

“You’re not tired?” You sat up and rubbed your forehead.

“Nope.”

“Well.” You sighed and ran your fingers through your hair. “The only thing I’m certain about when it comes to the future is that you’ll be there. So, it doesn’t matter what else happens.”

He smiled softly, the slightest shade of red tinting his cheeks. “Even if the world ended?”

“Even if the world ended.” You confirmed.

A few months later, the world did end. At least, yours did.

He was gone.

His mom left shortly after him, but she told you what he was doing—how he was going to pursue his music career in South Korea. He was going to be an idol, and he was leaving you behind to do it.

Your world ended, but his got to go on without you.

At twenty-one years old, you’re still not sure where you went wrong. Chenle left, but his memory plagues the very walls you live within. You keep up with him, with his group and all of the things they’re doing. Even though you’re not with him, you watch him grow and grow into a more confident version of the young boy you knew.

Seven years without him should have been impossible, yet here you are: alive, well, and watching any and all Chenle related content. You haven’t heard from him, not once. Assumingly, he’s incredibly busy. Even then, you wonder occasionally if you ever cross his mind, if he ever thinks of the love he left behind.

Ever since, you’ve been sensitive over the summer months. A part of you is missing, and until you see him again, you’re unsure if you’ll ever find it. Has he changed? Is he still the boy you loved?

On days where thoughts of him overwhelms you, you like to walk the trail behind your house. It takes you through a wooded area, and the other end brings you to the end of your street. On your walk back, you see an unfamiliar car outside of Chenle’s family’s home. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you stand there to watch.

The door slides open, and you hear an unfamiliar laugh. Frowning, you cross your arms over your chest. Who the hell would be at Chenle’s house?

When the first person gets out of the car, your heart stops in your chest. You’re about eighty percent sure that’s Lee Jeno, light hair reflecting the bright sunlight above. If that’s Jeno, then—

You feel a sudden urge to run into your house, slam the door, and lock it behind you. Several other people are in that car, and if they’re here…one of them is Chenle. Your Chenle, who isn’t really yours. Not anymore.

Jaemin gets out next. His roots are dark, nearly overshadowing the pink hue on top of his head. He swats at someone behind him, laughing, and as that person comes into view, your heart stops. It shreds itself to pieces.

Jeno notices you first, a slight frown gracing his face before Chenle’s gaze follows his line of sight. When he sees you, you instantly see the recognition on his face.

Seven years is a long time. Hell, even though you’ve seen all of Dream’s content, you’re still shocked to see how different he looks. His face is more defined. He’s grown a bit taller, too.

He sees you. He’s looking at you for the first time in years, and all you want to do is forget all this time of no contact, all the ways the two of you hadn’t reached out to each other. A lump forms in your throat, and before you do something stupid, you let out a shaky breath, turn away from him, and make your way into your house.

You shut the door behind you, your back thudding against it. Glancing over to your right, the grand piano—old and loved—is blurred by your tears, and for the briefest of moments, you swear you see your younger self sitting there, endlessly playing the songs Chenle taught you before he left.

A knock sounds, and each one echoes throughout your house, feeling like a hole-puncher on your heart. You’re barely able to breathe as you prepare yourself to be face-to-face with Chenle for the first time in almost a decade—for the first time since he up and disappeared on you without a word.

“(Y/N)?” His voice. So familiar but so distant, all the same as it was.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

“I’m coming in, okay?”

You brace yourself against the solid wood of the piano, doing your best to calm yourself. The last thing you need is to make a fool of yourself in front of him.

A hesitant creak fills your ears, and the tap of his shoes on the hardwood flooring has your eyes clenching shut.

“Why’d you run off like that?” he asks, voice so soft that it’s barely audible.

“I didn’t.”

“You still sound the same,” he says it quietly, as if he’s the only one meant to hear it. He raises his voice so you can hear him. “It’s been a long time.”

You scoff, whipping around to face him. “It’s been a long time? That’s all you have to say to me?” Anger bubbles in your gut, quickly replacing the hurt lingering.

You have to stop yourself from admiring him at a time like this. His oversized T-shirt somehow compliments him in the best ways, his hair is a tinted shade of purple, and when his fingers run through it, you have to look away. Sure, you should’ve expected to see him again at some point, but you never imagined you’d feel the same. It’s a bit different now that you’re older. You’re able to see him in a different light.

His eyes widen and he recoils. “I…I’m sorry, I don’t know what else I’m supposed to say. It’s not like there’s a textbook on how to do this.”

“What are you doing here? Why now?” You cross your arms over your chest, doing your best to avoid his eyes.

“We’re here on a schedule.” He slides his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “I told them about you, in case you were wondering.”

“Oh, right.” You let out a sarcastic laugh. “I suppose that makes it all okay, right? You tell your friends I exist and that’s supposed to change how you up and left me without a word?”

He frowns. “Without a word?”

“Yeah, Chenle. Without a single fucking word.”

“That’s not true.” His tone sharpens to match yours. “I wrote to you. A lot. And if you didn’t want to read them, that’s on you. That doesn’t mean I left without a word. There were a lot of words, actually.”

“Why didn’t I get them?” Your voice drops into a whisper, moving one of your hands to touch your forehead.

“I…I don’t know. I didn’t know your address so I sent them to my mom, and she told me every time she gave one to your mom—”

A jolt of electricity rages up your spine, and you immediately turn away from him and run up the staircase. Your mother’s out of town for the week. If she’s been hiding letters from you, they’d be in her room somewhere—and you’d tear that place apart if it meant you had all those words.

“Where are you—hey!”

You’re already in your mom’s closet when Chenle follows you in.

“You shouldn’t be in here—”

“Says you,” you interrupt him, mindlessly shuffling through anything that looks like it could hold letters. “How many?”

“What?”

“How many did you send, Chenle?”

“Um.” He pauses, shifting on his feet. “I don’t know. A few? I stopped after a while because I didn’t hear anything. Figured you didn’t want anything else.”

“My God,” you mutter, blinking rapidly to fight off the tears. “And you swear your mom gave them to mine?”

“I—yeah, she didn’t have a reason not to.”

“And my mom had a reason not to give them to—shit. When did you send the first one?”

“(Y/N), it was seven years ago.”

“Was it right when you left or afterward?” You haphazardly dig through the closet, searching high and low.

“I left it here. I told my mom about it after a week or so. What the hell is going on?” Chenle runs his fingers through his hair again, gulping. “We really shouldn’t be in here.”

Your heart sinks. There’s nothing in here. You’ll never find Chenle’s letters, and the mystery will always be just that.

“I…I’m so sorry.” You drop your head into your hands. “I’m acting like an idiot right now.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m just confused. This whole time, I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me…that’s why I haven’t been back in a while.” Chenle takes a step closer to you, reaching out to touch your arm. “I would never leave you.”

You finally look at him. Really look at him. The worried furrow to his brow, the slight downturn of his lips, concern clouding those beautiful irises of his. Standing in front of you is the reason you are who you are today.

“You just…Okay, I need a while to figure all of this out.” You glance up to the ceiling, closing your eyes and taking a shuddering breath. “Can you go? I don’t really want to see you right now.”

Hurt plays out on his face, but after he blinks a few times, he nods slowly. “Yeah. Sure. Um, I’ll see you later. If it helps any, I probably could’ve tried to call or something.”

“We were kids.” You sigh. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

You say that, but it would have. The entire trajectory of your life may have changed if Chenle was still in it back then. As much as you want to be pissed at your mother for hiding things from you, maybe she was right.

Chenle takes his bottom lip between his teeth, looking you over one more time as he nods. “Right. I…I’ll see you around.”

Before you respond, he’s turning away from you and disappearing down the hall. You feel a lot of things—overwhelmed, confused, sad. But you also almost feel naive for listening to him—for believing that your mother hid things from you. Your brain stops being logical when Chenle’s around, and you know it’s a mistake to bring him back into your life. The hurt has passed, but that doesn’t mean it won’t rear its ugly head if you’re in such close proximity to him.

You go back downstairs to grab your phone, and the first thing you do is dial your mom’s number. She picks up after the first ring.

“Hi, honey! I was about to text you. New York is fascinating! You’d love it—”

“Did Chenle write me letters?”

“Oh.” She clears her throat. “Where is this coming from?”

“He’s here,” you mutter. “He told me he sent me letters, mom.”

“(Y/N), you have to understand where I was coming from.”

“Where are they?” You slap your hand to your forehead. “Where?”

“He still left, you know. I understand he’s important to you, but he still chose a career over you. And you would’ve thrown everything away for him without a second thought.” Your mom takes a deep breath. “You needed to live your life for you.”

“Where are they?” you repeat. “If you threw them away, I will never forgive you.”

“Of course, I didn’t throw them away. They’re in my closet in a little gold box on the floor. When you read those…don’t get any ideas. He lives far away and he’s even less available for you now than he was before.”

You hang up without saying another word and run back up the stairs. It takes you only a few seconds to find the box she told you about. When you open it, your breath shudders at the stack of letters in there. Some are aged and crinkly, but the ones toward the top are newer. Your hands shake as you grab them, mouth dry as you see the dates listed across the front of the envelope.

You start with the one on the bottom, the oldest, and ever so carefully opening it. Blinking back tears, you take in the painfully familiar handwriting that belonged to your Chenle.

(Y/N)

This is probably the worst way to do this, I know. I’m leaving to follow my dreams, and while I wish I could take you with me, it doesn’t make sense. Your mom would never agree to let you come. Thinking of going through all of this without you scares me more than I care to admit.

I don’t have a phone yet, but as soon as I get one, I’ll send you a letter with the number! It’ll be nice to hear your voice again. I’m writing this early, so I actually spoke with you earlier today, but it’s funny how quickly I miss you.

You’re probably going to be really mad at me, and that’s okay. I deserve it. The reason I didn’t tell you isn’t very simple, but I hope you understand it. Saying goodbye to you would feel so permanent. Goodbye itself is too permanent for my liking, so I’ve never liked them.

If I looked into your eyes and told you I was leaving, I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to go. Or that I’d sneak you with me in my carry-on. I didn’t want to hurt you. You mean so much to me, (Y/N). I don’t ever want to make you upset, and I know you’ll eventually understand why I had to do it this way.

Just know I’ll be thinking about you every day. You’re the reason I’ll have the strength to get through this training period.

Talk to you soon,

Your Chenle

You trace your finger along the bottom of the page. Face wet, you clear your throat as you delicately set it aside to grab the next one. According to the date on the envelope, it’s from a few months after the first one.

(Y/N),

These past few months have been so hectic. I think I almost died a couple times, but here I am. I debuted last week! I’m in a group called NCT, but I debuted in the sub-unit NCT DREAM. It seems surreal, and it happened so much faster than I thought.

I think you’d like the other guys. They’re nice and loud and friendly. Honestly, they seem like they’ve been working together for a little bit of time already, so I’m the newest one here. I heard someone say they’d been training for a while…

Anyway, I said in the last letter that I’d give you my phone number. I realized after I left that you didn’t have one either, so…I’m not sure how that’ll work. And I wasn’t expecting a response to these at all, but if you want to write back, it’d give me something to look forward to after all this hecticness.

But yeah…honestly, I was a bit worried about moving here and being in a group. I’ve been learning a lot of Korean though, and another member named Jisung has been helping me a lot. He’s a few months younger than me, can you believe it? Everyone treats him like a baby, but I think he likes it. I told them about you, and they all kept teasing me.

Maybe they just don’t understand. You’re my favorite person, of course, I’m going to talk about you and tell them stories about all the fun we had.

Sorry this one is a bit long. I hope you’re not too mad at me. And I also hope that you’re keeping up on me. I think you’d like Chewing Gum…

I’ll talk to you soon! I’ll write my number down at the bottom of the page.

Your Chenle

You have to take a break. You rest your head back against the wall, closing your eyes and imagining how hurt poor, young Chenle must have been when you never responded to his heartfelt letters. You don’t know much about Jisung—besides the obvious, public information—but you’re happy someone was good and helpful to him.

After that, you wonder what it would’ve been like to be there for him through all of that. Based on what you know about his group, he’s been through a lot of ups and downs over the years. You wonder if he wrote about some of the harder things, too.

You read another one that’s about their promotions, how he’s getting closer with the other members. Then one about how he performed with twenty-two others. The next one you grab is dated from 2019. You open it.

(Y/N),

I didn’t think this year would be as hard as it has been. We all expected it, you know? We knew it was going to happen, but it doesn’t change how scary it’s been. I’m sorry it’s been a while since I’ve written. Maybe you just throw them away at this point, which is fine, but I wish I could hear from you. Especially at a time like this.

Dream has a graduation system, and Mark’s been gone for months now. Things have been continuing ‘as normal,’ but without Mark, we don’t really feel complete as a group. We see him as often as we can, but performing without him is…it feels wrong.

I wish I could see you. You’d make everything better in an instant, just like you always did. Sometimes, I feel terrible because the others get sad about the situation, and I can’t figure out any good words to say. You’ve always been so good at comforting others, I wish you were here to help me.

It’s been two years since I’ve seen you. That’s so weird to think about, because I swear I still hear your voice in my head. Your encouraging words, how you always believed in me. I need that now more than ever.

I’m not sure if you know much about Mark, but he’s our rock. We kind of fail to function without him. But in the spirit of missing both you and Mark, I’ll tell you a little story about what happened when I asked Mark for advice.

I asked him about you—about what I could possibly do to make all of this up to you since you deserve it. And not hearing back from you makes me think you might hate me.

Anyway, his question in response was interesting. He wanted to know what you were to me. How I felt about you. At first, I thought he was crazy. I mean, it was obvious—you’re my best friend. I can’t live and function without my best friend.

He asked if that was all.

I vividly remember scrunching up my face and pushing his shoulder. Not too hard, by the way.

But the more he told me about what it felt like to be in love, everything clicked into place. I’m in love with you, (Y/N). I have been for so long that it started feeling like second nature instead of a conscious idea.

I guess it doesn’t matter now. Maybe I’ve failed you too much for it to mean anything to you.

Loss sucks. Losing Mark in Dream has sucked, losing you before I even realized the extent of my feelings sucked, but at the end of the day, I have to keep pushing forward. I’m sorry for any hurt I may have caused, because this situation with Mark also made me realize how much it must have hurt you for me to up and disappear the way I did.

I’m so, so sorry. I hope you can forgive me.

Your Chenle

You wipe angrily at your tears, unsure if you should be mad at yourself or at your mother. She stole this from you. Chenle figured out his feelings for you long before you figured out yours for him, but it feels like a new revelation—to know he felt the same way, even after years without you.

You remember this time where Mark had ‘graduated’ from NCT Dream. And because you knew Chenle well, you could tell he was struggling, even when he put on a happy facade. He needed you, and you weren’t there for him.

No matter how much it hurts, you can’t stop. You grab the next one. His writing became less frequent after that. He wrote to tell you when NCT Dream became a fixed unit, and how happy he was to be reunited as seven. The next was from their first full album. You find the last one, surprised to find how recent it was. There was a large gap between this one and the one before it.

The letter was addressed from a few months ago. The one before had been from two years ago.

(Y/N),

I’m sorry it’s been a while. Honestly, we’ve been so busy, I’ve barely even had the time to sleep. I got news today that we’ll be going to China for an event. I’m coming home, but I figured I should tell you in advance. Give you some time in case you really don’t want to see me.

I still think of you every day. All I want is to hear your voice again, but I won’t ask you to do something you don’t want to. If you have no intention of seeing me, that’s fine. I know I messed this up, but I figured it wouldn’t be right to give up when I’ll be so close.

We’ll be arriving in the next few weeks. I wish I could give you more detailed information, but I won’t even know it until the day of.

If this is it for us, thank you for the time I had with you. I love you, (Y/N). No matter what, that’ll be true, but this will be the last thing I send. I hope you understand.

Love,

Your Chenle

At this point, you’re bawling your eyes out. You aggressively wipe away the tears, cursing yourself for not knowing about these damn letters. All the pain you could’ve helped him through, all the hurt it could’ve saved you from.

You sniffle, grab your phone, and dial the number at the bottom of the second letter. It’s been years since he gave it to you, so there’s a good chance it’s different now. But you don’t exactly feel like going over to his house while his friends are there and making a fool of yourself.

“Hello?” That’s definitely his voice.

“Chenle,” you breathe out, closing your eyes. “My Chenle.”

“Yeah.” His tone softens. “Yeah, yours. Always yours.”

Running your fingers through your hair, you sigh. “I found them. All of them. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “It’s not like you even knew about them. Give me one second, I’m gonna go upstairs. Jeno and Jaemin are still here.”

You nod even though he can’t see you, and you hear him say something to the other guys. They reply, and then you hear the tell-tale sound of the stairs creaking beneath Chenle’s feet. Once he makes it up to his bedroom, he closes the door behind him.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “That’s a lot to read all at once.”

“I don’t know. I’m so mad, Lele. How could she hide those from me? If I’d known you didn’t just leave me, it would’ve hurt so much less. And seeing all this pain you went through all by yourself…I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” he tells you. “We know the truth now. I don’t want you to hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” you whisper, burying your head in your palm. “Not even if I tried.”

There’s a brief silence, only filled with the sounds of you sniffling and Chenle breathing. He’s right next door, but the idea of being with him is too real. You need time to process all of this, and bringing him around while you do isn’t the best idea.

“You said you loved me.”

“Love,” he corrects you. “Present tense. I never stopped.”

“I kept up with you.” You play with the seam of your jeans. “With everything you did with Dream and all the accomplishments you’ve had so far. I’ve been so proud of you with no way to say it.”

“I almost stopped writing letters. Mark convinced me not to give up, but after seven years I was pretty sure you wouldn’t change your mind,” he admits.

“If I’d been receiving them I would’ve called you the second you gave me your number.”

“That’s what I’d been hoping for.” Chenle takes a deep breath. “We have to go soon for a schedule, but can I come see you later?”

Later wasn’t really definitive. The thought of him in your house and in your space is scary, terrifying even, but this is Chenle. The boy who used to play piano with you and sing to his heart’s content. From what you’ve seen, this version of him doesn’t seem too different than that boy.

“Please,” you whisper. “Will you be hungry? I can make you something.”

“It’ll be late. Don’t worry about me. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Not too long after your conversation, you hear the three boys clamber into the van. You try to busy yourself throughout the day, cleaning in order to distract yourself. Eventually, you sit down at the piano and play whatever song comes to memory. One of the ones Chenle taught you back when he was here.

You taught yourself a few of Dream’s songs as well, like Rainbow, My Youth, Puzzle Piece, Teddy Bear, and most recently, Like We Just Met from their newest album. You play the last one, the darkness cascading around you as the sunset fades away from view. It’s only you and the starlight now, a gentle melody flooding through the air around you.

The door creaks open, and Chenle walks through when you’re almost done with the song. You stop playing, standing up to greet him. There’s an odd moment where you stand there staring at each other, admiring the way the starlight reflects off his skin. His eyebrows are furrowed, like he’s trying to decide what to do next.

You don’t hesitate anymore. Moving forward, you wrap your arms around him and bury your head in his chest. He immediately reciprocates, shaky breath passing by his lips as he holds you closely. His heart thrashes, the sound more than similar to yours.

“I missed you,” he says.

“I missed you, too,” you reply easily, tightening your grip on him.

You pull back slightly to look into his eyes, wetness gathered beneath them. With shaky hands, you reach up to wipe it away. His gaze travels over your face.

“You love me.”

He nods hesitantly, palms pressing into the small of your back. “Always have.”

“I’ve always loved you, too.” Before you talk yourself out of it, you’re on the tips of your toes to kiss him. It starts gently, your mouth barely brushing his before his breath catches in his throat. Then it’s real—he pulls you flush against him, lips fitting with yours like he’s made for you.

You move your hands from his cheeks to his hair, leaning into him. His fingers latch onto the fabric of your shirt. Next thing you know, he’s walking you backward until he’s pressing your back into a wall.

“We have so much to talk about.” He rests his forehead on yours. “So much air to clear up.”

“Yeah.” You nod, but your stare is focused directly on his lips.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” he warns you. “I don’t get to come here often, so unless you were to come to Korea, we’d pretty much never see each other. My schedules are so packed, I’m practicing all day and half-dead by the time I get home. I can be a real asshole when I’m tired, and sometimes I might take jokes too far. This life is not easy, (Y/N). I need you to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“What am I even doing here?” you ask. “I can come with you.”

“I can’t ask you to give up everything you have for me.” He shakes his head, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“You’re not asking. Chenle, I spent years thinking you were gone without a word. All I want is to be with you as much as possible.”

“At least think about it for a little bit first, okay? I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.” He gulps. “That goes for a lot of things.”

“I’ve had seven years to think about all the things I wanted from you.”

“You can’t say things like that,” he mutters.

You’re painfully aware of what it feels like to have him pressed against you, warm in all the right ways and, despite being so thin, he’s firm to the touch. The ache you feel to be closer to him is overwhelming.

“I spent years thinking everything was a lie,” you tell him. “That I couldn’t possibly have mattered to you if you could just disappear without a word.”

His fingers play with yours, discomfort at the idea plastered across his face. “Never. I never would’ve done that. You’ve always meant so much to me.”

“I’m just happy I finally get to tell you all of the things I wanted to tell you after I found out you were gone.” You give him the smallest smile, and he reaches up to trace along your bottom lip.

The simple touch sends sparks flying down your spine, and you’re sure you’ll crumble to dust right at his feet from the forceful impact of it. An odd tug occurs in your chest, one that has you questioning if you’ve ever experienced it before. It pulls you toward him, and despite being flush, your mind dips to dangerous places that could get you so, so much closer.

You’re not sure what’s gotten into you, but this is Chenle. Your Chenle. And if you’re having these feelings for him, there’s no need to hide it.

“I…” you trail off, clenching onto the fabric of his shirt, right above his heart. “Do you feel it, too? Everything is…different now.”

“Under other circumstances, I’d say different is bad,” he whispers. “But there’s nothing bad about the way you’re looking at me.” 

His arms wrap around your waist tightly, and simultaneously, you both lean in until your lips are locked in a gentle battle. The warmth of his touch finds your hip, where your sweater rose up enough to reveal your skin. You let out a shaky sigh, and he squeezes you.

“Come upstairs with me?” Your invite is airy, suggestive, and he analyzes you while his gaze darkens.

“If that’s what you want,” he says.

“Is it what you want?” You tilt your head at him, voice quiet since he’s so close.

He pauses and wets his lips. “Of course, it is. I just don’t want you to regret anything. Losing you once was enough, and I refuse to go through that again.”

 Instead of answering, you intertwine your fingers with his and lead him toward the stairs, through the blackness of the night casting through the windows. You take one step at a time, your heart thundering and blood pulsing through your veins. One look at your shoulder, and for a second, you almost swear you see the younger versions of you and Chenle sitting by the piano. Caught up in the music. In each other.

He follows you, entranced by the way you move and how you’re so willingly guiding him. Everything happens in slow motion for you. Too fast but too slow at the same time, somehow the moment you’ve waited for your entire life while simultaneously the thing that’s scared you the most.

Your Chenle.

He said it himself. Why is it so foreign to think about? That maybe, even after all this time, he loves you even an ounce of how much you love him? Endless devotion with no contact. But he did the same—he waited and waited for your response much like you waited for any contact from him. You were both physically and metaphorically in the dark.

The door to your bedroom creaks as you push it open, embarrassed by how little it’s changed since the last time he was in it. The walls are still the same color, faded and paint peeling in some of the corners. Your bed has been swapped from twin-sized to a queen, but everything else is virtually untouched.

No more words are spoken.

They’re not needed.

You don’t need anything. Not when you have him.

He presses your body into the mattress, climbing over you gently. His touch is tender, sweet, not too much pressure. You’re halfway certain you’ll wake up from this dream any time now, and you’ll once again be without him. Without his touch and his love and his truths.

Kissing him is like touching the sun. It burns, nearly enough to make you combust into flames, but magnetic. He is your sun, and you are the Earth. You revolve around him.

Normally, anyone else taking your clothes off would make you nervous, but you know you’re in good hands with Chenle. Your shirt is tossed aside first, his mouth instantly dipping down to explore every inch of exposed skin. His tongue drags along the swells of your breasts, over your collarbones. He nips, teeth leaving shallow indents on your soft flesh.

Your whines are soft, delicately slicing into the silence of the air. The first time he hears you, he freezes, his eyelashes fluttering against your neck as he takes in the way you sound. Quiet cries of ‘more’ escape you while your hands explore beneath his T-shirt.

Never before in your life have you wanted someone with such despracy. Your body aches for him, and the tug in your chest that pulled you closer to him has finally revealed how. As his fingers pop the button on your jeans, you lift your hips.

He pulls his lips away from your chest, gaze honing in on yours. There’s something swirling around in his irises, and you’re sure yours reflect the same. He doesn’t have to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. Not verbally. You nod, guiding his mouth back to yours.

The heat of his touch dips dangerously low, past your jeans and the hem of your panties. You gasp, appreciative of how he catches the sound. You’ve been touched before, but nobody has ever compared to the way he feels. When you’ve met your soulmate, nothing could be better.

He rubs slow circles on your clit, eyes hazy from knowing he’s the one who made you feel this way. Normally, you’d need more. A simple touch wouldn’t be enough to have you squirming in someone’s grasp, but there’s so much more behind his movements than lust.

And he takes it a step further, sliding his long fingers inside you. His gaze focuses on you the whole time, watching your face for any sign of discomfort as he thrusts his hand. He nudges your sensitive bud with the heel of his palm every time he’s knuckle deep.

Your stomach feels elastic, as if you’re stretching a rubber band, and it’s taking everything you have not to let it snap back. It’s too good. Too intoxicating. Too early for it to be over. He swallows your short moans, picking up his pace. You lean up, yearning for his kiss. He doesn’t need to ask, and the second your lips meet, you tighten around him, and it’s over.

Warmth spreads all over your body, your insides boil, and butterflies swarm deep in your stomach. Your eyes shut, and your head falls back against your pillow. He kisses all over your face, humming quietly.

He pulls away from you to help you remove the last of your clothing, the fabric of your panties sticking uncomfortably until he tugs them down your legs.

You reach down to feel him through his pants, unable to stop the shuddering breath that escapes you when you touch his length. He grinds into your hand, taking his bottom lip between his teeth.

Finally, nothing separates the two of you anymore. The tip of his cock presses against your entrance, the initial pressure already making you crave more. You need all of him, so you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your heels into his back to tell him to push in further. Your whole body tingles with pleasure, the type enough to make your toes curl, and your chest heaves as you adjust to his size.

His forehead drops against your shoulder, grasping one of your hands in his own to squeeze. He takes you slowly, his throbbing length stretching you to your limits and rubbing your walls perfectly. You were made for him, you’re certain. He fits so well, so completely, there’s no other explanation for it.

He curses under his breath, eyes threatening to flutter shut from the pleasure. Sweat clings to you tighter than Chenle does, but you relish in the way you react to him. His eyebrows pinch as he looks at you for any sign of discomfort.

His name slips past your lips. In that moment, you truly become his, and he becomes yours. Bodies meld together, each one of his thrusts sliding so pleasantly inside you. There’s no sound from either of you besides the brief exchange of names, moans from both of you, and the slick of your wetness.

He kisses you, thrusting at a steady, mind-crumbling pace. His chest brushes against yours, breathing uneven as he clenches the bedsheets next to your head. You quickly realize you could do this forever. The feeling of him so deep inside you would never subside, and you find yourself never wanting to separate from him.

Starlight gleams off his skin, the blue shine accenting the sheen of sweat clinging to him. His muscles contract as he holds himself over you, and his hair hangs over his eyes. All you can do in your current state is push it back, basking in the softness of it.

Picking up his pace, he slides one of his hands down your body, his thumb connecting with your clit. You’re a moaning mess, clinging to him as the familiar sensation returns to the pit of your stomach.

His trembling breath fans across your ear as he leans close. You’re unsure of how to handle all of the pleasure, your body spasming. He presses a kiss on that sensitive spot.

“I love you,” he whispers.

And that’s all it takes to have you shatter around him, your back arching as you grip onto his shoulders for dear life. He moans loudly, hips stuttering as your walls clench. When he spills inside you, it’s as if the last piece of you two finally comes together.

In bliss, you tell him you love him, too, over and over.

He kisses you passionately once more before gently pulling out of you, reassuring you that he’ll be right back so you let go. Grabbing a towel from your bathroom, he cleans you up, gaze drinking up every part of you. Once he’s finished, he crawls next to you in bed, pulling you to his chest.

You’re still certain you’ll wake up, and all of this will have been a dream, but until then, you’re going to enjoy it. Burying yourself in the warmth of his chest, you hum in content when he pulls the blankets over the two of you.

Finally, he’s here.

He’s no longer a memory trapped within the piano keys in your foyer.

He’s your Chenle, never to leave your side again.

#nct dream #chenle #nct imagines #nct #nct dream smut #nct scenarios #nct smut #chenle smut #chenle fluff #chenle angst

[nataliesscatorccio]

the second Coach Scott closes the door he chooses to die. so why does he do it? it could be that he still feels he is somewhat responsible for the lives of these girls, but I don't think that's the case because Laura Lee made it very clear to him and everybody else when she took the plane that he was no longer a coach. there was no hierarchy in the woods that gave him a modicum of authority and he was absolved of responsibility. i also don't believe that he has a superior moral compass, or that he is so much older and wiser that his age makes him see taboo where the others see survival. in some ways it might be a passive suicidality – i'm probably going to die out here anyway let me go on my own terms as a person I can still live with; i am alone with no peer out here – and who could fault him that? but mostly, mostly I think he's not a teenage fucking girl. and i think if Travis hadn't been fresh off the contrived grief over Javi, he would have fallen back too.

be so fucking for real, who knows better how to swallow shame–who knows better how to learn to enjoy the taste of it even–than the teenage girl for whom everything, all the time, is shamed? and you know just blah blah blah eve and the apple, original sin. who has learned to reach for the forbidden fruit, who has learned to savor the unsavory, who doesn't fear the blood, who understands that a woman's body is already hunted like an animal anyway, already made for consumption, already not her own. they don't remove the jacket. that was hers. that was jackie's. but her body? maybe coach scott can't see it from where he's standing ("how did you know?" "you never look at our boobs") and it makes me love him that he can't, but her body was never hers to begin with. but the girls know. they know how to starve first, and then how to be devoured. he doesn't have the stomach for either.

#yellowjackets #ben scott #coach scott #laura lee #travis martinez #jackie taylor #natalie scatorccio #javi martinez

[fornasedensgudar]

A while back ago I had a lil rant about the pagan/heathen/witch community and made this list with my friend about some problematic aspects about our craft/faith/practise or what ever you call it to help pepole who are new to it.

Idk if it any of worth or if anyone will bother to read all this but I hope its somehow helpfull for you new ones to this path.

(Pardon my 🇬🇧, im a 🇸🇪)

1. Not every polytheist does magic or has an intrest in it and thats ok.

2. Not every norse heathen knows runes or has to know every Rune and meanings to have a meaningfull relation to the gods and nature.

3. Not every raven is a sign of Odin, sometimes it just means you saw a raven and thats just as good if not better if you ask me.

4. Being able to quote havamal in old norse or know every myth and kenning of the gods is good. But does not mean you have a stronger spirital connection the land and the gods then those who dont know it all. It just means you are good at reading. And that in it self is something you should take pride in.

5. A good acorn and some dirt is just as good if not better than any long ritual with ancient chantings sourounded by a collection of crystals.

6. The pebble you find on a walk can shine just as fine on your altar, as the amethyst that was mined and payed for.

7. Your altar dont have to look Nice, it just need to feel Nice.

8. An offering dont have to be big to work. It just have to mean something.

9. Offering one loaf of bread you baked with your own two hands, is worth more than five loafs you payed somone to bake.

10. Just because a pebble dont have a story, does not mean it never had one. And just because a star has a story, does not mean its a good one.

11. If all nature is holy, that includes the parts you dont like or find nasty. Yes even ticks and spiders, mud and horrnets. No one said you had to like holy things.

12. Your body is a temple yes, but you and only you decides what rites and offerings are right the god within said temple.

13. You can still be a drunk horny ape and be spiritual.

14. No illustration of the gods is more corect or more true to their form.

But then there is no garantee everyone will see who its meant to be. And thats ok.

15. Doing spirtual junk and practise magic or healing does not make you more enlightened...

16. Just because you wrote a book about magic, healing and spiritual matters, does not make it a good book or you a good author.

17. Just because someone you look up to said it, does not make it more right. It just means they said it.

18. Making this list to remind the pagan/witch/heathen community to hummble them selfs does not make me better. Im also doing this to just remind myself. Im not better or wiser than any of you lot.

19. Dont ever expect to have your craft respected if you dont give that same respect back to others.

20. It does not matter how old or big your coven or group is. If it has toxic and harmfull parts that clearly hurt and or make pepole unhappy. Then its ok to criticize it. Age or size does not make it untuchble.

21. If a craft or faith says its all about nature but cant change its ways, then it has clearly missed a very important thing about how nature works.

22. Every rock is an altar and every forest is a temple.

23. For every horn of mead you offer to the gods, you should plant at least one seed.

24. If all in this world has a spirit and is alive, does not mean you cant take space and exist and live in it.

25. Its not about beliving. Its about to experience and to perceive. That if you ask me, is the core of animism and polytheism.

#polytheism #heathen #pagan polytheism #norse polytheism #pagan #paganism #fornsed #nordic animism #animism #wicca #witch #spiritual