#men dni ever thanks

[hoshigray]

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐙 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 | tōji fushiguro

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Everyone knows you are Toji's favorite stripper. So, it's no surprise that he'd want to have you to himself for a night at the V.I.P. section, not that you're complaining.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Toji x stripper fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - sex at a public place; strip club V.I.P. room - kissing/making out - oral (m! + f! receiving) - ball massaging + sucking + heavy depiction of a blowjob - slight anal fingering (f! receiving) - orgasm denial - impact play (spanking + f! receiving) - sir kink - reverse oral + backshots positions - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up) - clitoral play (swiping and pinching) - pet names (angel, baby, good girl, mama, sweetheart, sweetie) - cameos: Miguel, Mei Mei and Ino (stripper, manager and DJ) - mentions of spit/saliva.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.6k

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: yesssss, finally, a piece for toji !! this was based on a request/scenario that had me thinking about this prompt a lot afterward, so I'm glad I got the time to go more into the story with this c: enjoyyyy !!

“Toji! Back here like you said?”

“Yup, just as promised. It’s Saturday, after all.” 

“Mmm, I see. Right this way, please; Lady Mei is waiting for you right there..” 

Tonight is Saturday night, the middle of the weekend. How Toji spends his weekends comes and goes, depending on how much cash his pockets are willing to withdraw. Luckily, his stacks are ready for whatever this night has in store for him. And since he’s walking down in a strip club right now, you can guess he’s prepared for something grand. 

Saturdays tend to be one of the busiest nights – if not Fridays. The vibrating bass from the speakers could be felt in his bones, music getting people bumping and grinding by the DJ booth. Crowds swarm the bar to grab their drinks – and perhaps flirt with the bartender – as the special menus catch their eyes. And, of course, the wolf whistles and exclaimed shouts of men and women fill the open area where the dancers give the clients a night of promised fun.

Toji’s guided by one of the male strippers to the back of the club that transitions to the upstairs. By the stairwell, he sees a woman with silverish, pale-blue braided hair, wearing a white cold-shoulder blouse and a long black pencil skirt that emphasizes her hips nicely. Lilac eyes flicker in his direction, and her red lips curl into a smile. 

“Thank you, Miguel.” Mei Mei greets and dismisses the male entertainer in the same breath, watching him bow and return to his business, leaving the woman with Toji. “Well, well, well. I’m sure you’ve been waiting for this moment all day.”

“Ever since ya called me this morning, Lady Mei.” The older man refers to her by her business name with a smirk and a tilt of his head. “So, they’re on board?”

She nods. “That would be the reason I gave you the call, no? The money you brought goes straight to them after this, and they said there’s no need to tip them extra.”

He snickers. “That I can’t promise; I always gotta tip my favorite girl for their service. They treat me right, and I do the same.” 

“Good service means good tips, Mr. Fushiguro. Please, follow me; they’re waiting for you.” 

As far as clubs go, this one was undoubtedly one of Toji’s spots to come to. Here, he can trust that he can have a good time and get his money’s worth with every visit. Good drinks from the bar from that Nanami guy; that rookie DJ, Ino, who likes to humor the older man whenever he’s off his set; and all the entertainers who know of Toji from his frequent visits, all good people that ensure he’s relaxed and welcomed, whether it be service from them or chit-chat on the side between sessions.

But let’s not beat around the bush here; Toji won’t lie and say he doesn’t have favorites — or else why would he be here? There had to be a reason this bulky man comes back for more, and having him known as a loyal customer by the staff of this place and their clients. 

The reason is that out of all the people here, Toji does have a favorite. This favored person is who’s making this man willingly follow the manager up the stairs and walk through the hallway. Only those worth his respect and time could have him do that.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been up here, so let me re-specify,” Mei Mei speaks, ignoring the faint howls of men and women from behind the doors they walk past. “This is V.I.P., meaning people pay extra just to have the room to themselves and my dancers. The rules downstairs apply upstairs…Well, except for today with—“

“Me and them, right?” See? He's listening.

Mei Mei hums. “You two are scheduled for two hours. Food and drinks can be brought up here, but absolutely no messes whatsoever. I don’t care what you two do in there — all I ask is that you two clean up after yourselves.” She stops at the last door of the hallway on the right. “And as for you, since no one is up here to get in the way of you two, no breaking stuff. You break it, you pay for it.” She pauses when he nods. 

“I won’t.” Forest green eyes stay on her as a dark brow rises.

“Especially on my girl tonight.” Lavender orbs narrow faintly. “I don’t want to see so much as a scratch on them. Otherwise, your account won’t be the only thing I’ll have dropped in the negatives. Am I clear?”

“Crystal. Not doin’ anything they don’t wanna do.”

A curt nod to his response, extending her hand out to him. “Their cash?”

Without hesitation, Toji slings the bag he carried on his shoulder to hand to the manager. She holds and unzips it to check the contents, and the smile on her face gets bigger before she peers back at him. 

“Enjoy yourself, Mr. Fushiguro,” she zips the bag and excuses herself before placing a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be too rough.” Toji eyes at her slender fingers sliding away, and the clack of her heels drew further and further away, clicking on the stairs to join the lively bunch down below.

Toji’s eyes examine the door before him but can’t seem to fight the sneer molding into his face. He cracks his knuckle and neck before taking a moment to himself for a deep breath. There’s something in this room that ignites his excitement before it can skyrocket, and it gets a little difficult to contain it once he turns the doorknob.

The V.I.P. rooms are all set up the same: to his right was a single booth seat from one side of the room to the other, a circle table centered by the furniture. The ceiling lights can be dimmed or dialed up, but the ones here were dimmed to a warm glow, which was pleasing and subtly set the mood with the soft white LED lights behind the booth. And the temperature felt just right, prompting the older man to remove his jacket.  

Although he appreciates the change of atmosphere, Toji doesn’t mind what mood the room is set in — because he didn’t come here for that. He came for whatever caught his attention the moment he walked in. The smirk on his face brought the scar on the right side of his lips upright. 

To his right stood a mini stage where a silver pole comes from the center to the top of the ceiling; the light from the mounted full-length mirror on the wall casts a silhouette of something slinging around the pole. Or better yet, on someone. Alas, the person he’s longed to see this entire night is before him. Y/n, Toji’s favorite stripper, was in his sights.

You maneuver around the pole and drift your limbs through the air. Elegant motions perceived by Toji alone, daring not to say anything until you noticed him. And when you do, your eyes lock in on him, and your lips twinge into a smile. Fate was sealed, and the evening for you two had finally begun.

“Toji,” he loved how you said his name. You skillfully transition from a recliner move to a pole sit. “You made it; worried you’d have cold feet on me.”

“And miss seeing you tonight?” He strides in your direction before throwing his jacket to the booth seat, his feet stopping at the steps of your stage. He takes this chance to observe what you picked to wear tonight, elated knowing that you chose one of his favorite looks. “Not a chance.”

Your makeup was the first thing that caught his eye; pink and blue eyeshadow blended perfectly well and compliment your skin, aided with glossy lipstick that entices him. There were rhinestones added at the corner and lids of your eyes, making them shine more with the lighting. Since it’s just the two of you tonight, you opted to show more skin than usual. You wore a white, long-sleeved mesh shirt that had your chest area open, exposing the black laced bra that hugged your breasts nicely. White fishnet pantyhose that comes to your upper thigh, gartered to your lacy, black underwear. And to complete the look, transparent ultra-high heels. You were dolled up — just for him.

Your smile broadens — the brightest thing in the room to him. “That’s so sweet. Please take a seat and let me warm things up, okay?” And you continue back with your routine, swinging on the pole in the ballerina move. Your movements were effortlessly beautiful. Captivating to watch you operate your body around the item and your hand gracefully float around the air as you swing.

But then you come to a stop, finding that Toji is now on the stage and taking your hand in his. Emerald eyes instantly capture yours as his fingers intertwine with yours.

“No need to warm up,” he says in a low tone, as if the music around the room wasn’t already lowered enough for you two to speak normally. His face inches closer to yours, and your breathing becomes slow. “I’ve been waitin’ for this all night.”

His abrupt change was kind of shocking as he’s never one to switch up your procedure. But you don’t take it to heart because you understand, offering him a small smile before your eyes drift to his lips coming to yours. “Impatient much, huh?”

“That’s what happens when ya spoil me all the time,” he jests before a hand comes to your cheek, bringing his lips to yours for an awaited kiss. 

You two kiss with slow pecks, waiting for someone to make the first move. And Toji’s the one to do it, licking your bottom lip and playfully nibbling it. You titter faintly, opening your mouth to permit him to insert his tongue inside and play with yours. And you moan to him when he sucks and teases yours with his teeth.

Toji’s hand on your cheek goes to the back of your neck, wanting to keep the kiss in contact. And you follow suit, carefully placing your hands on his shoulders one by one from the pole. To hope you don’t fall, his other hand comes to your back for assistance. Yet your legs are still tightly wrapped around the metal pole. 

He breaks the kiss to see for himself, chortling at the display. And you beam at him, using your finger to drag his raven bangs along his forehead. “Spoiling you, huh?” You inquire, kissing his nose. “With how this night is set up, we’ll have to see who’s treating who.” 

He liked the sound of that. “Two hours to make it count, then.”

You wink. “Two hours.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“—Mmph…! Hoohh, fuck, that tongue…keep swirlin’ like that…”

“Nnmm…enjoying yourself there?” 

“Heh, keep teasing’ me like that, and we’ll see what happens, Y/n…Hmmm…”

Toji sits on the booth seat with his denim-clad legs spread out for you to crouch in between. Your hand snakes inside his shirt; the dent of his abs is sensed by your fingertips. And the free one is gliding up and down the exposed erection that’s out for your very eyes to see. 

Oh, fuck, this was a sight to see: crouching in front of your favorite client, having his cock in your very grasp. The limb is so big and girthy that it drives you crazy just marveling at it, and the twitch of your chasm below refuses to calm down. Every slow pump urges a bit of precum to slip out the urethra, and you gasp faintly at the contact of the substance staining your pretty nails. Shit, from his veins to the delicious tip, it’s been so long since you’ve seen a dick this oddly gorgeous. 

Hell, it’s been a long while since you’ve given head. And, holy fuck, it felt too good doing it right now — especially with a dick as mouthwatering as Toji’s. You started with slow licks to the cockhead and kisses to the frenulum, evoking hushed grunts from the older man; sounds you love entering your eardrums, pushing you to want more. Slow laps gradually lose to adventurous curiosity as you take in every inch of his length til the hilt meets your lips, humming at the sensation of him filling your throat. 

You suck on his shaft with glee, swirling your tongue on the underside with every bob to the mouth. And your hand still moves to please him, your fingers eventually finding his balls to give them a knead. A hiss leaves scarred lips, and he grabs for the top of your head. Oh, he’s definitely loving this. 

“Hshhh, shiiit, just like that, baby,” the pet name makes you mewl; he said it so hot. “Fuuuck, y’re so good.”

“Mmmm…Phuaa!” You release his girth from your lips, attacking the sensitive head with teasing licks, rubbing the limb on your face while placing chaste kisses. God, he loved how beautifully dirty you were being. “Hnnmm, yo’ thwink so…?”

Talking with your mouth full results in a laugh from Toji. “Fuck yeah; barely hangin’ on right now…Oh shit,” he shouldn’t have said that because you kiss his shaft down to his balls, sucking one into your mouth to have the man almost choke on his spit. “Hmng…!! Oh, shit, shit, I’m gonna cum, mama. Take me back in, Y/n—Ahhh!”

No can do! Because you immediately remove yourself from him, standing on your toes and walking backward. Observing the genuine staggered expression on Toji has you giggling, making him sneer in return. “You fuckin’ tease.”

“Come on now; you gotta do your part as well, you know.” You turn to crawl atop the stage, your hands on the pole while swaying your ass to the side. You know he’s watching, feeling his green eyes boring holes into your being. Knowing you’re being desired like this turns you on even more. 

Toji wastes no time, marching towards your ass with a hungry grin. Rough fingers come to your underwear, bringing it down with ease, biting his lip at the wet display of your cunt. “Oh, aren’t you a pretty thing, huh.” 

You titter, shivers crawling up your spine when his thumbs spread your folds to expose your bare vagina. You grab hold of the pole for preparation. “Please be delicate with me.”

He blows on your cunt, and you take a sharp breath. “After that lil’ stunt of y’rs a few seconds ago? You better hold on to that thing tight.” Toji gives your wetness a tantalizingly slow lick, taking in every shudder of your body. “Hnnm, taste good…” 

His hands find your waist and then stuffs his face to your ass, his lips and tongue going to work and sucking in your liquids. You cry out, gripping the pole as soon as you feel a flick to your clit. Your eyes instinctively shut, and your arch elates to bring your butt closer to him. 

Toji’s strong hold on you aids him in making sure you don’t get away from him; your soapy slit is right where he wants it, and he doesn’t plan on letting go. His tongue hurries through your labia, and your essence coats his tastebuds. You moan out loud at the feeling of the muscle pushing to the entrance, your hips jerking with his nose bumping close to your taint. 

“Ahaaa, ohh Jesus, yesss,” your words come out in pretty wails. “Yess, Toji, ‘eel so good…”

He hears and gives you another taunting lick from your clit to the vagina. This time, he notes your ass jolt when he comes close to your asshole. And he can’t fight his mischievous soul, bringing his tongue ever so slowly to it for you to gasp and realize what he’s doing.

“W–Wait, no, Tojiii!” You whine. Fuck, you sounded so cute. “Not there, please…!”

“Hmm? What’s wrong?” He brings a thumb to lather it with spit before pressing it to your anus. The choked sob erupting from you has him tingle, pushing the digit further in. “Don’t want me playin’ with this?”

“—Hnnff! Noooo, stop, that’s—Mmmm!” Goddamn, how could someone look so good while whining like this? Oh, he could never get enough of you before. Now, this little infatuation for you could dwell into an obsession if you keep batting your hooded eyes at him like that. “That's dirty…!” 

He shakes his head with a prurient leer and trenched brows. “Don’t worry, angel; I like dirty.” You gulped. That’s not what I meant! “Be dirty fr’ me, ‘kay? Wanna see it all...” Toji brings his face back to your southern lips, sucking and licking in an excitable fashion that has you trying so hard not to scream (even if the walls are supposedly soundproof). 

It’s here that you give up and have your face meet the floor of the stage, sinking into the feeling of Toji ravishing your cunt to feast on your come entirely. You can shake and try to move your hips all you want, but it won’t work; Toji will instantly shut you down and shove his mouth right back to your folds. And with his thumb scraping the walls of your tight asshole, chewing your lips does nothing to suppress the haze. 

“Hohhh, hnmm, oh my God, Ohhh…!” A hand finds its way to Toji’s wrist, holding onto it to prepare for what’s bound to happen. “Haaah, I’m about to cum…Please, like that, keep going…Oooo!!”

Nope. He doesn’t let you off the hook, withdrawing his face and thumb away from you, and the climb of your promised orgasm dissipates in seconds. You turn to him with an albeit hurt expression, expectedly being met with a smug look on his handsome face. “Hahhh, so mean…”

“Oh, I know y’re not talking, sweetheart.” Toji removes and discards your underwear somewhere across the room, giving your bare ass a playful smack to which you faux cry in pain with laughs. He then picks you up bridal style and walks you back to the couch, your face gently placed on the furniture with your buttocks up in front of him. He brings the tip of his cock to kiss your labia. “Ya ready?” You nod to him hurriedly with bitten lips of glee. All he wants to do is grab you by the chin and kiss the hell out of you. “Nice and slow fr’ ya, sweetie.” 

Your breath hitches at Toji’s glans being pushed into you, using your slick and his saliva to lubricate himself for easy access. Your hands grip the booth seat with every push of him, and you gasp loudly at the insertion of his tip. The subtle pain declined in mere seconds before being raptured by the sensation of his girth stretching you. Your body quakes by the time his pelvis meets the flesh of your ass, unable to contain the pants of air leaving your lips.

Toji moves his hips tremendously slowly, making you feel every bit of him. Holy shit, it’s been a while having a living, breathing dick inside you. The indistinct dents grazing your entrance with every push and pull, the veins scraping along your inner walls ever feels so fucking good, and his tip jabbing so deep inside you. Jesus Christ, you can’t blame your slit clamping onto him; he feels so good!

“Hmm? Ya like that, baby?”And Toji can tell, grinding his hips, stimulating a shaky howl. “Y’re grippin’ on me like crazy.”

“Ahhaaa, fuhuuuck, you feel so good, Toji,” you hum, gnawing on your lips as his pace goes faster by the second. Yes, yes! “Ohhhh, ’m so full…!”

He comes down to lick on the helix of your ear. His voice being so close to you has you clamping onto him harder. “Fuuck, that grip…Just stay like this fr’ me, all nice and pretty. Can ya do that?”

“Yesss, sir.” 

Oh, that title sparked something within him. The snicker to your ear had you swooned. “Keep callin’ me that.”

You giggle softly. “Of course, sir—Rrryahhh!!” He didn’t warn you when he started bucking his hips unexpectedly. 

Strokes to your cunt became quick, the sensation of him becoming rushed for your senses to comprehend after each thrust. The sounds of skin smacking against each other fill the space between you, and the heat transferring from your warm bodies is given in quick exchanges.

It doesn’t take long for your head to be thrown into a daze, your eyes shot up to the stars with every jab to your sensitive spots. Restraint is held by a thread, finding it strenuous to keep your voice down to a respectable volume. Your fingernails leave crescents on the booth seat beneath you as Toji drives his length into you. 

“—Ohhh! Fuuuu, oh shit, Tojiii, slow d—Owwhhn!!” He slaps your ass, an action you couldn’t foretell, and prevent a shriek from leaving your mouth. 

“Not ‘Toji’ right now,” he corrects you, grinding his pelvis again to scrape your walls to the point of wails. Gripping your ass like a toy, “What do you call me?”

“Mmmph!! I’m sorry, sir; forgive me…!” Another smack and the pain stings the skin to the point your eyes water. 

“Good girl,” he’s satisfied, coming down to place kisses on your shoulder and travel down your back. 

Toji straightens at the sight before him, taking in every detail of the situation. Having his favorite stripper be a whimpering mess for him: your mouth agape for cute sounds to fly out, the motion of your ass cheeks bouncing with every rut of him, and his dick digging into your alluring body. Fuck, if only he could take a picture of this. But thankfully, he still has another hour and a half to go — an hour and a half to indulge himself more with you. He paid good money for this, so he’ll make it worth every cent.

“Hey, mama,” he comes down to cup your face with his right hand, bringing you in for a hot kiss. You happily reciprocate, allowing him access and sucking his tongue with a mewl.

The kiss has him drink your high-pitched huffs while his tempo increases to an irregular speed. Your eyes screwed shut at the pacing; the feeling of his girth filling you so much is fucking crazy. Your head begins to pound with the heat that spreads across your face, and your brain gradually churns to mush as you can sense the climb of your climax. 

“—Shhhiiit, oh shiit!!” You pule with the trembles crawling up to your shoulders, a tiny streak of drool coming down from the corner of your lips. “F–Fhhh, I’m gonna cum, sir! Please, let me cummm…!”

“Hhhck!! Fuck, me too,” he confesses in between kisses. “Lemme finish here...” Toji sneaks a hand down to your lower region, his forefinger grazing your clitoris that was left unattended throughout this time. Until now. “Cum on me, angel. Let loose…”

The rough pads of his fingers swipe on your clit; your eyes widen at the action and force you to break the kiss. Your moans come out from his swipes and pinches on your delicate bud, and the growth of your orgasm ascends tenfold. Oh fuck, it’s coming, I’m— “Ohh–Ohoooo!!”

And then it hits you; the walls of your cunt clamp around Toji tightly, making the older man groan at the fluttering contraction. So engulfed with how good you feel that it prompts him to spill his load into you. But he doesn’t stop jerking his hips, smacking his cock into your sensitive chasm until he knows every drop of his ejaculation is pumped deep inside you. 

Toji brings his body down to your heaving one, your breathing synced with his as you two let your pleasurable highs subside. When things feel as though they’ve calmed down, he’ll bury his face in the crook of your neck and place kisses while rubbing your ass. You hum to his touch, deep exhales seeping through your nostrils.

“Mmmm, that was good,” he says to your skin before lifting his face to examine you properly, removing his length from your cunt and watching the trail of his come ooze out. “Heh, fuck that’s crazy…Ready for another round, sweetheart?”

Of course, you laugh at that. “Well, sir, if you’d like to go again, please be sure to use the condoms this time. I wouldn’t like Mei Mei to come here and murder us for not cleaning after ourselves.”

He lifts a brow. “Condoms?”

You point with your chin to the table at the booth center, noting the silver tray that displayed items for this occasion. Towels, water bottles, and, of course, packets of rubbers that were meant to be used. 

Toji blinks, and then a fit of laughter bubbles inside him. “Well, now I know. But I don’t see the point since I already fucked you raw. Already spoiled the fun for ya.”

You shrug with a smile, standing up to grab the towel to wipe yourself. “Boss’ orders.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he obliges with a kiss on your cheek before he shifts to lie on the couch. He discards his jeans and drawls, spreading his strong legs to showcase his member standing strong. He pats on his thigh, “Get y’r cute ass over here.”

You beam at him, grabbing for a wrapper and tearing it up to release a condom. “Yes, sir~.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“And so? You two cleaned up everything?”

“Yup, made sure it was all clean and neat the way it was before.”

“Good. Because I had a meeting in that room this morning, and neither my client nor I would like to have the smell of sex fill our conversation. Or seeing a condom wrapper on the floor.” 

“Hehe, well, I hoped you checked under the seats. He’d probably be sneaky enough to kick at least one down there.”

“Oh, you’re such a little…” Your manager doesn’t finish that sentence and hits you on the head with a makeup brush, resulting in a strong laugh from you.

Tonight was the following night after that event. You’re now in the dressing room, adding finishing touches to your make-up before you can go out to perform for the last day of the weekend. Mei Mei was with you, helping you fix yourself since she likes to help her performers feel at the top of their game. Also, as your friend, she wanted to hear the details of what transpired last night. 

“That man, I swear…” She says while looking at you through the vanity mirror, surveying your last touches to your brows and eyelids. “I knew he was whipped for you since the first time you danced for him. Now that you two finally did the deed, I can only imagine how much he’d do for you…Ugh, I’ll need to hire security specifically for him.”

The remark has you laughing some more. “Oh, stop it. I’m sure he knows better than to flip this place down.”

“Hmmm, you sure about that?” Silver brows go upward. “Considering the fact that we’ve had multiple close calls with him and other customers, scaring your clients when they’re not out of his seat – not to mention breaking someone’s arm for you – it’s not far out to imagine this man throwing shit and bodies all over if someone so much looks at you, especially now that he got his dick wet. Oh, he’s smitten.”

You shake your head throughout her explanation with a smile, knowing that it’s all semi-true. “Guess that’s men for you, huh?”

“Don’t I know it.” She scoffs, using this small time with you to braid her hair into two pigtails. “…You do like him, right?”

The question doesn’t take you aback, not showing any expression of shock while continuing to fix the straps of your pink bra under your mesh shirt. “Yeah…I think so. He’s one of my—“

“One of?”

You roll your eyes at your manager egging you on. “Okay. He is my favorite client. I think he’s a good company; plus, he pays a good amount of money to see me.”

“Oh? Was it the money that’s always made your heart thump? I wonder…” Mei Mei doesn’t try to suppress the smirk growing on her face, aware that you’re meekly glaring at her. She grabs for your lipstick to apply to her lips. “Maybe it never was because I can recall you telling me how hot you found you the first time. Hmph, maybe now that’s dialed up since you’ve been slapped with some good dick—“

“Okay, okay!” God, you couldn’t stand her sinister chuckle, precisely when it’s directed towards you.

“I’m just teasing~. I’m happy that you two are getting along, really.” She straightens up to examine her whole figure now that she’s done. “But he’s still one of my customers at the end of the day, and you one of my people. Money on the table or not, I won’t tolerate if he does anything to inconvenience me or you.” 

The sincerity in Mei Mei’s words wasn’t hard to grasp. After all, she was doing what any good boss would do. As well as your friend above anything else. And you appreciated it. “I know. You’ll be the first I run to if stuff goes left.”

The silver-haired woman gave a genuine smile and nodded, placing a hand on your shoulder to clutch before excusing herself from the dressing room. “See you out there; I have another meeting with a priest from the other side of the neighborhood.”

You gawk. “A priest? Is he here to be serviced?” 

“Nope, but if he keeps getting in the way of my business, I just might have to make some phone calls and endow my other services to deal with him.” Your blood shifted to ice cold at that sentence. Mei Mei is your friend by all means; however, that didn’t diminish how scary that woman can be sometimes. 

She opens the door and closes it behind her, leaving you alone to finish up. You stand up from your seat and maneuver around to admire tonight’s outfit choice. A mesh shirt that showcased your pink bra and black pantyhose that contrasted with your pink undies. Now, all you need to do is go to your locker and find whatever shoes to match and—

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Yo, Y/n?” It was Ino’s voice. He doesn’t come inside the room but creaks the door for you to hear him. “Sorry, but someone wishes to speak with you.”

Huh, someone wants to see me? “Oh, okay. Tell them to wait for me by the door.”

“Sure thing!” And then the young DJ closes the door, and you decide the shoes can wait for later. Giving yourself a look or two in the mirror, you walk up to the door and pull it open to see who wishes to see you. Only to find that the person is standing in front of the doorway.

It was Toji, standing tall and greets you with a smirk once you entered his vision. The mild anxiousness from a few seconds was gone, exchanging it for a smile. “Hey,” he said it cooly.

“Hi,” you return the greeting, watching him step closer to you to lean against the doorframe. “You just got here?” 

“Mhmm, didn’t have much to do, so I figured I’d come before things are about to pick up.” Toji brings his face to yours, daring to give your lips a peck. And you allow it, kissing his scar when he draws back. “I thought last night was fun.”

“Me too,” you whisper back to him before he kisses your neck. “I’d like to have fun like that with you sometime. You know, not during business hours and such.”

He quirks up a brow. “Yeah? Hmm, me too.” He puts his forehead to yours, his hands snaking around your waist to bring you two together. “I’d love to have you around somewhere.”

You hum, bringing your arms up to wrap around his neck. “That’d be nice.”

“…But I’d also love to fuck the hell outta you like last time.” His honesty has you erupting in laughter, and your sweet voice has him grinning. “I’m serious; you drove me crazy last time. Pussy like that can’t be shared, I’m sorry—”

“Oh, my God, stop!” You try to get out of his hold, even if your laughs get louder when he tightens his grip on you. “Drove you crazy, huh?” You peer to see him nod before kissing his chin. “Well, I got a few minutes before I go out there…Want me to suck you off?”

Did you even have to ask? The man immediately leers from ear to ear, taking your wrist and pulling you back into the dressing room. And you allow him with a laugh, making sure to lock the door before the thought of getting caught fills your mind.

“Good thing you caught me dressing,” you say as he sits on the couch from across the dressing room, and you crouch between his legs. You pull down his zipper, “This one’s free of charge.”

And he shifts comfortably, taking off his jacket to discard. “Lucky me.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header art by melkor mancin + dividers by @/cafekitsune.

#𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑭𝒊𝒄𝒔 #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji x you #toji x y/n #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji x you #fushiguro toji #toji fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk imagines #jjk fic

[gyuswhore]

Hits Different (...'cause it's you) (1)

«« I trace the evidence, make it make some sense Why the wound is still bleedin' »»

PAIRING: kim mingyu x reader

SYNOPSIS: Kim Mingyu was the first friend your brother had brought home for dinner. Fast forward a couple years, his toothy smile and pierced ears would wedge their way into a permanent place in your heart. Nail to a coffin, never to escape.

or;

in which you get rejected by the only boy you've ever loved; a rejection you can't quite shake off.

GENRES: based off of 'Hits Different' by Taylor Swift, brother's best friend!au, brother!seokmin, fluff, angst, smut (in part 2) [MINORS DNI], friends(?) to lovers, university!au.

PLAYLIST: right here!

WORD COUNT (full fic): 40k (im actually embarrassed)

Part 1: 20.2k | Part 2: 20k

masterlist

WARNINGS : slowburn, angst, fluff, mingyus a bit of an airhead and an ass, reader has a hard time managing her feelings, lots of frustrated tears, one sided pining, user toruro x minghao make an appearance, swearing, there's another woman (gasp,,,,,but shes cool so), Nayeon is a darling, Seungcheol is kinda annoying here but we love him, smut tags in part 2

(Comments from @toruro): "oh shizzle", "yeah bitch", (on jihyo) "mother", "ME X HAO FIRE EMOJI", "men (derogatory)"

[A/N]: Tumblr is annoying and won't let me post the entire 40k in one go so i have to break it up (part 2 is out tomorrow!!!) i hope you guys enjoy this, thank you for all the love on the teaser, i hope this is able to live up to the hype, thank you so much for being patient with me <33 (ty @toruro for encouraging me when i felt shit ab this gkjnrgvkjrng and beta-ing ofc)

As someone who could vomit at the mere thought of throw-up, you tried not to stare into the toilet bowl as you emptied your guts in this questionable club bathroom. 

It was proving to be easier than you’d anticipated, naturally, when your eyes were blurred with bubbling tears. Were they because of your wretching or the feelings that churned in your heart? You can’t be entirely sure, nor can you find yourself having the mental strength to figure out. There’s a banging on the door behind you, one that sends your already aching head into a hurling spin. 

“Open the door, I have water for you, it’ll help!” You hear Mika blare from the other side, concern lacing her voice. 

You try to blink the tears away but they cascade down your cheek anyway, rubbing at them furiously before preparing to haul yourself off the disgusting bathroom floor. Taking a deep breath was a horrible idea, you realize when an atrocious mixture of scents hit your nostrils, cringing visibly. 

Washing your hands at the sink took you another five minutes, scrubbing furiously at your palms and nails with the dollar store soap the club graciously placed in a fancy dispenser, pumping more than a normal amount to rid yourself of the paranoia of tainted hands. 

Unfortunately for you, your palms were tainted with entities beyond mere soap and water’s powers. 

It was evident with the way you exited the bathroom feeling perhaps worse than you went in. Mika was nowhere to be seen in the hall, moving along to the private room where the rest of the group was to find her springing up as you enter. 

“You weren’t answering, so I left. Here, water, I told you to be careful with what you drink; you haven’t had a bite to eat either.” She reprimands. 

“Sorry,” you smile sheepishly, not having a reasonable excuse to give her. 

Joshua peeks over her shoulder, “You feeling any better?” 

The water is slow to go down as you sputter before replying in a hoarse voice, “Yeah. Way.” 

To be fair, the water did help. But it was you who was the problem, blaming the alcohol for the behaviour all your friends knew perfectly well where it was stemming from. Not a word was said though, for your sake or their own. You wrap up quickly after that, Joshua insisting to drop you off home himself, quoting how Seokmin would have his head if he left you in the hands of a taxi driver in this state — age gap be damned. You can only thank him as he pulls up to your destination, hoping you’ll remember this in the morning to return the favour in the future. 

“Before you go, can we talk for a second?” he piques, halting you as you remove your seatbelt. 

“Sure, yeah. What is it?” 

“I’m not gonna ask if you’re doing alright, not when you’re gonna give me the same answer as always. But…please take care of yourself. You’ve been drinking quite a bit lately, and it can’t be helping you at all” 

You listen to him silently, not a thought in your brain. But you nod anyway. 

“Thanks for looking out, Shua. I’m…I’m probably not gonna be going out for a while, you’re right,” you reply, quietly, a small smile on your face that you can only hope is reassuring. 

“I don’t mean lock yourself up, either. You don’t give yourself a break and then try to make up for it by drinking your self faint every week, that’s never gonna help you. You know that.” He speaks in a soft, soothing voice, a hand coming up to pat your hair before landing on your clasped hands on your lap. “You know what, I’ll pick you up tomorrow night, we can go the fair just me, you and Seok-” 

“I have class tomorrow.” 

“Like showing up hungover is gonna help you retain any information. Just skip.” 

You sigh a deep exhale, deciding to simply be upfront. “I kinda just wanna stay home for a while, going out’s kinda making it worse. I think rotting in front of my laptop’s what I really need right now” 

Throwing in a tinkle of a laugh, you hope you’ve sold yourself.

“Alright,” he sounds slightly unconvinced but doesn’t push you further, “I’ll drop in to bother you tomorrow though, don’t try stoping me”

“Okay,” you say, smiling a little wider. “I’m gonna go now, goodnight.”

“Wait!” he stops you once again, right before your about to shut the door. “Have you talked to Mingyu at all?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about, Shua. Night” 

With that you’ve slammed the door of his car shut, missing the ghost of a “goodnight” that leaves Joshua’s lips as he watches you walk inside the building. 

“And stop staying out so late at night! What were you supposed to do if Joshua wasn’t there?” Seokmin rants as he walks back and forth grabbing you water and pills as you finish your forced breakfast.

“Take a taxi?” you suggest sarcastically. 

“What? And get me called to the station to identify your body parts when some dude decides he wants to play cannibalistic butcher?” he screeches, and it has you wincing and grabbing onto your head at his volume. You dramatize it a little, hoping he’d shut it with his nagging if you gained some extra sympathy. He doesn’t stop talking, but he does tone it down. 

“Whatever, I’m not going out anymore.” You push your plate and bowl away as you hop off the stool and stalk off to your room, making as much noise as possible in the process. 

Your brother calls after you, but you don’t stop. Your head was pounding, 

“Are you gonna take your meds? HELLO? Or do you enjoy the feeling of having your head split open?” he slams open the door of your room mid-sentence, going on at your blanket-clad figure on the bed. 

“I’m going back to sleep.”

“No, you’re taking your fucking meds.” A cup of water is thrust into your hands as you pick up the pills from Seokmin’s open palms, swallowing before he decides to shove it down your throat himself. 

He waits on the edge of the bed, checking to make sure you actually swallowed the pill instead of hiding it under your tongue like you’ve done since you were kids. 

“I’m not stopping you from going out if that’s what you think I mean,” he starts, a lot softer this time, and you’re taken back to your conversation with Joshua last night. “You’ve been going out and coming home wasted a lot more than normal lately. I don’t know if it’s because your college agendas are finally catching up to you or what.”

“I’m just…My friends are always out and I wanna be with them, it’s normal,” you grumble, disappearing deeper into your sheets.

“You’d tell me if something was bothering you, right?” 

‘Yeah, yeah, now shoo. Your voice is making my head hurt worse, I doubt Advils are immune to your yapping.” 

“Fine, fuck you too” he mumbles, leaving the room only to pop back in a second later. “Mom called last night, told her you were at a study group. Might wanna call her back before she catches a flight herself.” 

You wave two fingers up in a salute from your flat position on the bed, hearing him close the door. You don’t sit up until you hear the TV blare from the living room, knowing he had parked himself on the couch and has his attention diverted. 

The headache wasn’t actually that bad, you just really wanted to be left alone, and your brother had a habit to do the opposite when asked, so it had to be done. 

What on Earth were you supposed to tell him, anyway? That his best friend in the whole world rejected his sister on the spot when she confessed her decades long feelings? That she was ruining her liver and kidneys every weekend over a rejection? By his best friend in the whole world?

Yeah, that’s an easy conversation. 

Snuggling into the covers you try not to think back to the abomination that was your birthday party just a few weeks ago, but your thoughts yank you there anyway, as if to remind you of every wretched detail of the encounter like it was wasn’t already burned into your frontal lobe like a brand. 

You were on a high; too happy, too excited. It’s not like you were expecting anything for your first birthday at uni anyway, you were too old for pink blowout parties and too young for the madness of college level clubbing. You were excited for takeout with your brother, to sit in front of the TV for the rest of the night, maybe even stick a candle in one of your burgers and call it your cake. Plans were changed when you walked into your home, ready to wind down for the night and celebrate in your own way. 

It was a full house, food and drinks everywhere, complete with a loud “SURPRISE” as you walk through the door. You remember hugging both your brother and Mingyu when they tell you they did all of this for you, an overwhelming feeling overcoming you as you grip them tight, hoping it’ll transfer all the gratitude you couldn’t express. 

You’re breathless as the night progresses, trying hard to focus on the conversations at hand, trying to be a good host. Failing miserably, you can’t force your gaze from wandering every few minutes, searching for Mingyu in the crowd, watching him move his mouth as he talked, throw his hair back as he laughed, smile that beautiful, beautiful smile of his, perfect teeth on display. 

It had been bliss these past few weeks, the lingering smiles he would give you, the flirtatious attempts never gone unnoticed. The smoothest of words slipping right off his tongue as he gave you eyes that twinkled and sparkled and blew air directly into the embers in your heart. You would still yourself as they would happen, like the mirage would crack and shatter if you even dared to breathe; it felt unreal. After all these years, you realised soon, Kim Mingyu may have began to like you. 

You’d be lying if you said you were completely sober when it happened, drinks were passed around and as the birthday girl you didn’t seem to have a choice to back down, already a little hot and wide eyed barely halfway through the night. 

And when Mingyu doesn’t interact with you all night, you go to him as the numbers in the house dwindled, cornering him as he collected bottles in the kitchen.

“Hey!”, he sounds enthusiastic, “You having fun yet?”

“Yeah, thanks again for doing this.” your remember fidgeting with your fingers and nails, digging them into each other as you let yourself spew. 

“Are you gonna say thank you at every chance for the next six months? It's your first birthday away from home. Besides it was Seok’s idea, I just helped out.” He had said, beaming.

“Mingyu, can I talk to you about something…?”

You sigh loudly as you replay the memory, face pushed into the covers as you bite back a scream at the blood rushing to your head. 

Stupid. Idiot. Absolutely brainless.

“Oh.” He had breathed out when you had spilled your entire heart out to him standing in that kitchen, visibly taken aback at your abruptness. “I…I’m sorry I’m not quite sure what to say.” 

You still remember that sickening feeling, that big ball of junk and emotions that sank lower and lower in your abdomen, settling a deep hurt in your chest that made it difficult to breathe. 

Laying in your bedroom, weeks after the fact, you can still feel your breathing go slightly erratic at the memory, hot tears springing your eyes, burning before you wipe them away. You were aware how baffling it was, how you were letting it affect you to this degree, but you justified it with the years you had remained quiet, yearning on the sidelines. 

You deserved to wallow in this pit. 

At least that’s what you thought. But after last night you wonder if you had stopped indulging in the sorrow and let it ruin you instead. A sigh escapes you at the thought of ending yet another night in a dirty bathroom, makeup smeared and guts removed, misery becoming the only thing you were allowed to feel in the aftermath. 

You reach for your phone on the bedside table, flicking through your unread messages, barely registering a word as you leave them opened and unanswered. There wasn’t an ounce of willpower in you even after a full night’s sleep, turning your phone off before shoving it in your bedside drawer, forgotten. You take a moment to stare at the ceiling, having no energy to get up to turn your lights off. Until the doorbell sounds. 

Of course you knew who it was the second you heard, but the voice paired with your brother’s conversing outside was enough to have you catapulting out of bed. You slap your hand over the switchboard, turning off all your lights, moving across the room to pull your curtains shut, cascading complete darkness in the room. You fly under the covers as a last effort to convince, covering your face with the sheets just as you hear a knock. 

The door creaks open slightly as Seokmin calls out your name. 

“Are you up? Mingyu’s here, he brought coffee.” He whispers slowly. You don’t respond. 

He calls out your name one more time before you hear the door click shut. You don’t move till you hear his muffled voice on the other end, “She’s knocked out, her head was hurting, better let her rest.” 

Heat pricks the sides of your face as your body finally relaxes, borderline embarrassed at how you were hiding from him like a middle schooler who thinks she’s in love. Which you were at one point; now you're a college kid who thinks she’s in love.

You try not to focus too much on the sounds coming from outside, burying under the covers to attempt at sleep for real this time. Eyes screwed shut, you can’t help but open them at every other intonation. There was no way you could figure out what they were saying if you tried, between the door and the TV, it was all a taunting buzz in your ears. 

You do end up falling asleep. But only after you hear the droning of the TV turn off, and the distinct goodbyes as the front door clicks shut. 

Keeping to your promise, you stay away from late nights for the next couple of weeks. Joshua so far as commends you for declining invitations, offering dinner on him on one particular phone call. 

“You know, I was serious when I said I was proud of you.” Joshua voices solemnly as you attempt to cut a strip of meat onto the grill. You snort as a response. 

“I wasn’t like, an alcoholic, you’re making it sound worse than it was.” 

“It was still bad for it to affect you in that way. Takes a lot to get back up from heartbreak”

“Especially one that’s lasted for nearly a decade.” You sigh as you give up on the meat, handing the scissors and tongs over. 

“Are we still talking about that?” He raises his eyebrows. 

A smile makes its way to your face, nibbling on a radish, “No.”

“Good. Because we need to talk about if we want our noodles hot or cold.”

“Seok! SEOK! Where the fuck did you put my pimple patches?” Your screams echo across the house yet garner no response. Opting to yank open the fridge, you dig through through the box of face masks to find them possibly laying at the bottom, forgotten. Seokmin bounds into the kitchen, towel in hand as he pats at his damp hair.

“What?” 

“Nothing,” you huff, shoving the unfruitful box back into the cabinet, "you used up all the patches.”

“Patches? Pimple patches? We’ve been out for a month, just use this tube in the drawer.” Pulling open the drawer, he rummages for a moment before emerging with a sickly yellow tube of what looked like poorly marketed toothpaste.

“You want me to put this on my face?” 

“Yeah, it works, zit on my nose was gone by morning.” He stuffs the tube back in the drawer not before squeezing a small amount on his fingers to dab on your face.

“Ew, get your dirty hands away from my face.” You grip his wrists before he tries to move in further. 

He does nothing but shush you, shaking off your hands as you grumble in silence, letting him finger paint on your face. You move up to fix a roller on your head, undoing it before rolling the bit back in, resulting in another “tsk” emitting form your brothers concentrated face.

“Okay, enough! I don’t have that many zits.” You pull away as Seokmin moves to wash his hands. 

“Are you going to bed right now?” He asks as you move over to the door.

“Yeah. I’m not going to sleep, though.” 

“Gyu’s coming over, you were asleep when he was here last too.” 

It seemed as though every bone in your body rattled against your flesh. 

“When is he coming?” You ask quickly, frozen in your spot. 

The doorbell rings. 

“Right now, I guess.” He snickers to himself.

You can only watch in mild horror as he moves to open the door, words escaping you. You follow behind him, trying to stop him, yet not doing much other than reach the front door yourself, fingers frozen yet mildly trembling. 

“Wait!” You finally whisper-shout, “Don’t open it!” 

Seokmin pauses to give you a look, “Why? He’s seen you look worse, it’s fine”

The door wrenches open before you can protest any further, a cartoonish moment of the hunched figure of you, hands out in a nearly there grip. You’ve failed, and the chorus of ‘hey’’s reach your ears in almost a mocking manner. There’s a conscious effort on your end to not look up too high, keeping to chest eye level for your own sanity. What you find once your vision clears from the white blur, is that there’s not one, but two people at the door. 

Mingyu’s brought a girl. 

Standing behind the door meant there was no immediate attention on you, which should have been a perfectly good opportunity for you to book it to your room, but you don’t. You stand there instead, staring at the back of their heads like a child in wonder.

Once you are noticed by your brother, he winces at your appearance, a silent apology, like he didn’t know about this new guest either. Or he was apologising for what he was about to do next, you wouldn’t know, because you wouldn’t be hearing him out when you throttle him later. 

“This is my sister” 

All three sets of eyes are on you now, a moment of silence as they take in your appearance. The grandma nightgown, in all its blue and collared glory, does absolutely nothing to boost your confidence in front of the very pretty lady, whose hair cascades down her back, whose skin stands as clear as a summer sky. 

“Hi!” She breaks the awkward silence first, “I’m Jia, it’s nice to meet you! I’ve heard a lot about the both of you.”

What?

“Mingyu has a hard time keeping his mouth shut, I’m not surprised.” Seokmin tries to joke as he motions for the couch in the centre of the room. You catch him kicking a stray sock out of the way as he urges them to sit. 

With the way your brother is acting, you don’t doubt this is his first time meeting this girl. Mingyu is yet to clarify why he would bring a friend to the house unannounced, but something tells you you already know. You remain on the sidelines, inching away to the hallway slowly, trying your hardest to not bring attention to yourself.

“I haven’t seen you around campus ever, are you new?” Seokmin prods, his voice slightly on edge. 

“Oh, um-” Jia begins but is cut off by Mingyu as he speaks for her. 

“Jia doesn’t go to our uni, we met at Seungcheol’s, we’ve been dating for a couple months.” 

There it is. 

“Oh! Couple months? How come I didn’t know?” You don’t miss the hurt laced in your brother's words, your fists clenching slightly at the oncoming silence. 

“That’s on me, sorry. It’s just…I didn’t want anyone to know ‘cause I thought he was playing around when he said he liked me, I wanted to see if he was being real or not.” She laughs nervously, and you see the back of her head move as she talked. You can’t help but note the arm that’s swung across the back of the couch where she sat. “Please don’t be mad at him! I promise it was me that stopped him.”

You don’t hear too much of what happens afterwards as you slip away into the crevice of your bedroom, standing in the entryway in absolute silence, attempting to absorb what you had just witnessed outside. Approaching the full length mirror on the other end, it takes a lot out of your to bring yourself to look straight into it, regretting it immediately as you acknowledge your appearance. 

Of course, the woman who actually succeeded in winning over the man that rejected you had to witness you in the unappealing yellow paste that your brother graciously dotted all over your face, not leaving the giant rollers in your hair to cut you any slack either. You could cry about it, but you don’t. Instead you lay back in your bed, sniffling in the dark, just as you had the last time Mingyu was over. 

It’s significantly easier to drown out the voices this time round, especially when your mind is preoccupied with a couple months. Your birthday was a couple months ago, does that mean they started dating right after that conversation? Or were they already offical and you had waltzed in with your princess dreams about your brother’s best friend being in love with you. 

It made perfect sense at the time, and no sense at all anymore as you wonder why on Earth he was being so forwardly flirty with you if there was another girl all along. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth as you recall how he had quit perceiving you altogether after that night, and you can’t help but mentally commend Jia for testing him by keeping it quiet. Especially when he was going around flirting with his best friend’s sister. 

It didn’t take long for you to guage Mingyu’s reputation when you first dropped into university, the senior having made himself a reputation none less similar than he had in high school. He was popular, but with his outgoing personality and a face like that it was hard not to be liked. Your brother was right there beside him, living it up as carefree college kids, suddenly remembering he now had a little sister to tend to. You were grateful for the both of them for being there to help you take your first baby steps, all the rites of passage and which professors sucked the least, not leaving the leaky water fountain to never drink from. 

That was when Mingyu’s (supposed) advances had begun. 

You’re projected back to first semester, when both of them had dragged you to the same couch outside, talking about an “important thing you should know”. 

“You walk into class one day, expecting nothing out of the ordinary. Your professor drones on as usual, your classmates look bored as usual, you’re tired as usual. But then!” Seokmin breathes in sharply, and you hear Mingyu bound to the other side of your vision, emerging on the opposite end of the room with a backpack swung over his shoulder. 

“The man of your dreams walks by…” Seokmin continues and you snap your head towards him in a panic, suddenly afraid he had found you out. He’s busy though, making ethereal hands in Mingyu’s general direction, while the latter walks in comedic slow motion like he’s in a K-drama b-roll, complete with passes over his hair and a nonchalant yet controlled expression. 

“What is this about?” It comes out snappier than you had intended, but you’ve had one scare already. 

“Just!” your brothers hands turn from graceful to clenched, like it was you he was trying to squish you for interrupting him, “Listen, alright?” 

“The man of your dreams walks by,” he goes back to his narrator voice, “and you wonder where he’s been all your life. You start talking, you’re enamoured. You start thinking about introducing him to your parents, what your wedding’s gonna look like, what your kids are gonna look like!” 

Your face is becoming increasingly warped the more you listen to him speak, not being able to fathom where this was going. 

“But no!” It’s Mingyu that speaks this time, pushing a jolt out of you as he slams the backpack on the floor, pointing directly at you for added effect,  “You’re better than that!”

“What the fuck-” you start, but are shushed by a physical finger on your lips as Mingyu shushes you. Seokmin slaps his hand away. 

“Our point is, that you’re probably gonna come across someone who you think is your next boyfriend.” Your brother continues, “But lucky for you, you have two seasoned professionals here to tell you that it’s nothing but fresher’s fever.” 

“It’s a new place, new people, loads of new experiences; you’re bound to latch on one of the first couple pieces of meat. Our advice is don’t, because it will happen to you. But you also now know that your just in a deluded stage right now. Give it a semester before you start dating people, trust.” Mingyu finishes for Seokmin as he thumps down on the couch next to you. 

“So all of this was just another stay away from boys lecture?” You raise your eyebrows. 

“Yes and no. You can date whoever you want,” Seokmin answers coolly before quickly adding, “but not right now.”

It was laughable, the thought of latching onto another person when you’d been trying exactly that for years. To have anyone catch your eye, to have anyone sweep you away from this madness that came in the form of Kim Mingyu. Neither of these seasoned professionals had a thing to worry about though, because you weren’t latching on anything that came out of this institute. You had already done so, in a stage more impressionable than this, years and years before any of them knew of the dangers of young girls and new boys in their vicinity. 

“Okay, I know you’re like on a self inflicted party ban and all that…” Joshua starts the second he places himself at your table, still haggard looking from jogging across campus.

“Don’t even try.” You warn with filled cheeks.

“Girl, let him finish.” Nayeon chides next to you. 

You exhale through your nose heavily, going back to pick at your tray as Joshua continues.

“Cheol’s throwing a little party tonight to celebrate the end of midterms.” He starts, “You should come, it's only gonna be a handful of people.” 

“A handful?” You repeat, unable to bite back the amusement in your voice. 

“Come on, your brother’s going as well! You’ll be fine, I promise we’ll keep you in check.” 

“I don’t need to be kept in check, I’m fine.” You grumble.

“Perfect! Nothing stopping you then, I’ll pick you both up at 8.” The words are barely out of his mouth before he’s back to sprinting out the vicinity, garnering looks from oncoming traffic, off to his next pestering destination 

“I don’t think I’d explicitly agreed.” You voice. 

“He got what he wanted.” Nayeon snorts, “Whatever, we’ll get ready at my place after this.”

“Weren’t you guys worried about me? Now you’re actively dragging me to parties.” You drop your utensils onto the tray.

“Too much of either isn’t a good thing, you went from forgetting what home looks like to exclusively holing yourself up in there.” She stabs a piece of potato with a chopstick and tries to pry it in your mouth. “Besides, Cheol’s parties are always super intimate, they’re all gonna be people you know, don’t worry.”

‘Super intimate’, as Nayeon had put it, had amounted to at least fifty people as you take in the crowd at the floor of the house. Despite not being packed to the brim, it was still coming out to look like a full house, random items already scattered across the floors in true frat party fashion. 

“Do you want a beer?” Nayeon asks, dragging you to the kitchens by the hand as you crane your neck to spot people.

“Uh, no. Is there juice?” 

“Um, there’s a questionable looking fruit punch.” she wrinkles her nose at the blaring red bowl on the counter. 

You sigh, grabbing a cup, “I’ll risk it.”

Joshua was air the second he had walked in with you, whisked away to socialize with his own hoard of acquaintances, leaving both you and Nayeon to fend for yourselves. You’re yet to spot your brother, granted you’d only been here a mere five minutes, his rowdy demeanor making him quite easy to spot in usual circumstances. 

Taking a casual sip of the electric red liquid you’re forced to make a face as you register the flavour, alerting Nayeon, who was too busy fiddling through multiple crystal bottles. 

“What? Is it bad?” 

“What the fuck is that?” You sputter in astonishment, wondering how the bowl was already half empty. “Who’s drinking this stuff?” 

She grabs the cup from you before taking a gulp herself, emerging the same gagging mess you were, eyes watering at the taste. It seemed almost comical when Seokmin shows up behind her, waiting to greet only to find both of you doubled over. His eyes move over to the potion in Nayeon’s hand and passes a knowing look.

“He’s brought The Whole Shabang out of retirement.” He states like it was the obvious answer.

Nayeon spits first, “Are we supposed to know what that means?” 

“Cheol got drunk one time in freshman year and mixed every ounce of alcohol he owned into one big bowl of despair. We retired it last year when the bowl broke and stained his counters. But anyway, beginners are supposed to dilute it before downing it.”

“That’s great and everything but why is it so red?” You ask.

Another voice speaks from behind you, turning around to find Seungcheol himself. “There’s an entire thing of food colouring in there, gives it an edge don’t you think?”

“I’m scared of you.” You deadpan, a sour expression remaining on your face. 

Seunghceol is quick to suggest the backyard for some fresh air to distract from the flavour it’s left in your mouths, commenting on the nice weather. Neither him nor your brother stick around for too long though, dipping at the holler of their names somewhere inside. You’re comfortable though, despite being blocked off by a concrete railing, the stairs make a nice haven for the both of you to lie down and stare into the clearer than usual sky. Cheol was right, it was nice outside. 

“I can’t lay down like this, I need to get a drink.” Nayeon announces not even five minutes later. 

“Why didn’t you get one when we were there?” You groan, but she doesn’t respond as she hops back inside, throwing a promise to be quick in the air behind her. 

The wall supports you as you deflate into it, legs sprawled across the steps in disarray. Nobody could see you anyway, taking full advantage as you practically manspread. The side of the pool that’s in your vision is empty by grace; calm save for the giant flamingo floaty that bobs itself into view from the edge of the wall you lean against. A breathy laugh leaves you at the sight. 

The railing on your other side is mostly concealed, you can still make out the wicker sofa set, complete with an unlit fireplace. It’s unoccupied, for the time being, as you register a conversation floating closer and closer to your ears. Wondering if Nayeon had brought friends, you stand up quickly to look over the railing to check for her face over the sliding door that leads inside. 

There’s no Nayeon in sight. 

But there is Mingyu. 

His mere presence knocks your butt back onto the concrete the second you see him stumbling over the threshold with a hoard of his friends, nothing short of his picturesque party strut. There was little reason for you to hide from him at all, considering the very possible notion that he would look right past you if you happened across his line of sight. Space floating in, he’d ignore you for your sake or his own, perhaps even both. 

For now, he’s seated himself with a few other people on the wicker sofas, leaving you hugging your knees to your chest, head on the concrete wall with the lingering feeling akin to that of a trapped mouse. Closing your eyes, you blow out air in an attempt to relax yourself, take light of the situation you’ve found yourself in. You could get up and leave in this very moment, possibly go unnoticed if you stalked back inside before they began their rattle not meant for your ears. 

And yet, you find yourself unable to move, not even when you hear their topic shift to Mingyu’s new beau. Suddenly you wish you’d moved inside the moment you saw him. 

“Was it you that stopped Jia from coming to parties?” You hear somebody ask.

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Mingyu grumbles, he pauses and you assume he’s taking a swing of his drink. “We started going out and suddenly she didn’t wanna come, that’s fine though, it isn’t her vibe anyway.”

There’s a snigger that moves across everybody seated, you hear loud thwack before Mingyu speaks again, “What’s so fucking funny?” 

“This girl’s made you work for it, huh?” 

“Isn’t that like, his brand? Don’t look at me like that, you’re the one yapping about liking a challenge all the time.”

“Yeah, remember Minji?” 

“I still think she was only pretending to not like you, her clique was always smacking at her to straighten up when you’d come over like we couldn’t see everything.” You could almost hear the eye rolling.

“Change the subject, will you?” Mingyu proposes, sounding exhausted at the prodding already.

“I apologise for the ex talk and nothing else.” 

There’s a pause for another choke of laughter across the group, and you wonder what it was that they found so funny. 

“I don’t know if I should say this…” Somebody begins, but is cut off by Mingyu.

“Then don’t say it.” He snaps, but you don’t miss his own jest. 

“I honestly thought you were gonna date Seok’s sister at some point. I mean, common consensus is that bagging your best friend’s sister is… what you’d call a challenge.”

What the fuck. 

You feel your eyes drifting closed at the turn this conversation has taken, wishing to simply fall asleep at what it’s come to. Somebody speaks up. 

“Nah, that’s like, the grand slam prize, that one comes after he’s done hanging with the side quests.” 

The situation is making itself out to be something out of a fever dream. 

Mingyu tsks, and you note a jostle happening through the gaps of the railing. “I’m leaving.” 

You find yourself hugging yourself tighter, eyes shut like he wouldn’t be able to see if you couldn’t see him. Not that it was possible unless he peered directly through the railing in his peripheral. 

“OKAY! Okay! We’re kidding.” There’s a pause. “Okay, but really…”

Another pause, this time longer. You hate how you can picture the ghost of an exasperated smile on Mingyu’s face, a bite of his lip perhaps, dejected at the shoulder with his longing, distant look. You hate how your mind fills the gaps of him the railing won’t allow you to see. 

“Seok’s not the type to beat me up if I dated his sister. And besides…” He sighs, halting his words.

“Besides what?” Somebody chimes in.

“I’m not interested in going after someone who’s chased my tail for the past fifteen years.”

There’s a chorus of hisses and oh’s, a few bounts of laughter in their disbelief. You can feel your stomach twist, heat pooling your figure. 

It would’ve been better if his words had hit you like a gong, maybe the aftermath wouldn’t have felt as horrid. But the connotations crept up on you like a million spiders making their trek up to your brain, waiting to stick their crawlers in the bits that would allow those words to hold meaning for you. You can feel the electric red of Seungcheol’s god awful concoction begin to rise up in your throat like bile; burning, imprinting. 

Mingyu had said what he had said. And everything was in it’s place, in finality. 

Despite the nearly four year age gap, you and Seokmin had co-existed without the semblance of an older-younger duo. It was mostly owed to Seokmin's shy nature, and his difficulty making solid friends. That, however, didn’t last long as your brother progressed through middle school. 

You had met Mingyu for the first time when Seokmin brought his first ever friend from school home for dinner. 

Despite being barely nine years old and half spoon fed by your mother at the same table, the prospect of Seokmin’s new friend was equal to you having a new friend – which caused enough excitement as you brought your favourite cartoon books into your brother’s room to show this new person after dinner. 

As the following year progressed, you saw less and less of your brother, and more and more of newer faces of ‘friends’ that you weren’t allowed to play with. It was distressing enough to be told by your mother that something of your brother’s was not yours, but even more so when you were kicked out of the room by Seokmin himself for the very first time.

It wasn’t as trauamtising as it felt in the moment, because you grew to find your own group of friends, doing the same as you’d kick your brother out for being annoying – except unlike you, he was doing it on purpose. 

Mingyu was a recurring face, one that was nicer to you on the days your brother was meaner, more forgiving on the days your relatively new middle school was relentless. He fit himself in your life easier than you had realised, more comfortable than you soon found you were comfortable with.

“Did you take my guitar picks?” Your brother bursts into your room just as your about to fall into your after school nap, grip loosening on the book in hand. 

Jolting awake at the sound of loud voice, you don’t respond as you attempt to orient yourself. 

“Well? Did you?” He demands again.

“What? No, I don’t know where your stupid guitar pick is.” You grumble. “Get out.”

“It’s not in my room that has to mean you took it, where is it?” 

Mingyu emerges from behind him, hand on his arm as he tries to pull his iron grip off of your doorway. “It’s probably just in your bag, you haven’t even looked!” 

Kicking the covers off, you sit up in a disarray, progressively annoyed at your brother for ruining your perfect descent into dreamland. 

“I don’t have shit, you just suck at keeping tabs on your stuff!” You grit. 

There’s a stagnant pause as he stares at you from the doorway. You can sense it coming. And it does. 

“MOM! SHE JUST SWORE!” He yells into the hallway, bounding to where your mother was, leaving an unsure Mingyu in your doorway.

Surprisingly, you were just glad he was gone, wanting to melt back into the covers. You make eye contact with Mingyu. “I really don’t have it.” 

“It’s probably in there somewhere, he’s just not looking.” He mumbles, standing a little awkward. “Um, go back to whatever it was, I’ll close your door.”

He does so, allowing you to finally slump back into your pillows to go back to your nap.

You find out quickly that you couldn't sleep after that.

The controller is becoming increasingly uncomfortable to hold. It doesn’t help that you’re brother is chewing on his four additional pieces of gum behind you on the couch, making obnoxious comments about your gaming form. 

You’re also sitting a foot away from Kim Mingyu on the floor, with whom you’re forced to battle out on Mario Kart. 

“Why’re you clicking the buttons so hard, chill out.” You heat Seokmin say, continued by his wet chomping right by your ear. 

“How hard is it to chew with your mouth closed?” Mingyu grits.

“What? Like this?” Seokmin leans over to Mingyu, chewing even louder, mouth wrenched open and closed right into his ear. Mingyu makes a sound before falling to his side, covering his ears at the ghastly sound, pushing him back with his free hand to shut him up.

You barely crack a smile at the unfolding, watching them continue to wrestle half on the floor. It’s noisy when you set your controller down, chest heavy, unfolding your legs to walk into the hallway to your room. Unnoticed. 

You only reemerge to feed yourself, inspecting the fridge for possible leftovers. Settling on an apple, you’re closing the fridge when you see Mingyu walk in, seemingly taken aback to see you there. You freeze with your mouth still attached to the apple to take a bite. 

“Oh! Where’d you go when we were playing? Didn't notice you gone till I got him to spit that wad of gum out his mouth.”

“Uh, just tired. Took a nap.” 

He hums in response and you're just about to leave when he starts talking again. 

“Hey, did you move the popcorn somewhere else? Could’ve sworn it was in here last week,” he mumbles as he rummages through a cabinet. 

“Oh. Um. It’s in the pantry.” You move before you can think, grabbing the box and slamming it on the counter, pausing briefly before reaching for the popcorn bowl and setting it on the counter next to it. “Here.”

You don’t wait for a reply before grabbing your apple and moving out the kitchen, only to bump into your brother at the door. 

“Where’ve you been?” 

“Napping,” you say, moving around him to go your own way but are stopped yet again as he calls for you. 

“We’re gonna watch a movie! You can lie on the couch.” 

Turning around, you catch sight of your brother still in the doorway, and more intriguing, Mingyu also expecting an answer from inside the kitchen behind him. You gulp as you attempt to remain casual.

“Nah, I’m good. You guys have fun.” 

You’re nearly at your door when you hear your brother speak. “She didn’t even ask what we were watching.”

Nayeon catches up with you before you notice, pulling your headphones away from your ears to announce her presence, not slowing down as you walked to campus. 

“Are you still upset about that Mingyu thing?” She asks when noting your silent demeanor. “We talked about this, come on.”

“Yeah and we concluded that it’s not an easy thing for me to just get over.” You huffed.

“You know what he’s like…” 

“Which is why I should’ve seen this all coming.” You turn around the corner with her.

“That’s not what I meant either.”

“I don’t know what came over me that day. I was doing so well for so long and I had to go ruin it because I’m – I deluded myself into thinking I had a chance.” You’re breathing heavily when you find a table in the air conditioned common room, yanking your bag off and slumping into the sofa. “None of this would’ve happened if I just shut the fuck up.” 

“What wouldn’t have happened?” Seungcheol plops down next to Nayeon, butting into the conversation. 

“Aren’t you intrigued.” Nayeon muses. 

“Especially when it’s none of my business.” 

“Charming.” 

“Anywho,” he sighs, throwing himself back against the couch. “I’ve been tasked with rounding people up for an assignment.”

“Are you gonna experiment on us?” you ask, referring to his chemistry major. 

“Nah, this is for an elective. Faculty needs volunteers for a photography class.” 

“So they need models?” You ask.

“I mean, anyone who signs up is automatically a model, so yeah they need models.” 

“Are we getting paid?” 

“You get to say you modeled for me.” 

“How convincing.” Nayeon deadpans. 

You’re stifling a snicker as you see Joshua walking up to where you were sat, planting himself next to you. 

“What’re we talking about?” He asks, pulling his laptop out almost immediately.

“Nothing, just how Seungcheol needs a reality check,” you sigh. 

He barely acknowledges the comment, going straight to business typing away. “Hey, you're staying for the summer right?” 

“Ew,” Seungcheol voices. 

“I am,” You confirm. 

“For what?” He sputters. 

“Is this you offering to pay for a round trip?” 

He silences quickly after that, giving room for Joshua to ask his next question. 

“Are your parents coming for your brother’s grad?” 

“Mhm, only for the night, though.”

“Oh, did you hear back from the bookstore too?” he asks. 

“I’m gonna apply right before break, I’m swamped right now.” 

“Let me know when you do, the restaurant might need another hire, you could work there if you want.” 

You make a face. “Appreciate the sentiment but I don’t think I’m in the right state of mind to be working in customer service.” 

Joshua’s hands freeze over his keyboard as he breathes out a delayed laugh. Nayeon mimics him.

“Right state of mind?” Seungcheol’s eyebrows are furrowed. “Wait, what were you talking about before I sat down again-” 

He’s cut off by a voice bellowing your name from across the common room. All four of you perk up at the sound, locking in on Mika aggressively pointing her wrist at you from yards away. You sit up with a jerk, checking the time. You were nearly thirty minutes late for your lecture.

“Josh, move.” You basically climb over him to get out of your seat, waving a hasty goodbye as you sprint to an exasperated Mika. 

“I’ve been waiting outside the hall for ages, you said we’d go in together!” she chides as you both speedwalk. 

“Sorry, I lost track of time…” You huff out a breath. “I just started talking about…whatever.” 

“Why’d you have that face on in there?” she asks.

“Huh? Oh, I was-”

“Nevermind, I don’t wanna know.” She picks up the pace and reaches the door before you do, rendering it impossible for you to speak to her after that. 

You’ve forgotten about it by the time you come home to an empty house, both Mika and Nayeon in your arms. It doesn’t take long for them to make themselves comfortable on the couch, looking at you expectantly like children waiting to be fed. You do that, courtesy of the half eaten pizza that sits on the coffee table. 

“I think you need to get drunk,” Nayeon voices from her end of the couch. 

Mika is immediate with her response, “Don’t encourage her.” 

“Hey!” You pout, “I haven’t gotten drunk in a while.”

“Keep it that way,” she shudders, “don’t need another Mingyu fiasco.” 

Your chewing slows at the sound of his name, a strange feeling settling in your stomach at the thought of him. Setting down your half eaten slice, you brush off your fingers. 

“I mean…” Nayeon starts after a long pause. 

“We don’t. Need another Mingyu fiasco, I mean.” You cut in. 

“If only he’d learn to shut up.” Nayeon grumbles, a sour expression on her face. 

Mika’s been shifting looks between the both of you, seemingly confused. “Am I missing something?”  

Despite not having the intention, you find yourself telling her what you heard while enclosed in the staircase. You attempt to keep it concise, for the sake of your own sanity, but Nayeon’s grumbling is only pushing you deeper into a rant. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t let a couple frustrated tears make their way down your face. 

Mika’s response as brisk as your explanation was passionate, brushing over the topic quickly before you got too heated. You appreciated it. 

“Have you considered signing up for the photography thing?” Mika asks.

“You know, I was thinking about that too.” Nayeon pulls a finger up in signed patience to wait till she finished the remaining pizza in her mouth. “You should do it. It’ll put your mind off…him. You’ll be busier too.”

“I have a million things to do, I’m busy enough.” You retort. 

“You’re busy studying at home. Where he could drop in at any point of day.” She points. 

Your open your mouth to rebut again, only to close it as you fail to find a reason to deny her point. “Okay, still!” 

“Just – think about it, okay. It’ll put more on your plate but maybe it’ll help.”

That was the last of your Mingyu talk, not that you could carry on when your brother comes slumping into the house after his class, stealing a slice of pizza as he makes his way to his room. He’s slumped at the shoulders, and you egg him to take a nap before he collapsed on the living room floor. 

Both Nayeon and Mika are quick to leave after that, leaving you with leftover pizza and your thoughts.

You sprawl your things out on the coffee table, taking advantage of the silent house to get some work done. Nayeon was right, as you think of the prospect of Mingyu entering at any given moment to bother your brother as a constant threat. 

It’s not until your prepping dinner with Seokmin that the project is brought up again.

“There’s leftover Chow Mein Mingyu made yesterday, shove that in too.” He yawns as he pushes the box over. 

You can only stare at the box in mild agitation, contemplating if you should simply chuck it into the garbage chute. Unfortunately, by experience, you knew Mingyu made really good Chow Mein, so you begrudgingly slide the opened box into the microwave to heat up, deciding you’d push Seok to eat it before you have a chance to take a bite. 

It’s silent while you eat, Seokmin still in a daze from his earlier nap, shoving spoonfuls of noodles in between bites of pizza. It’s not until your halfway through eating before he jolts up slightly like he’d just remembered something.

“Did you hear about that volunteering thing from the photography department? They want models for some project.” 

“Oh, yeah.” You pause, thinking back to what Nayeon had proposed. “Are you gonna sign up?” 

“No, but you should.”

“I don’t know, I still have a lot of prep for finals.”

“You get extra credit if it helps,” he notes. 

That was news to you. There’s a frown on your face as you deny, “No, you don’t.” 

“They’re doing it ‘cause they weren’t getting the response they wanted. I found out just now too, they’re gonna put it up on the bulletin tomorrow. Might wanna decide before then.” 

There were no questions asked after the realization, blue light of the laptop casting your face aglow in the darkened room as you hit the big blue Confirm button on the website. Skimming through the subsequent email, you find you won’t be needed till next week, the date and time making it’s way to your calendar. 

Now, if you had known what the next week truly held for you, there was no doubt you’d be sending in a cancellation email at first chance. 

But you didn’t know. So you simply went to bed, falling asleep to the vague idea of searching for modeling tips on youtube during the coming weekend, entertaining the mild possibility that this might be the thing that puts you at peace at last. 

The photography classes are held in regular lecture rooms, as you find out as you file into the sparingly filled hall at the date your calendar has graciously alerted you for. There was an image of a larger, more spacious area for a discipline pertaining to the arts, yet to be fair, the idea of having to create this form of art within a four walled containment did seem a little counter productive. 

Nonetheless, you find yourself seated in a spare chair, waiting for the clock to hit nine on a Saturday morning for the shuffling professor at the front of the room to begin. Your eyes make passovers across the gradually filling room, searching for a semblance of Seuncheol’s bright blond hair to wave him over. There’s no sign of him five minutes before the minute hit twelve, and you’re thinking about slipping to the restroom before it can to kill the remaining time. 

There’s another person filing into the room as you rise from your chair, and you pause in attempt to recognize Cheol in the grey zip up.

Except you don’t find Seungcheol, not at all. 

Mingyu is walking into the classroom, gaze sweeping across the hall as he seats himself in the front bottom row, head thrown back as he sifts through his perfect hair with his fingers. 

You aren't sure why your brows furrowed like they did, or why you planted your butt back onto the chair with the force that you did; especially when all you wanted to do was book it out of the room in full velocity. 

He was taking this class. Of course you knew that, especially when it was all he would yap about at any point he graced your presence. 

You can feel your purpose in the room fade to nothing as you register him as a unit. You want to blame someone, but you know it’s all you fault. You knew he’d be here; if your mind had only thought fit to remind you at any point in the past week. 

In regular Mingyu fashion, if he’d seen you, he does nothing to show it as you find him unraveling a loose thread off of his jacket. You keep your eyes on him, remaining mortified at your blatant disregard to the information that Mingyu was also in this class. Come to think of it, it was probably Mingyu who told Seokmin about the added credit in the first place. You want to kick yourself for not questioning your brother’s apparent magical source of information. 

There’s nothing that can be done as you feel Seungcheol finally slip into the seat next to you just as the professor in the front of the room begins to speak. You’re not in the right headspace to make conversation, so you're grateful for the small acknowledgment as the professor begins to drone. 

“Each student has been given a theme to work with, they’re all different and given to the people whom I saw fit for the job. You’ll be receiving your packets with your theme today, so remember to pick them up from the front desk before you leave,” she begins. 

“As for your models,” she switches to the next slide over to reveal a spreadsheet full of names. “Their names will be right next to yours, the photography students.” 

The entire room lurches forward as a unit, eyes squinted and whispers exchanged as they search for their partners in the sea of names. Seungcheol is zooming in on the picture he took with his phone, eyes zooming over to find his name. 

“Hey, I found yours!” he announces, moving the phone over to you. 

He’s zoomed into your full name on the screen, and your moving the picture aside to see the name across from it. Except, you find you wish you hadn’t. 

—Kim, Mingyu. 

If you needed more confirmation that the universe was simply against you, you’d gotten the message as you prayed the letters would morph into something else before your very eyes. 

You seem to have been staring at the name for too long, because Seungcheol snatches his phone back from your grip to see for himself after you refused to answer his questions of what the name next to yours was. 

“Oh, it’s Mingyu! That’s easy, you're basically related.”

You wanted to slap him. 

Before you can stop him, he’s yelling the boy’s name across the room amidst the growing chatter, the biggest, stupidest grin on his face. “Mingyu! I found your model, she’s right here! 

You wanted to squeeze Seungcheol’s neck till his head popped off. 

Mingyu turns around at the call, registering his friend’s words despite the growing noise. He registers you and you watch as he turns his head back at the projection, like he was confirming it was true. 

Of course he’s as petrified as you are, if not more. But the embarrassment of his apparent disbelief made its hot way into your stomach and chest nonetheless, your breakfast threatening to make its way back up. 

By the time the professor’s done with her bit and the room has begun to file out, you’ve found yourself standing outside the lecture hall in uncomfortable movement, shifting your weight between both feet and fiddling with the straps of your bag. Every passing face sends a jolt though your stomach as you calculate how jarring it would be if you left right this second without seeing him. 

You're counting his steps inside your head, how he’d shuffle for his name on the packet he’s meant to receive, counting in any conversation he’d start with a friend or with the professor. A thought occurs to you, and you wonder if he was searching for you inside. You’re weighing between walking inside and leaving altogether when he makes the decision for you, walking out of the room, booklet in hand. 

There goes the toast blaring its way back up your esophagus. 

“Hey,” he says unceremoniously. 

You respond with an unreasonably meek “Hi.” 

“Seok didn’t tell me you signed up for this.” He points casually. 

Well, Seok doesn’t need to tell you everything. 

“Oh, I told him while he was like half asleep, pretty sure he thought he dreamt it.”

Mingyu snorts a little at that, a slight smile appearing on his face as he pictures a sleepy Seokmin. 

“I can imagine,” he says, before he’s brought back to the matter at hand by you. 

You clear your throat before you begin to talk, expression remaining neutral. “Do we need to get started right away?” 

“Oh.” He seems a little taken aback at your forwardness. Like he didn’t know why you didn’t want to make small talk with him. “Uh, I don’t even know what theme I have yet. I’ll read over the packet and plan a couple things out before you have to come in.”

“That’s great.” You hold on the straps of your tote. “Text me when you need me.”

With that, you had spun on your heel and stalked away, not leaving room for him to retort with anything at all. You don’t look back. 

Nayeon can do nothing but gape as she watches you hold back frustrated tears, picking apart the grass under you as you curse the heavens for your horrible fate. She’s absorbing the situation as you wallow, finding the words to say.

“Fuck, this is my fault,” she breathes out.

“No!” You gasp out, furiously wiping away the irritating tears. “It’s not. I just forgot, it’s my own fault. You were right for trying to get me to do it, it just…”

“You can’t ask to change partners?” she asks.

“I can’t!” You wail, “I’m supposed to not care, how is this me not caring?” 

It was ridiculous. Truly. You were sobbing like a child over this, screaming about wanting to not care. But you did care. Too much. Nayeon can do little but hold you as you sniffle into her lap, feeling sick to your stomach at your own childish behaviour. 

“Why am I crying about this, this is stupid.”

“You’re stressed, hon, that’s it. You’ve got a lot going on and this just multiplied it.” She’s running a soothing hand over your back. “Just let it out, you need it.”

You emerge from your hunched position to sit up straight, sniffling a little less as you calm down. “Should I withdraw from the project?” 

“I mean, if you really want to,” she says softly. 

“But?” You sense her apprehension.

“But, maybe you should give it a go.” 

You can only blink at her with wet lashes.

“Think of it this way. You need to… build resistance, keep yourself around him regardless. There’s bound to come a point where you start to feel…nothing.” 

“Are you trying to work exposure therapy on me?” 

“Maybe? If that’s what it means. If you take yourself out of the project, it shows that you care. You need to pretend to not care before you can stop feeling the real thing.” 

There’s a pause as you attempt to find reason in her words.

“Listen, I may be talking out of my ass, and if you do end up doing it, it’s gonna be hard – like a lot, but–”

“No. You’re making sense.” 

“I am?” She blinks, taken aback at the realisation that you may be listening to her. You nod quietly, “You’re right, I can’t keep running away.” 

“So, you’re gonna do it?” She confirms with wide eyes.

Once again, you find it within yourself to nod. 

Yeah. You were gonna do it.

Being in Mingyu’s presence and feeling nothing may be the goal, but you realise quickly it’s going to take you a while to restrain the trailing eyes that follow him wherever he goes. Nayeon had warned you, but you realise you may be slightly ill-prepared. 

The theme is light. Vague to you but he doesn’t seem too bothered by it. He isn’t looking at you as he talks, eyes darting between the laptop screen and the plethora of papers he’s scattered on the coffee table. “I don’t really have a colour preference for this one but a a deeper blue or a purple would fit pretty well with the sunlight on here.”

You can only nod along in mild understanding, most of your effort exerted on trying to keep your eyes on the screen where he’s pulling up a color wheel. “I probably have something.” 

“Do you still have that button up Seok bought you? The one with the stripes?”

You recall the deep blue shirt your brother had gotten you for your first in class presentation, picturing it hung still in your closet. “Uh, yeah I do. I’ll wear it.”

“Bring options, whatever fits the colours. No turtlenecks or crewnecks though…” Mingyu continues to talk, taking notes for you in the process. Your mind, however, is somewhere else.

You hate how your mind takes you to a murkier place, one where the thought of him retaining memory of your closet pieces unprovoked has your neck tingling and your cheeks lifting. Trying to snap out of it before he notices your dazed expression, you pretend to flip through the couple papers in front of you, noting nothing. 

“Other than that–” he’s cut off by his phone ringing on the table. Both your gazes dart to the caller ID, and you immediately wish you hadn’t as you register the pink heart on the end. Jia was calling. 

He barely spares you a glance as he excuses himself in a mumble, something about being back in a second. You watch him leave through the cafe altogether, emerging on the other end of the glass walls in your direct vision. For the nth time that day, you find it impossible to tear your eyes away from his positively elated face, teeth out on display as talks to his girlfriend. You wonder what they’re talking about, if her face is beaming like his own, wherever she is. 

You zone out as you wonder what it’d be like to be the receiving end of an expression like that. To have something within you to be worth his smile, his mumbled pardons and his uninterrupted space. There’s a part of you that wonders if its greed – you’ve gotten to see him nearly everyday for the past decade, perhaps you’ve run your tickets dry. 

You realise quickly that Mingyu is no longer in your line of sight as you feel a ruffle on the chair as he sits back on his seat. 

“I think we can wrap up here, let me take the first couple shots before I can see where to go with it afterwards.”

You sense his eager want to leave, and you cannot help but beat him to it for your own sake. 

“Alright. I’ll see you friday then.” SLiding out of your seat, you make a halfhearted attempt at shuffling his papers in a neater pile, throwing him a half smile before grabbing your bag.

He isn’t watching you leave, you know that. Yet you find yourself refusing to slow down or look back till you round the corner, letting your shoulders finally slump and your pace to come to a temporary halt. It takes you another beat before you begin walking again, breathing in slowly as you navigate your way through the moderately crowded sidewalk. Nearly ramming into a fire hydrant, you shake off the seize that remains in your body, picking up the pace hoping it’d promote less thoughts.

It works, as you unlock your front door, finally shaking off the autopilot. Shifting to the kitchen is easy, rummaging the cabinets for your hidden stash of moonpies with the intention to devour the family box whole. You’re contemplating texting Seokmin to bring you actual food as you make your way to your bedroom, wanting nothing more than to let your covers absorb all the feelings that make you human. 

You find it unfortunate as you catch sight of yourself in the full length mirror and the outfit you’d put together before you had left. Your mind goes back to pandemonium as you take in the details, wondering why on earth you’d put in so much effort for a conversation that lasted less than an hour. You tear your eyes away before you begin to truly hate yourself, ripping your jewelry off as you make a beeline to wash your face clean of the makeup you’d put on. 

It becomes increasingly difficult to look at yourself even in the bathroom mirror, moisturizer going on more aggressively than what’s good for you. You feel a sting in the back of your eyes and owe it to the face wash. 

It’s easier once you’re in bed, your laptop at the ready, and a text on its way as you bug your brother to bring you your favorite burger and milkshake combo. You put your immediate faith in your moonpies for now as you rip the first one open, letting the sweetness bring you a deluded happiness. 

“His name hurts.” Your voice comes out echoey, the sound reverberating in the cavern of your chest. The shot on the table is inviting, but you can’t help but feel nauseous at the thought of downing it. Your fizzled out sprite is being good to you, so you let it.

“Hearing you talk about him hurts,” Mika slurs, slumping down onto the beanbag she’s dragged onto the scene, joining you and Nayeon next to the couch. 

Letting out a loud sigh that you doubt she can hear over the bass booming across the house, you settle to rest your head back on the couch backrest, staring into the ceiling. “Imagine what it’s doing to me then.”

“I don’t need to.” You can hear the exasperation in her voice. 

“Oh, hey, Hao!” Nayeon drags next to you and you lift your head up to see Mika’s boyfriend join her on the already tiny beanbag. He huffs out a hey between a slight smile, slumping almost entirely on his girlfriend. She pats his hair in silent regard. 

“I read this research paper about how they can delete the memories out of your brain squiggles,” Nayeon pops in.

“Since when do you read academic material for interest?” Minghao mumbles, fingers busy playing with Mika’s hair.

The pair continue to bicker as your eyes trail across the moderately packed house, the party looking more lowbeat than any other Seungcheol extravaganzas. Not that you were complaining, but when you spot a certain someone, it’s hard not to. 

Mingyu files into the kitchen with your brother in tow, beaming face evident over the island as he pours himself what looks like orange juice. Your mood is instantly soured.

“What study was that again?” You poke at Nayeon, the image of the man you wished for gone burned into your forebrain. She glances over to the open kitchen and realises what you’re talking about, coming around with a face of her own.

“That one’s gonna be a hard one to scrub out. But it’s okay, even the toughest stains succumb to bleach that’s strong enough,” she sighs. You’re barely listening to her analogy, not when he’s standing right there rendering it impossible for you to look anywhere else. 

“You sound like a commercial.” You can almost hear the crinkle in Mika’s nose as she comments, and you can’t help but breathe out a laugh. 

The rest continue with their conversation as you remain quiet for most of the exchange, eyes filling your heart heavy with the way they remain glued to the figure far out into the kitchen. It was less about the fact that you just wanted to look at him and more of how it was forcing you to think about your predicament; something that was weighing you down yet something you couldn’t help. 

You can’t be entirely sure how long you managed to stare without getting caught, but when Mika calls your name out harsher than expected, you snap around to divert your attention. 

“Huh?”

“Sixth time’s the charm, huh? Get it together, he’s not gonna look at you,” she huffs as she slumps back onto the beanbag, alone this time as you note that Minghao is gone.

It takes you a moment to gather what she had said, mouth gaping open and close as you try to conspire a proper response. “I wasn’t trying–”

“No. Save it. It was my fault for thinking I could sit here without having to sit through more of your Mingyu bullshit.” She’s shuffling out of her bean bag with mediocre difficulty, exasperation on her face as she trudges away to sit with her boyfriend and his friends on the seats on the middle of the floor. 

The air seems to have knocked out of your chest as you find the capacity to process what just happened. Seemingly forgotten Nayeon was also here, you note the hand she places on your elbow as a sober attempt to get you to look at her. 

The rest of the night passes in a nauseous blur, none that you could really make sense of. You bid Nayeon goodbye as you assured her you’d go home with your brother, waving goodbye to blurred taxi lights as she leaves you alone in front of a dwindling house. 

The breath you let out is shaky as your feet remain planted on the concrete, the remnants of tonight passing over you as they came. Deciding you owed it to yourself, you let the tears well up in your eyes. As tired as you were of crying over what was essentially the same thing over and over again, you let yourself tire yourself out once more. 

The party was over, and you knew that because you were walking home alone, hoping Nayeon would forgive you for lying to her. But you couldn’t possibly explain the tear stains on your cheeks to your brother, not when he knew nothing. It was better that way; you refuse to be the person that potentially ruins a friendship that’s lasted longer than any other.  

You try to keep your sniffling to a minimum as you trudge slowly in the dark, not bothering to wipe your tears. Your stomping grows louder the more you grow frustrated with your thoughts, and it proves not too well for you. There’s a pair of headlights throwing light onto the oncoming street, illuminating you in the process. You want to kick yourself as the realisation settles in, praying the car would simply pass you. Considering the late hour and the fact that you were alone is hitting you at the worst time, wondering if you could pretend to make a call as you walked. 

It’s a black sedan that rolls up next to you, slower than what’s considered a normal speed on an empty street. It honks and you nearly halt, owing to the shake that passes through your knees. It honks again, and you can’t help but look to the side to find a window rolled down. 

Mingyu sits on the driver’s seat, leaning over to the empty passenger side to grab your attention. 

“The Uber’s free! So is the driver,” he yells out the window. “Hop in.”

“I’m alright. I kinda wanna walk.” You shift your weight between your feet, the distance adding an awkward feel. 

“Wasn’t asking. It’s the middle of the night, I’m not letting you walk alone.” As he speaks, another car passes from behind him, slowing down. You note the look the other driver is giving you through the window, and it’s enough to convince you to step into Mingyu’s car. 

“I think we’re way past the point of formalities, don’t know why you hesitated.” He chuckles as he motions for you to click on your seatbelt. You fumble with it for a moment, his own fingers coming to the rescue to latch it on. You retract your fingers before they can brush with his own any further. 

Settling into your seat, you choose to look forward as he picks up speed. “Uhm, just wanted to walk, it was nice outside.”

“Take someone with you next time, it’s nearly midnight,” he warns. 

There’s a twinge of annoyance that emerges in the back of your mind for some reason, despite knowing full well that he was right. You just didn’t want to hear it from him.

It’s silent for a bit as the radio plays an uncharacteristically upbeat tune, prompting you to wonder if it was just you who felt the atmosphere pressing in on your chest.

“Did you not bring your car today?” he asks out of the blue, eyes remaining on the road as you glance up at him. One look at his side profile and you’re turning your gaze away.

“No, it’s at the workshop. I came with Nayeon.” 

“Why didn’t you leave with her?”

“I…” You pause. “I told her I was gonna go with Seok.”

“Hm. That didn’t happen.”

“It’s like I said,” you mumble.

He hums again in response, dropping the subject.

“Listen, are you…are you okay?” he starts again and it has you looking back up at him. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You try to hide the bitterness in your tone but it proves difficult.

“I couldn’t help but overhear but I was sitting right there. Hao was talking to Mika about something she’d said to you, about…” He trails off. “I mean, you looked a little upset, I just wanted to ask if you were okay.”

You bit your tongue. Hard. 

He knew you were staring at him, he knew you weren’t over him. He knew you were still standing on the same square confinement from months ago. Never changed. 

“I’m fine,” you reply, snappier than you had intended. 

“Are you sure? I felt like I should’ve said something but Nayeon was right there so I thought…” He sounds unsure and when you see him look at you, with eyes filled with an emotion that makes you nearly gag, you almost lose it. You did not want him to pity you. Nor care for you; especially when it came from a place that nullifies your feelings. You didn’t want him to care for you for the sole reason that you were his best friend’s sister. 

“Mingyu, I think it’s best if you drop it.”

“Of course. But it might help if you wanna, you know, feel your feelings.” 

Fuck no, you weren’t crying in front of him. Not when you're sure he’s noticed the tear stains on your makeup.

“Mingyu, I said drop it. I don’t need your help, I don’t need to feel anything, I need you stop feeling like you’re obligated to care about me because you’re not.” The words come tumbling out before you can stop them, irritation laced in every snap and dent.

He says your name in an attempt to smooth you over. It only lands him in more trouble.

“No, listen, I get it. You’re uncomfortable about everything but you feel like you need to check up on me at the same time, and I’m here to tell you that you don’t have to worry about that. What happened, happened, and it’s my job to pick up the pieces because it’s my fault. You don’t need to meddle.” You’re breathing hard as you finish, finally settling back in your seat. 

He’s already pulling up to your building, heat still penetrating the silence. You unbuckle your seatbelt, mumbling a thanks for the ride. 

“Seok’s staying at Cheol’s tonight,” he calls out as you shuffle out the door. “Remember to lock the door.” 

You stand sheepishly holding the open door as you nod quietly. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the shoot.”

Middle school was harder than you thought. 

Not that you expected it to be easy, but you remained hopeful nonetheless. Fifth grade came plowing for you with an unexpected vigor, which you were feeling especially as you gripped your red marked paper with a vice grip. 

It was Mingyu who had found you on the kitchen island sniffling, waiting for your mother to come home and ask you for your dreaded test results. 

You drop your head in shame (even more so) when he asks you the inevitable question of “what’s wrong?” Your voice comes out as a mumble. “I failed my first test.” 

He blinks as he stops in front of the fridge, opening it to emerge with a carton of chocolate milk and two monsters. He slides the carton over to you as he takes a seat on the other chair. 

“Well, what did you get?” he asks as he pops his can open, ears studded black from the piercings he’d gotten done. 

You mumble out the number in incoherence that has him hunching down to hear you. 

“What?” 

“A fifteen!” you finally huff out in exasperation. 

“Hm. Better than me I think I got a two at some point. Don’t worry about it, it's not the end of the world.” He says. “D’you want me to turn that into a seventy five?” 

You look up confused. “How?”

“You’ll see. Get me your test. And a red marker.” 

On that day, Mingyu aided you in your first con, pulling lines to turn the one into a seven right before your eyes. 

“There. Now don’t let her look at it too hard or check your answers. And only give it to her if she asks for it.” 

He had left back to your brother’s room with the spare can of monster, leaving you to stash your test into your bag and move to seat yourself in a more natural position. You’d gotten away with it as your mother pats you on the back for your first attempt at a fifth grade paper, leaving you with a lesson to work harder, and a memory that stayed with you for years. 

The following day is met with a pit of guilt sitting in your stomach before you could even recall the events of last night. 

There’s little that you can do to prep as you’re supposed to change at the studio anyway, pushing the remnants of your makeup products into a pouch as a second thought. Your hair seemed fine, deciding you’d see to it if it needed changing when you got there. 

You push your departure as far as you could, finding more things to do and more chores to finish before you were due to leave. It takes you a final look at the time before you finally decide to trudge to the door with your things. You cross paths with Seokmin who’s only just coming home, looking worse for wear. He barely acknowledges you as he makes a beeline for his bedroom, disappearing. 

He’s probably fine. 

By the time you get to the studio Mingyu is already in the middle of setting up, immersed in the switches behind giant studio lights. It’s dark, save for the one studio light thats already on, casting a light on the white backdrop, a single stool sits at the front. Looking around, the place casts an eerie atmosphere, the unattended stations and dark back rooms casting a shiver down your spine despite the Afternoon light outside. Perhaps you were acclimated to the hustle and bustle in behind the scene videos of photoshoots, yet here it was just you and Mingyu. 

He doesn’t notice you come in right away, and you’re thankful for the opportunity to recast your words in your head, waiting to be uttered as soon as you say your hellos. 

“Oh, hey,” he says normally. 

“Hope I’m not too late.”

“No, you’re fine, I’m nearly done setting up,” he says, as he switches the second studio light on, doubling the glow in the room. 

“Oh, okay.” Your voice comes out as an uncharacteristic whisper. “Uh, listen, Mingyu, I just wanted to apologize about last night. You were only asking and I was being too harsh.”

He picks up his back from his bent position to look at you, hand coming to rub the back of his neck. “Oh, no, don’t say that, It’s me who should be apologising. I shouldn’t have pried when you said you didn’t wanna talk about it. I’m sorry, really.” 

You're opening your mouth to rebut, nails clashing onto each other as your fidgeting gets worse, but you decide to end it. “We’re both sorry, let’s just end this here.” 

Both of you have slightly uncomfortable smiles on your faces as Mingyu continues to fidget with his cables and equipment. It went smoother than you’d thought, silently thanking him for keeping it from getting awkward – more awkward than necessary anyway. 

“These ones are gonna be basic studies, establishing the usual studio lights in the beginning before we move to the more experimental shots.” He drags his own stool forward to sit directly across from you in front of the plain white backdrop. “Did you bring another black top?”

“I did, do you want me to change?”

“Not yet.” He positions the camera higher, looking like he’s ready. “Okay, relax your body. Shoulders back, chin down. Okay, now a smile, really small, barely there.” 

He snaps his first photo and you nearly knock yourself backwards on the stool, lights going off at the shot damn near blinding you. 

“You good?”

“I thought the flash was just gonna be your camera.” You frown, coming round. 

“Nah, you’ll get used to it. Okay, back in position.”

He takes a couple more pictures, urging you to make miniscule changes to your poses, whatever feels good. You find yourself loosening up, your posture aiding you instead of working against you. “Try putting your hands on the stool, yeah like that, lean forward. Chin up a little more.”

The directions continue from behind the camera as he continues to flash away, and you do your utmost to not let the lights disorient you too much. He lets you take a break when you make a comment about the pure thermal energy in the room, your face no doubt shiny and red from the lights. You’re done after you take a couple more pictures after an outfit change, rendering you free to leave within the hour. 

“I think you’re done,” he announces, stretching as he leaves his own stool. “I’ll send you deets for tomorrow, we’ll probably get a lot more done.”

“Oh, cool.” 

Gathering your stuff doesn’t take you as you go up to tell him you’re about to leave. You find him fiddling with cables, packing everything up before leaving himself. You make a split second decision, dropping your bag before announcing yourself. 

“Let me help.”

“Huh? Oh no, it’s fine. I just need to shove them in storage.” 

“That’s alright, I’ll help. What d’you want me to do?” 

“Uh, Maybe unplug all the ports, and um, turn the lights on too, I guess. It’s gonna get dark if you don’t.”

Cleaning up was easier when those god awful studio lights weren’t overheating the entire hall, collecting cables and putting equipment back into their places. It was over before you knew it. 

“Is your car back from the workshop?” Mingyu yells from inside one of the side rooms collecting his stuff. 

“Not yet, I’m getting it back on the 15th. Ordered a cab.” 

“You’re going home from here, right?” He emerges from the room, arms in the middle of slipping into his jacket. “I’ll drive you.”

“No, it’s fine I have to meet Nayeon at uni and–”

“Even better, I was going there too. Come on, I just need to kill the lights.” 

You’re out of saviours, evident as you slide into his car, yet again with no choice. It’s meant to be a short drive, considering the studio is barely ten minutes away from where you need to be, yet it feels like an impromptu road trip with the way the roads seem to stretch. 

It’s significantly less awkward than last night, perhaps owed to him not being as inclined to make conversation, unlike last night. 

By the time he’s pulling up, you already have your bag in hand, a thank you frozen on your tongue as you register who it is that’s standing outside the library. You groan internally as you see Nayeon waiting for you, immersed in something on her phone. Praying she stays occupied, you rush your, “thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow,” as you hope she doesn’t see you slip out of the familiar car. 

She does notice. Looking up at the sound of yout door opening, she catches clear sight of you stepping out of the car, Mingyu in the driver’s seat. You can tell she’s subdued her reaction, but the eyebrows gives her away as they shoot up at the sight. Trudging up to her is a nightmare and a half, dreading the questions she’s going to ask as you hear Mingyu rev away.

“Are my eyes deceiving me?” she breathes out, eyes wide, mouth open in jest. 

“Quit it, I have work to get done.” You choose to lead her straight into the library where you know she won’t be able to ask you any more probing questions.

That doesn’t seem to sedate her though as she continues to whisper a million questions, watching you pull your stuff out.

“I had a shoot with him today, he offered to drop me off and I couldn’t say no!”

“Oh my gosh!” she exclaims a little too loud, owing a couple nasty surrounding looks her way, including yours. She continues quieter, pulling your laptop away from you so you’d pay more attention to her. “How’d it go? Did you pose all sexy for him, did he look nervous?”

“I did not pose sexy, I posed normally, because I have a conscience,” you snap, yanking your laptop back from her grip. 

She’s smiling like an idiot, unaffected by your annoyance. “Is he gonna drop you off after every shoot? Oh my god! Don’t you dare get your car from the garage, give it to Seokmin, or, or, tell them to keep it!” 

“Nayeon, shush!” It’s your turn to whisper shout at her gradually increasing volume, pushing her to quit leaning over the desks. 

“Okay, okay.” She sobers up.

“I’m supposed to be getting over him, why are you so happy about this? Indifference, remember? It was you who brought it up.”

“Yes, but you can’t tell me it doesn’t look, I don’t know, like, you know!”

Once she’s a little less giddy, you finally tell her about last night – leaving out the bit where he droppped you home for the sake of the library and its inhabitants. 

“I mean, I know we aplogised and everything, but I felt a little less… on fire around him. Other than those stupid studio lights, those were turning the place into a sauna. But I could meet his eyes without hyperventilating,” you explain, eyes downcast as you speak. 

“I imagine his eyes were covered with that camera anyway, but progress, I guess,” Nayeon comments.

“Maybe I needed to get mad at him to feel better, I don’t know. But it feels like I’m making progress for the first time.” 

“I told you this would be good for you, give it a couple more weeks and it’ll be like Mingyu never happened.” 

It takes a conscious attempt to not scoff. Like Mingyu never happened to your heart. That’s a heart you can’t recognise. 

The first time Seokmin had brought girls over was a day you couldn’t forget, no matter how hard you tried. 

You were padding down to the kitchen, still bleary eyed and pyjama clad from your nap, making a beeline for the fridge to get a glass of water. Your trip is cut short, however, when you realised the living room was not as empty as you expected. It’s a crowd (to your eleven year old self, anyway) of people your brother’s age. You catch a couple familiar faces, friends of your brother who visited often, Mingyu is part of the lumps on the couch with them. 

What stumped you, however, were the girls that were seated in between, eyes equally trained on you as everyone else in the room. 

“Oh, who’s this Seok?” one of the girls asked. 

“My little sister. D’you wanna say hi?” he asked you, neck craned to look at you. 

“Uh. Hi,” you whisper, gulping. 

There’s a chorus of hi’s that came bounding at you. You could feel the embarrassment creep up your entire body, feeling conscious for the first time in your life. They were staring at you. They were smiling, but you hated it. 

You weren’t thinking as you turned around to sprint back upstairs, not missing the tinkle of laughs coming from the living room. 

“Oh, she’s cute,” you had heard. That had you nearly starting to cry. 

You’d be lying if you said your little crush on Mingyu hadn’t started blossoming for a while at that point. Being younger meant you were constantly fighting to be seen, even more so when you’d do anything for Mingyu to look at you. Hogging your brother’s bean bag until you were kicked out, putting sparkly clips in your hair before you went to the kitchen, laughing especially loud when you knew he could hear.

And yet, despite everything, for the very first time, you hated that Mingyu was looking at you, watching you idle and awkward while he sat next to a bunch of prettier, older girls. 

That night was of many firsts, including the first time you had ever cried over Mingyu.

Mingyu claimed this was the last shoot, that he’d be done after this final set of shots. 

You’re having a hard time though, because he’s decided his studio for the day was gonna be at the top of a mountain at the asscrack of dawn. 

“We have fifteen minutes,” he announces. 

“To live?” You heave, crouching on the gravel to give your body a break. 

“Till sunrise,” he interjects, reversing to get to your crouched figure. You feel him grab hold of the straps of your bag, swinging it over his own shoulder. “Come on, just a little more.”

“You’ve been saying that for an hour.” You groan, picking yourself up off the path to resume your trudging. Mingyu stays next to you this time. 

“Did you pack your entire house in here, the fuck is this so heavy for,” he grunts. 

“You're the one asking for a bajillion outfit changes, I’m just doing what you asked.” 

“One change of clothes and a compact doesn’t weigh this much, are you disposing a body up here?” 

“Might be yours if I don't see that damn railing in a minute.” 

“I think you're hungry,” he huffs out. 

“I think I need to never agree to do this again.” 

“Salavation!” he yelps as he sees a vending machine in the distance, quite literally glowing (with its fluorescent lights). 

“I don’t need a water bottle, Mingyu, I need to lie down.” Your voice grows more gruff by the minute, legs nearly giving away. 

“No, the vending machine means…” He bounds up the last couple leaps to the glowing box with a burst of motivation. The slope turns flat at the horizon. “We’re here.” 

Nearly falling to your knees at the sight of the long awaited arrival point, you drop to a nearby bench and lay flat on the stiff wood. 

“How long till I need to look presentable? Because if it’s anything under thirty minutes, I’m tapping out.” You declare. 

“I can give you five minutes, take it or leave it.” He barely sits down as he speaks while already unzipping his camera bag. The thought of lifting your arms is excruciating, so you rest your tongue and bite back a whine. 

By the time you do find it within yourself to swing your legs back over the bench, the sky is shifting to a smoky navy, urging you to hurry up as you dry your sweat. You’re cringing as you press powder on your unclean face, but power through the final touches as you stretch while standing up straight.  

The first rays of sunlight are just coming through as Mingyu calibrates his lenses, trying to figure out the best shots in the limited time frame you have. You listen to him as he directs you where he wants you, contorting your face into something akin to faux serene. It’s near impossible when the frown has molded itself into your face after what you’ve put your body through today. 

“Think happy thoughts.” Mingyu calls out from behind his camera. 

“Oh, I’m thinking real happy thoughts. Like the ice cold shower I’m about to take when I get home. My clean bed that’s gonna be nice to me when I lay in it. The leftover pasta in the fridge. My moonpies.”

He has to bring his face away from the camera to throw his head back in a breathy laugh, smile as wide as it could go. It does things to you, but you ignore it. 

The summit isn’t entirely empty, noting a few people leaning against the railings, rendering it mostly quiet. All the more jarring becomes Mingyu’s phone as it blares into the silence, causing the both of you to jump at the sudden sound. 

He checks the caller ID only to silence it and slip it back into his pocket. 

You don’t get to ask who it was calling him so early in the morning, but get your answer when he immediately announces he’s done with his shots. The sun is higher up at this point, casting a more even orange glow across all the eye could see. 

You suppose he’s in a hurry to get home, seeing as he has someone waiting on him. “Should we leave then?” 

He swings the camera strap around his neck, forearms on the railing as he admires the view. “Give it a couple more minutes, I need to mentally prepare myself for the next hour.” 

It’s hard for you to deny that, so you let yourself place your head into your crossed arms over the railing, staring into the glow. It’s silent for a while as the rays hit your face, warming you more than you’d like. You don’t make any effort to move though, deciding to appreciate the view while it was here, doubting you’d ever make the trek up here again. Not willingly, at least. 

There’s a camera shutter that goes off next to you and you find Mingyu fidgeting with his camera as he tries to begin packing it up. You would help, but you’ve found yourself refraining from touching anything when it comes to his actual camera setup, opting to watch as he disassembles his lenses and pushes buttons to power off. 

By the time you're trudging down the path you’d come up from, it’s bright and sunny, rendering it warmer than before. Going down, however, is proving easier as you appreciate the reduced strain in your calves, letting the recent conversation take you to a smoother route. 

“When d’you think your gonna be done editing?” You ask at some point, the thought occurring to you that you’d only seen a couple pictures that he’d taken so far, oweing to his disapproval showing you all the raws before editing. 

“Kinda have to get them edited and annotated by the due date, so probably by the end of the month.” 

“D’you think I could get the ones you edit?” 

“Why? D’you wanna kickstart a portfolio?” he muses.

“I think it’s normal to ask for my pictures you took of me,” you grunt.

He laughs it off. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll send them over.” 

Mingyu doesn’t drop you off home this time, both of you slipping into your own cars at the base of the hiking trail, bidding your goodbyes. You’d gotten an earful from Nayeon for getting your car back from the garage so quickly, and while sitting in a car with him wasn’t so bad anymore, you choose to retain that distance regardless. This was work, You’re doing this because you have to, and the stupid extra credit that roped you into this in the first place.

Alas, as you start your engine, eyes cast towards Mingyu’s number plate right up front, you can’t help but feel…sad… remembering this was your last shoot. As emotionally vexing the experience was, you had grown to look forward to his discreet location pins and outfit plans, growing more comfortable with him by the meeting. 

It almost felt like you and Mingyu were friends. 

Your brother’s graduation was an ordeal to say the least. Your parents flying in was a plus, getting to see them at least once for the summer, even if it was just for the day. 

The night is wrapped up fairly quickly, a big dinner with yours and Mingyu’s family to congratulate the freed graduates from their academic shackles. It dials back when Mingyu announces he’s gonna take a summer course for now to keep himself busy, wanting to wait a little before job hunting. Seokmin seems to express the same, wanting some time off for himself before entering the corporate world.

It’s when you get home and your brother is sending you all the pictures of today that you note one that stands out. It was of you and Mingyu, an inevitable one as your parents took turns to make sure everybody got solo shots with everyone.

You’d applaud the enthusiasm, but it was particularly unfortunate for you when the camera was thrust into your hands as Mingyu and Jia posed for nearly fifty pictures. You wouldn’t mind usually, but it just felt like a little too much in the moment.

Despite everything, you find yourself clicking on the Save button on the picture where you’re smiling a little too wide right next to him, for the sake of yourself.

Summer break rolls around with no more hiccups, if you’d count finals as anything other than strenuous. You were happy, with a new job to keep you company for the next three months as you lament not being able to go home. 

Getting the job at the bookstore was easy, your shifts were reasonable and it didn’t pay half bad. You would’ve guessed they were desperate for a hire, but you appreciate the activity regardless. It’s not really hard work, you find out quickly. Manning the desk, shelving deposits and restocking supplies. Monotonous tasks yet ones that you find yourself slipping into quite easily.

After the last shoot at the mountain, it was basically radio silence from Mingyu. Not being able to catch him the rare chance he stopped by the house, both of you swamped with the end of semester throw up. You doubt he’d noticed, and you despair at the fact that you did, even if it was just a little. 

“Oh, great, you’re here!” The owner greets you as you walk into the store, all smiles. She was a sweet lady, nicer than any other boss you’d ever had. “Was just waiting for you so I could leave, my daughter has a play she’s putting on today!” 

“Oh, sorry to keep you!” You rush to set your bag down as she picks up her own things, coming around from the table to take her leave. “Hope the recital goes well, tell her I said good luck.”

“Will do.” She smiles before adding, “Oh and, somebody called an hour ago asking about our book bundles, he said he’d come in to check but he hasn’t yet. Thought I’d let you know in case he asks about the phone call.”

“Got it,” you confirm, waving as she walks out the door, “I’ll see you tomorrow!” 

Breathing out a sigh, you find yourself relatively free this afternoon, a slow weekday as you pick your current read out of your bag to get comfortable for the long shift. You’re nearly through the halfway point when you hear the first jingle of the day, the bells attached to the door making their familiar chime

“Good afternoon!” You look up to greet the customer, dog earring your book before standing up from your seat.

The person who’d walked in wasn’t just any customer, you soon realise as you recognise the familiar shag of hair. Mingyu was here. 

“Oh.” You can’t help but let it out when you register him, his own eyebrows shooting up at the sight of you behind the counter. Your next greeting comes out a little dumbly. “Hi.”

“Hey. What’re you doing here?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed as he takes you in. 

“Um,” you glance at your obvious name tag. “I work here.” 

“Oh, right, Seok mentioned you started working at a bookstore.” He throws his head back at the memory. “Hey, was it you over the phone earlier today? Didn’t sound like it.”

“Oh no, that was my boss, my shift started like an hour ago.” You confirm. 

“Ah, I see.” 

The silence is awkward for about five seconds before you jump into action. “You asked about a bundle over the phone?” 

“Right, um,” he pauses to fish his phone out his pocket, scrolling for something. “It’s Jia’s birthday coming up, and there’s this book series she’s been wanting. Here.”

You need to remind yourself to pat yourself on the back for not shaking as you received his phone, mind remaining in the moment. “Oh yeah, we have those. Let me grab ‘em for you.” 

He follows you through the columns of shelves as you navigate to find what he was looking for, stopping in front of the shelves. “There’s three of these, I can put them in a sleeve for you. Probably put a bow on it too if you want.” 

“Okay, perfect. Do you guys have LP’s too?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah. Hold on, let me put these up front.” 

You lead him to the back of the store. “The selection’s pretty small, the first shipment only came in like a month ago. I’m not sure if you’ll find what you want here.” 

“She’s been talking about getting more LP’s after she got a new record player. Hasn’t mentioned anything she wants though,” he voices, thumbing through the selection. 

“What does she listen to normally?” You ask before quickly adding, “So I can, maybe, help pick something she’d like.”

“Uh, older stuff? I should’ve snooped before coming, fuck.” He mumbles, thinking hard. “She barely plays it when I’m around but most of her LP’s are like Frank Sinatra and…Duran Duran was it?”  

“Hm…” You hum as you flick through the dated section of the stockpile, “How’s this?’

He’s taking a look at the record you’ve handed him, scanning the tracklists on the back. “I’ll get this, I guess. I can always bring her around to get more that she likes.” 

“D’you want a bow on this?” You ask, referring to the books you’re putting into the set sleeve, “You can pick your colour.”

He’s quick to pick the lilac ribbon, watching you as you tape it prettily on the box. You’re trying to curl the ribbon at the ends when he tries to make conversation. 

“When does your shift end?” 

If the man wasn’t quite literally buying a birthday present for his girlfriend (or if you had any memory of your own birthday), you’d think he was trying to hit on you. But he’s not. You know that. 

“Ten-ish. Closing’s on me so I could technically leave an hour early and no one would know.” You snort.

“Everyday?” he asks incredulously. 

“Minus weekends, the family takes care of that. They just need someone for afternoons and evenings on the weekdays. It’s not like I’m taking summer classes or anything, and it’s easy work.” 

“Well, you’ll be pleased to find out you’ll most likely be available on the 27th of August, then.” He sing songs as he fishes his phone out to pay, a cheeky air in his expression.

You blink at him in confusion, waiting for him to explain. “Was I supposed to get that?”

He pushes his shoulders back, content expression on his face as he continues. “There’s a cultural art exhibition in two months, and I, have just found out I’ve been shortlisted for a spot.” 

“A spot? Like to display your photos?!” You drop the card machine with a thud.

“Your photos. Prof liked the project so much she submitted some of ‘em as entries. It was super short notice, but they liked them, I guess.” His grin is wide, one that you find impossible to not reciprocate. “I just need you to sign a consent form and I’ll be all set to start prepping.” 

“That’s insane, Mingyu, congratulations!” You exclaim, genuinely excited. “Are you gonna be using the same pictures?”

“Yup, I just need to fix the editing with my prof before they go up. You’re the first to find out, I just got out of the meeting.” 

There’s a mix of hesitation before you utter your next proposal, a split second of bewilderment at what you were about to suggest. “Come over tonight, we can celebrate with Seok. Bring Jia along too, we can celebrate an early birthday.” 

“I’ll see, she might be taking a bus home tonight for the weekend, might have to bother you by myself.”

The ache in your cheeks didn’t stop until well after Mingyu had left with his cargo, the elated feeling remaining for even longer after the fact. There was a point where it took you convincing to rid yourself of another intrusive, uneasy feeling, like you were taking a step back by being happy at his announcement. 

It was, however, safe to call Mingyu a friend. Safe to be happy for him. Safe to have your heart swell at his achievement, having watched him work hard for it.

It was safe to feel.

This was horrible. 

Truly. 

You were trying to ignore it, the strange thumping noises coming from under your car, like it would go away if you pretended to not hear. There was a sliver of hope for you, barely five minutes away from home that you’d make it before your tire decided it had enough of trying to grab your attention. 

But then it started screeching, and you had to stop before you caused a road fire.

“Tire? Didn’t you get them changed like last month?” Seokmin asks over the phone.

“Didn’t know new tires were immune to industrial blades, too. Are you gonna tell me I got ripped off?” 

“Mingyu has a scissor jack, I’ll tell him to come to you.”

“Wait! You have a scissor jack, too! Why can’t you come?” You sputter at the sound, glancing at the 21:42 on the dial. 

“He has my scissor jack, he’ll change it for you.” He grits back. “Besides, I’m not letting this face pack go to waste I just put it on.” 

“Seok!” 

“Stay in the car, lock the doors till he gets there.” He grounds.

“Seokmin!” 

Beep. 

The bastard hung up. 

“Ugh!” you break from a tightened jaw, slamming the car door shut with passion as you huff into your seat, waiting for Mingyu. 

Was Mingyu busy at 10:30 PM on a weekday? He was, actually.

He’d scrambled to finish up the last of his meeting with his professor, wrapped up in planning for the exhibition despite the two month time frame he’d been given. Exhibitions were a lot of paperwork, as he was finding out as he sweet talks Jia over the phone, promising to be with her within the next five minutes. Well, ten maybe, he has to grab butter from the store.

She sits on the kitchen counter as Mingyu makes her favourite. A strenuous task, but he’s willing to go through the double frying to make up for the time he’s lost. It’s not until he’s doing the post dinner dishes while Jia’s picking a movie in the living room that he’s met with another dilemma to handle. 

He’s deflating as he stands, phone to ear as he listens to Seokmin about your situation. Glancing at the near 10:30 PM hand on the clock, he finds it difficult to refuse, especially when he’s told you’re alone and stranded on a highway. He thinks to Jia in the living room as he tells Seokmin he’s leaving the house to get to you.

He’d only be gone for barely 20 minutes. He’s changed plenty of tires, this should be quick and easy. 

Slipping into the living room is easy, wrapping his arms around Jia from behind is even easier. It’s when he has to open his mouth that he begins to falter. Twenty minutes, he reminds himself.

“I have two I’ve heard are really good, you can pick which one we watch first,” she voices as she fluffs the pillows on the couch, ready to tuck in for the rest of the night. 

“Babe?” 

She spins around in his arms, coming up to fluff his flat hair too. “Hm?” 

“Seok just called…”

Her face falls as he talks despite his best attempts to assure her he won’t be long. 

“Twenty minutes?” she parrots, wanting his word. 

“Fifteen.” 

Whether Mingyu would keep his word is something he’d find out, but you had kept your word to Seokmin, staying in the car, doors locked till you saw Mingyu’s car pull up behind you in the rearview. The wretched scissor jack that’s caused all of this sits in his own boot as he yanks it out to bring it over to your car, where you stand arms crossed, face dejected. 

“Were you waiting long?” He asks as he immediately crouches to fit the jack where he wants it. 

“No, not really,” you reply. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here, if only Seok remembered to take the stupid scissor jack–”

“No, no, it’s okay. I wasn’t doing anything.” Lies. But you already sounded apologetic and he didn’t wanna hear you apologize any further.  

“No, it’s not okay. The idiot’s relaxing with a stupid face mask on while you have to come out here and change a fucking tire, God, you have class tomorrow too, don’t you?” 

“Not until the afternoon, I’m in the clear.” He springs up from his crouched position, pulling the jack with him. “Open the boot.” 

Placing the scissor jack in your boot, he continues, a little breathless. “There, I’ll tell Seokmin I left it in your car. Or, you could do that.” 

“Thanks, Mingyu. Really.” 

He does nothing but flash a smile, doing his best to convince you you weren’t an inconvenience before having to see your apologetic face again. “Alright, I wanna see you drive off before I leave, go on.” 

By the time Mingyu’s slamming the door of the house shut, it’s eighteen minutes on the dot. Jia doesn’t say much, excited to have him back in her arms. 

“Wait!” he suddenly yelps, once he’s tucked in with her. 

“What now?” she groans. 

Mingyu’s bounding back to his bedroom, emerging a few moments later with a dark paper bag. He goes back to sit next to her on the couch, sliding the bag and its contents towards her.

“Here. We’re not gonna be together for your birthday, might as well give you your present the night before you leave.” His eyes are glinting, hopeful.

Jia expresses her thank you’s commenting on the ribbon and his LP choice, grinning widely.

Your name comes tumbling out of Mingyu’s mouth before he can stop himself. “She helped me pick it out!” 

“You…took her with you?” She asks after a moment.

“She worked at the store! I didn’t know till I went there either.” Mingyu’s voice grows increasingly enthusiastic, seemingly unaware that his girlfriend was growing slightly irritated. “I’ll take you there when you get back, the selection’s small but she’ll probably help you pick out something you’d like. I only had to give her like two names before she figured it out.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” she comments, tight smile on her lips as she collects the book sleeve and the LP, placing them back into the bag and leaving them on the floor next to her.

Mingyu is blissfully unaware of the fuel he’s added to growing embers, munching away on his popcorn, eyes trained on the TV and its stimulating colours. 

“I was talking to Jihyo the other day, super random but it came up while we were talking about you,” Jia starts experimentally. 

“Huh?” He has her attention. And when she mentions your name, the part of him that’s always wondered when she’d bring it up comes out of dormancy. 

“She said she…I don’t know, she said she liked you at some point, Like a lot, and for a while.” Jia sounds unsure, like she didn’t know if it was a good idea to bring you up. 

Mingyu sighs as he rears himself for the inevitable conversation. “It’s—well, it was—just puppy love. I was around all the time and I guess she latched, I don’t know.”

Jia pauses, eyes remanging trained on the movie. “Does it make you uncomfy? That she liked you? Maybe she still does.” 

“It doesn’t matter, does it? I’m around Seok which means I’m sometimes around her by default. Can’t help it. I mean, the photography thing kinda just happened but, I don’t really care. And she seems over it.” 

Mingyu is rambling. He can feel it. Which is why he tries to end the conversation right there, tone nonchalant as he hopes the topic breezes past. 

It doesn’t. 

“You seemed pretty adamant in leaving, though.”

“Huh?”

“When she called just now.”

“Seok called, I had his scissor jack!”

“Why couldn’t he have grabbed it for you and helped his sister himself? He has a car too.”  Jia’s paused the movie at this point, moving away from his arm she was leaning on, shifting to look at him fully. 

“It would’ve taken him forever, she was alone in the middle of a highway at nearly eleven, you wanted me to leave her there?” Mingyu finds the conversation ridiculous, and it shows in the irritation that rises in his own voice. 

“Mingyu, you can’t be upset with me right now,” she breathes out exasperated. 

“I’m not? I get that you’re upset, I haven’t been around as much but you also know what this exhibition means to me. I need to put everything I have into this and it’s only for a couple months–”

“Mingyu, it’s not just the exhibition!” 

“Jia, I can’t know if you don’t tell me what’s really bothering you, talk to me.” Mingyu’s begging at this point, wondering how it’s come to this in the first place. 

“You can’t expect me to be okay with you going around wherever, whenever, when I know what kind of lifestyle you’ve come out of not even six months ago!” 

Mingyu had come a long way from his galvanizing tendencies, doing absolutely everything he could to convince Jia he was serious about her. Unfortunately, this was not the first time his past had been brought up; in an argument or in a light hearted setting, and he wasn’t particularly fond of it. 

“Are we in six months ago? Are you saying I’ve done nothing substantial for you to think I’m still fucking around? Either give me an instance or figure out what the real issue is!” 

There’s a plaster of suffocation in the room, neither soul speaking a word. Until Jia finally speaks. “I wanna go home.”

It didn’t matter to Mingyu if she was expecting him to grovel, to ask her to stay and talk about this further. It was clear she wasn’t about to talk about anything pertinent at all, and definitely not tonight. He was tired, and frankly wanted to be alone right now.

“Fine.” 

Silence penetrates all of his air for the entire car ride up until he’s entering his apartment for the third time that day. Not bothering to clean up the living room, he thinks he does himself a service so as to not be reminded of the past couple hours. He’s casting the place in complete darkness before moving to his room. Might as well get some work done. 

There’s a conscious effort to not start slamming things, he succeeds mostly, his graphic tablet receiving the short end of the stick. Turning on his monitor, he’s met with his ongoing project still brought up on the screen.

It’s a picture of you. One he took in a greenhouse off the outskirts of the city, something you complained about extensively as the heat ruined both your mood and your hair. You were smiling regardless; a wide, happy smile as you looked into the camera, petunia’s and dahlia’s framing an illusion around your figure.

Mingyu feels the tension in his muscles begin to relax, his breathing evening out after what felt like hours. He becomes almost excited to pick up his stylus and work on the photo, the set up allowing him to dive right in. There was barely any work left, moving on as he finishes the photo and saves it. 

It isn’t until he happens to click on the the last folder, the one where you both caught the sunrise after a strenuous hike. He can’t help but break into a hint of a smile at the memory of your broken figure at the pathway, cursing him for bringing you here so early in the morning. The pictures had come out good, especially when Mingyu opens a particular photo at the bottom of the folder, an extra from his initial round of editing for his actual project. 

It’s of you (of course) with your chin tucked into your arms as you gaze at the scene from up above, beyond the railing. The sun is up higher at that point, but the cast remains as the top half of your face that wasn’t tucked in your arms is lit in an orange glow, eyes glistening like stars during the day, wide and beautiful. 

Mingyu remembers the shot. It was an accident.

In an attempt to fiddle with the settings to turn off the camera, he ended up snapping a picture instead. The distinct click was noticed, never bothering to check what came out of it when he stuffed his camera back into his bag, nor when he sifted through his SD card. 

It was like he was seeing the picture in a new light, and the potential it had to become something worth ogling at. He wonders what had come over him when he had placed the photo as a secondary option without another thought, lamenting at what could’ve been his actual final piece. 

He stares and stares, attempting to draw maps of color rendering in his mind, yet all that comes up is his eyes zeroing in on your own. How they glisten. How they sparkle.

Part 2

#mingyu #mingyu fluff #mingyu smut #mingyu fic #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #mingyu angst #seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #seventeen angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fic #seventeen imagines #svt #svt fluff #svt angst #svt smut

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, childhood bestfriends to lovers, tlou'verse, jackson era, mild hurt/comfort

word count: 4.9k

summary: When your boyfriend is desperate to win back what he lost, he bets on you this time without your knowledge. And everyone knows you don't go back on your word when it comes to Joel Miller.

warnings: okay so technically not cheating because your boyfriend literally gambled you buuut if that's not your thing I totally get it, piv, dirty talk, choking, spitting, size kink, soft!joel & feral!joel, he likes hearing how big he is, affectionate whore calling™, a hint of analplay, oral (receiving and giving)

a/n: another joel fic inspired by p.orn, we love to see it

a special thank you to @nothoughtsjustmeds for the beta! 💕

Joel was never that into gambling. 

Back before everything had gone to shit, that had always been more Tommy’s forte than his own. Joel doesn’t remember the amount of times he’d had to bail his brother out, either by protecting him while putting himself in the middle or by giving him loans he’d never ever see again. Joel hadn’t minded. Tommy was his baby brother after all. As long as he was safe Joel was happy—annoyed, for sure, but happy. 

He was surprised when he learned that Jackson had a pretty heavy gambling scene and that Tommy wasn’t a part of it. He didn’t know why that was, because even on the nights where he had to go bail him out and bring him home all bloodied and bruised, Tommy just made the same mistakes. Not even Sarah’s worried expression, while she peered from between the wooden stair railing, deterred him from it. 

Guess it was different when your own kid was on the way. 

However, despite his lack of interest in gambling, he found himself betting away what little he had for someone else—someone he thought he would never see again. But honestly, he wasn’t half bad at it so he didn’t mind it that much. His only complaint was when he had to get messy hunting down those who didn’t pay up. 

One by one the men around the table folded, only leaving Joel and Liam. A huge stack of weaponry lies in the middle of the table, Liam’s eyes constantly flit between the stack and Joel. They stare at each other long and hard. Joel knows that he’s going to win. He usually did with these face-offs. 

Liam folds. 

A small smile tugs at the corner of Joel’s lips. There’s nothing better than to take what someone he absolutely detests wants. 

“Let’s go again,” Liam grunts, his forehead shining with sweat. 

Joel raises an eyebrow, “You don’t have anythin’ else to bet on.” 

“Come on now, Miller,” Liam leans back into his chair. “There must be something that you want.” 

Joel’s eyes bore into his long enough for the man to grow uncomfortable and nervous. Only then did he speak. 

“You still have that pretty girlfriend?” 

Someone Joel didn’t bother learning the name of pipes up from his right, “I thought we were only betting huntin’ supplies this time.” 

“Come on, let the man try to win his rifle back.” Joel grins. 

“Fuck you, Miller.” 

“Careful now,” he slowly places his elbows on the old table, his weight on it enough to let out a threatening creak. He cocks his head to the side, his smile small but still there. “My kindness wears thin.” 

Liam’s an addict. And of course, he says yes. 

“You fucking gambled me away?!” your voice is shaking, body trembling all over as you pace back and forth in front of the couch Liam was nestled on top of. At least he has the decency to look guilty. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Liam? I’m your girlfriend, not some kind of deer hide you can put on the table.” 

“Look I said I was sorry alright?” He stands up fast enough to make you flinch. He holds you by the shoulders, thumbs moving in a soothing manner. “Won’t happen again, I promise.” 

You scoff, “We both know that’s a lie.” You lift your chin up in defiance. “I won’t do it. I have free will. You can’t make me.” 

That makes Liam sweat. You can’t blame him, you’ve heard of Joel’s. . . outbursts. But honestly, that’s the least of your worries. You’re mostly confused as to why Joel asked for you specifically. You’re positive that he’d been avoiding you ever since he came into Jackson, only talking to you a handful of times. Why now? And why like this?

“Baby,” Liam whines, snapping you away from your thoughts. “You have to. He’s crazy, he’ll kill me.” 

“You should’ve thought of that before.” 

“Please. All you’d have to do is entertain him for the night, make him happy.” 

“So to be his plaything? Is that what you want?” 

“Maybe he’ll ask you to cook him dinner, hell if I know.” 

“Sure,” you roll your eyes. “I’m sure he’ll just want something to eat.” 

You give him one more look before slipping away from his gentle hold. Your heartbeat is slow, hours spreading across every beat, making your chest feel heavy and lightheaded.

“Fine,” you cave, wrapping yourself with your shaking arms. “But after this, I’m done, Liam. I’m so tired of bailing you out.” 

“You can’t leave, where would you go?” 

The soft tone he used while begging you to spread your legs for Joel quickly turns into a tone with sharp, dagger-like edges. You don’t say anything. Don’t answer him or agree with him. You’re lost in a broken world. 

And now, amongst all the things you’ve been through, you have to see the pity in your childhood best friend’s eyes. 

You don’t want to be here. You don’t. It’s embarrassing. 

Your boyfriend is in the other room, brooding on his couch, examining his life choices. You’re not doing any better. Your robe loose over your shoulders, the chill of the bedroom settling over your skin. It’s especially embarrassing because it’s Joel for crying out loud. You’ve known each other since you were kids causing mischief all around the neighborhood. You still remember the time you fell and scraped your knee, how he kissed it better and placed a pink bandaid over it because it was your favorite color. 

Why the hell had he asked for you? To humiliate you? Well, he definitely succeeded. 

The door opens and you jolt. His presence is large in the room, making you shudder despite yourself. Your pulse quickens. You shouldn’t be afraid of him yet here you are, trembling like a newborn doe. He closes the door with a gentle click, the wood creaking and solidifying your fate. 

You haven’t known him for years. Even before the outbreak had torn the world apart. You had moved away two years prior and after everything went down you never expected to see him again. When he showed up in Jackson you barely recognized him. He looked rugged, more salt than pepper in his beard, his eyes drained of life. He had scars that ran deep and he had found a kid along the way. You were surprised but relieved to see he still had a big heart. 

You were ashamed the first time you two sat down after years. Everyone knew of Liam’s gambling problem, he couldn’t help it, and you knew that Joel knew. You hated the idea of him pitying you, of him seeing the world weighing down on you. You’ve heard from around that Joel also started to place bets. Nothing too big though, unlike your boyfriend who would bet on almost anything in the house. You knew those bets could turn out violent and people feared Joel. Even in a safe utopia like Jackson, the kind of man he’d become traveled from ear to ear, striking fear. And when someone that owed him money ended up with a bloody nose and broken jaw. . . no one dared to deny him of anything. 

And it seemed like you were no exception. 

Joel stands in front of you, his sleeves pulled up to his elbows, exposing sinewy muscle. He stands close. Close enough that you feel his breath on your lips. Your eyelids flutter before you avert them, tears stinging the corners. 

You drop the robe, the old fabric pooling at your ankles. You’re left in a decent enough-looking bra and somewhat matching underwear. 

“Not interested,” Your entire body goes taut, eyes wide. You hear the blood rush in your ears. Joel moves past you and takes a seat on the bed, crossing his arms over the expanse of his broad chest. You stare at him and a thick knot forms in your throat. He gives you a brief look before explaining. “I only wanted to teach your boyfriend a lesson. He’s reckless. One of these days he’s gonna be in real debt to me and, darlin’, I don’t want you gettin’ caught in the middle.” 

Your heart drops. You don’t know what you’ve been expecting but it certainly isn’t this. Tears blurring your vision, you quickly bend over and scoop up your robe, throwing it over your shoulders. Somewhere along memory lane, you forgot to remind yourself that Joel was your first; first crush, first love, first kiss, first time. But it just hadn’t worked out. You had stayed close friends until you moved away, he had Sarah, you had a promising career. You were planning on getting back to him. It just never came to be. Liam didn’t know you knew Joel, only Tommy knew about the connection you two had, mainly because he was there. 

And now you had Liam—Boyfriend who calls you names because he hates everything, Liam. Shitty boyfriend, Liam. Boyfriend who put you up as a prize, Liam. 

It’s just too much. All of it. Your heart can’t handle how unfair it all is. The pity Joel shows you, the way Liam treats you. He loves you, you know that much, but he just doesn’t care enough to treat you right or tend to you when he’s so broken himself. He doesn’t understand that you would take care of him just as much. 

And now you’re just a shell. A shell of your former self. 

The first salty tear slips from your lashes, it’s followed by another and then another. 

You manage to reach the end of the bed on shaky legs, collapsing, you cover your face, heaving silently into your palms. You don’t want Liam to hear you cry, deep down you want him to think Joel is fucking you this very instant. You want him to feel guilt, or at least a sliver of the way you feel. 

There’s a gentle hand on your shoulder. Your brain doesn’t even register that Joel is pulling you into his chest, wrapping solid arms around your shaking frame. He holds the back of your neck, squeezing tenderly just like he did when your mom yelled at you and he wanted to calm you down. 

“Why are you cryin’?” he mumbles. “I told you I’m not gonna do anythin’ to you. Or to him. I just wanted him to think before he put you in any danger. What if it wasn’t me there? Not everyone is as they seem in this town.” 

After all this time Joel Miller is still looking out for you. 

“It’s not that,” you answer, between sniffled and muffled hiccups. “I’m embarrassed and so fucking tired. I don’t want you thinking I’m some damsel in distress, even though me crying isn’t really helping,” you take a deep breath and peel yourself unwillingly from his chest. “I don’t feel good about myself. I never do with him. I just feel like shit with some more shit thrown over. And well. . . now I know that you don’t want me either. It’s just too much. But I’ll be okay, thank you for looking out after me even though I’m a mess.” 

He suddenly grips your chin and pulls you close enough that your noses almost touch, “What the hell makes you think that I don’t want you?” 

“You. . .” with a sigh, you look away. “You didn’t want to fuck me.” 

“You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”

Squeezing your chin, he forces your gaze back to him. His lips are parted, pupils wide enough to hide the chocolate brown of his eyes. He seems just as surprised as you feel. Arousal pools between your legs, heat dripping down the curve of your spine. You press your thighs together and swallow. 

Joel’s hand moves up to your cheek and cups it gently, thumb toying with the corner of your lip, “I just never thought you’d be interested if I’m bein’ honest. Especially not after. . . everything I’ve done.” 

“You’ve done what you’ve had to do to survive,” you kiss the curve of his palm and he shifts, coming even closer. “I always wanted to come back to you, you know? You’re my first love, Joel Miller. Deep down I always wanted you to be the last.” 

Joel was never an emotional guy. He always had trouble expressing what he thought and felt, thinking he always had to hide behind large invisible walls. The outbreak had put a magnifying glass over that quality of his. You can only tell that your words affected him by how the crease between his brows softens and his cheeks gain a subtle red hue. 

He only grunts as he forcefully brings your hand to his crotch, his cock hard and throbbing under your palm. His lips skim down your neck, kissing where your pulse beats frantically. Joel grinds into your palm, “You still want to fuck with your boyfriend waiting in the living room?” 

“God, yes.” 

You stand up and he parts his legs for you, allowing you to take your rightful place between them. Looking up, his fingers dance up your shoulders, pushing off the robe so it once again pools at your feet. The fabric of your bra has worn away with time, meaning that your nipples meet no resistance as they stiffen under his gaze. Joel licks his lips and brings both thumbs to the peaks, rubbing them until they’re fully hard. 

Then he suddenly shoves you closer to him, your aching nipple met with his wanting mouth. He sucks through the fabric. Saliva darkens the color. He sucks and moans each individual nipple until both are hard like diamonds and only then do you find yourself on the bed, his mouth still on you, starving for more. Your back forms the perfect arch, the sheets feeling like silk against your skin despite them being years old—almost rotten.

He drags his lips down your body, rough facial hair tickling your skin, your hips helplessly stutters into the air. Two large hands pin your hips down. You can’t help the noises that tumble from your lips. For the first time, you’re feeling whole. He lays soft kisses against your inner thighs and finally, he reaches where you want him most. 

Joel sucks your clit through the fabric and your body jerks, seeking the heat of his mouth against your bare cunt instead. He smiles, digging his blunt nails into your flesh. 

“Patience,” he licks a stripe down your clothed folds. “I want you to be loud, sweetheart. Make noise for me. If you want me to fuck you, that’s my price—your sounds.” 

Liam never liked the sounds you made. Unless you were mimicking porn and whispering how close you were, which was a very rare occasion. 

Joel slides his hands up to the softness of your stomach, squeezing gently. Like you might fade away at any given second. He kisses the lips of your pussy and his eyes flutter closed. 

“Doesn’t it feel good,” he begins, his southern drawl more prominent as his voice grows deeper. “To have that prick in the next room listenin’ to me fuck you, riddled with guilt because he bet on his pretty girlfriend?” 

It does feel good. “You think I’m pretty?” 

“‘Course I do,” his brows furrow, eyes finding yours. “Prettiest girl I’ve known since the first day my dick got hard.” 

The words send a tingle up your spine but Joel doesn’t allow you to linger on them for long. He slides your underwear to the side. The fabric sticky with slick, he immediately presses his lips deep into your cunt, tongue swirling around your entrance and teasing it by pushing in the tip. You cry out and grip his head, your legs pressing against his ears. Your heart hammers within the confinements of your ribcage. 

“Gonna ruin you,” he groans, licking himself deeper and rutting the bed. Your eyes roll back, your body melting with every fat stroke of his tongue. 

Joel takes you apart slowly. His jaw moves, head lazily going from left to right. You feel so wet, soaked, from both his mouth and your slick. It’s almost like he goes slower the more soaked you are. He draws various shapes around your throbbing clit. You're left withering under him, shaking, begging, and moaning his name loud enough that the entirety of Jackson could probably hear. The wet smack of his mouth is followed by loud slurps and groans, and your stomach coils tight. 

After all these years, Joel Miller had certainly learned a few new tricks. He wasn’t that same teenager anymore, though, neither were you. He feels different, yet he also feels the same. Like a familiar wind stroking your skin. 

“So damn wet and sweet like honey, fuck.” 

He moves away and you nearly cry out of frustration, fingers burrowing into the old sheets. You only move when you hear the deafening sound of a belt buckle coming loose. Joel’s pants drop to his ankles, cock painfully hard and slightly curving to the side. Your mouth waters, “No underwear?” 

“Got too lazy to wash’em last Sunday,” he lazily strokes himself. Today is Tuesday. He’s been going commando all this time. More saliva fills your mouth, you don’t know why but the thought excites you and he seems to notice. “You always did get turned on by the weirdest things,” he mutters. “Now get on your knees, sweetheart. Been waitin’ a long time to feel those lips again.” 

You pout, “Forearms are sexy, ask anyone.”

Joel sighs and shakes his head, his dark gaze makes you clench around nothing. He ignores your comment entirely.  “Don’t make me say it again.” 

You sink to your knees immediately after that. 

He’s so much thicker than you remember. The bulbous head a beautiful shade of red, shiny beads of precome gathered at the slit. You notice the vein meandering down the underside of his cock and you trace it with the tip of your tongue. The blood pumps harder in response, his length twitches and smears the shiny pearls against your cheek. 

You moan as you finally take him between your lips. The corners of your mouth sting from how wide you need to open to accommodate him. You manage to take him half way in, swirling your tongue, you hollow out your cheeks. 

“That’s it—That’s it, fuck—suck me harder, sweetheart, please—” his hips rock forward, his cock filling your mouth until the head is hitting the back of your throat. You choke on him and his head falls at the way your throat constricts around the width of him. He then pulls out, prompting you to look up. His hair is a mess, lips swollen and parted. “Use your spit, need you to wet my cock good if you want me to fit darlin’. I ain’t that teenager anymore.” 

You kiss the soft crease between his balls, rolling them with your tongue. You’re delighted to witness how he shudders at the soft caress of your lips, “I can see that.” 

“Get on with it then.” 

Joel sounds almost annoyed—no, not annoyed, but eager, desperate—to have your mouth wrapped around him with Liam in the other room. You don’t want to make him wait so you slowly allow a thin line of saliva to drip from between your lips. His thighs tense when it touches the head of his cock. 

“Is his dick as big as mine?” he asks, jaw locked, words bouncing off of clenched teeth. 

“No,” you gasp, dragging your lips down the length of him while staring at him through heavy lashes. “No, it’s not as big as yours.”

Suddenly you’re lifted to your feet, your body nothing but a ragdoll as he pushes you to the bed, the old mattress creaking with protest at the added weight.  

“Play with that fuckin’ pussy for me, I want to see it.” He wraps a hand around his weeping cock, his strokes hard and calculated. Your breasts tingle as you push a hand between your thighs, he clicks his tongue in disapproval, approaching the end of the bed. “Spread your legs wide, honey.” 

As soon as you open your legs and spread your folds for him to see how soaked you are, he’s quick to climb up the bed. Turning you to your side, he gets right behind you. Joel wets his own fingers, sucking on them with a loud groan before replacing yours with his own. He rubs your clit with precise movements, each stroke hitting the mark and making you see bright, dazzling stars. Your body moves on its own. Heat pools between your legs, your hips grinding back to feel the heft of him on your ass. 

“Joel, please,” you whimper. “Please, fuck me, please—” 

His lips touch your cheek and he breathes heavily, his chest heaving and rattling with every exhale. You feel the head of his cock slowly sinking into you, stretching you wide as his lips decorate your sweaty skin with fleeting kisses. 

“You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ well, honey,” your eyes roll back, a mild pain blossoming from where you two connect. He brushes his fingers over your clit, the sharp pleasure shortening your breath. “That’s it. That’s my girl takin’ my big cock so well. So good. So good for me.” 

Your jaw drops as you take him inch by inch. He continuously plays with your clit, kissing you and whispering words of praise while his tongue plays with your earlobe. You feel like mush. Like dough that only he can mold. Your lashes grow wet with tears, your heart beating so wild that you swear he can hear it as well. Joel slightly pulls back his hips and pushes back in, your breath catches in your throat, and soon enough he begins fucking you with shallow thrusts. 

“Is this what you wanted, huh?” he mutters into your ear. You nod helplessly, your body burning from the inside out. “Tell me, louder, come on,” a smack echoes in the small room, and pain blossoms over your ass cheek. “Come on, louder.” 

“Yes!” you cry out. In a weak attempt to meet his thrusts, you roll your hips. “Yes, this is what I wanted. I’ve never stopped thinking about it—never stopped thinking about you.” 

“Is this pussy mine?” 

“Yes, it’s fucking yours.” 

Your voice must’ve come out too much like a whisper because Joel’s pace quickens. He fucks you hard, deep, hammering into you until you’re struggling for air. He wraps thick fingers around your neck, squeezing until there’s pressure building under your eyes, your lungs burning. 

He loosens his grip around your throat, “I wanna hear it, come on now, don’t make me beg for it. Tell me, is it mine?” 

“Yours! It’s fucking yours!” 

Suddenly Joel is underneath you and you’re on top, his hips relentless as he snaps his hips up into you. It feels even better now. The way his cock massages your walls shooting crackles of electricity up your spine. He holds your ass with both hands and spreads you for his liking. 

You moan his name and when you look down, seeing him staring at your face, a sudden gush of embarrassment overwhelms you and with a small whimper, you cover his eyes with both your hands. Joel grits his teeth at that. He fucks you harder, the vicious way he presses inside making you gasp and drop your hands so you can brace yourself by flattening your palms over his chest. His eyes flash with anger. 

“Why the fuck—” he growls, “would you cover my eyes?” 

“I–I got embarrassed—” you squeeze your eyes shut and open them back again. You push down your hips, taking him to the hilt as a form of apology, but he doesn’t seem to accept it and holds you still. Your head falls back with his every thrust. 

“If you ever pull that stunt again, I’ll take you over my knee,” he rasps, ignoring the way your pussy clenches at his words. 

His finger teases your asshole and beads of sweat gather at your tailbone. Joel’s grin is dangerous, something you’d run away from rather than run towards. But you can’t help it. A wanton moan rattles your throat, your pussy clenching hard around his cock. He presses forward, burying his finger down to the first knuckle. You shudder over and over, your body building tension and releasing it simultaneously. 

“You like that, wildflower?” he groans, thrusting his finger in and out while snapping his hips up. “You enjoy it when I play with your tight little asshole?” 

“Fuck, fuck—Joel—yes, yes I do.” 

His other hand snakes around the back of your neck and yanks you down. His damp lips touch your ear, “Gonna fuck this hole one day, pretty thing. . . gonna fuck it so hard you’re not gonna be able to stand for weeks.” 

Before you can catch your breath, you’re being hauled towards the closed door, the emptiness you feel sudden and cold. He pulls your hips up, presses your cheek against the barely standing wood. Your hard nipples graze against the surface, a jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine. Again, Joel thrusts forward, filling you to the brim. The mild pain tingles within your lower abdomen and you melt against him, eyes rolling back as you wiggle your ass for him. 

With every rock of his hips, your body hits the door with a thud and you’re sure Liam can hear every forceful fuck, “Tell him how fuckin’ bigger I am than him—I wanna fuckin’ hear, it come on.” 

“He’s so much bigger than you!” you groan, bracing your palm against the door. “You hear me, Liam? Never had a bigger cock in my life, I’m soaked.” 

Liam’s muffled voice follows through, “Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell is wrong with you? You fucking whore!” 

You know it shouldn’t, but his words still jar you. 

“I’ll fuckin’ break his hands for that, don’t you worry darlin’,” Joel mutters into your skin, his words marking you as something untouchable. “And I’ll make it fuckin’ hurt.” He then kisses your shoulder and shouts towards the door, slamming especially hard this time so the thud of you hitting the door echoes. “You’re the one who gambled her like some kind of prize you dickhead. Don’t blame her for feelin’ good about it!” 

“You could never satisfy me,” you say barely above a whisper, like you’re not entirely sure you’re allowed to feel good about this. About finally having him all to yourself. 

“That’s it, tell him,” Joel growls, pushing his cock even deeper. You swear that if you looked down at your stomach, you’d see a bulge, as impossible as that sounds. “Tell him.” 

You desperately grab at Joel’s forearms, feeling the sinewy muscle tense. Your slick drips down his length and wets the inside of your thighs. With a loud moan you repeat your words and it feels delightful. 

You only smile when you hear the outer door close shut. Liam is gone. 

“Yes yes yes,” Joel murmurs into your neck, ramming into you harder. “That’s it, come on my cock, sweetheart, please—I wanna feel it—” 

Your breath catches in your throat, body seizing, “B—Bed,” you manage to choke out. 

If he pulled out, you’re not aware. His body is a constant presence against your back, lips always latched on to a patch of skin, tasting the salt. Joel lays you down gently and pushes your legs high enough that it grazes your forehead with every desperate snap of his hips. 

“Is this what you want?” he groans, the wet noises of him fucking into the tight fist of your cunt bouncing off the walls. 

“Yes, Joel— this is what I want.” 

“My whore,” he leans over and grinds into you. He slips his tongue into your mouth, sucks on your tongue. The back of your thighs ache with protest but you whimper into the kiss anyway. Breaking the kiss, Joel breathes into you, “My good sweet little whore,” and another kiss. 

Your eyes roll back, “So deep,” you groan, breaking the kiss. 

“Deeper deeper deeper,” Joel mocks you by mimicking your dazed tone with his drawl. He slowly pushes in, holding himself there, he halts your breath. “How’s that, wildflower? Deep enough for you?” 

“Oh god, Joel—” you choke. You fist the sheets, your cunt fluttering and throbbing. He doesn’t move, he flexes his cock and the pressure of that is enough to break you. 

Joel wasn’t expecting it, this much your muddled brain is able to realize from the shocked groan he lets out. His lips find purchase on your forehead, kissing and mumbling praise as your entire body clenches and releases, your pussy gushing around him. You feel the trickles of fresh wetness ripping out of you and all you can do is take it when Joel resumes his thrusts, fucking you through your messy orgasm. 

Despite your insistent begging of wanting him to come inside, Joel pulls out, coming undone instantly as he does so. He rubs himself over your mound, thick ropes of come spurting across your stomach and even the underside of your right breast. He releases your legs and they fall limply to his sides. 

Joel kisses you long and deep, his weight comforting above your trembling body. When he finally pulls away, he lets out a low chuckle and brushes your noses together. 

“I think he left, sweetheart.” 

“Good,” you mumble and press a quick kiss to his flushed lips. “All I want is you.” 

Liam’s not your boyfriend anymore. 

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[ellemj]

Off-Limits: Ch. 1

Bucky Barnes x Reader: Mafia AU

Summary: Bucky Barnes wants the one thing he can't have, and he'll go to great lengths to get what he wants. The tension between the two of you makes it impossible for him to think rationally.

Warnings: profanity, possessive!Bucky, mentions of firearms, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I've been thinking about writing something like this for a few weeks but I'm typically not an AU kinda girl so stick with me. Bucky is intentionally out of character in this but hopefully a few of you will like him this way. Also, THANK YOU ILY for the little bullets and foliage art for my timeskips @littlemiss-yeehaw. She is an angel, an inspiration, I love her.

            Off-limits. Nothing has ever pissed James Bucky Barnes off more than the phrase off-limits. The fact that it’s you who’s been labeled off-limits only adds to the fiery rage that’s steadily growing inside of him.

            Bucky leans back in his desk chair, running his flesh hand through his hair while he goes over his options in his mind. He could just take you. He could give a few orders and have you in front of him by nightfall, though he isn’t quite sure how he feels about starting a war simply because he’s thinking with his cock rather than his head. He could have a sit-down meeting with the man he detests most in this world, the man who currently has total control over your future. He could make an offer, bargain for the right to have you to himself. No, that sounds too polite.

            The sound of a fist rapping against the heavy wooden door of his office breaks Bucky out of his thoughts.

            “You told me to come back at eight, so here I am. What did you decide?” Sam asks, shutting the door behind him after entering. He’s itching to do something, anything. His life has been hell ever since Bucky first laid eyes on you. It’s as if the entire fucking operation dropped to the bottom of the totem pole while you rose to the top. It would be great if he could bash a few heads in, fire a few rounds, and deliver you to his boss tonight so he could fuck away whatever this newfound obsession is and get back to being the cunning, ruthless mob boss he’s meant to be.

            “We’re paying my least favorite lowlife a visit.”

            Just like that, James Bucky Barnes and his entourage of over-eager gunmen are on their way to your house, to see your father.

            As you tiptoe down the mahogany stairs of your childhood home, your bare feet just barely gracing each step, you forget for a moment that you’re not a little girl anymore. You can hear the distant sound of low voices and tense discussion coming from your father’s home office near the bottom of the staircase. When you were younger, those sounds would’ve had the hair on the back of your neck standing up and you would’ve been hightailing it right back to your bedroom. You’re not so timid anymore. The man already holds your entire life in the palm of his hand, molding and shaping it however he sees fit. What’s the point in trying to abide by his rules when it’ll never get you anything other than exactly what he wants for you? So, you continue your daring trip to the kitchen, with the hem of your oversized t-shirt skimming along the skin beneath the curve of your ass and your heart set on a late-night snack.

            Bucky sits across from your father’s desk, his jaw aching due to the number of times he’s caught himself clenching his teeth together during the past hour of deliberations. As he lifts his hand to massage the sore muscle along the side of his face, he hears the sound of a wooden floorboard creaking somewhere outside of the room that he currently sits in. He shifts his gaze around the room, noting the way his own men, your father, and your father’s men all seem oblivious to the miniscule noise that came from somewhere in the house.

            “It doesn’t matter how long we sit here and go through this. My daughter is not getting married, she isn’t on the table.” Your father’s tone, though resolved and sure, doesn’t match the look in his eye. It’s a look that lets Bucky know you’re not actually off the table, he just hasn’t made the right offer yet. The words echo in his head for a moment: on the table.

Fuck. If he sits here for another second, picturing you physically on top of a damn table, he might make an unreasonable offer just to turn that fantasy into a reality. It’s what prompts Bucky to rise to his feet suddenly, reaching into the pocket of his black suit pants to retrieve his phone and act as if he’s going to make a call, maybe a call to check on things within his business to see what else he can offer the piece of shit who sits in front of him. In reality, he’s making up an excuse to get the hell out of that stuffy office and clear his mind just enough to close the deal.

“Let me make a call.” Bucky says evenly, shooting your father a steely look. Your father leans back in his desk chair, relaxing for the first time since his rival showed up on your doorstep an hour ago. When Sam and Torres make moves to follow Bucky out of the office, Bucky holds up a hand, signaling for them to stop. “Stay, I won’t be long.”

Leaving his suit jacket draped over the back of the armchair he had been sitting in, Bucky steps out of the office and guides the door to shut as quietly as possible. It’s fucked up, what he’s doing here. He knows that good and well. Offering large sums of money, offering obscene amounts of quality product, offering a damn near eternal truce in the streets…all to have a woman he barely knows. As his eyes adjust to the darkness of his enemy’s home, he casts a glance up the staircase by the office door, wondering if you’re awake up there. Are you sitting in your posh bedroom without a single worry plaguing your pretty little mind? Are you sleeping soundly as he barters with your father for the right to have you all to himself? Or are you thinking about him too, about the handful of times you’ve run into each other over the past two months?

Shaking his head to clear his mind of all thoughts of you, Bucky takes a few steps to his left and turns the corner at the bottom of the stairs, entering the kitchen soundlessly. That’s where he finds you, hidden behind the open refrigerator door as you rummage around for a snack. He sees your bare legs first, peeking out beneath the half-door. He clenches his teeth and tightens his grip on the phone in his right hand simultaneously. It fucking hurts just to look at you.

“Your father lets you walk around like that with guests in the house?” He seethes. Startled, you shove the refrigerator door shut just before dropping the container of blueberries in your hand. As the plastic container goes crashing to the kitchen floor, blueberries scatter around your feet. James. When your eyes land on him, you can see the look of disdain all over his face. He despises you, you’re sure of it. Never one to take shit from a man, you narrow your eyes at him before crouching down and positioning yourself on your knees. Bucky watches intently as you pick up the blueberries one by one, placing them back into the plastic container.

“I don’t think my father considers you a guest.” You whisper the insult just loud enough for him to hear it, but not loud enough for your voice to carry over to your father’s office. Bucky’s squeezing his phone so tightly in his hand that he’s already thinking about having to send someone out to pick up a new one for him tomorrow, because surely, he’s shattering the screen of it. It isn’t your cute little attempt at a comeback that’s irking him. It’s the fact that you’re still on your knees, with your t-shirt riding up your thighs and your eyes lifting to meet his gaze as if you have no idea what effect you’re having on him. He’s sure you aren’t that naïve, which means you’re doing this shit on purpose.

“Get up.” He says through his teeth. You narrow your eyes at him before cocking your head to the side and picking up another fallen berry. It’s a test. He wants to see if you’ll listen to him. The way Bucky sees it, if you listen to his command and stand up, he’ll feel a bit better about going to all of this trouble to have you. It would tell him that although you’re defiant and like to talk back, you still know how to do what you’re told. But if you don’t listen? He can think of a few enjoyable ways to break you of that bad habit.

“What would my father do if he knew you were in here telling me what to do?” The question leaves your lips with the intention of being threatening, but Bucky’s hard stare and cold expression melds into a look of mild amusement. You pick up one of the last few remaining blueberries and drop it into the plastic container, keeping your gaze steady on the cold-blooded man a few feet in front of you. You watch with masked curiosity as he tucks his phone into the pocket of his suit pants and begins rolling up the sleeves of his white button-up shirt. He notices the way your eyes fixate on his black and gold arm, the way you almost seem fascinated by it. When he uses his metal hand to roll up the sleeve on his right arm, your focus shifts to the tattoos covering the majority of his flesh forearm. It isn’t your eyes that tell Bucky you like what you see. It’s the way you subtly clench your thighs together as you drop another berry into the container. You don’t shy away, you don’t move even an inch as he begins walking toward you. Even when he comes to a stop in front of you, close enough that the toes of his dress shoes are nearly touching your knees, you stay where you are. You look up at him through your lashes without tilting your head upward, refusing to move any more than just your eyes for a man that you know would take a mile if you gave him an inch.

“What would your father do if he knew you were on your knees in front of me?” He lifts his flesh hand toward your face, expecting you to flinch away or refuse his touch, but you don’t even blink as he lets his fingertips trace the curve of your jaw. He drags his fingers downward, until he’s in the right spot to curl them beneath your chin and force you to tilt your head up for him. Again, you don’t resist him. “Get out of here before someone else sees you like this.”

It isn’t at all what Bucky wanted to say to you, not even close. But it was what needed to be said. If anyone else had walked out of your father’s office and stolen the privilege of seeing you looking so pretty on your knees like that, he would’ve shot them dead right there in the kitchen. Whether it was one of your father’s men or his own, he wouldn’t have given a shit. So, Bucky lets his hand fall away from your chin, but he doesn’t step away. You reach down for the container of blueberries and grasp it in your right hand as you move to stand, keeping your eyes locked on Bucky’s the entire time. You want to shove him, to tell him he has no right to tell you what to do, especially not in your father’s home. At the same time, you wouldn’t be opposed to tracing the tattoos on his flesh forearm with your lips. What is it about this man that makes your rational mind war with the rest of your body?

            When you step around Bucky a second later, setting the container of blueberries on the island in the center of the kitchen before heading toward the stairs, he has to fight the urge to reach out and grab you. Not now, not yet. You’re not his yet. When you round the corner of the kitchen and begin tiptoeing up to your room, Bucky makes his way to the bottom of the stairs and watches you silently as you take each step. You don’t look back as you make it to the landing and turn right, disappearing behind a wall. When he hears the faint sound of your bedroom door closing, he reaches into the back pocket of his suit pants and retrieves a small silver cylinder. It sits heavy in his hand as he pulls his gun from the back waistband of his pants. As Bucky screws the silencer onto the barrel of his gun, a distant voice in the back of his mind is screaming at him to be rational about this. Don’t do it. Don’t go to such insane lengths for a woman you don’t even know. Don’t spill blood on these nice mahogany floors.

            When he enters the office a few seconds later, he fires two shots. The first into the shoulder of your father’s righthand man, and the second into the thigh of the other hired gun. His face is emotionless as he steps over their bloody, writhing bodies and presses the cool metal of the silencer against your father’s temple. Bucky only has to speak one sentence to let the man know that he isn’t to be fucked with.

            “We make a deal tonight, or I make your daughter an orphan.”

TAG LIST:

@sunnyhummingbee @gyokujyn @jenniferpendragon @siciliano13 @ordelixx @crist1216 @twlkdead @claireelizabeth85 @charmedbysarge @blackhawkfanatic @kentokaze @nyashonality @h2oaffirmations @sadeyes61 @aka-tua-braindump @immortalfangirl

#bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #the winter soldier #winter soldier #mafia bucky x you #mafia bucky x reader #mafia bucky barnes

[simpjaes]

HARD CASH, EASY MONEY (p.js)

Jay is rich-rich and likes to frequent the strip club you dance at. You know regulars tend to have their favorite dancers, but to become his favorite? Oh, well….you knew he’d rent out a private room sooner or later. 

Or the one where you tell jay that if breaks the rules, he’s going to have to fork up a very large sum of money and, well, he seems entirely ready to pay up. 

minors dni! | if you read it, reblog it.

WORDCOUNT― 5.4k

PAIRING― jay x afab reader

CONTENT― pussy drunk and rich as hell jay, stripper reader, jay is taller than reader.

NOTE: if u read this before no u didn’t bc i reworked a lot of it!!! just to cover my bases, hi i am ncteez and if you feel like this fic sounds too close to another one, its because i wrote them both!!! thank you!!! 

nsfw tags under cut:

nsfw tags: lap dancing, shy-ish jay, unprotected sex, cream pie, doggy style on a couch, thick cock jay, reader doesn’t cum lmfaooooo

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Having sex with a client is a big no-no in the industry you’ve grown to love. You are to be desired, eye-fucked, and paid to look sexy. The fact that you don’t have to give them any part of you outside of a show?  What’s not to love about it? 

There are men who try to get touchy, men who are too shy to make eye contact, and men who refuse to break eye contact. All three of these types of clients bring in the big bucks and tend to become regulars to either yourself or one of the other girls who make the men believe they are also an object of desire. 

It’s easy, really. After all, why not use the goods you were born with to make the big bucks?

Then you have those clients. The men with big-shot jobs, walking in and ordering the most expensive drink, quietly observing the women as if they aren’t even interested at all. The ones who have wives, children, and stresses that will weigh on them the moment they walk out of their homes for work. 

To them, you are their secret little stress relief and you often find yourself acting out towards them, letting them break a rule or two, perhaps. Dancing a little longer for them sometimes just to really rake in the dollars. Mostly because they’re the ones who pay your expensive rent. They’re the reason you can live on the high-end of the city and buy new, sexy, lingerie to wear each night you dance and bounce around on the stage. 

Jay was one of those men, so you assumed. A little young looking if you’re being honest, but who are you to pry when he’s throwing hundreds at you and the other dancers? 

 You remember the first time he walked through those doors. You thought he was going to be one of the shy men, avoiding eye contact and shuffling uncomfortably on his seat to hide the boner, presumably ashamed to know he could never have the women up on stage that are intentionally making him hard. 

He isn’t though, and you swear just last weekend he bought out the entire fucking club because he was the only one watching on a late saturday night, silently judging each dancer. You also remember when he made eye contact with you on that night. His eyes were sharp under the dimmed lighting and you swear he could hear the way your heart skipped a beat with the intimidation, mostly because the motherfucker smirked before throwing out five crisp hundred dollar bills.

Even on the first night he ever attended, the girls talked. You remember when your best friend ran back in her six inch pumps, jumping with glee and explaining that the new guy threw two hundred at her only a minute into her dance. 

Naturally, all the girls wanted to put on a show for him after that.

He appeared to be rich. And everyone was shocked, really, because even the richest of clients typically don’t give a bill over fifty to the dancers unless he pays for privacy. This man though? He was tipping with bills that showed his status. 

It was really only natural from that moment forward for each girl plus yourself to try and win him over. You’d stay near his side of the stage, directing the gyrating and pussy shots right at him just to see those bills flutter to the floor of the stage. 

In all honesty though, these types of clients never stay long. Usually they’re in the city on business and visit once, only to never come back. This one though? Oh, he keeps coming back. Every. Single. Saturday. 

Having no ring on his fingers only made it better because many of the married men do not feel the guilt of ogling women while married. Huge turn off. Like, hey, if they don’t touch, it’s not cheating right? Either way, eating fancy and living in your nice flat paid for by the lust of men is a perfect lifestyle for you. Even if you have to pretend to like the pigs pretending to love their wives.

You called dibs on this new man as quickly as you could, to the dismay of the other dancers. Calling dibs was never truly honored though, because who the man chooses is usually who ends up dancing for him and getting the most money. 

This guy never seemed to choose a girl though. He never pays for dances, never speaks, never so much as shivers in his seat at the image of a pussy sticking to panties in front of his face for his money. All he does is watch and throw bills.

You should be pleased. After all, he’s kind of a perfect client.

Weeks and months go by at this point and Jay keeps his regular Saturday night appearances. After what you and all the other dancers believe regarding him buying out the club last weekend, he’s a very welcome face to see. 

Tonight though, several dancers have come back into the lounge crying because this guy didn’t tip them a fucking dime. Given, a bouncer shows up not ten minutes after each crying face with a nice tray of drinks and an envelope with their stage names on it. 

It’s gotten to the point now that with how long he’s been visiting the club, some girls even roll their eyes at him. Wondering how desperate he must be, how privileged he must be to flaunt his money the way he does. 

Still, that doesn’t stop every single one of you from working your bodies for him in hopes of more, more, more money. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Same old, same old at the club half a year later. Saturday night, several regulars, several new faces, and of course, that young rich guy sitting front and center. 

You walked into work just as the sun began to set and there he was. At this point you can tell by the back of his head with that nice hair cut. So many other men show up disheveled, and half of them are already wasted by the time later shows even start. Still, you smile in knowing you’ll make rent again this month. After all, you just spent a bit too much money on some new shoes and outfits. 

Still, but this point regarding this rich ass guy, even you’re getting annoyed. Every saturday he tips you anywhere between five hundred to a thousand dollars. Given, you’re very aware that it’s much more than the other dancers get, and you kind of have been lying about the amount he tips you so they don’t feel bad. It’s the fact that he isn’t giving anyone a chance to really show him a good time. 

Private rooms and VIP services are highly sought after in this club and he can definitely afford it. It just appears that he doesn’t want to get personal with anyone.

Given, there’s no sex involved, of course. It’s just intimate lap dances, music of their choosing, sharing drinks, and occasionally just becoming a therapist for loser old men. Still, you wish he’d give you a chance to really get into your moves. 

And, well, would you look at that.

You’re in the back room settling into your seat to lace up your new shoes when one of the owners walks up to you. 

“You’ve got a dance.” He says to you, smiling. “You’ll never guess who it is.”

You look at yourself in the mirror, popping your lips with the pretty lipgloss before wiping some off that overlined your lips, and then shift your eyes to the owner through the glass. 

“Jake, again?” 

The owner shakes his head with a laugh. Surely Jake would be here soon to try and get you to dance for him again though. 

“Who, then?” You laugh, leaning back down to fix a strap on your shoe. 

“His name is Park Jongseong, goes by the name of Jay.”

“Okay?” You laugh, turning in your chair to face the man. “Is this his first time buying a dance?”

“Oh yeah.” The owner says brightly. “He bought you out for the entire night, head to room 11 when you’re dressed, he’s already made himself at home.” 

Nothing else is said by the owner as he turns and walks out. 

“The whole night?” One of the girls laughs at your situation. “You’d better hope he tips well.”

“Well, buying out the entire night sounds expensive, he must be one of the rich ones.” You laugh with a shrug, a little frustrated that your new shoes won’t be seen by the foot-fetish men. They’re always out and feral on Saturdays. 

“Maybe–” The other dancer laughs, looking at you with kind of a pitiful look. “Hope he’s not ugly.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You’ve done so many private dances before, but none that had ever taken the entire shift. To be fair, you didn’t even know they could do that. You assume that the owner took the offer because he decided the money was worth it. Wondering how much was offered to pay for your presence, you feel kind of good. 

This isn’t exactly a cheap club, surely this is a great opportunity. 

Whoever Jay is though, he’d better make this wasted shift worth your time.

“Hi,” You whisper without looking up, sauntering into room 11 with a small voice. They always like when you’d act smaller in terms of personality, submissive even. 

The lights are dimmer than usual when you walk in and you’ve only used this room once or twice during your entire career at this club. It was the most expensive room, one with its own pole, a large velvet couch, and more space to move around compared to the others. 

The man doesn’t respond to you as your eyes adjust to him, but then–Oh.

Oh.

Jackpot.

“Jay?” You look at the man who had spent thousands on you and the other dancers since he’d become a regular. “That’s the name of the man who spoils us?” 

He just nods at you, staring you up and down with the same sharp eyes he had the night you’d first seen him. 

“Not a man of many words?” You question, walking over to him slowly, swinging your hips like the way you always do when you’re on the clock. “So, I take it you won’t tell me why you picked me, huh?” You laugh playfully, looking over to the pole but parking yourself in front of him. 

“Why wouldn’t I have picked you?” He lets out, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re my favorite to watch.”

Hearing his voice felt surreal, somehow setting him apart from any other client you’ve had seated in front of you. His voice is smooth, but you can’t tell if you think that because he’d held your curiosity for the longest time, or because he just said you’re his favorite to watch.

“Oh yeah?” You smile at him with a tilt of your head. “Lucky me.” 

With that, you see how he relaxes against the couch to watch you. Business as usual. You don’t even ask how much he shelled out for this, because you know it had to be a lot. His first offer was probably much more than what the owner would have accepted to begin with. 

You do your job for him though, twirling and sliding yourself against and on the pole. The music is a lovely choice, one that is chill enough to move slowly, but upbeat enough to bounce and wiggle for him. 

The pole is cold as usual, allowing your nipples to perk enough to where, now, because he is closer to you than he had ever been, he can see them. You definitely see him watching too, still with that same bored expression despite the money he lends out just to experience it. You continue your routine, spreading your cheeks, pressing your tits together, making eye contact with him, smirking, and licking your lips. 

Jay mouths the lyrics to the songs sometimes, but his eyes never leave you even when he dips his head for a drink. His eyes are less sharp now compared to before, being replaced with a hazy kind of look as he drags his gaze up and down your mostly-exposed body. 

Noting that you’ve never seen his face shift before out in the main area, you believe that you are experiencing Jay actually reacting to a woman now. No longer looking uninterested but tipping as if he had cum in his pants during each dance. You feel entirely desired by him, and you kind of like it. 

“I think you’re the most handsome client I’ve ever danced for.” You say in a soft voice, slowly backing away from the pole as the song changes. After all, you always sweet talk clients when it’s a one on one like this, though usually you’re lying. You actually mean it this time. “Do you know the rules?” 

Jay nods as his legs spread a bit when you walk towards him. He knows you’re taking your time because he did pay for the entire night. 

“No touching.” You whisper as the bass picks up on the speakers. It’s lap-dance time at the moment, and like always, you recite the most important rule. 

He nods again, eyes glued to you as you turn around in front of him and begin to ghost your ass over his lap. 

Watching you, he is well aware of the rules and perfectly comfortable with them. He would never violate a woman regardless of how sexy he finds her. He can buy her time, but he knows he can’t buy her intimacy on any level higher than he already has. 

You dance against him for what feels like an hour, but only three songs come and go. Jay is stoic beneath you but you can see his facade break every now and then. He will shake his head to himself sometimes, or flutter his eyes closed when your tits are less than an inch from his face. 

Usually, he is great at composing himself in this kind of situation. He knew when he became a regular here that having you would be impossible but that didn’t stop him from showing up. He knows it’s your job, and you act this way with everyone, so he can’t just break composure and show you just how fucking badly he wants you. Truly, he can’t embarrass himself by being so obvious.

“I imagine you’re struggling, Jay–” You break him out of his thoughts by calling him out instantly,  turning and now spreading your legs across his lap to sit on him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, mostly because you know he’s going to tip you big time. “Don’t you want to touch?” 

He stutters out a laugh, and maybe believing he was one of the shy clients isn’t entirely untrue.

“It’s against the rules.” He deadpans, keeping his hands at his sides and glancing away from you, trying not to imagine the fact that he’s got the prettiest stripper in the club grinding against his cock right now. Though you’re not entirely grinding against it, he can feel a soft sort of friction every few seconds as you dance on top of him. 

“Do you want to break the rules?” You tilt your head, knowing that you’re already touching him by wrapping your arms around him and kind of like, being incredibly attracted to him. You’d probably let him break more than a few rules if he wants it, not just for the tips either.

When he looks up to make eye contact with you, you nod at him and he follows, nodding himself.

“If you break a rule and touch me, you will have to pay me a hefty fine not to tell on you.” You laugh cheekily, batting your lashes and bouting your lips at him. 

He could pay your rent for the next several months if he wanted to  just for fucking fun? Like hell you’d report him for touching you when you’re struggling yourself not to touch him more.

“How much?” He instantly says, smirking as if you could name any price. For him though, hearing you suddenly offer some sort of deal in order to let him touch you has his mind doing flips.

Rules, rules, fucking rules.

Fuck the rules, he can afford to break them.

You’re a little taken aback by his playing along. You were mostly joking, but the suggestion is still there if he’s the type to... y’know, wanna fool around with a stripper. 

“Half a mil.” You joke again, pulling back from his lap to slap against his arm, knowing the price is too high but flirting anyway. “Touch me and you lose”

You didn’t expect him to nod back at you. 

“Five hundred thousand.” He confirms, keeping his hands at his sides. “Go on then, try and win your money.”

You’re fucking floored. Half a million is really on the line right now? There’s no fucking way he thinks he can lose. No way would a man really put that much on the line just to see if you can seduce them into breaking a rule that you’d allow him to break for free. 

The game is on now though, it seems,  as you do everything in your power to tease the ever-loving fuck out of the rich man in front of you. You ruffle his hair, you ghost your lips over his and everywhere else, you dance against him, on him, around him. You spread your legs out for him, slapping your own clothed pussy, you tease your nipples at him as if you’d pull your breasts out. 

You can see him start to falter about two hours into the game. You had whispered into his ear and noted how he leaned into it. When you walked around the couch so that you could stand in front of him again, you saw how painfully hard he had become. Lowering yourself to your knees in front of him as if you would be in a position to swallow his cock whole, you look up at him innocently. “Is that for me?”

Jay groans, nodding shortly. He’s definitely breaking, and he’s starting to not care. 

“I’ve never wanted to fuck you more than I do now–” He admits when he drops his hand from his hair and looks at you with a crooked smile. 

You smile at him, that half a mil is yours. 

“Oh yeah?” You run your hands up and down his thighs. “You’ve wanted to fuck me before?” 

Jay nods, watching how dangerously close your hands get to his cock, lending a twitch and hoping you notice it. 

“You’ll lose if you touch me though–” You’re cut off by him, seething out words in a deeper voice.

“You act like I didn’t intend to lose.” He says, leaning forward and pinching your chin between his fingers, lifting your head to look at him. 

When he lifts your chin, he pulls your face a bit closer, shifting your body in a way that allows him to slot a leg between yours from the floor. He stares at you, almost like he knows that even after giving you the prize money, he’d still be the one to win. 

“D-did you?” You say, a bit intimidated by him and his rough hand holding your face, he forces you to look at him. 

“I did.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone. “You’ve never moved your body like this on stage, was I wrong to think you’d let me fuck you?” 

You shake your head, sticking your tongue out a bit to lick the tip of his thumb, unintentionally rubbing your pussy against his shin. 

“But I don’t fuck clients.” You try to argue for the sake of it, despite Jay definitely being a client you want to fuck.

“Oh yeah?” He says, turning your face to the side and skewing his neck to see your ass. “Is that why you’re practically fucking my leg right now?” 

You bashfully shake your head out of his grip, halting your hips and pulling back from how close his face is to yours. “No?” He laughs, leaning back and crossing his arms as he looks down at you. 

“I mean…“ You go back on your own word. “You already touched me and–” You shrug. ”I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t wet right now.”

Jay’s cock instantly twitches against his pants as he smirks at you with a confident nod.

“Stand up then.” He says, nodding his head more as if to motion you to do as he says. His legs spread as you rise to your feet and he instantly adjusts himself when he goes to stand up in front of you too.

Fuck, he’s taller than you and the way he looks down at you feels so much more intimating than before. You are entirely silent when he towers over you and you flinch a bit when his arm wraps around your waist.

You’re a little shocked by how rough he is when he moves you around, twisting you to where you’re facing the couch and being shoved down against it. “This is what you wanted, right?” He seethes out as you hear his belt being unbuckled.

Almost in a whine, you whisper out a ‘yes’. He’s floored by the sound of it, because it almost sounds like a fucking plead. Lucky me, he thinks. 

After all, he’s watched you for months moving your body like you need a cock to fill it. Not just dancing like the other girls, you would fuck the stage for him and his money. And now? Oh, you’re gonna get fucked. 

Jay doesn’t hesitate after hearing you, the money he’s lost in the bet is so far in the back of his mind because to be fair, he would have paid far more just to look at you. The only reason he’s pulling his cock out right now is because you fucking want it. 

The bet was to not touch you. It appears you’d be pleased with both his cock and his money.

Not because it’s your job either, quite frankly, he knows it isn’t your job to fuck clients. He feels special, and he knows he damn well should be special. 

You were seeing stars from the moment he touched your face, but this? God, this is more than you could have imagined. Such a fit, attractive man throwing his money at you and slipping your panties to the side just to see what no one else in this club sees. You wonder if his mouth is watering, if his hands are trembling, if his cock is twitching. 

Jay slips a finger into you with ease and without warning, just to test and see if you really do want him to fuck you into the next dimension, and thankfully, you’re more wet than he could have imagined. 

“Goddamn, baby, you want it?” He asks, confirming for himself that this is all for him. 

You nod your face against the couch, arching in a way that props your ass up a little higher for him. 

“Good good.” He says, fucking his finger into you a bit more before taking another step forward and resting his cock between your cheeks for a moment. 

“Letting your clients fuck you?” His hand wraps around your middle and pulls you up and against, grunting into your ear. “You always do this?”

You couldn’t even answer when you feel him press his cock down and between your legs. So fucking thick. 

“Go on, look.” He demands against your ear, holding you still against him with his arm as he slides between your folds. You look down to see the head of his cock peeking from between your legs and the image alone had you feeling gagged.

When you moan out at the image, you hear him chuckle against your ear and then you feel him pull his hips back, angling himself perfectly so that he can slide his cock into you. 

In one long, languid thrust, you feel the entirety of him. You can hear his sigh against you, and feel his hand tighten around your middle when he bottoms out. 

His cock is so thick, pulsing inside of you and weeping out thick pre-cum, only offering more to the wet you drench him in. 

“Ah, listen to that–” He says, releasing your middle and slamming his hips back and forward just a few times to let the sound of how wet you are echo under the music. “So wet for the money, hm?” He continues, now pressing you into the cushions of the couch, knowing you’ll soon be biting against the fabric. 

You hum against the cushions, rolling your eyes back at the delicious feeling of him paired with his voice. 

“Or is it for me?” He asks now, voice coming out in a low rumble as he slams his hips into you repeatedly with deep pushes and sharp drags. 

You nod again, almost frantically as you lift yourself to grip onto the back of the couch, and when you turn your head to look behind you, Jay is almost glaring at you with that same devilish smirk on his face. 

Almost as if, even if he’s losing all that money, he’s fucking winning right now. 

 You watch his neck tense when he throws his head back with a drawn-out moan shortly after, and he doesn’t stop. He snaps his hips so quickly, and fucks into you so hard that all you can do is let out small whimpers each time the head of his cock hits a soft spot inside of you.

And when he doubles over you, using his other hand to stretch your panties impossibly far to the side, lying his head against your shoulder, you can tell he’s losing his composure too.

He’s so cocky, but goddamn is it nice to feel a man like this lose composure because of your pussy.

 His hips stutter in and out of you and his breathing is heavy, fingers gripping both of your ass cheeks and spreading them every few seconds only to release them and watch them bounce together before slapping hard against the flesh.

“Can’t believe you’re spread out for me right now,” He moans out as he reaches his hand up and swipes his hair out of his face, and then his hips snap back into you sharply. Almost pointed.

“Knew you would be too, I saw the way you looked at me baby– you wanted it too.” He breathes out with each thrust, as if he knew he would have you under him someday, you don’t argue. If you had met Jay on the street and he hit on you, you’d be far too easy for him to capture. 

“Don’t ever let another man do this for you–” He moans out now, amazed by how tight your cunt is around him. 

Truly, and not even trying to be rude, he genuinely didn’t think you’d feel this fucking strangled against his cock. It’s perfect. He wants to lay claim so fucking bad, and so, he fucks harder, quicker. 

“Don’t ever let another man pay for this pussy.” 

You nod with a strangled moan, struggling to keep your grip on the couch with his weight on you when he leans forward, pressing his chest to your back. 

“I’ll stop showing up.” He threatens. “Wouldn’t want that now, would we?” He continues to talk, hunched over you, fucking you just right while gripping both of your tips in that slutty bra you’re wearing. 

And before you can even answer in a whimper, a cry, or a moan, you feel his cock pulse inside of you. Seemingly fucking you until he’s empty only because you feel it happen. He releases himself inside of you, cumming spurts of thick white ropes against your quivering walls. 

Right then, he grabs you by the hair, pulling you back and against him and holding you so tightly in place. All you can do is sit still for him, cockwarming him through his orgasm as you try to speak. 

“You wouldn’t be able to stay away anyway–” You try to be snide through the pleasure of feeling his cum bubble out of you. “Look at how fast you came.”

He snarls first at your comment, only to chuckle as he orgasm comes to an end. Truly the sounds he made to your comment were so fucking erotic, you almost can’t imagine ever letting another man do this anyway. For some reason, having Jay act all possessive over you is much less offensive anyway, compared to the other men who would probably try this with you. 

You don’t see it as him assuming you’re a woman who would allow just any man to have sex with her for money, anyway. You think he knew he’d be able to pull it off. Though, if that weren’t the case, it wouldn’t be any of his fucking business anyway. 

If anything, you decide that he gets possessive when his cock is fucking, and you feel kinda glad that you were the one he picked. 

Not kinda. Actually, you’re fucking over the moon over it. 

The fact that the man cumming inside of you is the man all of the girls want to dance for makes you feel like you’re the prettiest woman in the world. His money is attractive, but god, the way he fucks is somehow more enticing. You wouldn’t mind doing it again, and again, and again. 

And when he finishes and pulls out of you, all he does is slide your panties back to their rightful place and gives your pussy a little tap, as if to comfort you into keeping his cum inside of you for safe keeping. 

And yeah, he knows you didn't cum but to be fair, as much as he would have loved giving you an orgasm, your pussy felt too good for him to stop. Perhaps you’ll call for him to return the favor? Who knows? (God, he hopes you do.)

By the time he’s sat back on the couch, allowing you to lounge against him as you catch your breath, he’s already pulling out his wallet.

“I don’t carry cash.” He says, pulling out a card. “At least not half a million worth, so, just take this.” 

He hopes you take note of what he’s doing. After all, the club has an ATM, he could always just make a couple of transactions for this. 

You look at him wide-eyed, seeing the black card he holds out to you.  He's actually paying you? You didn’t think he’d really give you half a million, seeing as how much you enjoyed that? Being paid for sex isn’t actually something you do. 

Then again, he’s paying for breaking the rules, not for fucking you. 

“You’re just going to give me your card?” You laugh, raising a brow in confusion. “I could go way over the limit?”

“You wouldn’t.” He shrugs first, and laughs second. “You won’t.”

Taking the card into your hand, it feels much heavier than any credit card you’ve ever held. 

“No, really. You can’t just give me your card.” You laugh, tossing it back at him.

“Says who?” He looks at you seriously this time. “If I don’t see you again, I’ll just report you for fraud.”

He’s being fucking serious? Genuinely? 

“Jay–” You try to scold him, but he doesn't let you.

“Just take the damn card.” He demands, standing to his feet and ruffling his hair with a breath. “Don’t embarrass me more by not taking it.” 

“Embarrass you?” You ask, looking at the card and the way he just leaves it lying against the couch. 

Almost as if, if you don’t take it, someone else will.

“Listen, I don’t normally do this.” He trails off, feeling the post-nut guilt. “The least I can do is hold up my end of the deal.”

“This is your credit card.” You still try to argue with him, turning to watch him walk towards the door. 

“Don’t use it then. Just give it back to me when I see you again.”

You watch him reach for the doorknob. 

“Saturday?” You ask.

“Saturday.”

And then he’s gone, and you’re five hundred thousand dollars richer, somehow.

#enhypen smut #park jongseong smut #jongseong smut #jay smut #park jay smut #jay park smut #enha smut

[yellowharrington]

wildflower and barley -- joel miller x reader

pairing + fandom: joel miller x reader, the last of us (hbo)

word count: 5k+ oops

warnings/notes: smut smut smut!!! minors DNI, 18+!!! no outbreak!au. age gap (it's implied reader is in her 20s while joel is 45) and mentions of joel being kinda perverted and liking it lol. drinking (both reader and joel, not excessive), use of a dating app like tinder but not specified, unprotected PIV w creampie and oral (m+f receiving), do not fuck your tinder hookups without protection i'm just horny and gross. excessive use of darlin' as a nickname. implied that reader likes men. she/her pronouns used, afab!reader (with mentions of body parts), no use of y/n. if i missed anything lmk!

a/n: heavily inspired by this post by @yesttoheaven about joel's tinder profile!! it has been rotting my brain since i saw it which literally inspired me to write my first fic in the tlou fandom ever so please be gentle with me. i imagined show!joel because i've never played the game so do with that what you will. please reblog and leave comments if u enjoy it <3333

divider by @cafekitsune

summary: after deciding to change your age range on a dating app in hope of a change of scenery, you stumble across joel miller.

No one likes using dating apps.

Swiping left, left, left mindlessly at troves of men holding fish, showing off their trucks, or with deer heads mounted to the walls behind their selfies holding guns.

This was Texas, after all.

Having just moved here, it was a little shocking, to say the least. But you were getting used to the “eligible” bachelors that were your age generally looking and acting the same. When you did end up finding someone of interest, you were usually turned off pretty quickly by whatever shitty pick-up line they had chosen. Or, your personal favourite, “wanna fuck?”

No thanks.

It was an idyllic summer evening, the hot stuffy air of Austin flowing in through your windows. You laid in bed, propped up on the pillows against your headboard and sorting through the faces that adorned your screen. No one particularly interesting, as usual, and every profile was starting to melt together to look the same.

You sighed, looking into your settings, adjusting and increasing different metrics to hopefully change the pool just enough for there to be someone new or interesting. 

Age range: 25-30

Your eyebrow cocked as you looked onto the screen, pulling the slider more to the right experimentally. No one was here to see you, and even though it was slightly embarassing to be interested in older men, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t pique your interest to imagine it. Even just to try, and see, if they ever really did grow up. You imagined it was wishful thinking, but increased the range anyways.

Age range: 35-45

Feeling the need to throw your phone across the room after doing that, you placed it face down under your pillow and slid out of bed. No use in swiping through them now, and you were getting tired of looking. A pint of Ben and Jerry’s and a new episode of your favourite show was waiting for you downstairs.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

Joel Miller does not use dating apps.

He barely knows how to send a text on his phone, let alone navigate the world of online women. Not to say he didn’t explore the options, so to speak, but they usually were not ones that were single, his age, and in his area. Unless the ads on those sites were real, that is.

“It’s starting to get sad,” Sarah had remarked at breakfast, when they got on the topic, and Joel feigned hurt. Hand over his heart, he dropped his fork onto the plate. “It’s not sad, Jesus. I’m just busy, is all.”

“Busy not gettin’ busy,” Sarah remarked, and Joel’s eyes widened. “Hey now! None of that.”

A blush spread up his cheeks and ears as they continued to eat breakfast in slightly awkward silence, before Joel took his plate to the sink. “Okay, off to school, you. And no more conversations about my dating life. Ever.”

Sarah laughed as she finished off the last of the juice in her glass. “I’m just saying, dad. You can if you want to. Might be nice for you.”

Joel planted a soft kiss to her head before she bounded out the door, rolling his eyes and calling out a ‘love you’ before she closed the door swiftly behind her. Joel stared at his cell phone on the table. Maybe it would be nice.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

The following evening, you were a little too excited to see the dating app specimens you had acquired. Not sure what to expect, really, and you went in with no expectations. It’s not like they’d magically all be tall, dark, and handsome, but some variety never killed anybody.

Paul, 41

Daddy, but not yours. No libs allowed. 6’ because that matters.

You sighed deeply. Some things never change. 

After swiping through much of what you were used to, a profile managed to catch your eye among the sea of disappointment.

Joel, 45

Just a Southern gentleman trying this out for the first time. Contractor of over 10 years. I love my daughter, BBQ, strong coffee, and sleeping in. 

Now that was the most interesting thing you’d seen in a while.

He didn’t look a day over 40. His eyes creased at the corners when he smiled wide in his photos. He looked tan, a product of the Texas heat and his job, you thought. His features were accompanied by salt-and-pepper facial hair and messy curls that looked soft and pliable. His photos showed off his physique incredibly, tight wash-worn t-shirts pulling over his arms and shoulders, looking big, broad. He was no doubt the most handsome man you’d seen on an app, maybe ever.

When you swiped right before you could think too hard, you were surprised to see the green “Match!” Flash across your screen.

Your fingers ghosted over the keyboard on your phone, thinking of a witty thing to say, probably for too long.

Your phone buzzed as you saw a notification pop up.

Joel has sent you a message.

Hey, darlin’. How are ya?

You felt your face warm at the sweet message, when was the last time someone had called you darlin’? Ever?

Hey cowboy. I’m great, how are you?

He was certainly an eager responder, taking only a few seconds to reply. You found yourself smiling down at your phone screen.

Cowboy… I like that. I’m better now that I’m talking to you.

Oh, Joel, who told you to say that? 😂

No good?

Not bad. 6/10. 

Only 6/10? I’ll work on it. I like to think I’m better in person. 

I would love to find out. 

You found yourself emboldened by how easy the conversation was flowing. Joel was certainly easy to talk to, easier than the other matches you had going for you, and infinitely more handsome.

Oh, would you? Alright. I’d love to take you to dinner sometime. If you don’t mind being seen with an old man such as myself in public. Or meeting a stranger from the internet.

He’s a very handsome stranger. I would love to go to dinner with you. Know any good spots? I’m new around here.

There’s a great barbecue spot in downtown Austin. If you’d prefer something fancier, let me know.

I love bbq. Just tell me where and when, cowboy.

Tomorrow, 7pm ok?

You sent him your phone number in the message. Fuck it.

Sounds great. Text me the address, I’ll be there. :)

Joel’s reply didn’t come. Instead, a text appeared at the top of your screen with an unknown number. 

It’s Joel. This the right number?

Yup. You found me.

Great. Talk tomorrow sweetheart. Looking forward to it. :)

He texted you the address of the restaurant, right before you opened the contact card, saving his name as “cowboy ♡”.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

Cowboy. Cowboy. Cowboy. It was playing over in his head like a broken fuckin’ record. 

Joel was positively freaking out about this date.

Sarah had managed to secure a sleepover at her friend’s place, so the house would be empty for the night. He had been busying himself with cleaning the entirety of the house, even taking the time to mow the grass before work and vacuum the family room. He can’t remember the last time he vacuumed anywhere.

Would she even make it back here? How does this work? Will she want to sleep over or hang out on the couch or should he be making a dessert for after?

His mind was brought out of it’s craze by Sarah jumping down the stairs. She plopped her bag down on the freshly wiped countertop.

“Careful,” he warned, putting a hand up. “I just cleaned that off.”

“I can tell. It smells like the cleaning aisle threw up in here.”

He smirked before patting her head with his hand, as she aggressively smoothed out her hair. “Dad! Don’t!”

“When do you wanna go to Ellie’s?” He asked, more gaging how long he has left to get ready than actually asking.

“Probably soon. Why? Tryna get rid of me?” she poked her dad in the side, but when she flinched away instead, a large smile spread across her face. He was tense.

“What’s your deal?” Joel hated the way she knew him so well sometimes.

“Nothing.“

“Are you going on a date?”

Silence fell over the kitchen between the two of them, as Joel’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “How did you know?”

“Oh my god, you actually took my advice,” Sarah laughed, watching her dad’s face burn red with embarrassment. “Just don’t do anything weird on communal surfaces, please.”

Joel shook his head at her suggestion, already becoming annoyed with the whole prospect. He was so nervous, about what to wear, how to act, what the expectation was… let alone, what would happen if they made it back to his place at all. 

Although, when he was able to shake his nerves for a second, he was just really fucking excited.

“Wear those dark jeans, and that green shirt you wore to Tommy’s last week. Looks good on you.” Sarah smiled as she put her arms around Joel’s middle, while his worries melted away with her touch. “She’ll love you, I promise.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

It had been such a long time since you’d been on a proper date, you were starting to lose your mind at the simple process of deciding what to wear.

Clothes were strewn across every surface of your apartment, shoes matching with jeans that matched with cardigans, tops that matched with belts and jackets.

It’s 87 degrees at 5 o’clock, idiot. You’re not wearing a jacket. Relax.

Exhausted of picking out outfits and making decisions, you collapsed on your couch and took a look at your options. You landed on an easy sundress, putting the rest of your clothes back in their respective drawers, and pulling out all of the products you were expecting to use to get ready.

You scrolled through your phone aimlessly as a notification bubble popped up on the screen.

We still on for tonight darlin’? Or did you change your mind?

No worries if you did. I respect that.

You let out a cackle at the message, thinking about how he must look right now. Was he nervous? Scared? Was he just looking for a controversially young fuck?

You weren’t… completely against that.

Didn’t change my mind, wouldn’t in a million years :)

Meet you there. Can’t wait to see you.

His eagerness to meet up would’ve been a red flag if it were any other run of the mill guy, but something about Joel felt special. There didn’t seem to be any funny business with him; too sincere to try anything other than just a good old fashioned date.

You too, cowboy.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

When Joel showed up at the restaurant, he clenched a small bouquet of pink peonies in his right hand and checked his watch obsessively. The minutes ticked away, as he kept a high alert for anyone who could be his potential date. He knew what you looked like, of course, but this being his first time doing anything of this sort is making him hyperaware of anything going awry.

When he does lay eyes on you, his whole gaze softens. A pink sundress, hair pristinely styled and a bounce in your step that reminded him of summer. You looked like an angel, the sunset behind you painting the sky tangerine, which reflected off of the shine against your supple skin. So young, beautiful, it was taking his breath away.

“Joel?”

Your voice matched your sweet demeanour, and he was taken out of his waking daydream.

“Hi,” is all he can say, letting his breath out as he relaxed. “Yes, hi, sorry. I’m Joel.”

“Hi,” you laugh back, eyes darting to the flowers in his hand. They matched your dress.

“These are for you,” he gets the hint, extending his arm out, and you can see the veins bulging in his forearm. He looked so much stronger in person, it was making your knees go weak.

“Thank you, wow,” you held them up to your nose to smell the sweet aroma. “I love peonies.”

“Me too,” he smiled, showing off a string of pearly white teeth, that contrasted with the pink of his lips and the even tan of his skin.

“Shall we?” He extended his arm to you for you to grab onto, and you got to feel the warmth of his skin for yourself. Your hand wrapped around his forearm as he opened the door of the restaurant for you, leading you inside and catching a glimpse of the backs of your thighs as you walked in front of him.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

When you were finally sitting, the conversation flowed easily. He was truly a Southern gentleman, like he had said. It wasn’t normal for you to open up so quickly, but Joel was so easy going and smart, he asked the right questions and knew when to listen. He knew how to listen, a warm gaze and a nod along, asking follow up questions to your answers and easily getting to know you.

You asked about his daughter, his family, his work. He was happy to tell you. 

“So, what’s a man like you doing being single in this city?” You take a sip of the wine in the glass in front of you, burgundy staining your bottom lip. 

He takes a bite of the food in front of him, a napkin pressing to his lips quickly after. “Been busy,” he started to say, honey brown eyes meeting yours for a second. His gaze sent an electrifying pulse down your spine.

“And, well, when Sarah’s mom left there was a ton to do,” he says it nonchalantly, as if that should be something normal to happen. “House, work, school, she keeps my hands full. Hasn’t been a lot of time.” His syrupy drawl is pulling you in, you’re enticed by the way he speaks to you. So easy, warm, soft. You wonder what his hands feel like on your body, lips pressed to your neck, torso pressed against yours.

“Sorry, that’s a lot of information for a first date,” he laughs to cover the awkwardness, and quietly curses himself for going into so much detail about his precarious family situation and basically admitting to you that he hasn’t fucked anything other than his hand in the last 5 or so years.

“No, it’s okay,” you slide your hand across the table, palm up, urging him to slot his hand into it. He takes it, easily, enveloping yours. His fingers find the pulse point on your wrist. You let your eyes drift up to his, drinking in the way his chest fills out the shirt he chose.

“What’s your story?” He asks earnestly, giving your hand a squeeze. “Can’t imagine there isn’t a long line of people outside waiting to take my place, darlin’.”

You blush furiously at the nickname, and let your eyes meet his once again. “You have no idea the… mess that is out there,” the wine is calling your name to take another sip at the mere thought, but you refrain. “Certainly not too many I am interested in.”

“So, is that why you’re on a date with an old man on a beautiful summer night in Austin?”

You could tell Joel, in a twisted way, liked that you were younger than him. It made him feel younger by admission, that you’d want to spend time with him. 

“You’re not that much older,” you laugh, not even believing it yourself as the words left your lips. “And I like to try new things. Don’t you like trying new things, sometimes?”

It was his turn to let his face go red at your insinuation. If only you knew how ‘new’ this really was for him, how much he was pushed out of his comfort zone right now.

You didn’t notice. 

A little more polite small talk and exchanging of stories was all you could take before the tension was becoming too much. After another glass of wine and a shared plate of sky-high chocolate cake for dessert, you were enjoying his company and could tell he was enjoying yours all the same. When you met his gaze again, hands still intertwined, you could tell there was a question on the tip of his tongue.

“Would you want to…“ - a nervous pause, with a halo of lust - “come back to mine for a nightcap? I’ve got an empty house this evening.”

You couldn’t help but smirk, knowing in your heart that Joel must’ve made arrangements for his family not to be home in anticipation. He had to have planned for you, known in his heart you’d say yes.

“I’d love that.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

Joel’s home is unmistakably him. It smells like a pine candle that sits near the front door and a faint aroma of laundry detergent. There’s photos everywhere, him and his daughter, his brother’s family. Big windows were letting in the twinkling lights of the city outside, the inky sky making them look brighter against its canvas.

“You have a beautiful home,” you say, although it seems a little formal for the situation. What else do you say to a grown-up in their house?

“Thank you,” he takes a bottle of whiskey from the bar cart and pours two rock glasses, handing you one. He flicks on a lamp, ambient light filling the room and painting his skin amber orange, as he joins your side by his kitchen table.

“I did a lot of the construction myself, the decorations are my daughter.” He points lazily to the trinkets on the shelves and photos on the wall. “I don’t really have a good eye for that type of stuff.” 

You take a sip from the drink and it coats your throat, burning down as you suppress a cough at the taste. You nod along as he explains the design choices he made in the home, and you play along, knowing it’s likely out of anxiety.

“What about upstairs?”

Your eyes are innocent as they meet his, although you understand the implication you’re making whole-heartedly. He puts his glass down on the kitchen table and you follow his lead, his strong hand around your wrist as he leads you up the stairs wordlessly.

“It’s not anything,” - he clears his throat - “special,” he shows you around the second floor, finishing at the door of his bedroom that has been left slightly ajar. 

You step in quietly, leading him inside as you take in the bedroom. Neatly folded clothes, a made bed that looks well loved. Blue sheets and fluffy pillows, big bay windows that let the moonlight in.

“I think it’s nice,” you say simply, letting yourself turn around to meet his broad frame. He looks down at you slightly, eyes meeting yours as your hand drops from his grasp and snakes around his neck. His hands come up the sides of your dress, pulling it up slightly, but landing on your waist.

“Is this okay?” He asks tentatively in the dark of the room, his lips so close to yours already you can practically taste the whiskey on his lips for yourself. You answer him by pressing your tentative lips to his, slotting them together easily.

Joel’s grip on your waist tightens momentarily as he takes you in, pulling you as close as he possibly can. He can smell the perfume on your neck and the wine on your lips from earlier, and it’s making his need for you increase tenfold. 

You pull him into you as you stumble back to let your knees hit his mattress, sitting down and letting your hands come to his belt buckle. Your hands came to undo it as he pulled his t-shirt off to throw onto the floor beside him, bending down to help you pull the dress over your shoulders to meet his t-shirt.

You made quick work of his jeans, pushing them to the ground and looking up at him with a keen glance. You could see the breath making his belly rise and fall, anticipating your touch on him any second.

When your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, his breath hitched and his head rolled back. He was already half-hard only from kissing you, so a few pumps made him easily ready for your mouth.

“You’re so big,” is all you can think to say, head spinning from the sheer size of him right in front of your face. Your mouth watered at the way his hand palmed through your hair, pulling you in closer to him for some relief.

It was intoxicating to him, the way your mouth fit around his cock. Such a beautiful sight to see, your head licking and sucking at his tip, gathering spit there to lubricate him. His knees were going weak as he watched intently, no thought able to cross his mind, other than maybe how long it had been since he’d had anyone to do this with. He was going to have to pace himself if it was all like this.

Your mouth constrained around the length of him, taking him deeper and deeper with every bob of your head. Filthy sounds were filling the room now, of your eager mouth pulling him in as best you could. His hand stayed steady at the back of your head, not pushing, just softly pressed there for support. His other hand found your shoulder, pushing down your bra strap.

“God, darlin’,” was all he could choke out, using his hand to pull you off of him. Your hand lazily stroked him as you looked up at him, spit collecting at the corners of your mouth. “I’m not gonna last long if you keep doin’ that,” his laugh eased some of the tension in the room, as you took your other hand and wiped the spit away.

He leaned down, pressing a fervent kiss to your lips before using his own hands to unclasp your bra and let your breasts free. His lips traveled to the side of your neck, before he was kneeled down between your legs, sucking your nipple into his mouth. He lapped at you, all consuming, as his hand came up to grasp the other breast that wasn’t being serviced. He moaned at the noises you were making, lewd whines into the night air that only encouraged him. 

His lips made their way down your body to your clothed centre, your back against his soft sheets. You looked down at him intently, watching as he pulled your panties down your legs and immediately delved into your pussy with broad strokes of his tongue.

Your body jerked upwards at the contact, hand fisting the sheet beside you as he lapped at you, like a man starved. His expert tongue found your clit easily, sucking and licking at you for what felt like hours. You thought about his heavy cock between his legs, begging to be touched, hard as ever as he licked at you desperately.

“Joel,” you whined out, feeling your hand reach down to grab at his curls and push him deeper into you. That only made him moan, one hand lazily fisting his cock as the other came up to dip a finger into you, allowing you to see stars when you screwed your eyes shut.

His fingers were so large, pressed into your core as you fucked yourself on them and his tongue in tandem. He was groaning and grunting, and you hoped his neighbours couldn’t see into the window at the desperate filth that was going on in his bedroom.

“Fuck, Joel, please,” you begged, but he had no mercy, and your orgasm was creeping up on you. He was ready to watch you come undone, pushing a second finger into you and furiously sucking on your clit. His other hand left his own pleasure and wrapped around your breast, pressing and playing with the hard nub there, pinching to provide a little bit of sting to it. It was sending you into another dimension.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” and his voice is gravely and debauched, enough to send you into your first orgasm, chanting his name and pulling on his hair. He was happily licking at you, fingers still pressing in and out as to not mess up the rhythm, as you rode out your orgasm against his face. 

When you started to come down, he finally detached himself from you before standing up between your legs and pressing his broad palms to your thighs. He stayed there for a moment, cock still hard and heavy between his legs as you gazed up at him, out of breath from his work.

“You’re really good at that,” was all you could think to say, head clouded with arousal. You moved up on the bed a little, opening your legs and pressing your knees apart to show your pussy to him again.

“Please fuck me, Joel,” you breathe out, letting your hand find your own clit to rub it teasingly for him. It was still so sensitive, but the way he was looking down at you, eyes dark and stormy with need, you could almost come again just from that.

He put a knee down on the bed and crawled on top of you, his lips finding yours once again as your hands found his face. You held him there, savouring the kiss as his tongue crashed against yours, all warmth and spit and the taste of you. His hand found your breast and continued to play with your nipples, softly, coaxing more moans into his mouth from yours.

He leaned back and slipped his cock inside of you, filling you up immediately and making you gasp. He groaned into the side of your neck, tonguing the side of your ear and kissing you feverishly as he pumped in and out of you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly close, your moans filling the room as he rocked in and out of you. He kissed your jaw and chest, before reaching down between your bodies and pressing his thick finger to your clit again, using the wetness there to draw circles around your sensitive nub.

“So pretty,” he smiles into your neck, your hand on the back of his, playing with the now-sweaty strands of hair on the nape. “So pretty for me, taking my cock,” the dirty talking is welcome as he continues to bring you closer to a second orgasm, your breath hitching once again.

“Come inside of me,” you say it like a whisper, a secret in the stillness of the room, and Joel is unsure he even heard you correctly.

“Are you sure?” He says it not accusingly, but in a way that conveys he feels like he just won the lottery.

“Yes, please, fill me up.”

You can see the way his eyes darken more, shifting so he’s on his knees and using your body to fuck himself on his thick cock. His hand continued to play with your clit, bringing you so close to your orgasm that tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. His cheeks were getting hot as he thrusted in and out furiously, and you could almost see the stress melt off of his face as he came close to his own undoing.

The white-hot feeling washes over you once again, eyes shutting before you’re back on your elbows and watching intently. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire as his thrusts become sloppy, your name pouring out of his lips like a prayer. You’re clenching around him and letting him ride out his high alongside you, slowing after his hot cum coats your walls and leaves you full of him.

He collapses on top of you, cock softening inside as you both catch your breath together. Your chests are sticky with sweat as you breathe, taking in the smell of him, and the feel of his warmth on your body.

He pulls himself from you and flops beside you, still taking a moment to admire you. You look over at him, a lazy smile on your face as your hand reaches out to caress the skin of his chest. He takes the time to run his fingertips up your arms and back as you lay there in silence together, just soaking in the moment in a post-sex glow.

“I guess I should get going,” you say after a few beats, sitting up to grab your dress off the floor. You cringe at the thought of throwing your underwear on and leaving, this being just another random hookup for you that never lead to anything. Joel was sweet.

A confused look spreads across his features and his brows knit together, before sitting up next to you at the edge of the bed.

“I mean, I don’t know how these things usually go,” he laughs, as his hand finds your lower back. “But you don’t gotta run outta here like a scared animal or somethin’.”

You look up at him again, unsure of what to do next. In your, albeit limited, experience with dating app hookups, you were expected to leave pretty much right after.

“Oh, um,” you look around the room at the soft worn-in sheets and the TV across from Joel’s bed. You take a look at him again, your eyes meeting his to match his gaze, where you can tell he’s mentally begging that you’ll stay the night.

“I mean, if you don’t mind, I’d be happy to stay.” Joel smiled lopsidedly and let his hand rub soothing circles at your lower back. 

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he laughs, stepping over to go into the bathroom and warm up a cloth for the mess spilling out from between your legs. “I wouldn’t mind wakin’ up and doing all that again tomorrow.”

You laugh and lay back onto his bed as he presses the warm cloth to your pussy, his lips once again finding yours to pull you in for a sweet kiss. 

You nod, sliding between the comfortable sheets as Joel runs downstairs to grab your abandoned drinks as well as a couple of bottles of ice cold water. He slips into the sheets next to you, not bothering to throw on any pajamas (not that you were complaining), and settling in beside you. After a few gulps of water, you nestled into his chest and let your hand find his tummy, resting on it as you listened to the even pattern of his breath.

“We should do this again. Like, after tomorrow morning.” you say quietly as you’re drifting in and out of sleep. His fingertips continues to slide across your arm and give you goosebumps as you snuggled closer into him, hearing a laugh exhale out of his nose and feeling a kiss press to the top of your head. 

In his sleepy, deep southern drawl, he replies. “Don’t have to ask me twice, darlin’.”

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic

[hazelfoureyes]

The Safeword is RadioApple (part 2)

This part doesn’t have the Alastor x Lucifer scene I previewed! I pushed it to the next part since this was already a big chunk of text. I hope you still enjoy it! 🥺 I can do a male reader, I just need a little time as I’ll need to rewrite quite a bit

Locked doors

「Luci was pining to return to your bed, even if he couldn’t fully understand why Alastor exists in it. Luckily for you both, You got a night alone with the King of Hell and before Alastor can implode the whole situation, he had a change of heart perspective.」

[warnings/promises: Lucifer x FemReader, smut, No AlastorxReader this part, Luci eats you out, Luci has a nose, Alastor thinks about gardening but in a jerk kind of way, s e x, Husker is reminded of his chains, Charlie is naive, Facesitting, Luci’s horns, sweet little kisses, aftercare at the before part, creampie is like nyquil, Luci is an entire daddy kink]

Part 1 ꒰აMaleReader✧FemaleReader໒꒱ Part 2 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱ Part 3 ꒰აAlastorxLucifer໒꒱ tidbit (cute, not smut) Part 4 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱✨NEW✨ ₊⊹⁀➴ Lucifer wins⟡Alastor Wins

minors DNI 🤌🏼

He didn’t want to be fully naked near Alastor, but the idea of bathing with you overpowered his hate. When he entered the bathroom, he found you reclining into Alastor, back to chest, as Alastor’s fingers massaged soap into your upper arms.

Your eyes, closed in comfort, popped open when you sensed his presence, “Luci!” Your legs folded, “Get in.”

Lucifer looked around the clawed foot porcelain tub. He didn’t want to admit he liked the style, obviously picked out by Alastor. With the same hesitancy as before, he stripped and lowered himself in the water opposite you and Alastor.

A wave of stress, again, watching you two intertwined in each other’s attention. But you pushed back against that feeling, hands slipping past his hooved feet until you found his calf. Lifting his leg up, Lucifer yelped as he slid down into the water. Your hands rubbed along the muscle of his leg, humming softly.

He watched you, Alastor disappearing from view entirely. “Thank you, Kitten.” Your smile widened. Eyes wandering down, he found your foot and pressed into the arches with strong fingers. You moaned, visibly relaxing into Alastor’s chest. “Feel good?”

You nodded, “Your hands only ever make me feel good, Luci.”

He nearly choked on his breath, cheeks brightening a scarlet red. How could you get so brutally fucked and still speak to sweetly? Was that really the same mouth?

A stupid grin spread across your face as you pressed into Alastor.

“Happy?” He asked, low and into your hair. 

“Happiest.”  Eyes closed, basking in the glory of your conquest. “What do you like to do after sex?”

It took Lucifer a second to realize you were talking to him, “Oh! Uhh,” a nervous scratch to his cheek, “Kiss? Cuddle. Normal things.” He hoped Alastor took the word normal as an insult but unfortunately he seemed to not be paying any attention. Without opening your eyes, you spread your arms and invited Lucifer to kiss.

He felt his knees graze Alastor’s legs as he shifted, leaning in to you he let his lips touch yours gently. Your arms came around his shoulders and pulled him in for more. He fell into your chest, pressing your body further into Alastor’s. You cooed into his mouth, opening to lick across his lips, finally looking at him. Staring into each other’s eyes, you hoped he could see it, hoped your absolute bliss was palpable to him. Sandwiched between your own personal rock and hard place, you struggled to keep a naughty giggle in your chest. What a lucky girl you were. 

Properly cleaned and doted on, you found yourself in Alastor’s large bed with the men. Alastor had no issues slipping under the blankets and into sleep, your body curled up against his. You were facing Lucifer, who looked exhausted. 

“Sorry for the shock.” You whispered, hand slipping from under the blanket to hold his own. Your mouth opened to say something else, but you stopped yourself. You felt like Lucifer needed space to process.

And he did, taking a moment to look over your face, large red and black deer ears peeking from the blankets behind you. 

“Why did he have to be here?” His fangs bared, “Why not just us?”

Your fingers twirled the wedding band on his left hand, “We have our own little set of rules for what is okay, and he’s always going to be there. That’s the only way this can work.”

Always? This? He wasn’t sure which to grab ahold of first. 

“I’ll never get you alone?” He thought he hid his sadness, but he was in fact pouting very noticeably. 

“Not unless Alastor says so.”

Neither noticed Alastor’s grin slipping through his fake sleep.

His pout deepened, “I hate him.”

“I know.” You laughed, because it was funny. There was really no reason for either of them to hate each other but it seemed neither of their egos could exist in the same room without causing the bad kind of friction. 

“But I -,” He laced his fingers with yours, stopping the reminder of his own vows and to some extent your own, “You. I don’t hate you.”

“Do you not-hate me enough?” said quieter than your other questions, as nervous for the answer as you were the first one of the night. 

“Enough?” Brow knit, Lucifer’s pout melted away. You squeezed his hand. Could he tolerate Alastor enough? Get enough of you for himself? His mind came to greed, to Mammon and his disgust for the sin incarnate. Lucifer had been greedy before, tried to take more than he was allowed, and it led to very terrible things. Some would argue the very worst of all things. 

His nod was barely perceivable. You wondered if you’d imagined it. Perhaps your heart was beating so fast, your eyes shook just enough to see what you wanted. 

Lucifer fell asleep, hand in yours. When he woke, he found himself turned around. At some point he must have rolled away from you, but before he could wake enough to correct the situation, he noticed your own sounds. 

“Allie~” You purred, a tone he had never heard you use before an– Allie?? He gagged.

He could feel the blankets shifting, bed dipping behind him. 

“You’re in odd form, beloved.” Alastor said it softly, not meant for anyone else to ever hear, “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

A huff, a sigh, you made the smallest whimper, “Do you think Luci -?”

Alastor didn’t let you finish, “I don’t ever think about him, darling. So, no.”

Lucifer heard a smack of skin, you playfully hitting Alastor’s chest. “Be nice,” It was a warning, not a suggestion. “I didn’t want to wake him up yet…” The bed dipped again before he felt your hands slip under his arm and down his chest. He tensed, “Luci” you whispered a sing-song form of his name, “Wake up, please. I need your company before I start my day.”

He wanted to whip around but knew that’d be suspicious, he needed to play it cool. Be a man who was totally asleep this whole time. Lucifer closed his eyes, as if you could see his face at all, and forced out a yawn. “Hmm?” He hoped he sounded sleepy, as he was fully alert at this point. 

“Good morning, your majesty.” Your hand snaked down his stomach, “Can I have a moment of your time, sire? I’d like an audience with you.” 

He bit his bottom lip, loving the way you spoke about his position. “Sire” was now second to “Daddy” to his ears. His mind couldn’t play along, already overwhelmed. “I’m not busy at the moment…so…” 

Stupid. Terrible. 

Alastor agreed with the sentiment Lucifer didn’t vocalize. 

Your hand slipped immediately into his boxers, little blue shorts with bright yellow duckies. Taking long, gentle strokes you found him eager to wake up for you, too. 

Luci folded the pillow into his face, stifling a groan as he grew under your fingers. You let his foreskin slide up and down his shaft, rubbing along his head until he had grown too large to accommodate. Luckily for you and Luci, he was leaking like a faucet and providing you just the lubricant to keep your hand gliding over his length. 

He rolled over and began to kiss you, but you quickly pushed him onto his back, coming to straddle him. “May I?” You ground your hips down, wet lips sliding across his cock. Lucifer choked out a reply, something between “yes” and “please” fell from his mouth. You were already naked? Had he missed something?

His eyes flitted to Alastor, who was leaving the bed and going to his armoire. You brought his attention back to you, one hand on his stomach, the other lining him up. Still soft and sore from the night before, Luci much easier slipped into you as you sank down until he was fully sheathed. Taking a moment, you sat on his impossibly hard cock and tried to think of where to put your hands. You leaned back, finding the angle to press his length along your plush g-spot. Slowly, hands on his thighs behind you, you rose up and lowered yourself. 

Luci’s hands came to your hips, needing something to hold on to. Watching you bounce on his cock was making him sweat, not taking into account the feeling of your tight heat so early in the morning. His sweet angel, taking his cock so well. He fought the urge to push you down and let months of pent up affection pound you into the bed.

Soon enough, you were rising and just letting your full body weight drop onto his lap. When you tried to take a hand to touch yourself, Luci’s tail wound up your thigh. You were startled, slowing to see the spade tip pressing down and flicking across your needy clit.

“What the fuck, Luci?” a breathy rhetorical, hand going back to his thigh to regain the speed and force you lost. As you found yourself coming up to that edge, pleasure peaking, you began to moan out his name. Little “Luci”’s and Lucifer”’s chanted to the ceiling. 

Luci’s head pushed down into the pillow, mind unfurling. “Enough,” He whispered into the air, hips rutting up to meet your frenzied thrusts, his reply lost in the sounds of your bodies connecting. 

⫘⫘⫘

Lucifer tried to be normal around the hotel, but as hours turned to days he found it harder and harder to keep it together. While always aware of you, always looking for you, he was now noticing the dynamic between yourself and Alastor. The two of you were often in the same spaces, but rarely together. It baffled him. If you were his, he’d never take his hands off you. His fingers would always be in yours, hand on your back, arm linked in arm. How could Alastor exist around you in any other state than at your feet? 

He began to wonder what exactly you saw in the deer demon. Yes, his dick did work, much to Lucifer’s surprise. But surely that wasn’t it. Because Lucifer’s dick also worked. The math was not mathing.

His bed was suddenly too large. Silk sheets too cold. Room too quiet. Lucifer found himself pacing the halls at night, mind wandering to what you were doing. What you both may be doing. How he would, could, fit in.

Any time he could, he found a reason to touch you. Handing him a plate? Fingers gliding over yours. Entering the same room? Ah, his hand fit so perfectly on the small of your back as he let you go first. Look at this paper! Slide beside him, let his hand come to rest on your waist. Before, he avoided every chance to feel your skin under his own. Now, he was hungry for every little taste. He felt like lightning bit him with every connection to you. He wondered if you felt it, too. 

Alastor wasn’t blind. He saw Lucifer’s eyes watching you. How he followed you like a lost puppy. 

He nearly snapped his microphone in two one morning, seeing Lucifer’s hand around your waist. It was odd, the sex? No issue! Who cares? It’s just bodies. He knew you were satisfied with him regardless of if you ever fucked. You both were quite content to just lie in bed and read, kissing and cuddling under the blankets before bed. 

But something about this was getting under his skin. Maybe it was the public setting, almost an insult to him. Showing everyone how the King of Hell could have anything he wanted. Anyone.

Or maybe it was something messier. These weren’t lustful touches. His hands were always so gentle on you, tender. There was emotion behind the way Lucifer’s fingers grazed your body. He was fine with watching another soul lust after you. Your body was something he could share, just flesh. Your heart? His hair bristled. Would Lucifer undermine what he had?

Mint. His mother planted it once in the yard. Mint grows exceptionally well. Too well. If not properly contained, it will spread across the garden and become a weed and overtake the other plants.

He relished in uprooting the mint by the fistfuls. 

Seeing Lucifer laugh loudly, leaning into your ear to whisper something that made you giggle in return, Alastor thought about mint. Best when ripped from the ground and muddled with a ridged dowel. 

When you knocked on Lucifer’s studio door later that night, the place he had built specially for himself in the new and improved hotel, he frantically tried to clean up the space. You hadn’t been alone with him since that morning nearly a week prior now. 

Truth be told, you hadn’t actually planned on Lucifer agreeing to join Alastor and you in bed. You weren’t sure how to politely invite him back without sounding like you saw him as just a fuck buddy. When you voiced your concern to Alastor, he laughed. Then patted your head.

Not overly helpful.

“Hey there! Long time no see huh?” He laughed a little too hard.

“Luci, we saw each other at breakfast.” 

His hat seemed to wither on his head, “Right yeah haha that— time away from you feels so long! The heart —,” he stopped talking, “Inside?” Wide eyed, he gestured for you to enter. 

With a nod, you walked in. Just, so many ducks. An ungodly number of ducks. Too many, some could argue.

“What’s the latest creation?” You searched the room for anything obviously special.

Lucifer grabbed your hand as he walked past and pulled you to the desk. “Check this out.” He cupped his hands, holding up a duck with six wings and tiny horns. The wings flapped gently.

“Little Luci duck?” You tapped the beak. 

He hummed, “Do you like it? I thought maybe for your bath.” 

You genuinely didn’t know what to say. Your finger slid up the head and down the back. Bringing it to your lips, you kissed the tiny orange beak. “Now I can have you in my bath every night.” 

A smirk, squiggly and long spread across his face.  Shoulder to shoulder at his drawing table, he leaned over to kiss your cheek. Your finger tapped your lips, instructions for where to bring his lips next.

“Dad?”

Lucifer flipped around, knocking up against the desk and causing ducks to cascade down, “CHARLIE! Haha! HEY!” 

Charlie was standing in the open doorway, eyes bouncing from you to Lucifer and back. “Sorry, are you… busy?”

If you stayed very very still maybe she wouldn’t see you. 

No? Yes? Which— which was the least suspicious?

“No?” Lucifer offered.

“I wanted to talk to you about some hotel stuff. I can come back later?”

You folded, sliding away from Lucifer, “I was just going, actually.” You nodded at Charlie, hands behind your back holding your duck. 

Alastor lied on your bed while you wallowed, your upset amusing to him. Where you saw an issue, he saw an opportunity. His wide smile seemed to shine under the dim light of your room, “Charlie is too innocent to make such a leap, dear. She’d need much more than that to suspect anything.” 

“I just don’t wanna cause him trouble. His life has enough strife. I didn’t start this to make things harder on him.” You buried your face into the pillow. 

His hand petted softly at your hair, “Why did you start this?”

You and Alastor weren’t a very sexual couple, and though your libido was stronger opposed to Alastor’s distinct lack of one, that was never an issue. But part of why he even allowed Lucifer to join your bed was to help round out your pleasure. Not that Luci was just a dick to you, literally. Alastor knew how badly you wanted to dote on the monarch, and when we you discussed your desires he was happy to oblige. As long as you didn’t stray from his side, Alastor was fine with holding the reins of this extension, of sorts, to your own relationship. 

But he was, at his core, a mortal soul. He was not impervious to feelings of envy.

“Well, yes, more sex with powerful people is quite nice.” Alastor nodded in agreement, the openness something he was fine with. “But I just wanna see him smile more. He’s so-,”

“Insignificantly small?”

You glared from over the pillow, “Cute.”

His fingers traced down your cheek to your chin, lifting your face to receive a kiss, “Do I still have the controlling share of your heart?”

Rarely, nearly never, did Alastor admit worry. You immediately sat up, the simple question sending off alarms. “Of course! Say the word, I’ll lock the door. Our doors only open as wide as we decide. Together.” Alastor hummed, content with the answer. 

“That’s all I need to hear! I will be back by midnight, don’t lock anything before then.” With a kiss to your forehead, he excused himself down to the bar.

Sure enough, within an hour Lucifer pulled himself into a bar stool and asked Husk for a soda water with lime. He notoriously avoided alcohol.

From his chair, Alastor watched the king of hell frown into the glass. If he could, he would drink that pitiful look by the bottle.

Alastor appeared beside Lucifer, flashing two fingers to Husk. 

“You look like the dog who got kicked.” Alastor’s grin, toothy and sharp, smiled at Lucifer. A laugh track faintly played in the background of his static voice.

“Hey here’s an idea! Go fuck yourself.”

War requires sacrifice. To truly get what you want will always cost you. Alastor knew this well, having paid many prices along his life and death to ultimately come out ahead. 

“She’s quite sad, you know. Poor thing is in her bed now, cradling a small duck.” Alastor tipped his glass into his mouth. Lucifer didn’t reply, frown pushing into a pout.

“She’ll be asleep by 11, normally when she starts to doze off. Unless, of course, she’s otherwise preoccupied.” The whiskey burned, he only drank it neat. Unadulterated.

“Are you bragging? Why are you telling me this, you haunted broomstick?”

The glass cracked in his hand as he set it down, “Because, you empty headed lawn ornament, I’m giving you my blessing to visit her.” Alastor’s bones seemed to snap as his head turned to look at Lucifer with an eerie jerking.

Immediately he perked up, “Oh. Together?” Suspicious.

“I’ll be there later.” Alastor’s head cocked to the side, “You can go ahead.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, “What’s the catch?”

“No catch! Why so suspicious?” Alastor’s eyes rolled, now with a smaller grin, “My darling just has such an appetite, whereas I don’t need quite as much, as often.” 

That made… sense. A lot of sense, actually. Lucifer let that bit of information blanket the past week of observations and everything lined up. 

“Oh!” Lucifer swivelled his chair, “Okay….does she..want me to see her?” He gripped his cane, a nervous reaction, “She hasn’t actually brought it up since.”

“How would I know? I was as shocked as you when she asked for you in the first place.” Husk watched Alastor’s smile twitch, hearing what sounded like pure annoyance in his voice as he said it. 

Lucifer opened his mouth to make a jab, but thought better of it and abandoned the drink and the bar to find you. 

Husk tried to sneak away, but felt the tug of his chains.

“What did you hear, Husker?” Husk’s fur stood on end as he slowly turned to face the fearsome radio demon. 

“Nothing, boss. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His hand had to set the bottle he carried down, shaking too much to be sure he wouldn’t drop it. 

“Good boy.” Alastor finished his whiskey, “I’d hate to have to find a new bartender. Another, please and thank you. I’ve got some time to kill.”

⫘⫘⫘

“Luci?” You looked around the hall, wondering if perhaps someone else had come with him, “What’s up?”

He opened his arms, “That piece of shit said I could see you. Alone.”

Your smile fell, “Why would he do that?” Lucifer laughed, shrugging it off. 

“Maybe he knows he is no match for our connection.” His brows rose up and down his face.

“That….definitely isn’t it, Luci.”

He looked wounded, “May I still come in? If you want me, that is. Want me TO! Want me, to enter. Inside the room. Your room. Bedroom. This-.,” You opened the door the rest of the way and moved aside. 

“What exactly did Alastor say?” You sat on the small bench at the foot of your bed.

 The worry was visible on your face.

“Something about different appetites. Aaand I could come up before he came to bed. Oh, and that you were sad.” Lucifer set his hat on the dresser, resting the cane to the side. 

Those were true things. 

Yes, you had been sad. Moping just before Alastor left, come to think of it….was this a little gift? Why wouldn’t Alastor tell you beforehand? You rarely did anything without discussing it first. 

“Did you not want to see me?” Luci misread your face. 

“Oh! No!” 

He winced.

“No, I mean– no, I did not …not want to see you.” Fuck, his nervous energy was spreading. How did you ever manage a private conversation with him before? “I am very happy you’re here. I felt so bad, about earlier. Did I cause you any trouble with Charlie?”

Luci plopped down beside you, “Don’t be silly! She thinks we’re run of the mill pals!” A laugh, “I think.”

Your eyes searched the room. Alone together, in a truly private place. But again, you wanted to show Lucifer more than just your lust for him. You wanted to see him smile, to feel appreciated and seen. That was harder to do when in a dick fog. 

“Are you okay with starting with a cuddle this time, Luci?” Standing, you lowered the lights with the dial on the wall. “We can move past it if you’re feeling it. Or just enjoy being in each other’s company.”

“I love cuddling! I’m a pro at cuddling! Haha, yes. Totally okay.” He paused, “Why are you laughing?”

You pulled back the covers, getting into bed, “You’re so cute, your majesty.” He felt that stupid grin creep across his face, “Come to bed.”

With a puff of red smoke, he was in his boxers and scrambling to you. You tried to stifle another laugh, what a silly person the Devil was. “You could have done that every time?” You asked. He just nodded, hands coming around your body and pulling you close to him. “You’re so warm.”  Your nose brushed against his.

“Fires of hell and all that.” He kissed the tip of your nose, before lightly pressing his lips to your own. Another peck, his hands roaming up your hips and then your arms, then coming to your cheek. He pulled you closer now, deepening his once chaste kisses. 

Was this cuddling? You thought you had wanted to dote on him. But now it seemed you were the one being showered in adoration. He sighed into your mouth, and your mind went blank. Yes this was cuddling. This was anything he said he wanted it to be. 

Lips soft, mouth warm, tongue forked. His head tilted, desperate to get himself deeper into your mouth. You tasted like heaven, something he was too scared to miss. Tongue rolling over yours, you moaned into the kiss. Luci’s hands slid from your face to your hip, hand gripping you as he groaned in response. Hips slowly rolling into nothing, he tried to calm down. He finally had you all to himself, and his body reacted with an eagerness he had forgotten. Your own hands pushed gently against his chest, not to make distance, but to feel his body pressing up against your own skin. 

His lips parted yours, he went to speak but instead returned to kissing you. Leaving your lips and travelling down your neck, he found the will to talk, “Tonight, let me take the lead?” You nodded, wondering what his lead would look like. 

Alastor was always chasing something in you, feeding off more than your body. The few times he would want to go beyond just caressing, he would wring pleasure from you like a deserted man to an empty canteen. His body quaking with every drop he could manage. 

And Lucifer? Your already wet cunt clenched around nothing but possibilities. You nodded, watching a fire light behind his eyes you hadn’t seen in the bedroom before.

“I’m going to spoil you rotten.” His face was bright, both hands pulling your hips onto him as he rolled onto his back. “You don’t need these.” Clawed hands tugging at your panties beneath your open robe. 

Oh. That was quick.

As you leaned back to remove them, Lucifer’s mind was on timing. He could eat you out for hours if afforded it, but he knew Alastor would be coming in eventually. Lucifer had no intentions of sharing you tonight. 

When you sat down, his hands hooked under your thighs and pulled you up. And up. 

“Luci?”

“Let me show you how I ruined eden.” He opened his mouth, long tongue snaking out in a truely debauched display.  Your body was just near his chin now, and you were too stunned to move. His hands slapped your ass playfully, “Please take a seat, kitten. Your throne awaits.”

Would you suffocate him? Did he need breathe? Were you heavy? Shou-

“Pet.” His hands drummed on your thighs, “Just grab the headboard.”

Mortified. You placed your knees on either side of his head and gripped the headboard. You barely had a chance to lower yourself before he pulled you onto his mouth.

Hot breath. Luci had been dreaming of this for weeks, long before your initial invite. His tongue lapped up the slick from hole to clit, humming into your skin. Your thighs clenched and you had to focus to open them again. You apologized, but Luci just winked and made a show of taking two fingers and setting them on your thigh where he held you. 

You’d never done anything where you were the one on watch for the tap tap. It felt…. Good. Deep breath, relax into the system you made for each other.

His tongue dipped into your heat, you hadn’t considered the positive attributes of its length until now. Your hips rocked slowly, the feeling of his soft and determined tongue along you walls making your mind reel. How could something be so gentle but so ravaging? Had anyone’s tongue ever been so deep in you?

Resting your forehead on the headboard you watched Luci’s eyes close, his smile felt from thigh to thigh. Nowhere was Lucifer more in his element than mouth under a wet cunt. As your breath quickened so did your hips, grinding down more and more as you felt the pleasure spiking with every touch. 

Luci’s tongue left your now dripping hole to latch onto your clit. Sharp teeth pricked your skin as he began to suck, expert tongue intermittently lapping at your little bud of nerves. 

Your knuckles were turning white as you considered snapping the headboard in half in an attempt to chase the euphoria. It felt so good, but as the time was going forward you could tell it wasn’t enough to get you over that hurdle. 

Cold air rushed to your flushed skin, “What do you need, kitten?” Two large eyes, yellow and red, looked up from your lap.

“I want to feel you. Inside.” Your eyes flitted up as his mouth returned to his measured pace on your clit. Whimpering, you thought about reaching back and inserting your own fingers when you found your new friend beat you to it. His spaded tail folded in on itself and slipped past your twitching entrance.

You choked out a noise, the sensation something entirely foreign. Smooth and cold, he just needed to get the tip inside for you to start moaning in earnest. Your body was rocking between his tongue and his tail, shortening the intervals as you ramped up to your orgasm. 

His hands on your thighs tightened, clawed hands digging into your flesh. His moan made your feet cramp, legs now twitching. “Close— Luci!” Talking felt like losing your place, but the way he moaned in response egged you on, “Luci! Please don’t sto-,” your abdomen tight, body locked as it edged to that peak, your pleas to not stop devolved into whispered a, “no no no no god no” into the wooden bed frame.

Lucifer’s hands snaked up your sides, holding onto your waist he pulled your full weight down into his mouth, tail twisting as it thrust in and out of you. Just deep enough that the large edge of the spade was spreading your lips with every movement. 

Eyes closed, your body shook violently over his face as you finally broke through, orgasm flooding your system with endorphins. Feet, legs,  stomach, hands, everything loosened. Luci’s tongue stopped, tail slipping out. 

You didn’t make a move, needing a second to just bask in the feeling.

Before it fully waned, Luci’s arms came up and over your thighs before he pushed your body toward his chest. And then you felt yourself falling backwards.

He’d pushed himself off the bed and flipped you so quickly you hadn’t even seen it happen. Vision adjusting you saw his yellow eyes now red, red and black horns sprouted from his forehead.

“Open up for Daddy, kitten.” He was fully buried in your softened pussy before you could form a thought. Your body hadn’t forgotten his size, but you still felt a burning at your entrance where the skin struggled to stretch for him. Luci’s body fell onto yours, his hands bringing your legs up past his hips and behind his back. You hooked your feet together around his waist and held on with both arms, eyes rolling back with every thrust.

“You feel so good, you’re so tight,” he moaned directly into your ear. Bodies tightly pressed together, an embrace where only his hips would leave your skin and just long enough to piston back into you. Your legs were so far up that your hips weren’t on the bed anymore. The angle made your head fall back, muscles unable to receive signals from your bliss addled brain. His arms were under yours, resting beneath your back and on your shoulders, pulling you tighter into to him. You felt surrounded by him, every part of your body touching his. A tangle of flesh and whimpers. “You’re so beautiful, kitten. You take daddy’s cock so well. I’m melting.” His horns brushed against your head, the sound of them slipping across the comforter with every thrust reminding you of their presence.

Lucifer felt lost in you. He fought to keep his mind clear enough to ensure his embrace stayed gentle. You were a bundle of softness and heat under him. He felt his balls creeping up, tightening as he was ready to chase your own orgasm with his. For a second his eyes searched the immediate area for Alastor. The word “cum” ringing in his ears.

With a sigh, hot and heavy at your neck, he pressed into you as far as his body could enter. As you could feel the warmth of his cum filling you, your cunt began to spasm around him. Body instinctively hungry for him. His hands hooked under your shoulders held you still, your legs still tight around his waist.

You stayed there until you both were breathing normally. Your legs fell down, thighs falling open as you released your grip on him. Luci didn’t move for another minute, opting to rest his head in your chest. Silence, just the gently rolling waves of soft pleasure and contentment still coming.

Satiated, you suddenly felt so drowsy. “Luci.”

His head popped up, horns gone and sclera back to yellow, “Yes, kitten?”

“Blankets.” You let your eyes closed, feeling the comforter being pulled to you.

Alastor walked in to find you both asleep, Lucifer still on top of you, heads at the foot of the bed and feet on the pillows. The comforter half assed folded over your bodies.

He wasn’t surprised. Alastor peeled Luci off of you and tossed him onto the pillows. 

“Fuck you, hair cut,” Lucifer whispered, between awake and asleep.

“Yes yes, your majesty. Fuck you too.” Alastor picked you up and set you where you belonged. He pulled the blankets over you both, taking a beat to stare down at the scene.

Beloved, happily asleep. Obnoxious monarch, looking angelic beside you. Lucifer looked so much more tolerable when sleeping.

He considered for a moment returning to his own room, as he had planned all along. Looking from you to Lucifer, he felt something swell in his chest. 

Keeping you was a treasure. A treasure he trusted would always be his. But to have you and the king of hell? Not just influence by way of your ties to Lucifer? Well, that could bring power.

His mother always recommended containment for mint, Alastor pulling too many and not allowing for them to enjoy the benefits of their hard work for very long. Containment, he considered, locking the bedroom door and taking his place beside you.

⫘⫘⫘

When there was a knock in the morning all three of you popped up from the pillows.

“Who the hell is that? It’s so early…” your eyes struggled to focus on the clock.

“Fffuck,” Alastor held his face in his hands. “I forgot I-,”

“Hello?” Charlie said into the door.

You and Lucifer slowly turned to stare at Alastor, a thin smile from ear to ear on his face.

“Alastor asked me to wake you up. So you wouldn’t miss the planning meeting.”

“Can’t a demon be a little chaotic now and then?” Alastor mused, your eyes boring holes into his skull. 

The doorknob rattled, “Oh… He said it would be open. Well, okay… I guess I’ll let you sleep! Maybe next week!”

As Charlie made her way down the hall she just missed the sound of furniture moving and a thud as Lucifer tackled Alastor out of the bed and onto the floor, hands on his throat. 

This was going to be a problem.

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list): @cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum , @ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

#alastor #Hazbin hotel #RadioApple x reader #Radioapple #alastor x reader smut #alastor x reader #Lucifer Morningstar x reader #Alastor smut #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x you #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer smut #lucifer magne #alastor hazbin hotel #smut writing #smut fanfiction #x you smut #smut #x you #reader fic #reader #reader insert

[joelsgreys]

Just Friends (Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Part 2

Summary: You’re planning to have sex for the first time and you’re nervous—Javi offers to show you a thing or two, but just as friends of course.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Warnings/Tags 🏷 18+ only, minors dni. reader is in late 20’s; reader is an agent for the DEA; established friendship, idiots in love lust, overprotective/slightly jealous Javi; Javi is his canon manwhore self, reader is a virgin, talks of virginity loss and her desire for no strings attached sex, a bit of pining and yearning, lots of pet names, a couple insults, friendship fluff; touching, groping, dry humping, reader gets off, Javi does not. I know, I know. I will make it up to him in part dos. this does not follow the timeline of the show accurately, Messina is in the picture, Connie is still around. reader is bilingual, no descriptions of her race or ethnicity mentioned though. *translations at the end.

Word Count: 7.9k

A/N: This took me forever to edit and post because I’m scared lmao.

thank you to @cutesyscreenname for encouraging me to write this idea. I owe you cherry gansitos!

You observed your own reflection in the full length mirror in front of you and let out a curious little hum as you lifted the short, scarlet red minidress, holding it right up against the length of your body. You then held up the second dress that you had clutched in your opposite hand, a stunning, satin black midi number whose length was a lot longer than the first option, the hem of it falling down to your calves.

It appeared rather innocent, modest enough while it was still on the plastic hanger, but it fit you beautifully, just like a fucking glove. The bodice of the garment cinched at your waist and it was tightly fitted, hugging the curves of your upper body so closely that it looked and even felt like something of a second skin whenever you wore it. The billowy skirt of the dress flowed out around you, darling and sweet at first glance, however it came with a borderline dangerous slit in the side of it that stopped about two or three inches above the middle of your thigh near the hinge of your hip. It exposed the entire length of your leg whenever you walked, danced, or moved around in it—Murphy had once referred to it as the infamous femme fatale dress, telling you that it was a far, far more dangerous weapon than your gun could ever be. 

You were fairly certain his remarks had something to do with the fact that you’d worn the dress on a number of different occasions while you were out on the job, going undercover in Bogotá for the US Drug Enforcement Administration. 

As the only female agent on her team in Colombia and a younger, very beautiful female agent at that, Messina found herself using you to her advantage quite often these days. She would send you out all over Bogotá in that very same black dress with the hope that it would aid you in luring in members of the Medellín drug cartel in efforts to capture their leader, Pablo Escobar.

Tonight, however, you weren’t going undercover.

You were doing something much more frightening than mingling among some of Colombia’s most dangerous men. 

Far, far more daunting than that.

You were going out on a date. 

“I like the red dress the best,” Javier’s deep voice came from behind you, startling you slightly. He had mentioned to you earlier that day that he was going to some lounge with Murphy for a smoke and some drinks after work hours since it had been a long, draining week for him at the office; Messina had stuck him with an endless amount of tedious paperwork to do and it had just about driven him insane, but nothing a pack of cigarettes and some bourbon couldn’t fix. With the soft, Latin cumbias playing from the old stereo perched on top of the white oak dresser beside you, you had completely missed the sound of the front door opening and closing when he’d gotten home.

You glanced over your shoulder to see him standing there in the open doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. Javier’s dark brown eyes were fixed intently on you, a small, devilish smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he casually leaned up against the door frame of your bedroom. Well, technically, it was actually the guest bedroom of his apartment unit that he’d let you take over several months ago. The housing department of the agency had placed you into a unit in the building across the street from his, right next door to Murphy and his wife, Connie. It had been a special arrangement requested by your diligent supervisor in an effort to make sure that no one found themselves in a compromising situation—she trusted you enough not to get any dumb ideas, but she didn’t trust Peña as far as she could throw him. It wasn’t very far.

While it had certainly been quite nice, and even kind of comforting at times to have Steve and Connie as your neighbors, you’d expressed to Javier one night over dinner at his place that you weren’t all too fond of having to live alone. Without an ounce of hesitation on his part, Javi offered to have you move into his spare bedroom that very same evening after you were both done eating, but only on the condition that Messina didn’t find out about the new living arrangement. She would wring Javier’s neck with her bare hands if knew that you two had been sharing his apartment this entire time. 

Hell, she would wring yours too. And you were the favorite child of sorts. Less annoying than Murphy and certainly a lot less problematic than Peña. 

She only liked you because she never had to worry about you. On or off the job.

But even though you were Messina’s number one, her star player, that would do absolutely nothing to spare you from her wrath if she ever came to find out that you were living with Javier Peña. She wasn’t a fan of just how close the two of you had become over the last several months; she’d told you herself that she much preferred it if you kept your distance from him while you were off duty. One wrong move on your part or Javi’s and it was game fucking over. Messina wouldn’t hesitate to send one of your asses packing, back home to be assigned somewhere else, somewhere far away from the other.

Pursing your lips together lightly, you turned your attention back over to the mirror. Raising an eyebrow, you lifted the red minidress up against your body once more to get another good look at it, as if you hadn’t just been staring at it for the last five minutes before he’d appeared. “I don’t know, Javi. I don’t like this one all that much to be honest. I’m not even sure why the hell I let Connie talk me into buying it in the first place. She said it was cute,” You remarked, tilting your head slightly to the side. You wrinkled your nose at the diamond cut out design in the sides of it. Whoever designed it must have not had enough money to spring for more a teensy bit more fabric. “But it’s kind of tacky. And it makes me look like a whore.”

“Mm yes, but a very beautiful whore,” Javi stated, his smirk widening as he drank in the gorgeous sight of you before him. He licked his lips, openly admiring the way you were clad in nothing but one of his shirts, his pink button up with short sleeves that you had once told him you loved so much because it was your favorite color; you’d sneakily stolen it out of his closet on laundry day a couple weeks back while all of your clothes had been in the washing machine and had never given it back to him. Not that Javier even really wanted it back at this point—his shirt looked a million times better on you than ever it did on him. Seeing you in it did inexplicable things to him and he fucking loved it when you padded around your now shared apartment in nothing but a pair of panties and his pink shirt. He took another glimpse at you, nearly foaming at the mouth at how it fit your frame, how the hem of it fell to the tops of your smooth thighs, the material hardly doing anything to cover up the tantalizing curves of your hips and your perfect ass. “Hermosura. The most beautiful whore in all of Colombia.”

You narrowed your eyes at him through the mirror, wishing you had a free hand you could flip him off with. “Gee, thanks for the compliment, Peña. You are always such a fucking charmer, aren’t you?”

“Oh, come on. Solo es una bromita, muñeca. No tienes por qué ofenderte. I’m just messing around with you. You know I don’t think you actually look like a whore—and trust me, I know what a whore looks like,” he responded with a deep and hearty laugh. He uncrossed his arms, allowing them to fall down to his sides as he pushed himself away from the door frame. He sauntered his way further into your bedroom, uninvited. “I’m being serious about the dress, though. Go with the red one. El vestido rojo. It’s perfect. Besides, that color would look gorgeous on you, cariño. I bet it would look almost as good on you as pink does.” He laughed again as he added, “Nice shirt, by the way.”

Your annoyed expression immediately softened into one of guilt. “I’ve been meaning to give you your shirt back,” You told him, sheepishly. “Te lo juro, Javi.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you have,” Javier snorted, waving off the little white lie. He finally forced himself to tear his attention away from you and glanced around, observing the current state of your room instead. It looked like a tornado had hit the inside of your closet; dresses, jackets, and high heeled shoes were strewn all over the place. He wasn’t all too surprised by the mess. He knew you like he knew the back of his own hand by now, and this was typical of you when you were searching for the perfect outfit to wear on a free night out in the city. “I don’t remember you telling me you had any plans tonight, bonita. What’s the occasion? Going out for drinks with the chismosas of the office? Or are you going out for a girl’s night with Connie?”

You momentarily hesitated.

“Actually, I have a date.”

Through the mirror, you saw the smile fade from Javier’s face almost instantly.

Here we go, You thought inwardly to yourself.

“You have a date? With who?” he demanded. 

Reluctantly, you turned around to face him. “You know Valeria, don’t you?”

The color drained from his face.

“That’s the translator who works up on the third floor, right?” He touched his hand to the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know her, but I’ve seen her around a couple of times.”

You almost laughed at the manner in which Javier tried playing dumb. 

Of course he knew Valeria. 

He had fucked her three weeks ago.

Javi had tried to keep it on the down low, but loud mouthed Valeria would brag to anyone who would listen all about how Agent Peña had fucked her in her office one evening while they’d been working late together and everyone else had gone home. Not that Javier even needed her services as a translator, he’d just needed an excuse to find himself in her office after hours so he could get his dick wet.

For some strange reason, you felt oddly fucking generous and decided to let Javier have this one, playing along with him and his sheer stupidity. “Yeah, her. She has an older brother who’s visiting the city for a few days. His name is Diego. He’s an immigration attorney who is here on business in Bogotá. She offered to set me up with him,” You explained, keeping everything as brief as possible. “I’m meeting him for drinks tonight.”

Javier frowned. “Have you met him in person?”

“Well no, but Valeria showed me his picture and she told me all about him. It’s not like he’s just some random ass guy I met on the street, Javi. He’s her brother, she advocated for him,” You tried to reason with him, knowing all too well where this conversation was heading. Sure, it was nice to know that Javier cared about you enough to be concerned about you meeting up with someone who was essentially a complete stranger, but it wasn’t like you couldn’t handle yourself. You’d spent many evenings sitting right in the laps of the violent criminals who worked for Escobar—a blind date with a coworker’s brother was nothing for him to make a fuss over. “I really don’t think that I have anything to worry about with him.”

He rigidly shook his head. “Look, no offense to Valeria, but I don’t like the idea of you running around this city at night with some fucking prick that you’ve never even met before. And before you throw all that undercover bullshit at me, just know that it’s not the same thing. You aren’t going out on the job tonight. You’re not going out with your team on standby to watch your back, you’re not going out with me and Murphy armed and ready to jump into action if things head south. What if something happens to you?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at the complete and utter ridiculousness of his drama king antics. “Oh, give me a fucking break, Peña. Diego’s not a member of the fucking cartel, he’s a lawyer. And besides that, you’re acting like I can’t take care of myself.”

“Listen, I know damn good and well that you can take care of yourself just fine, muñeca. But still, that doesn’t make me feel any better about this whole arrangement.” Javier’s hands went to his waist and he let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head once again. “I’m going to need to meet this guy before you go out with him. I don’t care whose fucking brother he is—whichever way you try to spin it, the bottom line is that he’s a still a fucking stranger and I want to check him out for myself before I let you go out with him.” He saw the mischievous twinkle in your eyes and peered at you suspiciously. “Please tell me he’s coming to pick you up here at the apartment.”

You laughed. “Of course not, Javi. I’m not stupid. I already knew you would behave like this. I knew you would go straight into overprotective mode, just like you always do. I didn’t want you scaring him off, so I’m taking a taxi cab and we’re meeting up at the bar instead.” You easily clocked the all too familiar glint in his eye and smiled sweetly at him. “And don’t even think about trying to guess which one it is so that you can show up and keep tabs on me the whole night. There are thousands of bars in this damn city and I can promise you that you’re not smart enough to figure out which one we’re going to, Agent Peña.”

Annoyed by the smugness in your tone and the way it was starting to get under his skin, Javier’s lips pressed into a thin, tight line. He watched you walk over to your closet, subtly swaying your hips to the music as you pulled out yet another dress to add to your rapidly growing list of options.

He could feel the envy prickling at each and every last single nerve ending in his entire body, his frustrations stewing at the mere thought of you going out with another man. His jaw clenched and he forced himself to shove the feeling down knowing damn well that he didn’t have the right to be jealous. Not when you two weren’t anything more than just friends.

If you’d just been a coworker, it would be different. 

Javier would gladly, happily, risk mixing business with pleasure as he had so often done in the past with several secretaries—and a translator or two—in his time. But no matter how hard he’d tried over and over again to place you into that box, into that category, he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it.

You weren’t just his coworker, you were his friend.

His best friend.

For as much shit as he gave you, you mattered to him. You were important to him, way too important to ever risk fucking up your friendship by fucking you. 

Still. Javier would be lying if he said he didn’t think about it. He thought about it all the damn time. When he discovered that fucking himself into the palm of his hand and moaning your name quietly over and over again under his breath didn’t quite do the job for him anymore, he would find himself standing outside of your bedroom prepared to say fuck it all and make his move on you. But then it happened every single fucking time without fail—as soon as he lifted his curled fist to knock on your door, he started to remember things. 

He’d remember the way you could so easily make him laugh with your clever and quick witted sense of humor. He remembered all those late nights you two would spend together lounging on his brown leather couch in your pajamas watching old, poorly made slasher films while indulging in the greasiest, unhealthiest takeout Bogotá had to offer. He remembered how you could read him just like a fucking magazine, how you always knew when something was wrong—and how you would always somehow know exactly what to say and do to comfort him whenever he needed it the most.

He would remember how you’d come to feel like his home away from home. 

And then he would drop his hand right back down to his side, whirl around on his heel, and march straight back into his bedroom where he had little choice but to go back to fantasizing about what could never be between you and him.

Snapping himself out of his own train of thought, Javier carefully stepped over the mountains of clothing and shoes on the floor and made his way over to another pile of dresses that were draped over the foot of your bed. He caught a glimpse of the lingerie set on top of them, brand new with the price tag still attached to the fabric; the set was black, made of delicate, see through lace that would leave very little to the imagination when you put it on. He picked up the thong, hooking the thin elastic of it around his index finger. “Something tells me that you’re not planning on coming back home tonight.”

“What are you talking about?” Confused, you turned around and gasped, dropping the dresses in your hands. “Javier!”

“Are these even going to cover anything up?” he teased you with a laugh, his eyes gleaming with pure amusement as they darted between the thong and the lower half of your body. “Falta mucha tela, cariño.”

You rushed up to him and made a dive for the underwear. “Give me those!”

“How come you don’t ever wear anything like this around the apartment, hermosa?” Javi dangled them above your head and out of your reach. “All I ever get to see you in are those cotton panties, the ones with polka dots on them.” He glanced down, getting an eyeful of you and the aforementioned polka dot panties. “Kind of like the ones you’re wearing now—”

“Javier, cut it out!” You placed a hand on his shoulder as the other continued grabbing for the lingerie. “Come on, stop being such a fucking asshole!”

Although he could have easily enjoyed taunting you for hours and hours on end, Javier knew you wouldn’t hesitate to have your knee meet his balls. Not wanting to risk ending up on your floor curled up in pain, he eased up and handed them over to you. 

“Idiota!” You hissed at him, furiously snatching the underwear out of his hand. You stomped over to your dresser and shoved them into the middle drawer, slamming it closed so hard the old stereo nearly went crashing to the floor. “You can be a real fucking douchebag, Peña.”

Javier wasn’t bothered by the insults; he’d grown used to those—however any trace of playfulness vanished as the reality began to set in for him. The reality of you sleeping with another a man tonight. “Wait a minute, are you really planning to fuck the guy?” He didn’t even make the attempt to mask the disappointment that laced his tone. “I mean, you haven’t even met him yet. I didn’t think you were that kind of girl, querida.”

“You sound awful judgmental for someone who brings home a different escort every other fucking week,” You snapped at him, placing your hands on your hips. “Oh, and speaking of escorts, I had the pleasure of meeting Alessandra in the bathroom this morning. She asked if I had a tank top that she could borrow since apparently you got too eager and ripped her shirt off last night.” You tilted your head, squinting at him as he started shuffling uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “If you happen to go back to her for a second round, tell her that I want it back. Washed.”

Javier grimaced, looking down at the floor. “Shit. I thought she would be gone by the time you woke up,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Lo siento, bonita. I’m sorry.”

You blinked. “Sorry for what?”

He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut.

Javier wasn’t all too sure, actually.

He didn’t have anything to apologize for, not really.

He was a single man who could do as, and who, he pleased.

Yet he still felt like a pile of dog shit knowing you’d encountered Alessandra while he had still been asleep.

You would never admit it, but Javier knew that to some extent, it hurt you to run into the women he would bring home. As if having to hear him railing them on the other side of your bedroom wall for hours wasn’t bad enough, having to meet them the following morning and seeing them half naked with their smeared makeup and disheveled hair from the previous night’s activities only made it so much fucking worse. 

Having read his mind, you sighed and offered him some reassurance. “It’s fine, Javi. We both know that you don’t have anything to be sorry for,” You said, prompting him to look back up at you. You pointed a finger at him. “I do want my shirt back, though. And then maybe I’ll be nice and give you back yours.” 

You expected Javi to scamper off to his room with his tail between his legs in shame. It was what he usually did—he’d avoid you for about a few hours until the dust settled, and then everything would go back to normal. Instead of running off, he stood there and spoke again. 

“Are you really going to have sex with this guy?”

You tried to ignore how disheartened he sounded.

“I don’t know,” You confessed, quietly. “I want to have sex with him, but I don’t know if I’ll actually have the fucking balls to go through with it.”

“Por qué? Estas nerviosa?”

Though Javier hadn’t been poking fun at you, you couldn’t help but feel irritated with him for asking you if you were nervous; because you actually were nervous, and him asking you only made you even more fucking nervous. “And so what if I am a little nervous?” You challenged him, lightly. “Sorry that we’re not all just confidently fucking our way through this city like you are, Peña.”

“When’s the last time you had sex, anyway?”

“None of your fucking business, that’s when,” You quipped.

“That’s not fair.” Javi pouted at you. “You know when the last time I had sex was.”

“Not by choice,” You retorted. “You’re right on the other side of my paper thin wall and I left my Walkman in the office.”

Javi waited expectantly for an answer. He wasn’t going to drop the subject, and you knew that.

“You’re such a stubborn son of a bitch, you know that?” You muttered. Feeling a burning heat flood to your face, you decided to give him just about the most generic answer there was in order to get him off your back. “It was a long, long time ago.”

“Okay, but how long ago?” He pressed, curiously. “Are we talking weeks? Months?”

Your stomach began to churn violently, the hidden secret you’d kept to yourself for your entire adult life now at risk of being exposed. 

“I-I really don’t remember,” You stammered out in response, averting your gaze away from his. “Can we not talk about my sex life, please? Besides, it’s getting late and I still need to take a shower and get ready for my date tonight. So if you would just kindly fuck all the way off, that would be great.”

Javier took a step back and there was a very brief moment where you had been certain you’d just narrowly avoided what could have been a painful, humiliating conversation. However, just as he was about to turn to leave, Javi’s eyes widened as it slowly clicked into place for him. 

“Wait a minute—are you fucking serious?”

You groaned. “Javier, please don’t. For the sake of what’s left of my sanity, please don’t,” You nearly pleaded him, wishing that a large, Twilight Zone style swirling vortex would open up in the middle of your floor and swallow you whole. 

“You’ve never had sex before,” he realized. “Have you?”

Your face felt like it had caught on fire.

Not knowing what to say or even do, you clasped your hands together and wrung them anxiously in front of you. 

Of all the people to find out your secret, it just had to be Peña.

“Cariño, are you really a virgin?”

Surprised, you looked up at him. 

Javi wasn’t teasing you or being a dick about it.

He seemed genuinely perplexed by the fact that you’d never had sex before. Not that it made it any less mortifying.

“Yes,” You admitted, exhaling the breath that you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in. “I’m a virgin, alright? There, are you satisfied?”

“But how? Going undercover? And informants—”

Despite the circumstances, you couldn’t help but laugh. “I know this might come as a shock to you, but you don’t always have to fuck your informants to get what you need out of them, Peña. It’s not a requirement. I use my brains, not my body.” 

“You’re shaming me for using my body?” he joked lightly, hoping it would further ease the awkward nature of the conversation—for your sake, not his.

“Just a little bit.” You offered him a small, crooked smile and felt your tense shoulders finally begin to relax. “You’re probably going to think it’s stupid or maybe even crazy, but the truth is that I’ve always wanted to wait and give it to the right man. Maybe even to a man that I’m in love with. But with the way my romantic life has been going, it just seems like that’s never going to happen for me.” You shrugged. “I just want to lose it already, Javi. I’m almost in my fucking thirties—either I lose it now, or I may as well throw in the damn towel and join a convent.”

“You would look kind of cute in a nun’s habit,” Javi mused, thoughtfully.

You shot him a glare, but felt the corners of your mouth threatening to turn up into another smile. 

After a long minute, Javier broke the silence that had fallen over the both of you. “So then, Valeria’s older brother is the man you’re going to lose your virginity to? Tonight?”

“That’s the plan. He’s only here until the end of the week. It’d be no strings attached, so it works out perfectly.” You anxiously chewed on the inside of your cheek. “But only if I can find the courage to actually go through with it.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Not knowing what to do.”

Javier quirked an eyebrow.  “It’s not exactly rocket science, querida.”

You resisted the sudden urge to go up to him and backhand the stupid smirk right off of his face.

“Could you please just take me seriously for one second, Peña?” You huffed out in frustration. “I’m just really fucking nervous about it, alright? What if I can’t—what if I’m not good at it?”

Javi’s bottom lip rolled between his teeth and he stifled his laughter. “Preciosa, you’re being kind of…” He trailed off, trying to choose his next word carefully.

You lifted your chin. “Kind of what?”

“Ridiculous. And before you come over here and start pummeling me to death with those little fists of yours...” He stopped and held up his hands in defense. He took a second or two to let eyes glaze over you from head to toe. “I’m only saying that because you’re fucking gorgeous, muñequita. Any man would be lucky to have a night with you. You have nothing to be afraid of.”

“It’s not about how I look, Javier. It’s about how I perform.” You felt your face grow hot for what had to be the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes. Never did you think this would be a conversation you’d be having with him of all fucking people. “I listen to the way those women you bring home—I hear what they do to you. And I hear how much you like it.”

His lips parted slightly. “And you want to do that to him?”

“I want to make him feel good.”

Javier’s jealously simmered in his veins. But what could he do?

Nothing, that’s what. Just like him, you could do as, and who, you pleased. But if he could just get his hands on you first, at least to some extent, it would help ease the blow. He saw nothing wrong with blurring the lines, so long as he didn’t cross them.

Javi hummed. “If you really want to know how to make a man feel good, I can help you.”

“You can help me?” You repeated. “How?”

“By showing you a thing or two.”

You let out something mixed between a scoff and a laugh.

“I am not having sex with you, Peña.”

He tossed you an innocent look. “That’s not what I was suggesting at all.” He crossed the bedroom and walked over to you, reaching for your hands. He took them in his own and then started pulling you towards your bed. “If you’re really that worried about not knowing what to do, I can give you a few pointers. And calmada, querida. Our clothes stay on,” he reassured you before you could open your mouth to protest. “Just think of it as a friend helping out a friend. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?”

You chewed on your lower lip. “I don’t know about this, Javi.”

Javier’s thumbs softly smoothed across the back of your hands. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Right now, I’m not so sure that I do.” You paused long enough for him to throw you an exasperated, almost offended look. You rolled your eyes at him and nodded your head. “Yes, of course I trust you, Peña. I trust you with my fucking life. Literally, I put my life in your hands at least once or twice a week.”

“Then let me help you, hermosa.”

You inhaled a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled it softly. “Fine. But remember, our clothes stay on—” You were cut off, all the air leaving your lungs as Javi yanked you forward, slamming you against his chest. You looked up at him, ready to give him a piece of your mind for knocking the wind out of you, but as his eyes met yours, words failed you and all you could do was stare at him like a deer caught in the headlights. 

This could not possibly end well.

And yet here you were, going along with it.

He snaked an arm around your waist, holding your body flush against his. Feeling how tense you had become, stiff as a fucking board, Javi gave you a light shake in an effort to get you to loosen up a bit. “First thing is first, you need to relax. There’s no need to overthink this, cariño. Especially not with me.” He reached up with his opposite hand, letting his index finger feather along your jawline. He then slipped it underneath your chin, lifting it ever so slightly and forcing you to look right into his rich pools of espresso. “I mean it. It really wouldn’t take much for a beautiful girl like you to drive me—I mean, drive him wild.”

You tried your hardest to keep your voice from trembling, but between his touch and being in such close proximity, you were finding it a hell of a lot more difficult than you’d imagined. “Show me, Peña. What drives you—I mean, what’s going to drive him wild?”

“Well, it always starts with the right kiss.”

You quickly shook your head. “Javi—”

“Kiss me.”

Had he lost his fucking mind?

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” You echoed your thoughts

“Just a friend helping out a friend,” Javi reminded you in a murmur. “Remember?”

You should have said no. You should have decked him for even suggesting such a thing.

Instead, you gave him a small nod. You rested your hands delicately on his hard, lean chest and tilted your head upwards, lightly pressing your lips to his for a split second before quickly pulling away.

“There.”

“That was fucking pathetic,” Javier laughed softly, his warm breath fanning over the tip of your nose. “You’re not kissing your abuela, you know.”

You smacked his chest. “Javi! Leave my grandma out of this.”

“You have to kiss a man like you actually want him, querida. Here, allow me to demonstrate.”

Your throat went dry as his grip around your waist tightened. He moved his other hand away from your chin and it went to the back of your neck, gingerly tilting your head up towards his. Your heart hammered almost painfully against your ribcage, beating way too hard and way too fast for him not to feel it against his own chest. You had to silently remind yourself to breathe as Javi inched his face closer to yours, slowly. You knew that he was doing it on purpose, moving an agonizingly glacial pace to allow your anticipation to build; all the while his dark eyes were staring deeply into the depths of your very fucking soul, causing a fire to set ablaze deep in your lower belly.

Your thighs clenched together involuntarily as the tip of his nose skimmed a spot near the corner of your mouth, his lips brushing the underside of your jawline.

God, he was fucking good. 

“Javi…” You uttered his name weakly.

You needed to stop this. Javier was your friend—friends didn’t do shit like this.

Javi sensed your reluctance. “It’s alright, mi vida,” he whispered, uttering an affectionate pet name that he’d never used before. He gave you a small grin as he moved in to finally close the small gap of space between your faces. His lips met yours and every ridiculous cliché of sparks flying and fireworks exploding occurred the moment they did. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, gently coaxing its way into your mouth to begin a slow, sensual dance with yours. Cupping the back of your neck, he tilted your head up a bit further, granting himself better access to your mouth so that he could fully explore it inch by inch. 

There was kissing other men.

And then there was kissing Javier. 

Whimpering, your body melted against his as he swelled your lips with a kiss that was slow and sensual, yet somehow still hungry and possessive at the same time. Javier’s hands travelled down to your hips, his fingers skimming the hem of his shirt that you wore. He took the opportunity to sneak them underneath the garment, allowing them to meet the warmth of your skin. 

Gasping, you jerked back and pulled away from him. 

“Javier!” You squeaked out his name breathlessly, furiously swatting his hands away from your sides. You glared at him. “I thought we agreed, our clothes fucking stay on!”

“Funny, I wasn’t aware that I was taking any of your clothes off.” Javier reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. He then took a step backwards and gestured towards your bed. “Lay down.”

Your mouth fell open at his request.

“W-what?” You sputtered out, your eyes wide. 

“You heard me. Get on the bed and lay down.”

Javi reached down, sweeping your pile of dresses off of the bed and onto the floor. 

“Why? What are you going to do?” You questioned him, shuffling anxiously from one bare foot to the other.

Javier rolled his eyes and let out a small, impatient sigh. “Just do it, hermosa. You can trust me.”

Swallowing harshly, you obeyed him and walked around to the side of your bed, taking a seat. You inhaled another deep breath before bringing your legs up and laying back, your head resting against your decorative pillows. You nervously tugged and pulled at the hem of his stolen pink shirt, trying to cover yourself up as best as you could as you laid there, sprawled out before him; however Javier had other plans. He climbed onto the bed after you, positioning his body so it hovered over yours. He nudged your legs apart with his knee, settling himself right in between your thighs. He grabbed one of your legs and hiked it up around his waist, putting the two of you in a very, very dangerous position. His fingers remained wrapped around your thigh, his touch burning right into your soft flesh as he held your leg in place around him. 

“Don’t be shy, muñequita.” His voice had gone low and husky. He trailed his hand further up your thigh.

He grinned, feeling satisfied with himself when he felt the goosebumps erupt across your skin.

“Shut up, I’m not shy,” You fibbed, prompting him to chuckle.

“Mentirosa.” Javi’s hand abandoned your leg and he brought his hand up to the side of your face to cradle your cheek in his palm. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip. 

“Kiss me,” he commanded, gently. “And this time, kiss me like you mean it.”

You reached up for him with trembling hands and grabbed two fistfuls of his pewter blue, button up shirt. You pulled him down towards you and lifted yourself up slightly off your pillows, crashing your mouth against his. You allowed yourself to finally release any fears that you might have had before and kissed him greedily and with fervor, as if it would be the very last time you’d ever get to kiss Javier Peña—because it very well could be the last time you would ever get to kiss Javier Peña.

You kissed him deeply, going on until your lungs began to burn—you only broke away from him once they started screaming, demanding oxygen. 

Tearing yourself apart from him, you released his shirt and dropped back down onto your pillows, breathlessly asking, “Better?”

“Oh, so much better. Good girl, mi muñequita linda,” he praised, grinning again as he caressed the silkiness of your cheek. He lowered his head and lips ghosted over yours for a moment before he moved them down your neck, feathering kisses to any exposed skin peeking out from underneath his shirt. His hand found your breast and he groaned realizing that you weren’t wearing a bra underneath it. He kneaded the perfect, soft mound of flesh through the thin fabric, rolling your hardened nipple between his fingers. He bucked his hips into yours, causing a loud moan to escape from your lips the second you felt his hardened cock through his tight, light blue jeans. He caught sight of the way you blushed at the sound that he’d elicited from you and his grin widened. “Noises like that? The louder the better. So don’t hold back, preciosa.”

“What else can I do to make you—to make him feel good?”

Javier dipped his face right into the hollow of your neck, thinking it over for a moment. “A woman who takes control can be very sexy. I like it—I bet he’ll like it if you get on top.”

“I think I can do that.” Biting your bottom lip, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him back, sliding yourself out from underneath him. You guided him to lay back onto your pillows and climbed on top of him, straddling his waist. 

Shit. Javier cursed inwardly.

Maybe he’d been in over his head with this idea.

He knew at some point he’d have to stop it from going too far—but would he be able to?

“How do you like it?” You asked him, shyly. This time, you hadn’t bothered to correct yourself. 

You didn’t want to know how to please another man.

You wanted to know how to please Javi.

Even if you’d never get the chance to do it.

“Depends on the mood,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders in the most nonchalant manner that he could muster under the circumstances—as if his cock wasn’t rock hard, straining against the zipper of his jeans and begging to be inside you.

“Te gusta despacito?” You start to rock your hips back and forth against his, slowly. “Do you like it slow?”

Javier’s breath hitched in the back his throat. At this point, there was no doubt about it—you could feel him underneath you, throbbing. “Sometimes,” he managed to choke out in reply. “Like I said. Just depends on the mood.”

“Or what about like this?” You grinned down at him, gaining a sense of confidence as you started to move faster on top of him, finding your perfect rhythm. You could see and clearly feel what you were doing to him. Knowing that you were having this kind of effect on Peña was nothing short of a fucking dream come true. 

His hands went to your hips, holding on as you picked up the pace, grinding your clothed core down against his bulge. 

You could feel your own arousal pooling between your legs, soaking your panties; you wouldn’t be surprised if you’d leave behind a wet spot on his jeans. “How am I doing?”

“Fucking amazing, muñeca,” he answered, earnestly. His long, thick fingers dug into your sides as he suggested, “It helps if you put on a little show while you’re up there, too.” He then pictured you in that sexy black lingerie set you’d bought; he imagined what it would be like to slip that tiny little thong to the side so you could freely ride his cock. The mere thought had him seeing stars.

“A show, huh?” You smirked and popped the top two buttons of your shirt—his shirt—exposing the smooth valley between your breasts to him. “I think I can do that too,” You giggled, pulling the fabric to the side, just enough to give him the tiniest glimpse of the soft curves of your chest but not enough to expose yourself completely. 

“Hermosa,” he couldn’t help but groan out. It took every ounce of strength he had inside him not to reach up and tear his shirt right off of you so he could see all of you. 

You grabbed his hands from your hips and slowly began guiding them all around your body. You started by placing them on your breasts, giving him permission to cop another feel before moving them slowly down the lengths of your sides and placing them on your bare thighs. From there, you picked up Javi’s hands once more and placed them behind you, allowing him to take two generous handfuls of your ass. Your hands then abandoned his and you placed them on his chest, supporting yourself as you continued to roll your hips against his, riding him through his jeans. You tossed your head back and closed your eyes; the friction of your clit against his pelvis even through all the clothes felt like absolute heaven, and you let out a lustful moan that bounced off of your bedroom walls as you continued to drive your hips harder against his own.

Realizing that this was no longer a lesson and you were actually pleasuring yourself, Javier groaned again. He moved his hands back to your hips and found himself bucking his own hips upwards to meet you halfway—he abandoned any and all worries about taking it too far. He wanted you to come. 

He needed to see you come.

“Javi,” You gasped his name, moaning again.

“That’s it, muñeca,” he rasped out. “Just like that, baby. Keep going. What a good girl, what a good fucking girl.”

Any and all common sense had been washed away by pleasure and by your need to reach that sweet, sweet release. 

It was so close. You felt him right there, right between your clothed folds, and all you could do was imagine what it would be like to have his cock fill you up and stretch you completely. 

His name began to slip from your lips, rolling off of your tongue over and over again with such ease.

Your movements fell in perfect sync with his.

You went down, he went up.

You pulled, he pushed.

No doubt about it, Javier was trying to get you off.

Somehow, you find a voice that speaks in between all your pitiful little pants. 

 “J-Javi, maybe we s-shouldn’t—”

Javier quickly sat up and wrapped one of his arms around your waist. He slammed your mouths together, silencing you mid sentence. He thrusted upwards, and you whined into his kiss, rubbing your clit against his bulge even harder. 

The beginning of your orgasm coiled up tightly in your belly, and you knew it would spring forward any second now.

“Javi, I’m so close—” 

“It’s okay, hermosa. Come for me,” he mumbled into your mouth.  “I’ve got you.”

Your arms found their way around his shoulders and you buried your face into his neck. Squeezing your eyes shut, your loud cries came out muffled against his collarbone as you unraveled, coming undone with one last cry of his name.

You slumped forward, resting your head on his shoulder as you fought to catch your breath, the pleasure still pulsing between your thighs.

Javier’s other arm curled around you and he said nothing as he held you. 

Once you’d finally started coming down from your high, your eyes flew open and a chill went up the length of your spine.

What had you two just done?

Still straddling his lap, you pulled back. “Javi—”

Without warning, Javier flipped you over so you were on your back underneath him once again. He hovered over you, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment before he dipped his head and captured your lips with his one final, deep and sensual kiss. 

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about tonight,” he murmured once he had pulled away. “You’re fucking perfect, mi vida.”

He touched the tip of his nose to yours before climbing off of you.

“I fucking hope this guy realizes what a lucky son of a bitch he is,” Javier said quietly before turning on the heel of his boot and walking out of your bedroom, leaving you laying there with your mouth parted open in complete shock.

Translations

Solo es una bromita, muñeca. No tienes por qué ofenderte. - It’s just a little joke, doll. No need to get offended.

El vestido rojo. - The red dress.

Te lo juro, Javi. - I swear to you, Javi.

Chismosas - Gossipers

Falta mucha tela, cariño. - There is a lot of fabric missing, darling.

Mentirosa. - Liar.

Te gusta despacito? - Do you like it a little slow? 

#javier peña #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x y/n #javier peña x you #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña fic #javier peña angst #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x y/n #javier pena #pedro pascal characters #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #javier peña smut #narcos smut #javier pena smut

[wandasaura]

THE ONE YOU REACHED FOR

summary — after you decide to be a brat as a means to get natasha’s attention, she punishes you, though wanda thinks she’s entirely too soft

warning(s) — married wandanat, dom/sub relationship, bratting, punishment, grinding, humiliation, spanking, orgasm control, daddy kink, minor choking, strap-on usage, degrading, praise, oh so much reassurance, aftercare, wanda being a menace, reader being a menace right back, essentially enemies to lovers but reader’s stubborn, men/minors dni

authors note — this series was inspired by gold rush on ao3! i highly recommend checking it out! that being said, i may have gotten carried away with this dynamic but i absolutely adore wandanat and the budding relationship between wanda and r (even if r is too stubborn to see it yet), apart of the you are in love universe

you are in love universe

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff ✧

Natasha’s office was cold. Your legs and arms were adorned in a layer of goosebumps that even a night in the Antarctic would envy, but she made no indication that she even noticed your violent shivering. You were just thankful she hadn’t made you face the wall, at least now you could watch as she sifted through emails and excel word documents with ease. Your nose scrunched in disgust when you caught sight of a particularly grueling math equation, but she had tackled it with grace, something she did frequently. Nothing could rattle her composure, not even your brattiness on the hottest summer day New Jersey had seen all season.

You heard Wanda’s footsteps before you saw her, but there was no doubt in your mind that the auburn-haired Sokovian was the one coming up the stairs. Nobody else had a key to the house, nobody save from you and well, you were already inside. The Maximoff’s were a high profile couple. Even before you’d gotten into a relationship with Natasha had you known of their existence. It was hard not to know of them, their multi-billion dollar law firm was at the top of its game and every celebrity and major corporation wanted them on their side. You’d want them on your side too if it ever came down to it, but thankfully you’d managed to stay out of trouble. Legally at least.

You saw Wanda before Natasha did, though you knew the scarlet-haired woman had heard her office door squeak on its hinges when she entered. Your cheeks flushed pink when Wanda’s eyes met yours and she raised a questioning brow at your predicament. She didn’t address you, no she completely ignored you in favor of sparking up conversation with her wife, the woman you had initially sought attention from.

“What’s she doing here?” Wanda questioned smoothly, her perfectly manicured hands finding their rightful place on Natasha’s shoulders, working out a knot near the nape of her neck. You huffed your annoyance, watching them with narrowed eyes as you pulled your arms closer around your torso and tried to keep warm. Initially, the cold had been comforting. It was blisteringly hot outside, and when you’d entered your cheeks had been flush from the sun, but now you wished Natasha would turn down the air conditioning or at least take pity on your chattering teeth and throw you the hoodie that laid unused on the couch beside her.

“Wanted attention. She almost had it too.” Natasha shrugged, turning her head just enough to meet Wanda’s waiting lips. Their kiss was sweet, nothing short of marital, but it made your belly burn with envy as you watched Wanda get what you wanted.

“She’s freezing, Nat.” Wanda rolled her eyes softly, having noticed the slightest tint of blue that adorned your usually very pink lips. She reached for the hoodie on the couch, chucking it over to you despite her wife’s protests. That was all the attention you received before she was back to being entirely occupied with her wife. “How long has she been in the corner?”

“Mm, bought half an hour.” Natasha mused only half interested in the conversation Wanda was attempting to have, her fingers already back to typing frantically on the noisy keyboard. Typically, you loved the sound of her typing. It was fast paced and soothing, but now you wanted nothing more than to throw the keyboard across the room and demand she never touched it again. You were in no position to be making such demands, but still you let yourself imagine the satisfaction of the action.

You slipped the hoodie over your head, smoothing down your wild hair the second your hands had slipped past the tight cuffs at the bottom of the sleeves. The article was warm and well worn, though all you really cared to notice was how it smelled distinctly of citrus and calm. You could identify the softest note of coconut and maybe mandarin, and your brows furrowed. Natasha wore vanilla. She never ventured into anything fruity, claiming she herself was fruity enough to spare the general public of smelling it too. That meant the hoodie had to be Wanda’s, and while irrational, you felt like it burned your skin by just touching you.

“What’d she do? Bite too hard?” Wanda teased, not even glancing in your direction despite you being the topic of conversation. It was utterly humiliating, but you’ve learned to expect nothing less when Wanda’s around. The woman has a real knack for getting under your skin, intentional or not. “You should really train your pet better.”

“I’m not a pet.” You huffed out, crossing your arms over your chest defiantly, but your outburst was ignored by both women. If you didn’t know superpowers were just a thing of fiction, you would’ve believed that you’d become invisible.

Natasha laughed at Wanda’s assumption, though she shook her head in response. “I asked her to give me five minutes. All the money I give her, you’d think she would’ve gotten herself a watch. Needy little thing couldn’t even last three before she was crawling into my lap and trying to undress me.”

“You're answering Pepper’s emails.” Wanda laughed amusedly, completely bypassing Natasha’s summary of events, not at all surprised by your unwillingness to be patient. Patience seemed to be your biggest undoing, even after seven months of being taught the importance of it. “She’ll have a heart attack. It hasn’t sat in your inbox for at least two weeks yet.”

You couldn’t see Natasha’s face, but you could imagine her rolling her eyes. After almost a year of being under contract with the lawyer, you’d come to know her mannerisms like the back of your hand. This type of back and forth wasn’t new to you, but it’s the first time you’d been forced to watch without any kind of attention yourself. To say you hated it was an understatement.

“Did I tell you that you could leave that corner?” Natasha growled, not even having to look over her shoulder to know that you were starting to migrate toward them. Your footsteps were light, perfectly inaudible, but as well as you knew her, she knew you even better.

“I want you!” You whined rather petulantly, not caring how you came across, not caring that you’d probably just earned yourself at least twenty spanks for not only talking back to her but for leaving your post before you’d been given permission. You’d played this game too many times before. Wanda had seen you play this game too many times. But still, you never learned how to make things easy for yourself.

“Did I tell you that you could leave that corner?” Natasha all but growled, still not turning around to give you even a sliver of attention. Your usual soft and attentive dominant was uncharacteristically cruel today, and you couldn’t help but think that maybe you were toeing a little too close to the line

“No.” You answered meekly, digging your naked toes into the hardwood floors beneath your feet. Shame flooded your senses, a desperate need to be good coming over you and she hadn’t even touched you yet. “Please Daddy. I don’t wanna stand in the corner anymore. It’s cold!”

“I swear, Nat. You need to do something about her attitude.” Wanda remarked, her eyes focused on her perfectly manicured fingers as she poked and pushed at her cuticles, entirely uninterested in your predicament.

“Yeah? And what would you suggest?” Natasha scoffed rather uninterestedly, switching through her tabs until she’d gotten back to her excel spreadsheet and transferred whatever finances she’d been focusing on for the last hour.

“Oh, I’d break her.” Wanda snorted, highly amused that Natasha thought you’d be able to handle whatever punishment she would have dished out for your disobedience. “That little girl doesn’t want to know what I’d do to her.”

Your insides burned at Wanda’s implication, and you couldn’t decipher if it was your burning hatred for her and her constant need to appear smug and all powerful, or if it was your desperate curiosity to take her up on that challenge that sparked such feeling in your belly. Whatever it was, it only added to the growing need between your thighs.

“Daddy.” You whined, shuffling on your feet as you contemplated going completely against her and approaching her lap with a pleading gaze, or retreating back to the corner until she deemed you sorry enough to leave it. “Please.”

“You’ve got a brat to tame, Romanoff.” Wanda mused, pressing one last kiss to Natasha’s cheek before she took up space on the two-person couch pressed up against the wall and just beneath the tightly closed and locked window.

“We both know that’s your forte.” Natasha scoffed, huffing out a laugh as she returned her attention to whatever problem Pepper was emailing her about. After seven months, you’d become well versed in the names and job descriptions of most of their employees, and you knew that if Pepper was emailing Natasha for anything at all, that it was important. A pit formed in your belly thinking about how you couldn’t even wait five minutes before taking her attention into your own hands. Clearly you’d interrupted something important.

“Daddy!” You pleaded, tears brimming your eyes as your guilt and desperate need consumed you. You weren’t sure which feeling was the cause for your tears, probably both, but you were at your breaking point and her silent game was only working to undo you faster than you could tolerate it. “Please.” You cried out weakly, nervously chewing on the string of the hoodie, not caring if Wanda would be repulsed by the action, nor if you ruined her hoodie because of it.

“Out of your mouth.” The Sokovian redhead demanded, not harshly, but not kindly either. You hadn’t even realized her eyes had been watching your movements, but your cheeks burned at the reprimand and the string of the hoodie, now damp from your tongue and teeth, dropped back to where it had previously been hanging. You hated giving her the satisfaction of your obedience, but your brain was too overwhelmed to be anything but compliant.

Your nails took the place of the hoodie’s string, already bitten down to the bone as a result of your crippling anxiety and desire to fidget with anything and everything. Natasha had been attempting to break that nasty habit, but she wasn’t around nearly enough for her efforts to be consistent. You saw her a handful of times a week, some days for the sole purpose of engaging in kink, sometimes just because she liked to know you as a person just as much as she liked to know you as her submissive, but there were weeks where she was needed on business and the best you’d get was a measly phone call and text messages. If you weren’t contractually binded, and had met by chance, you would have no hesitation about considering her a friend, though you liked much more to call her your daddy.

“Come here, baby.” Natasha demanded, pushing away from her desk and swiveling on the chair until her eyes met yours. You’d half expected Wanda to reprimand her for being too soft with you, but it seemed even the Sokovian could tell that you’d passed the point of being bratty and were now drowning in your own thoughts. There was a fine line between punishment and neglect, and even if the lawyer thought you were in need of serious correction, she’d be cruel to even consider leaving you in this state.

You approached Natasha hurriedly, sinking into her lap without hesitation. Your arms looped around her neck tightly, almost challenging her to even attempt to break your grip and send you back to the corner. “Don’t like bein’ ignored.” You sniffled, digging your face into her shoulder, hiding away from Wanda’s heavy gaze and the shame of your previous actions.

“Neither does Daddy.” Natasha stated matter of factly, only adding to the shame that was bubbling over in your belly. Her head rested heavily on the back of your head, allowing you to stay hidden as you attempted to keep yourself together. “Don’t think I’ve gotten about your snarky comment toward Wanda either, or how you deliberately disobeyed me when you took it upon yourself to leave the corner.”

You already knew where she was going with this line of conversation, and you whined pleadingly into her neck, desperate to just avoid another round of punishment in favor of being satisfied. Your hips rocked against hers, your fingers curling into her hair the way you know she likes, tugging gently when you weren’t immediately rewarded with a soft moan. Your bout of regret having clearly been forgotten about as you resumed the bratty tactics that had gotten you into the predicament in the first place.

A sharp sting spread up your thigh in seconds, the sharp sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing around the otherwise quiet office. You gasped in shock, pulling your face away from her neck to look deep into her eyes and search for forgiveness, but all you found was annoyance. You huffed, knowing that you were too far in to back down now, and so tauntingly, you resumed the act of rocking your hips into hers, not lost on the fact that she had a strap confined beneath her business slacks.

“Is it the red one I like, Daddy?” You asked coyly, letting your hand drop from where it was wrapped around her shoulders and teasingly venture down between the valley of her breasts until you came to the bulge in her pants. You squeezed experimentally, rewarded with her breathy moan when the hilt of the harness pressed against her clit, confirmation that she was at least half as worked up as you.

“Have I taught you nothing, Natalia?” Wanda growled, watching the scene unfold before her. You’d almost forgotten she was even in the room, and daringly your eyes snapped to hers. Wanda didn’t fold beneath your heavy glare, merely matching your stare with disinterest in her eyes. Natasha would’ve met your glare. She would’ve narrowed her eyes and silently dared you to keep up with that attitude, but Wanda acted like you weren’t shooting daggers through her. “If you do not want me to come over there and handle you myself, you will fix your attitude, brat.” The slight rasp in Wanda’s tone was undeniably a turn on, but you wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she had gotten to you. Instead, you stuck your tongue out at her, unsure of how else you were meant to defy her wishes.

Before Wanda could get off the couch, a tick in her jaw at your blatant defiance, Natasha’s fingers were twisting into your hair and tugging your attention back to her. Your glare softened immediately, and sweetly, you placed a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“Do I need to remind you of our rules?” She warned, and you huffed in defeat, wringing your hands together in your lap as you shook your head. “Then you will drop your attitude and apologize to Wanda.”

“I didn’t even do anything, Daddy!” You groaned, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

Clearly that wasn’t the response Natasha was looking for, because in only a matter of seconds you were being hauled off her lap but a handful of your hair and forced to bend over the edge of the desk she’d been occupying for the last hour. “What is rule number six?” She growled in your ear, her hot and heavy breath only adding to the goosebumps that adorned your skin. You’d almost forgotten about them at this point, entirely warmed by her body being so close to yours and the hoodie over your shoulders, but now the memory of them was back and your teeth chattered in response.

A heavy hand met your denim covered ass cheek and your whined, back arching upward in an attempt to dodge her next hit. “What is rule number six?” She asked through gritted teeth, forcing you back into position the way she liked.

“I will show respect to Daddy and her friends.” You huffed, “But Wanda’s not your friend! She’s your wife! That’s not in the rules!”

“She is my wife, that’s right. That means you should not only show her respect, but worship the ground she walks on, not be a disobedient brat.” Natasha seethed, landing another harsh spank to the softest spot of your thigh, not caring that you’re particularly sensitive there, nor that you let out a sharp cry of pain that was in no way mixed with pleasure in response. You’d always hated when she spanked the back of your thighs. It was one of your only limitations when you’d been filling out the contract. It wasn’t a hard no, she never would’ve struck you there if it was, but it was something you’d requested be done sparingly, and clearly you’d worked her up enough to earn yourself one.

“M’kay.” You sniffled, burying your face in your folded arms, not wanting to even spare Wanda a glance. You were absolutely certain there was a smug smile on her lips as she watched you finally be dealt with, but something told you this was the bottom of the barrel when it came to punishments she was capable of.

“How many spanks do you get when you break a rule?” Natasha asked lowly, her left hand still tangled into your hair, and she pulled sharply, forcing your back to arch in her direction, not allowing you the dignity to hide away.

“Ten.” You cried out weakly, trying to alleviate the sting in your scalp as you followed your hand. You’d always been flexible, years of sports and training had assured that, but not even that could completely help you in this situation as she pulled back farther and farther until you stopped struggling in her grip and just admitted defeat. You could safeword if you needed to. Punishments were not an exception to your comfort, but you trusted her to not push your limits, and shamefully, you knew that you needed this. You’d feel too guilty to cope if she completely forwent punishment.

“And how many rules have you broken?” She asked, the softest tinge of her accent bleeding into her words as she let herself completely surrender to her dominant headspace. You always loved when you worked her up to this point, but you hated that this time it was a result of your bratty actions that had done it.

“Um, I don’t know.” You sniffled, but clearly that wasn’t the right answer as she tugged at your hair again, ignoring your sharp cry and the twitch of your fingers as you held onto the edge of the desk.

“What are the rules?” Natasha asked, only slackening her grip the slightest bit. It helped with the sting in your scalp, but it wasn’t completely gone yet.

“I will tell Daddy what I need and what makes me uncomfortable. I will drink at least one bottle of water a day. I will show respect to Daddy and her friends. I will not touch myself without permission. I will not cum without permission. I will use my safeword if I need to. I deserve aftercare.” You rattled off the list with a practiced ease, having practically had the rules engraved in your mind since the very first week of the arrangement.

“Did you tell me that you were feeling anxious being left in that corner?” Natasha’s voice was soft, her grip in your hair gentle and comforting. She let you rest against her chest, your punishment temporarily forgotten as she walked you through the reason behind the awaiting spanking.

Even Wanda had softened in the corner of the room, looking at you with a gleam of something indistinguishable in her eyes. You hated the sight of it, but you couldn’t look away with Natasha’s hand in your hair, so instead you opted to close your eyes, and Natasha allowed you to. Talking about your anxiety was not your favorite pastime, and it was typically avoided whenever Wanda or anyone else was around, but it seems today you wouldn’t get that courtesy. You knew you could safeword, you knew you could ask for Wanda to step out during this conversation at the very least, but as much as you don’t like her, you thought she deserved some kind of explanation for your earlier actions when you’d found comfort in destroying her hoodie. She had to have some idea by now. Natasha offered you too much reassurance for it to have gone completely unnoticed. You’d rather her have the answers then speculate.

“No, Daddy.” You whispered shamefully. “I-I was okay until Wanda said you were answering Pepper. I didn’t like you ignoring me, but I wasn’t anxious.”

“What made you anxious?” Natasha asked calmly, fully loosening her grip on your hair, instead settling for scratching softly at your scalp and letting you melt fully into her, her unoccupied arm wrapping around your torso and keeping you close. You’d never had a dominant prior to Natasha. You’d tested the waters with previous partners sure, but you’d never actively pursued it in the way that you were now. Natasha’s dominance over you didn’t stop once you left the bedroom, and unlike your previous flings, she always tried to understand your triggers so she could avoid them in the future, both sexually and domestically.

“Pepper only emails you when it’s important. I couldn’t be good for five minutes and I interrupted you when you were busy. After I barged in unannounced. I felt– I feel bad.” You whispered softly, dropping your chin to your chest, desperately craving her touch and correction. Nothing would calm the raging storm of guilt in your belly until she punished you. You wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself until you knew that she did, and words weren’t enough.

“Pepper does email me for important things most times, but she was only asking about the colors of the banquet, milyy. If it was important, I would have told you that.” Natasha gently informs, and your shoulders deflate in relief. You hadn’t even realized you’d been so tense, but with the promise that you hadn’t entirely disrupted her, you could relax. “Why didn’t you safeword? You know that if you start to feel anxious, no matter what, I expect you to safeword.”

“I thought I deserved to feel bad for interrupting you and being bad.” You muttered shyly, acutely aware of how Wanda’s breath caught in her throat at your explanation. You hadn’t ever shown this side of yourself to her. It was always Natasha alone who had the misfortune of catching you in an episode of panic.

“You are not bad. You are never bad. I do not want to hear you say that again, do you understand, detka?” Natasha asked sternly, and you merely shrugged.

“I was mean to Wanda, and I interrupted you, and I didn’t listen. That’s three rules. Please Daddy.” Natasha knew you needed her to spank you. You needed to clear your head, and you needed her to help you, but she wouldn’t relent until she heard you repeat her words.

“In a second, milyy.” She assured you gently, her hand leaving your hair entirely in favor of spinning you around in her arms and tilting your chin upward until you had no choice but to look her in the eye. “I want you to tell me that you are not bad.”

“I’m not bad.” You didn’t believe it. She knew you didn’t believe it, but for right now, she let it go. A soft kiss was placed on the tip of your nose, a sweet action that you had made clear you adored. Unlike the giggles it usually provoked, you merely smiled weakly and leaned into her touch.

“You’re getting thirty spanks. We’ll see if you deserve my strap after that.” Natasha nodded, content for the moment. She spun you back around, making quick word of the button and zipper on your denim shorts. Your cheeks flushed red, remembering the specific choice of underwear you’d chosen that morning. Baby pink flowers adorned your ass, and the somewhat frilly elastic edges were a gentle shade of green that would make Natasha’s eyes pop if she held it up to her face.

You felt entirely exposed knowing that Wanda was witnessing this and seeing your less than sexy underwear, but it wasn’t the first time she’s seen you be bent over a surface in her house. You remembered vividly the last time she had watched Natasha spank you. It had been after a long day in the office, and Wanda had come home to find you bent over the arm of the couch. She made a joke that Natasha intended to christen every piece of furniture in the house, and while it hadn’t been funny to you, Natasha had laughed loudly and freely in response.

“You will count after each one. If you mess up, we’re starting over. Do you understand?” She asked, pressing down on your back and assuring that you understood where you were meant to remain for the duration of your spanking. You were on your tippy toes, the top of your thighs pressing into the edge of her desk, but you didn’t have the right to complain about the uncomfortable position, so you merely nodded your head and braced for the first hit.

It came seconds later, powerful and unforgiving on your left asscheek. You felt the flesh bounce in response, and the string that was left behind was so sinfully pleasant that you ground your teeth together and choked out a harsh, “One, Daddy.”

The second hit was delivered all the same, left in the same exact spot with a practiced precision. Leave it to Natasha to have good enough hand-eye contact to be able to leave a handprint on your ass so vividly you’d see it leftover for days. The third hit came to your right asscheek, and a gush of arousal further dampened your already saturated panties. The flowers beneath your sopping entrance were undoubtedly a dark shade of pink by now, and you could only imagine what the sight looked like to her.

The fourth and fifth spank came directly after one another, and you counted them off rather breathlessly as her hand gently massaged your stinging flesh until it was nothing more than a pleasant ache. Your eyes were pinched shut, your breathing was shallow, but you craved the next hit, and when it didn’t come, you whined in protest and pushed your ass out toward her hips.

“Begging for me to spank you. How pathetic.” Natasha taunted, though she didn’t disappoint, and the next spank came quickly after, directed toward the center of your ass.

By sixteen, there were tears in your eyes and a desperate pulse in your clit, but you hadn’t miscounted nor forgotten about numbers entirely, and Natasha was beaming with pride. “Good girl.” She cooed, her fingers trailing over your panties until she came upon the wet patch between the apex of your thighs. “So fucking wet. Does it turn you on when Daddy spanks your ass?”

Natasha knows that it does. You’ve asked for enough spankings in the last seven months to prove that fact to her, but she still finds a way to humiliate you every time you find yourself bent over as punishment. There is a very thin line between a maintenance spanking and a punishment, but you know that by time you reach the thirtieth spank you’ll have crossed the threshold of pleasurable pain. “Y-Yes. Daddy please. Please.”

“What do you want, detka? Use your words. You had no problem using them earlier when you wanted to mouth off with my wife.” All the while her hand was still buried between your thighs, avoided your clit with skilled ease, and it was slowly driving you insane. Her index finger pushed against your entrance overtop of your panties, not enough to provide any semblance of pleasure, but still enough to make your knees tremble beneath your awkwardly supported weight.

“Spank me. Please, Daddy, spank me!” You sobbed, attempting to reach for the edge of the desk in a weak attempt to ground yourself in the moment, but with your half-floating position, you found that it was just out of reach and you cried out in frustration as you settled for digging your blunt fingernails into her desk instead.

You hadn’t noticed Wanda approaching you, too lost in the pleasure of Natasha’s fingers on your cunt and the delicious sting in your ass, but you felt her nonetheless. Her hands, so soft and warm compared to the freezing temperature of the office, found a place on your lower back that was still covered by the thick material of her sweatshirt.

“Shh, dorogoy.” She soothed you gently, a stark contrast to her typical cold and sharp tone. You didn’t have any fight left in you to care about her close proximity to you, and desperately you scrounged about until your hand found hers and squeezed tightly. It was at that moment that Natasha resumed her prior actions, and a harsh and sharp spank landed on your left asscheck.

“Seventeen, Daddy!” You cried out, squeezing Wanda’s hand tightly. You were beginning to regret breaking so many rules. You were still thirteen spanks away from being forgiven, and that pleasurable pain that you found comfort in was turning bitter the harsher she was with you. You needed this, both of you knew that, but that never made it any easier to swallow in the moment. Tomorrow, you’d think twice before sitting down for meals or tasks, you’d fondly poke at your sore ass and giggle at the dull ache that brought a sense of comfort and security over you, but for right now, it was torture, especially when you were so desperate for release.

Her hits only seemed to get harsher and stronger as you got closer to thirty, but Wanda didn’t pull away even for a second and every so often Natasha would whisper praises in your ear that made your insides turn to mush. You were lost in your head, mindlessly counting out numbers with no real acknowledgement for what they meant, just desperate to please her. It was only when you reached number twenty five that Natasha switched up her tactics and paused for a moment, taking the time to undress you fully and surrender your body to the harsh cold of her office.

You whined when your pebbled nipples met the cold surface of her desk, already sensitive without the stimulating chilled surface. You squirmed for only a second before Natasha reprimanded you for trying to find a comfortable position, stilling immediately in fear of her adding more spanks or taking away your right to feel her cock in your pussy as a reward. This was a punishment, you would take it how she gave it unless you absolutely couldn’t.

“Five more.” She promised, leaving a soft kiss in the middle of your back. “I want you to tell me you’re not bad after each one, is that understood?”

When you didn’t answer, entirely lost in the blissful beginning of subspace, Wanda gently captured your attention, showing you a glimpse of her softer side. A side you would see more of if you didn’t try to get under her skin each and every time she was around. “Daddy asked you a question, milyy. She expects an answer.”

Breathing out shakily, you nodded your head. “Understood, Daddy.”

“Good girl.” Natasha hummed, but that was the last offer of praise you were given before her hand clapped against the skin of your thigh and you whined and keened in response, trying to wiggle away from her harsh hits.

“No, Daddy!” You sobbed, your hand desperately fighting against Wanda’s hold. She let you go instantly, and you didn’t hesitate to reach down and rub at the sore spot she left with a deep pout on your lips. “Ow!” You whined, tears slipping past your eyes and dampening your cheeks as your shoulders trembled.

“Shh.” Natasha and Wanda cooed in sync, and if you weren’t so spaced out you would’ve rolled your eyes at their alikeness. “I know it hurts, milyy. I know you don’t like it, but this is important to Daddy. It’s important to me that you know you’re not bad. Only four more. You’re being such a good girl. My best girl. Making Daddy so proud, taking your punishment so good. Let Wanda hold your hand, and it’ll be over soon. Then you’ll get me cock. Okay?” Natasha gently fussed over your state of upset, the pads of her thumbs wiping the tears off of your face. You leaned into her gentle touch, savoring it before you nodded weakly.

The next hit came just as harsh as the first, but you’d been expecting it at the very least, and hadn’t had such a violent reaction. Wanda praised you through the entire ordeal, not even considering reprimanding you when your voice grew hoarse and you barely remembered to echo the words Natasha had asked you to repeat. She got the hint that this was one of your softer limits, so she settled for talking you through it rather than demanding you show her partner some respect. She felt so full of warmth as she watched you take the last three spanks with minimal complaints, knowing the level of trust it took to allow a dominant to use a weakness against you, even if it wasn’t in any way ill intended.

“No more, Daddy! No more. Please.” You sobbed when the last hit came, your thighs a gentle shade of pink that Natasha would have fussed over had she not been entirely too committed to making sure you were okay. Your thighs were slick with arousal, your clit pulsed with need, and she had every intention of making it better once she got you to calm down.

“No more. You did so good for me, detka. My good girl. Daddy’s so proud of you.” She cooed gently, pulling you up off the desk and into her waiting arms. You melted against her chest, pliant and putty in her hands as she gently massaged your stinging ass, careful to leave your thighs alone for the time being.

“I’m sorry.” You sobbed, fisting her shirt in your trembling fists, suddenly very aware of how clothed she and Wanda were in comparison to you. Even your pink and green panties had been discarded on the floor in a pile, the scent of your arousal heavy and thick in the air.

“All’s forgiven, milyy. You’re okay.” She reassured, peppering tiny kisses into the crown of your head before she pulled away completely and eased you back onto her desk, this time allowing you to rest on your back in a comfortable position. Her skilled fingers dipped between your dripping folds, collecting your wetness that awaited and begged for her touch. “You’re so wet. Is this all for me?” She teased gently, bringing her fingers up toward her mouth. Her tongue darted out to sweep against the digits, and she moaned in delight at the taste of you. It had been entirely too long since she’d gotten to properly devour you, but that would have to wait until a later date. She didn’t have the heart to leave you hanging any longer then she already had, especially not when you’d been such a good girl for her.

“Please.” You begged, your hooded eyes tracing her movements as she sucked her fingers clean and let them leave her mouth with an audible pop as she abruptly broke the suction. “Please, I want your cock. I’ve been good! Please Daddy, I want you inside of me!”

“You’ve been so good, little one. The best girl.” Natasha affirmed, already working on the button of her business pants. You watched her intently, not paying Wanda the slightest bit of attention though you should’ve known better than that. When you were distracted with the sight of Wanda, the Sokovian woman to your right had taken it upon yourself to work you up even further, clearly not yet satisfied with the length of time you’d had to wait to get to this very moment.

Her fingers found your nipple in only a matter of seconds, and you gasped out in a mixture of shock and pain when she pinched and pulled at your sensitive buds cynically. You arched up into her touch, not sure if you wanted more of it or none of it, and your eyes fluttered closed. Wanda didn’t like that your attention was no longer on Natasha, and she made that clear when she twisted your left nipple harshly. “Eyes open. Your Daddy may have forgiven you, but I’ve yet to get an apology.”

Your eyes snapped open at her words, frantically searching for Natasha as you refocused on her half undressed body. Her black pants were on in a heap on the floor residing beside your own pile of clothes, but her shit was still buttoned over her chest, wrinkled from your tight grip and somewhat disheveled from how aggressively she’d pulled you flush against her at the beginning of your punishment.

Your lips parted in lust when you caught sight of the red strap-on between her thighs. She hadn’t confirmed your suspicions before, but now it was undeniable that throughout this entire ordeal, she’d been packing your favorite toy between her thick and strong thighs. A needy whine left your lips when Wanda harshly slapped at your tits, the soft mounds of flesh bouncing as a result of her hits.

“I don’t think you deserve to be fucked by your favorite toy after mouthing off to me, but you’re Daddy’s too kind to go get a different one. You should thank her.” She hadn’t said you didn’t deserve to be fucked at all, but something about the idea of Natasha switching to a smaller strap seemed like a worse punishment then being left high and dry all together, and feverishly you thanked her for her generosity, not wanting to risk the chance of Wanda’s words actually packing a punch.

Gently, Natasha guided the tip of the strap into your entrance, letting you get accustomed to the stretch before she completely bottomed out inside of you. She’d only gotten the red strap recently, three weeks ago after a business trip to LA, and while you adored it and took it like a champ every time she pulled it out, it was significantly girthier than any of the other ones that resided in her and Wanda’s collection. She didn’t want to hurt you, no matter how many times you told her to be rough.

“Move. Daddy, move please! Fuck me!” You begged, writhing beneath Wanda’s hot hands as she kept up with her ministations on your sensitive and aching nipples.

“You want me to move, pretty girl? You want me to fuck this needy cunt?” Natasha’s thumb found your clit easily, and she rubbed harsh circles along your sensitive bundle of nerves the way she knew you liked it, perfectly content with the knowledge that you wouldn’t last a full five minutes if she kept up the way she was. She was close herself. The strap had been rubbing against her clit since she’d put it on that morning, not knowing you’d show up, but anticipating it anyways. She really did know you like the back of her hand.

“Please! Please! Please Daddy, I want it! I need it!” You babbled needily, uncaring for how you came across to Wanda. You arched into the touch of the Sokovian, you desperately leaned into the strap, your body attempting to stretch in multiple directions as you chased after all of the sensations the two married women were providing your already overstimulated body.

Natasha didn’t need to hear you beg anymore. She set a brutal pace as she snapped her hips, rocking the dildo into your pussy and simultaneously chasing the pressure it put on her clit. She toyed with your clit in unwavering determination to see you fall apart, her eyes pinched shut as she chased after her own pleasure and provided you with yours. Your incoherent babbling was like music to her ears as she pulled your thighs further apart and thrust deeper into your pussy, hammering your sensitive and tight walls with a punishing pace.

“G-Gonna cum! Daddy! Please! Please! I want to c-cum! Please!” You pleaded and writhed, thankful that Wanda had eased off your nipples and you could now focus fully on the sensations that spread through your body from the way Natasha worked your cunt.

“Is that how you ask?” Wanda teased, her hot hand laying softly on your neck. She didn’t squeeze, she wouldn’t without your explicit permission, which she didn’t have, but just the thought of her choking you like Natasha did had your mind reeling and the desperation growing. “Ask nicely.”

“Please can I cum Daddy? Please!” You sobbed, feeling the coil ready to snap with or without Natasha’s explicit permission. You so desperately wanted to be good, wanted to prove yourself not only to her but to Wanda, who seemed to question if you even knew the definition of obedience, but you couldn’t stave off your orgasm for much longer. You’d been desperate for her touch all day, and now that you finally had it the way that you wanted it, it was almost impossible to deny yourself that release.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum all over my cock. Daddy’s gonna cum with you.” Natasha grunted in a manner that was so hot you nearly lost your mind. With Wanda’s hand still loosely around your neck and Natasha’s quick thrust and skilled fingers working you over, you fell over the edge and into a blinding orgasm that had tears falling from your eyes. That blissful taste of subspace that you’d been experiencing since spank seventeen took over in full force, and with the resolution of your climax, you surrendered to the fuzzy feeling in your mind.

Natasha kissed you gently, her tongue still tasting like your arousal from when she’d licked her fingers clean, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the taste of you on her lips. Your eyes fluttered closed when she stilled her hips and subsequently the dildo, drinking in every physical reminder of her touch like you were scared she’d vanish completely if you didn’t appreciate it.

When she started to pull out, wanting to rid herself of the harness after wearing it for so many hours, you whined in response, desperately pulling her closer to you. The strap-on rubbed against your sensitive walls in a way that was unpleasant at best, and you mourned the loss of the full feeling inside of you before it was even really gone.

“Not today, detka.” Natasha knew what you wanted. She knew how you liked to keep her strap buried inside of you for as long as she allowed after a session like this, but she couldn’t ignore her own discomfort for any longer, even if it meant bringing tears to your eyes. “Shh, it’s okay. Daddy’s still here.” She reassured softly, peppering kisses all over your face as she softly pulled the dildo out of you. You winced when your pussy squelched, a reminder of the wetness that still clung to your lower lips and thighs, but both women soothed your embarrassment with praises and reassurance.

“Clean yourself up.” Wanda nodded toward her wife, already managing to detangle your limbs from Natasha’s and exchange them for her own. It wasn’t the first time she’d assisted during aftercare, but it was the first time you’d been so far gone during it. She knew Natasha though, and the weight of the scene would surely dawn on her in only a handful of minutes now that she wasn’t being fuelled by adrenaline, and when that happened, when the crash came, Wanda knew that the Russian would want to be cleaned up and warm. “I’ll bring her to our bed. You need to focus on you for a couple of minutes.”

“Go with Wanda, baby.” Natasha didn’t argue with her wife, pressing a short kiss to both of your heads before she helped Wanda get a hold of you and cradle you to her chest. You had barely even recognized the shift, too sleepy and blissed out to realize that you were being carried away from Natasha and toward the warm master bedroom down the hall.

Wanda was gentle with you, and despite your hesitance to accept her help when you were in a fully sound headspace, you leaned into her now, craving more of her touch. Your glassy eyes searched for hers as she laid you gently in the center of the bed, already missing the warmth that she provided. You whined in protest, but Wanda only shushed you gently and stalked off toward the en-suite bathroom. You knew this routine well, but you were not at all fond of it.

A soft cry left your lips when you realized that you were all alone in their bed, and while their perfume lingered on the pillows and blankets, mixing together to create the most perfect and calming scent, it wasn’t as fulfilling as actually having them with you. The faucet running in the bathroom caught your attention, and just as you attempted to scramble off of the bed and follow the sound, Wanda’s voice had you stopping in your tracks and sinking into the plethora of pillows that surrounded you.

“Stay there, little one. I’ll be there in just a second.” She called out quietly, though her voice was laced with dominance that you couldn’t ignore. You whined pleadingly, looking between the open en-suite door and the hallway, desperate for either her or Natasha to come back and hold you. “Natty will be back soon. She’s probably getting you some water and a snack. You were such a good girl for her, malysh.”

“Good.” The word felt heavy on your tongue, but by some miracle you had managed to get it passed your lips. Your head was so fuzzy and void of any thoughts, but Wanda still praised your efforts.

When she came back into very, her hair was pinned up by a claw clip that you had seen Natasha wear a handful of times. You never really knew whose things were whose because the women shared everything so interchangeably, but despite your iffy relationship with Wanda, you thought it suited her well.

You were entirely too desperate for physical touch to care about who you sought it from (although secretly you were more than okay with it being Wanda who held you), and when her weight caused the mattress to dip as she joined you on the bed, you practically attacked her with your naked body. Her laughter was like music to your ears as she gently guided you into a lying position, shushing your complaints with a sweet and soft look in her green eyes.

“Such a good girl.” She cooed, dragging the damp washcloth up your inner thighs and over your sticky folds. You whined at the coldness of the rag and the rough material on your sensitive skin, but you made no attempt to wiggle away from it. “I know it’s cold, you’re being so good letting me clean you up. Do you hear that? That’s Natty.” Wanda smiled, effectively distracting you with the sounds of footsteps coming back up the stairs and toward the very room that you occupied.

“Daddy!” You whined, reaching for her the second you saw her in the doorway. As Wanda had promised, she had two bottles of water tucked beneath her arm and a sliced apple on a plate in her hands. She wore a gentle smile, her features no longer saturated in commanding dominance, much like Wanda’s weren’t either, though both women were highly aware of how you’d listen to their every command even without the practiced smolders they gave you.

“Just Natty, baby girl. It’s just Natty. We’re not playing right now, we’re all done.” She cooed gently, setting the plate of apples on the nightstand closest to the door before she reached out to take you into her arms. One bottle of water was passed to Wanda, who opened it thankfully and took a small sip, melting into the pillows against the headboard as she watched her wife fawn over you the way you deserve.

“Natty.” You whispered, preening as her hand found your hair and gently worked out any knots that had formed from when she grabbed you harshly. You melted into her touch, your forehead resting against her clothed stomach, though you took note of the fact that she was no longer wearing her business professional blouse, but rather an old t-shirt from her college years.

“Take a sip for me, baby love.” Natasha coaxed gently, unscrewing the lid on your own bottle of water and holding it up to your lips expectantly. You drank it up greedily, finishing half the bottle before she pulled it away and set it down on the nightstand. “Good girl. You’re such a good girl. Are you going to safeword when you need to next time?” She asked softly, needing to hear your answer for her own peace of mind. The fog in your head had cleared up slightly, and you nodded apologetically.

“It was a bad day.” You whispered softly, knowing that it was no excuse but wanting to give her some context. “I forgot I had an exam in logistics, so when I showed up to class I was completely blindsided. Came here straight after ‘cause I just wanted you and I thought I was okay, then when I thought that I had interrupted something important I just got overwhelmed and didn’t wanna… I don’t even know. Didn’t know how to ask for what I needed. M’sorry. Won't happen again.” You rambled out your apology, pleading with her to understand and forgive you, even though you knew that she already had.

“It makes me feel bad when you don’t safeword, but it’s forgiven. All is forgiven, malen’kiy.” Natasha promised, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose that was still pink from the flush of your orgasm. Unlike the last time she’d rewarded you with the action, you giggled in response and leaned in closer silently begging her to do it again.

“Are you gonna mouth off to Wanda again?” Natasha teased, her fingers digging into your ribcage as you sat perched on the edge of the bed and looked up at her with wide innocent eyes.

Despite your sore ass and thighs, you shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eyes that no amount of punishment could completely get rid of. “Probably.” You giggled, though there was something undeniably different about your feelings toward the lawyer now. You were too exhausted to figure out what had changed though, and so you left it to be a problem for another day.

Wanda, thoroughly amused with your shameless answer, gently chuckled a pillow in your direction and narrowed her eyes when you turned around to look at her. “Oi, little one. This is still my bed you’re getting all cozy in.”

You merely laughed, falling forward into Natasha’s arms, entirely content with spending the rest of your day wrapped up in her.

#wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #dom!natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff fluff #daddy natasha #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #dom!wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fluff #mommy wanda #wandanat #wandanat x reader #dom!wandanat x reader #wandanat smut #wandanat fluff #series: you are in love #minors dni ৎ୭

[shomixremix]

AT MERCY OF THE SAVIOURS

this is basically just gangfucking my team in genshin. but i do have one hot team, at least!

and thank you all sm for 100 followers!! this is like a little special for that occasion hehe

tags: zhongli, itto, alhaitham, wriothesley, female! reader, smut, gangbanging, blowjob, rough sex, creampie

-> listen. i do not know how or why the ex-geo archon turned businessman, a feral demon from inazuma who says fuck you to the authorities, a badass scholar from sumeru who's done with everyone and the count of criminals from fontaine would ever be in a same place let alone doing the same thing, yet here they are, gang-fucking the reader.

(can you imagine how much smuttier this will get once i pull for neuvillette)

reqs open ♡︎ | minors DNI

"mhh, fuck, so good, doll.." wriothesley grunted as he fucked you from the back, pounding into you with a steady pace. his thick fingers squeezed your meaty hips, sternly holding you in place. his thick cock was entering, no, abusing your greedy hole, each time making sure you could feel every single one of his inches dragging harshly against your plushy walls.

you tried to moan, scream, make any sound from how good he felt - but you couldn't, not with zhongli's dick so deep in your throat.

"yes..." the ex-archon sighed, a couple of beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. "you feel otherworldly, my dear. keep on sucking like that for me, hm?"

his words thick with praise made your pussy throb and clench around the man dicking you down, your legs and arms quivering. propped up only on your hands and knees, ass met with wriothesley's balls every time he thrusted in and mouth wrapped entirely on zhongli's shaft, you weren't sure if you even had the strength to hold yourself up any more.

you were cockdrunk from the way you could feel zhongli's tip repeatedly hitting the back of your throat, your numerous moans sending vibrations through his length so deliciously. even though your mouth was entirely filled with him, you still managed to whine and whimper, a little bit of drool dripping from your mouth.

"mmpphh, zhongli! z-zhongli!!"

in the process of focusing on giving the dragon adeptus the best head of his entire immortal life, you didn't realize you were neglecting your other lover, the one who was bullying your gummy g-spot with every trust and making you cream around him for the nth time. and the duke of criminals was having none of that.

"i'm glad you think at least one of us is doing a good job at satisfying you, slut" he almost growled out a sarcastic comment, rubbing the soft cheeks of your milky ass. suddenly, he slapped it hard, bottoming out in you with a loud smack! and picking up his pace.

"hey, don't- ahh, fuck, don't talk to her like that! she's s' pretty, yeah, such a pretty girl... needs that perfect ass grabbed and fucked full, not hurt, yeah? you understand what i'm sayin', right, bro?" a familiar voice joined in on the conversation, his loud voice coming out in breathless pants as he warned wriothesley. even though you couldn't see him, you knew that the oni was watching you get fucked by these two men, roughly jerking his monster cock.

"shut it, itto" another voice chimed in, scolding the large demon. "she can take it. she's tougher than she looks; don't let those puppy-like eyes deceive you. it wouldn't even surprise me if this was what she wanted all along: to be spanked and punished as she begs for more. not to even mention the way there's four of us here and she's only paying her sweet attention to just one... i believe that behavior is suitable for a good punishment."

ahh, the all too familiar voice of the fourth man sitting beside the oni, a long cock in the scholar's hand as he slowly stroked himself to the sight of you being fucked out by the others. you whined around zhongli from how rough they were treating you, feeling a little bit guilty for neglecting wrio and putting all of your attention on the geo archon.

"they might be right, love" zhongli hums as he fucks your mouth, immensely enjoying how you take all of him in your throat so eagerly.

"you have been beyond good for me, darling, but i think it's time we let someone else take their turn, hm? i have already had my fun with you, i believe it is time i let our friend, mister wriothesley, gain your full attention... what do you think, dear?"

all you could do was let out a whine around his tip, displeased that you'll have to say goodbye to his warmth and his rock-hard cock that so nicely filled your mouth... on the other hand, you felt guilty and ashamed for neglecting wriothesley, who jealously and feverishly thrusted into you, staying quiet.

"oh, don't be like that, love... one more, and you're all mister wriothesley's. do you understand?" even though his tone made your head fuzzy, you knew damn well that was an order, a warning of some sort. you nod eagerly, sucking at his sensitive veins as you feel how the fontainian man fucks you eagerly.

"she's close, shit!" wrio hums to the rest of them, talking about you as if you weren't even there. "just finish on her face and mouth already so i can give her what she needs."

something about the thought of another spilling all of himself over your pretty face and in your plump mouth made itto's cock twitch in his hands. archons, how that thought brought feelings of jealousy mixed with excitement…

"very well" regarded zhongli, holding the back of your head as he thrusted hard in your mouth. you gave it your best to give him pleasure, gently swirling your tounge around all his most sensitive spots and relaxing the tense muscles of your throat. as soon as you relaxed and let him thrust a little deeper, zhongli groaned out your name and released his hot pleasure in your mouth. you couldn't help but eagerly gulp down everything he gave you, a little bit of it spilling from the corners of your plump lips.

you released him from your mouth with a pop! and he petted you hair, looking down at you with nothing but adoration in his tourmaline eyes.

"there. so well-behaved for me." zhongli praised through a hum, soothing your cheek gently with his thumb. his head slightly raised, now turned to the man still balls-deep inside your cushy cunt.

"she's all yours, mister wriothesley." the dark-haired man hums in acknowledgement, quickly changing your position and tossing you on your back. your hands fly to his head, gently holding him between your palms.

"mmphh, wrio.." you moan softly, your fingers gently dancing through his thick, black strands.

"oh, so now you know how to moan my name, doll?"

your hips buck up to his eagerly, begging for more movement. you were just on the very brink of your peak, sososo unbelievably close-

"need something?" he asks, completely still inside you. you nod feverishly, blabbing and moaning as you look up at his pretty, simply hypnotic eyes.

"mhm!! need to come, please wrio, need to come so bad-!"

he smirks and it's mischievous yet alluring, and it stirs something deep within you - almost a fear that he will not give you what you oh so desperately want.

"work for it, then." he simply says, in one swift motion turning you around so that you were on top, seated snuggly on his painfully hard dick.

your eyes widen as he manhandles you into a cowgirl position, his hands still bruising your hips.

"noooo" you whine, unhappy that you'll have to do all the work as he simply gets to lay back and enjoy!

"please! i can't, i don't want to, i want- mph, i just want- ohh!" you whined and begged but to no avail. his rough palms once again met your ass, giving it a spank. it hurt, but the sting of it felt so good.

"the only way you're getting anything is to do as i say, doll. now, why don't you move those pretty hips if you wanna come so badly?"

another spank, making you hiss out in pain. the demon sitting across from the both of you immediately reacted, unsure whether he could take any more of looking at you being hurt for wrio’s and alhaitham's selfish pleasure.

"hey, hey, dude! don't be sucha' asshole! i told ya', she needs to be loved on more, yeah? yeahhh, look at that pretty, fucked out face! like yeah, sure, she's bein' just a tiny bit bratty, but c'mon, other ways to solve that exist, bro! i mean, how can you deny when a woman as gorgeous and sexy as her begs you to make her cum?! simple answer - ya’ don’t! you do as she says! every idiot knows that!"

you blush at the oni's words, a warmth wrapping around you. he was so sweet, and the sight of his big palm roughly squeezing his impossibly large dick was even sweeter.

"let him do what he wishes, itto" alhaitham snarls, gently stroking himself, in contrast with his demon friend whose hand was moving up and down his shaft fast. "I understand that she’s your girlfriend, but she's on his lap, after all"

the oni grunted in defeated, mumbling something about how "it wasn't fair that it wasn't his turn yet" and "girls like you can't be treated so harshly" as he sat back down. with zhongli leaving for the baths to properly clean his skin of mixed slick, there were only three of them fucking you now. which meant itto could get his hands on you all the faster.

meanwhile, you start grinding yourself on wrio's lap, desperately trying to bounce on his cock but you can't. you're so close to your high that your pussy is greedily squeezing wrio in, and his impossible girth mixed with your neediness isn't letting you move at all. in attempt to get any pleasure, you start moving in circles, clamping down on him with every move.

"holy fuck..." wriothesley sighs, throwing his head back. the way your cunt spasmed around him made him just a little closer to his release, and his hips started bucking into yours. archons, he needed to finish so badly...

three more bucks into you and he came, shutting his eyes tight and letting all of his cum release into your more than willing womb. that put you over the edge, falling on him from exhaustion.

you couldn't even rest for a second more, a pair of arms not belonging to the duke of criminals pulling you off his body.

"that's enough" the scribe announced as he pulled your still-sensitive body in his hold, "it's my turn with her".

"fuck off!" wrio cussed at his friend, grabbing a hold of you. "who said i was done?"

"when did i ask if you were done?" alhaitham commented, snatching you away from the fontainian's arms. itto tried to resolve things:

"hey, hey, dudes, let's not fight, yeah? no need to! we'll just let her decide, alright?" the two men fighting over you grumbled to themselves in a displeased manner, but ultimately agreed that it was fair and right for you to decide.

"so, whaddya' say, baby? who do you want in between those pretty, sexy legs?"

you thought for a moment, looking between the three men, all impossibly hard and longing for you.

"it's 'haitham's turn..." you say quietly, earning a big smirk from the sumeru man. he pulls you to him, rather excited that he was the one you chose.

"but" you announce as you're pulled in alhaithams arms, "it's not fair to the rest of you guys..." itto's patience ran thin as he sat back down, angrily fucking his fist in quick, desperate motions. why’d he ever have to allow his friends to fuck you like this?

"fuck, love bug, fine... 'ts okay, i'll..." he had to gulp down his spit to be able to say this, unsure if he was even correctly hearing the words that were coming out of his mouth.

"i'll let them do ya', sweets. a deal’s a deal"

when itto made that stupid bet with his more-than-willing friends and put a night with you on the line, he certainly didn’t expect that he’d be the one sitting it out. he was your boyfriend, for Inazuma’s sake, he should be the one buried in you, not the one jerking off the entire night because he can’t get to you!

even though it was ripping his heart apart, itto thought it was right to ignore his selfish needs and let the two of them go first. you were their prize, after all, and arataki itto was nothing if not an honest man who kept his word. that was one of the qualities he had promised grandma oni to keep, and he certainly wasn’t letting up now.

"but itto... that's so unfair to you.. i can see that you're hurting pretty bad..."

his dick was weeping for your attention. somehow, no matter how hard he tried, jerking off didn't go anywhere, always leading him to a place of very precum-sticky hands and no orgasms.

still, he brushed it off, waving his hand in a shoo-ing manner.

"no sweat, baby. i can wait a lil' longer, yeah? you just say there and be good for my pals, hm? hey, i tried to stop 'em, but if you go overboard they are really gonna punish you, baby, and they won't be as nice as me!"

oh, nobody was as nice as him. his words laced with adoration for your body, desperation for your warmth and thirst for your touch drove you insane. no matter how much you'd like having two gorgeous men as alhaitham and wrio fucking you, your mind still couldn't get over the fact that this sweet demon just went against all of his primal urges, just so you'd be able to be with who you want for the night and so his friends get completely satisfied.

"and what if she can't go on after this, itto? i stopped counting her orgasms after six, and she has come quite a few times since then..." alhaitham asked, worried for his demon friend and the fact that he might be left with blue balls and an excruciatingly painful dick.

itto growled low, shutting his eyes. fuck, this whole situation was unfair and it hurt. both physically and emotionally. itto was the one who wanted you the most, who loved you the most, why'd he have to suffer with not getting you at all?!

"if her pretty pussy really can't take any more after us, she'll be good and help arataki at least with some nice head, yeah?" you nodd feverishly at wrio’s question. you'd do anything to help your generous and selfless boyfriend feel good.

thirty minutes later, your legs were far apart, making enough space for the two men to both fuck your greedy whole.

"shit! so tight, fuck!" the scribe's and wrio's moans about how good you felt certainly felt like salt in the wound for arataki. he sat a little from you with a pout on his face, his slowly-softening dick laid in his palm as he watched you take the two of them, at the same time.

"hah-ah! mphhr.. itto..? why don't you- ah! mmm, wrio! tham! why don't you help yourself, at least a little bit? ooh~" you asked through a wrecked moan, feeling immensely guilty for leaving your love hanging.

"i'm good, baby" he muttered, a displeased look on his face, "can't come if it's not in you, anyway"

those words shoot you right through the heart, melting your insides completely and you come hard, milking the two men inside you. they both quickly follow your lead, spurting ropes of white inside you and stuffing you fully.

the two of them removed themselves from your body, leaving you shivering and full, spread out on the bed. Itto noticed your fucked-out expression, chuckling to himself.

“hah, feels good, doesn’t it, sweets? did ya’ say thanks to my pals for fillin’ you up, hm?”

you turn your head over to where alhaitham and wriothesley rested, giving them a soft smile. you mouth a meek “thank you”, too tired to even speak.

“let’s get ya’ all cleaned up-” your boyfriend starts to get up to go to the bathroom, yet your words make him stop instantly.

“itto” you moan, as if there was nothing else for you in this world but him, “i-itto”

he turns around to look at you, an amused and a little shocked smile on his face. “that’s me, love bug, the one and oni! whatdya need?”

you look at him through your thick eyelashes, a gleam of lust in your eyes. 

“need you” you whimper, “really really really need you”

with those words, he’s immediately on you, nestling himself between your plushy thighs.

“awwww, there’s my pretty girl!” he exclaims excitedly, his palms on each side of your head as he presses kisses all over you. “i’m here, baby, i’m here. i gotcha.”

oh, no matter how good any of his friends felt, itto will forever be your favorite. not only because intercourse with him is pure love-making, filled with adoration and love you have for each other, but also because itto fucked like the big, beefy demon he is - rough and fast.

“ohhh… itto-oh..” you moaned as he slowly eased his tip inside your gaping hole, trying not to be overly rough right out of the gate - but he can’t, there’s no way after he’s been edging himself for hours. his hips snap into yours and he bottoms out in you, making you scream out in ecstasy.

you were amused by it all, really. just ten minutes ago you were taking two above-average cocks inside and doing just fine, and now you’re struggling to take your boyfriend’s cock? itto laughed at how you struggled, soothing your sides gently.

“aww, sweets, still so tight? three dicks haven’t loosened you f’ me, baby?” you whine in embarrassment, arms locking around your boyfriend’s large neck. your pussy pulsated and spasmed around him, sore muscles trying to accommodate his enormous size.

he started moving slightly, rocking into you with gentleness and warmth. itto pressed loving, eager kisses trailing all the way from your eyelids to your collarbone, trying to get you to rest and enjoy after hours worth of rough sex. 

three minutes of him moving and you were already seeing stars. Itto was so big, so thick and deliciously long, that just his shallow thrusts could hit all the right spots in you. he hissed as you clamped down on him again:

“shit, love bug, easy there, baby! already milking me, fuck! don’t ya’ do that, sweets, or i won’t be able to control myself, ‘kay?”

he groaned into your ear, warming you with the weight of his large, warm body on top of yours. even though he warned you not to, you couldn’t help but tighten on him and whimper for more. his thrusts changed their pace from slow and loving to erratic and careless, fucking into you like all he wanted was to breed you full.

“ahhh… mhh.. none of them could fill ya’ like i can, baby… yeah? and none of them could make you feel good, hm? this pretty little cunt needs me to fill her up, yeah? breed her nice and good, like no one ever before, right? mphh.. like no one ever will.. mine, sweets, all of this is just f’ me..” he groaned into your ear as he fucked you, his big palms sliding down to your ass and giving you a light squeeze.

suddenly, you clamp down on him hard, making him lose his composure. his hips stutter and his eyes roll to the back of his head as he finally reaches his high after a whole evening of torture, burying himself as far deep as possible and draining those pretty balls inside you. it felt so good - and you knew it did, by the small tears of pleasure in the corners of his eyes.

he stuffed you so full that you were sure it would make your stomach bulge, it had to! your boyfriend fell on you once he came, nuzzling his face in your skin. after a few minutes of deep breaths and cuddling, itto sat up:

“wanna go get cleaned, love bug? I dunno about you, but I wouldn’t wanna sleep bein’ this sticky!”

you smirk mischievously, putting a gentle hand on his meaty, exposed tigh. instead of getting up like he had asked, you slide down to your knees, in between his legs.

“what… what are you doing, baby?”

you paw at his cock once again, beginning to harden in your hand once again.

“mh… wanna say sorry for makin’ you wait, itto… wanna be good…”

and good you were, giving him all the attention he missed earlier that evening.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin smut #zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #zhongli smut #wriothesley #genshin zhongli #genshin wriothesley #wriothesely x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley smut #alhaitham #genshin alhaitham #al haitam x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham smut #genshin itto #arataki itto #arataki itto smut #itto smut #itto x you #itto x reader #smut #female reader #requests open

[targaryen-dynasty]

MINE AND MINE ONLY.

Modern!Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader

Aemond has gotten you pregnant six months ago, and seeing him with his infant niece during dinner with his family sparks something inside of you only he can satisfy.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; p in v, face sitting, slight anal play, slight breeding kink, pregnant sex, slight lactation kink

WORDS: 4.9 K

NOTES: Sorry, I’m kinda in baby fever right now don’t ask me why. 😭 This also is my gift for hitting 1850 followers a few days ago, which means I’m finally where I’ve been before deleting my old blog. Thanks for everyone following me on this journey. 🫶🏻

The days between Christmas and New Years usually are meant for people to take some much-needed downtime from the stress of the past days or weeks – unless you are a Targaryen or married to one. 

It’s the fourth year in a row you’re spending one, sometimes even two, days at the large Targaryen mansion with every member of their family present. 

What started as an opportunity to celebrate the New Year early with her family four years ago, since Viserys and Alicent wanted to celebrate New Year’s Eve on a yacht somewhere in the Sea of Dorne back then, has quickly turned into a tradition that no one could escape. 

Not even the six-month pregnant you. 

As an excuse to not travel to the family’s vacation home on Dragonstone, Aemond has begged for you to allow him to tell his mother that your back pain has gotten so bad you couldn’t sit in the car for four hours. 

The fact that he didn’t fall to his knees while doing it was everything. 

But you have told him no, seeing that your back pains have eased two weeks ago, and it is one of the rare occasions he gets to spend with his whole family, not just his mother’s side. 

If he wants to or not. 

“And how are you spending New Year’s?” you ask, lounging in the burgundy Lawson chair. 

Helaena sits in the chair next to yours, fidgeting with the stem of her wine glass. Every now and then you spot her lilac eyes flickering to your protruding bump, accentuated by the tight slip dress you wear. 

“This year we’re embracing a night in,” she answers, nursing her alcohol-free wine. “Cregan doesn’t want to leave the children with his parents, since Lyanna is still breastfeeding, and Edrick doesn’t want to go without his little sister.”

You nod along to her words, smiling softly at the mention of her sons‘ protectiveness, and glance past her to Aemond, Aegon and Cregan. The men are standing close to the fireplace, glasses of whiskey between their fingers. Normally, they would be tipsy by now – some more than others – if it wasn’t for the infant cradled in Cregan’s strong arms. 

Helaena follows your line of sight, the turning of her head prompting you to look at her again. 

“What are your plans?” she asks. 

You pucker your lips slightly, looking down at the glass of water you‘ve rested on your belly before meeting her eyes. 

“Aegon has invited us to a party in White Harbor, a formal dinner with some of his friends. We wanted to go, because the place is stunning and it’s overlooking the iconic harbor fireworks, but it’s such a long drive, and Aemond doesn’t want to risk anything by us taking the plane,” you sigh, “so, we’ll probably stay at home or just go out for dinner.”

Ever since you’ve handed him the gift box containing four identical, positive pregnancy tests, Aemond has taken over a protective aura and has found it incredibly difficult to keep his hands off of you. 

It’s a miracle he was able to talk to his brother and brother-in-law for so long without checking in on you once. 

But speak of the devil. 

What you aren’t expecting when Aemond makes his way over to where you’re conversing with his sister, is the little infant in his arms. Her head rests against his shoulder, while one of his large hands supports it and neck, and the other supports her bottom. 

He’s swaying her gently as he walks over, a proud smile on his lips as he can’t tear his eyes off of his niece, coming to stand next to Helaena’s chair. The sight makes your heart swell with love. 

Cregan trails behind him, and your eyes briefly fall to the abandoned Aegon still standing at the fireplace and balancing their three glasses in his hands. 

“Honey,” the Northener’s gruff voice rings out, “your mother said that Edrick’s made a mess. Could you change him while I clean up?” Still standing offset behind your husband, Cregan pats Aemond on the shoulder once. “Our girl’s in good hands, and Aemy here can already practice for what awaits him soon.”

Helaena raises her eyebrows, before snickering at her husband’s remark. She bows her head once, smiling at you, “excuse me, Y/N.”

“We’ll talk later,” you assure her. 

She brushes her hand over your swollen belly once as she rises, Cregan’s hand on the small of her back urging her out of the living space. 

Aemond carefully sinks into the chair, and changes the position of the sleeping infant so she’s cradled in his arms. 

“What have you been up to?” he asks, finally moving his head to look at you. 

You were wearing a knitted sweater over your dress when you two arrived a few hours earlier, but with hot flashes attacking you every now and then, you have long opted to slip out of it and hang the sweater over a chair. 

And the outfit change clearly is only now noticed by him.

His lilac eyes flickered between yours and your full breasts, and you can literally see the gears turning in his head. 

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he states, full on staring at your breasts. 

Fine, maybe you have also done it to tease him a bit. 

A blush creeps onto his cheeks, running down his neck, and he slightly shifts in his seat, turning his gaze away as he clears his throat. 

Pressing your lips into a thin line to stop them from curling into a smile, you quickly shush the urge by taking a swig of your water. “Wasn’t keen on spending the evening unable to think of anything else than how sore and uncomfortable I feel,” you tease. “Are you complaining?”

Aemond raises one hand in defeat, “certainly not, just pointing it out.”

You teasingly reach and bring your index finger to his chin, tilting it up for his eyes to meet yours again. “Then you better stop staring, we're not the only ones here.” 

You glance briefly at the gathered party around you, watching Alicent chat with Rhaenyra and her husband, while Aegon seems to be deep in a conversation with Daemon, no doubt talking about the latest match between the Casterly Rock Lions and the Oldtown Saints.

“Fair enough,” he answered with a low chuckle. 

The soft coos of his niece catch your attention, and you lean forwards to gauge at the little bundle. She’s stirring lightly in her sleep, grimaces and smiles alike gracing her scrunched features. Aemond brushes her cheek with his knuckles in feather light touches, until her coos are interrupted, and wide, blue eyes stare up at him. 

Lyanna smacks her lips slowly, bringing her small hand up to her mouth. “What is she doing?” Aemond whispers, not daring to pull his eyes away from her in case she starts to cry. 

“She’s hungry,” you answer with a chuckle, grinning as you notice his helplessness. 

It’s so brief, but you spot his eyes flickering towards your full breasts, and you have to stop yourself from hitting his shoulder. One wrong word. 

“You know there are barely four months left until your life looks like this, too, right?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow at him. 

“I do, but they have not yet told us about this at the prenatal class.”

“Oh, come on, she’s not your first niece, and she’s not even crying.”

The sigh of relief Aemond releases as he spots Helaena’s silver hair in the far distance has you shaking your head, bringing your index finger up to your smiling lips. 

“How did you three get on?” Helaena asks, noticing that her daughter is awake. 

Your husband rises to his feet, and hands his niece over to her. “Easy, she’s just woken up and seems really hungry,” he notes, as if he has figured it out all by himself. “And how did you fare?”

Helaena releases a dry chuckle, brushing her free hand up and down Aemond’s biceps. “I’ll tell you another time, don’t want to scare you.“ She briefly glances over at you. “Just know that Creg has to bathe him right now, because the wet wipes were useless.”

The grimace on Aemond’s face at his sister’s words has you choking on a laugh. 

Lyanna starts to whine and wiggle in her mother’s grasp, getting her attention. “Sorry again, it’s feeding time, obviously,” she states, muttering the last word under her breath, and shoots you an apologetic gaze before scurrying off. 

You hold out a hand, and knowing what it means, Aemond takes it to help you up from the chair. 

His heart melts at the sight of you before him, and he wraps an arm around you to pull you against his side as he brushes his hand over the gentle swell of your belly in tender affection. There were shy kicks meeting his hand, making him grin.

You return the embrace, and lean yourself against his frame, your head resting on his chest. “It’s different when it’s your own child, you know,” you say, the small glimmer of a smile blessing your features. 

His head dips forwards, and he presses his lips to your temple, mumbling the words against your skin, “I can’t wait to meet him.”

—

Aemond has his arm slung around your waist as everyone has gathered in the vast living space to watch the children perform a play they have practiced. 

Alicent, ever the proud grandmother, clings to Viserys as they watch in awe what the children of Rhaenyra have been up to. An oblivious Edrick appears in the middle of it all, but before Cregan can scoop him up, the little Viserys has taken his hands to include him in their mischief. 

“Have I already told you how good you look today?” Aemond whispers, his head dipping forwards so his lips are level with your ear. He rubs your bump gently, gazing at you with half-lidded eyes. 

You shiver from his touch, your body tingling from the attention your husband gives you. “You’re not paying attention,” you scold softly, nodding towards the children in the middle. A teenage Jacaerys, as well as Daemon’s daughters from his first marriage, stand before you, your view of the play slightly concealed. 

“I can’t help myself,” he whispers huskily, “you’re just too distracting, Mommy.” A smirk tugs on his lips as the name leaves them, and the sight is only topped by him leaning in to brush his lips over your ear, before they press to the sensitive skin behind it. The very spot that always makes you putty in his hands, and with your hormones in full swing, it does a little more than just melt you. 

“Aemond,” you whisper, though he can also hear the trace of a moan in it, “easy.”

His teeth graze your earlobe, and the ring of his baritone voice sends a shiver down your spine, “we should go to bed early tonight.”

You can’t help but to chuckle at his words. It’s his subtle way to ask for something without directly asking, though you know exactly what he means. You lean into him, pressing yourself against his side. 

Biting the tip of your tongue, it was impossible for you to stop your lips from pulling into a mischievous smirk. 

“Do you think your mother will notice if we leave now?” you ask, innocently. 

You’re greeted with a wide grin when your eyes meet Aemond’s, and the arm he has wrapped around you tightens just more, keeping you against his frame. 

His lips brush your ear again, trailing down to press a kiss to the side of your neck. “If she does, she can tell me later,” he raps into your ear, “besides, we wouldn‘t be gone for too long, sweetheart. Just long enough for a little… alone time. Who could blame us for wanting to savor the last weeks where it’s only the two of us, mh?”

Aemond looks around one last time, noticing how everyone around you is mostly focused on the children’s show. 

Bringing his hand to the small of your back, he gently guides you through the crowd of his relatives, before you’re on the way to his childhood bedroom. 

It’s furnished in a minimalistic style, making it obvious that Alicent has spent some time decluttering her children’s rooms to make them more presentable for whenever guests stay over. The room basically is Aemond’s, and the rest belongs to Alicent. 

Walking in behind you, he locks the door. You look around briefly before his firm chest is flush against your back with his arms around your waist, resting on your bump. He presses his lips to the curve of your neck, prompting you to tilt your head to the side, and a shuddered breath to escape your throat. 

The feeling of his hard, clothed cock against the curve of your ass drives you to insanity, making you eager for more. He grinds against you as his fingers travel over your curves, and greedily fist the fabric of your dress. 

“Let me help you undress, Mama,” he rasps against your skin, goosebumps prickling in its wake.

When he sinks to his knees behind you, you whimper quietly, immediately missing the heat of his breath and lips on your body. 

“Aemond,” you breathe, looking down at him as he pushes your dress up. 

The dumbfounded look that crosses his features with the skirt of your dress rucked up just shy beneath your bump has you chuckling, realization settling in. 

“You went commando?” 

Biting your bottom lip, you can basically see his excitement building, the bulge in the front of his slacks quite obvious despite him kneeling. “I was feeling… adventurous today,” you hum, a glint of mischief in your eyes. 

He can’t help but to grin at your comment, and, on his way up, Aemond starts to press several kisses to the outside of your thigh, his fingers following in their trail. 

Standing to full height again, looming over you, he keeps his hand beneath your bump, his fingers caressing your pubic mound. 

You squeeze your thighs together in a desperate attempt to soothe the aching at the apex of them, since his fingers aren’t touching you where you need them most. An anticipating moan slips past your lips, a shiver shaking your core. 

“I hope you’re prepared for me to be just as adventurous,” he hums, “... and thorough.”

His fingers hook under the thin straps of your dress, tugging them off your shoulders to push the elastic fabric down your curves and onto the ground. It’s pooling around your ankles in a white puddle, leaving you completely bare to him with just a few touches. 

You shudder under his intense gaze, practically devouring you with just his lilac eyes, and try to break the tension by pulling him in for a kiss. 

You turn around mid-kiss, your protruding belly a barrier between your bodies. Before your hands can entangle into his strands, Aemond catches them and intertwines your fingers. He creates a small distance between your bodies, taking a few steps back and pulling you with him. 

His steps are deliberately slow, careful, and you’re encouraged to climb his lap as he sits down at the edge of the bed. Both his feet are firmly planted on the ground, supporting your swollen body. 

He groans as you trap him between your legs, his hands roaming your curves almost immediately. The knowledge that he was the one responsible for the changes of your body, and that everybody else knew that as well, does something to him, making him all the more hungry for you. 

It was even more addicting to see you sit astride him like a goddess, ready to claim what was yours already anyways. Him.

Feeling his clothed member throb beneath you, the urge to grind above him is as inviting as never, and you’re more than ready to give into the urge. Your wetness soaks his slacks, and the groan Aemond releases at the friction has you whimpering with him. 

Your lips meet for a fervent kiss, and while your hands rest on his shoulders, his are eager to explore the swell of your belly. His tongue finds its way past your lips, swirling around yours in a way that turns the kiss into all teeth and tongue. 

Dragging your teeth over his kiss swollen bottom lip, he tilts his head upwards and nudges the tip of his nose against yours. You lick over his lips once, but when you lean in to connect your lips again, Aemond stops you with his hand around your throat. 

“I want you to sit on my face,” he rasps, his voice husky. 

You haven’t sat on his face in weeks, or rather ever since the round ligament pain kicked in and made even the simplest daily tasks difficult for you. 

Your eyes widen. “But– I–”

“No, you’re not too heavy,” he interrupts, cocking one eyebrow at you. 

There’s not even a chance for you to reject before he lies down and hooks his hands beneath your thighs, hoisting you up and pulling you towards his face. You sit on his chest, barely seeing his chiseled features from under your bump. 

As the position you are in truly settles in your mind, a bright blush starts to cover the apples of your cheeks. His angelic looks don't help either, strands of silver hair splayed out around his head like a halo, and his piercing lilac eyes fixed on you and you only. “But you tell me when it gets too much, no?” you ask, coyly. 

Aemond rubs his hands over your bare thighs in comfort, nodding. “Always.” Deep down you know it’s a lie, because he has told you on more than one occasion that he’d gladly leave the world suffocated by your delicious pussy, but you trust the feigned security he offers. 

“No promises about how long I’ll last, though,” you tell him. 

A gentle pat to your thigh is what has you eventually inching forwards until your knees are on either side of his head. 

With your bump being quite protruding, you can’t even see him anymore, you only hear his groans and growls when you cautiously settle in the new position.

The attempt to slightly hover your pussy over his face is fruitless the moment your husband’s hands fly to your hips, grabbing you and pulling you down onto his face. Just his nose perfectly teasing your clit has you moaning out loudly already, even though he hasn’t even used his tongue yet. 

And then it follows. 

Aemond greedily laps at your entrance as his hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place and playing you like a fiddle. It circles around your clenching hole, teasing it but never one dipping it inside. 

You clench around nothing, and bring one hand to your bump while the other just rests above his hand on your hip, squeezing it. Chasing the friction and warmth of his tongue, you rock your hips back and forth as much as his grip allows, coaxing whimpers and mewls to leave your lips.

“Gods be good,” you whimper, the grip of your thighs around his face tightening. “I–I forgot how good you are at this.”

Seemingly keening at your praise, you’re almost disappointed when he pulls his hand off of yours to cup your ass cheeks, yanking you impossibly closer. The groans that vibrate against your pussy send shivers up your spine that make you lose yourself in the pleasure, not focusing on where his hands are. 

At this point, Aemond was feasting at you like a man starved, all but devouring you with newfound vigor. His nose flicks against your clit with expert precision every time he tilts his head or you move your hips, drawing you closer to your orgasm. 

His index finger comes into play, teasing your throbbing folds for a split second. His true intentions, however, only show the moment it starts to circle around your other hole. 

“Fuck, Aemond, I-” you manage as he carefully dips his finger into your hole, the added stimulation almost immediately tightening the coil in your belly. A muffled groan of appreciation shakes your core as he feels your unused hole tighten around his finger. 

You roll your hips against Aemond’s mouth on the race to completion, any thoughts of being too heavy for him long gone, and replaced by nothing else than raw need and desire. 

It’s almost too much. Straddling the fine line between overwhelming and just the right amount. His nose rubs your clit, his lips lap hungrily at your swollen folds, and his index finger fills you pleasantly – he is redoubling his efforts. 

You keep dragging your hips back and forth in rhythm with his movements, fucking his face on the brink of your release. 

“Oh God, you-you’re so good– Aemond, I’m–I’m–” you ramble, breathy whimpers filling in between the words. 

Hearing him slurp and groan beneath your trembling frame brings a blush to your face and stokes the fire in your belly, the sounds fanning through the room like your moans and whimpers. 

When the coil finally snaps, you throw your head back in ecstasy and clamp your thighs around his head, hot, white pleasure licking its way up your spine. His name topples off your lips more than once, accompanied by desperate mewls and whines. He is relentless, licking you through your orgasm. 

You don’t wait long enough for the aftershocks to fully subside, the overstimulation of his tongue dragging through your folds becoming too much, and cup your pregnant belly as you heave your frame off of his face, shifting backwards down his body. 

“Fuck, I–I need you,” you all but beg, eagerly tugging on the collar of his black shirt. 

Aemond seems to share your enthusiasm, and is quick to sit up again, meeting your lips for a deep kiss. Only when you cup his cheeks do you feel that they’re covered in your arousal, the taste of you on his tongue clouding your mind. 

Your belly is between you again, but Aemond manages to swiftly undo the zipper in the front of his slacks nevertheless, and shoves them down just enough to free his aching cock. 

“So desperate for my cock now, mh?” Aemond pants against your lips, a smug smirk tugging on the corners. 

His hand wraps around his stiff member, fisting himself raw twice, thrice, before another pat served to your thigh encourages you to raise your hips. He aligns himself with your soaked entrance, and you feel his tip prodding gingerly at it. 

As you sink down on him, your hands tightly gripping the collar of his shirt, you release a shuddered breath. Your husband, on the other hand, escapes a relieved groan, his head tipping back for a moment. 

With your limbs still tingling from your previous orgasm, you bow your head forwards, lowering yourself on him until he is balls deep inside of you. “Mh, fuck, you didn’t even bother to take off your pants,” you taunt, “so desperate to be inside me.”

Aemond’s words die on his tongue as you start to sensually roll your hips over his, the added weight of the bump not allowing you to bounce up and down on him with the vigor you had used before your pregnancy. 

But your husband doesn’t seem to mind, his eyes journeying into the back of his head at the sensation. 

Moving his hands to grope and grasp at every inch of your body, they eventually settle on your full breasts, tweaking and pinching your nipples between his nimble fingers while you unravel astride him. It prompts you to arch your back, all but shoving your breasts into his face. 

“So fucking good,” he grunts, embracing it and wrapping his lips around your pert nipple while his arms snake around your body. 

He licks and sucks at your little bud like he has done with your pussy before, and, just judging by the smacking and humming sounds he makes, it’s possible there ooze a few droplets of milk out of it. 

Aemond places his feet firmly on the ground, and starts to buck his hips up into yours, seemingly impatient for his own release as he meets the sensual rolls of your hips and bullies the spongy spot inside of you with more determination. 

Loud, wet sounds from where your bodies meet echo off the walls, indistinct to you with all you can focus on being his lips at your heavy breasts, and his cock deep inside of you. 

You bite your bottom lip and stop the rolling of your hips, making it evident that you were close to your orgasm. The tingling at the base of your spine makes it impossible to move any further and you rely on him to take over. 

Aemond pulls back and watches you gleefully as the force of his thrusts makes your body squirm and jerk, eagerly anticipating you to topple over the edge for the second time. 

“You’re gonna cum on my cock already?” he asks, almost mockingly. 

You frantically nod, breathing a yes.

His hands come to your hips, and with his fingers digging into your flesh, he drags your hips back and forth, your clit rubbing against the hem of his shirt with each movement. You’re not able to gasp more than yeses and pleases, clenching tightly around him. 

The intensity of his thrusts increases while you have stopped moving, toes curling as the taut string inside of you snaps without a warning and white stars cloud your vision. 

“Mh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whine, clawing at his shoulders as you ride out your high, grinding and rolling your hips against his. Your walls clamp around him like a vice, and he chokes on a husky groan. “Oh God, I love you.“

And even though your orgasm subsides slowly, Aemond refuses to slow down, keeping his heedless pace and pursuing his own completion. 

He has his lips around your other nipple by now, sucking and nibbling on it, the vibrations of his groans coursing through your veins. “Daddy, mh, cum for me, please,” you whine, desperate for his cum. 

Your body, however, contradicts your words and moans, your thighs squeezing his in a desperate attempt to stop him from pounding into your overstimulated pussy – but to no avail. 

“God, please.”

His pace is as reckless and merciless as before, his cock all but forcing its way in and out of your quivering walls as he doesn’t listen to your desperate pleas.

Pulling back from your nipple with a lewd pop, a string of saliva connects the dark areola and his swollen lips as he gazes up at you with half-lidded eyes. “Hush now, Mommy,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to kiss you. The nickname coaxes a smug smirk on his lips. “Taking me so well, such a good girl for Daddy.” With just his praise, a warmth overtakes your body that drowns out the burning, your chest swelling. 

You sling your arms around his neck, burying your fingers in the silver strands of his hair in a way that is destined to ruin the little updo he had put it in this morning. 

“Mh, fuck, I’m gonna–” his words are cut off with a stutter of his hips, and he feels his throbbing cock spill deep inside of you. 

You ride him through his high with lazy rolls of your hips, biting through the overstimulation, and clench and unclench around him as you milk him for every drop of his seed. 

If he hadn’t gotten you pregnant already, he surely would have knocked you up after this. 

Aemond languidly fucks up into you now as the last spurts of his warm release fill you to the brim, grunting and groaning until the euphoria fades. 

He collapses on the bed, a blissed out expression on his face, and reaches to trace his fingers over the swell of your bump up to the curve of your breasts. Rolling the darkened buds between them, he smirks as he watches you squirm, his softening cock still buried inside of you. 

“You know,” he starts, folding one arm behind his head. His voice is softer than before, but has a teasing edge to it. “I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone knew by now what we’ve been up to.”

You laugh breathlessly and plant your hands on his chest, rubbing your thumbs over it. “But at least they don’t have to worry about you getting me pregnant by accident,” you tease. 

“True enough,” he chuckles softly, “Fuck, I’m–I just can’t help myself. Seeing your body swell just because of my seed fucking does something to me.”

His words make you blush, and you appreciatively run your hands over your bump. 

You lean forwards and cup his face, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. He smirks against your mouth, and subconsciously bucks his hips into yours as he feels you clench around him. 

With a groan rumbling in his chest, he pulls back. Something dark flickers in his eyes, his intentions evident when he speaks again. 

“Once our boy’s born, I’ll make quick work of making you a mother of two.”

Taglist: @heimtathurs @croatianprincess @nina2697 @sirenangelroyal @malfoytargaryen @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @kyuupidwrites @boofy1998 @thekinslayersswordhand @sagelovesreading @jiminie-08 @doublesparrows @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @recorddust @tsujifreya @melsunshine @docmartinis @drwstarkeyy @kazuyatokue @nockerin @moonlightfoxx @bbgmonsay @thatmysteriousblog @ashovertheriver @black-dread @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1 @lovelykhaleesiii @hypocritic-trash-baby @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowystark @goldyfishsstuff @connorsui @ammo23

#house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #hotd modern au #modern!houseofthedragon #modern!aemondtargaryen #modern!hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd smut #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd imagine #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #hotd x you #hotd x reader #house of the dragon aemond #modern aemond x you #modern!aemond x you #ewan nation #ewan mitchell #aemond stannies #aemond targaryen x female reader #house of the dragon fic

[hoshigray]

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐌𝐄 [& 𝑭𝑼𝑪𝑲 𝑴𝑬] 𝐔𝐏!! | tōji fushiguro

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: It's bad enough you got a crush on your gym instructor, Toji; however, it gets worse when things become too close and personal for this relationship...But who says you shouldn't get a little praise for your hard work?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: personal trainer! Toji x fem! reader - explicit contents; minors DNI - unrequited/crushing » mutual pining - sex in a public space (gym locker room + showers) - shower sex - thigh riding - oral (m! + f! receiving) - ball massaging - face + throat-fucking - breast fondling + nipple play - against a wall + upstanding citizen + standing 69 positions - praise - clitoral play (swiping and pinching) - cervix fucking - pet names (angel, baby, doll, dollface, good girl, princess, sweetie, sweet thing) - unprotected sex (doesn't shoot inside tho) - overstimulation - cameos: Haibara and Ino (gym manager and employee) - the reader accidentally walks into the men's locker room (they're a bit dumb, forgive them, lol) - mention of sweat spit and tears.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.4k (i'm about to lose my mind, bro.)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: mannnnnn, the way this draft has been collecting dust, it was supposed to be released on Dec!! ofc my first fic back would be for toji lmao. anyways, i hope you enjoy, and tysm for 4.7k y'all are so sweet ;;w;; and thank yeww @ramonathinks for beta-reading, mwah mwah

“That one was weak; do another three.”

“Gahh– …You’re such an asshole, Fushiguro.”

“Heh, like that’s anythin’ new. C’mon, let’s go!”

We’re counting down to the last weeks of the year, and so many people have already promised affirmations for themselves in the upcoming year. In terms of this year, you can’t say much. You’ve done your work, hung out with the same people since last year, and probably learned to spoil yourself more. Maybe another thing you can be proud of is that you crossed some TV series off your “get-to-watch” list, so go you!

Although, besides those minimal things, there is one change in your life that you’ve committed yourself to. One thing that you didn’t expect to be so in tune with throughout the past half of the year. It started as a forced challenge because your friend Miwa needed someone to motivate her to maintain her gym membership. What was once something you’d thought a one-time thing gradually became something you enjoy — something you felt proud doing!

Not only has your knowledge of your body and how to keep it in good shape improved over half a year, but your love for the community has grown more and more. The gym you go to feels like a second home, with many people you’ve gotten to know and befriend along your journey. Even the manager, Haibara Yu, practically treats you like a sibling after seeing you every other day. The same goes for the front desk associate, Ino, who is the goofiest goofball you’ve ever met (not to mention the best drinking buddy). 

But – if you really had to pick – there is one person who has made this experience more enjoyable and worthwhile. “Hahhh!! There, I did them! Aren’t you supposed to be my spotter, not a shit-talker?”

“I’m doin’ my job, aren’t I?” Toji Fushiguro, your gym instructor for the past few months, has been a driving force in your physical journey. With his help, you’ve been disciplining yourself in and outside of the facility, maintaining a good diet, and keeping your body active in a balanced fashion. The gratitude you have for him supersedes all. But above all else, throughout the years, the two of you have gotten pretty close and know a good chunk about each other to call yourselves friends – at least, that’s what you’ve been doing. “Alright, that’s enough lifting for today; time for stretches.”

Aside from a friend, there is something else you refer to him as – something you’d rather die than admit out loud. Toji, your trainer, is your gym crush. Well, your crush in general. 

Can you really blame yourself, though? Look at the man! When you first look at him, his physique alone is enough to keep you staring at him for hours and hours on end. Strong, bulky arms that look like they could pick up five treadmills in one sitting and with veins that decorate up to his forearm can effortlessly grab the attention of the normal eye. He’s wearing his black fitted tee, so tight that it was as if it was vacuum sealed to perfectly showcase the outline of his abdomen, ribs, and pectorals. And it doesn’t help from the back view either; you can’t count how many times you fell into a short trance from admiring his gorgeous back, from his trapezius to his waist. Every time the man flexes his biceps and triceps, all you can do is internally thank the gods for sculpting such a man to be in front of you. And those beautiful thighs and calves shaped from his black leggings and shorts? Damn.

But the thing about him that has you squeak more than a mouse are his eyes. Forest green orbs that can shift into a stern concentration whenever he’s working on a machine or when he’s observing your form and finds whatever needs correcting. Then there are times when they are mellow and soft when you’re speaking with him or when he’s deep in thought about something until you catch his attention. Then he’d throw a small smile at you — your biggest weakness. The scar on his lip being lifted to a curl never fails to put your stomach into knots.

He’s such an attractive man from the first moment you ever laid your eyes on him. You were bound to fall in love with him one way or another. It just sucks that it’s under such a professional relationship that you have to keep this little unrequited love to yourself.

Which is getting harder and harder every day, especially now when the guy is so close to your face when he’s helping you stretch. Oh, dear lord. 

Every time you are done lifting weights, Toji will have you do stretches. He has you do them before and after a workout as they give your muscles time to warm up and straighten from the stress you put on them. So now, as you’re laying on your mat, Toji puts one hand on your right leg to keep it grounded on the floor and his other hand on the back of your left to push it up to your chest. The position has the two of you so close, him being situated between your legs and observing your breathing; it’s so wrong of you to dwell your mind into other things – other raunchier things.

And when he brings both your legs up to your chest, how the fuck are you supposed to calm your heart from exploding!?? You have to close your eyes during all this to not be pulled in by the examination of his gaze under his raven bangs. This is, without a doubt, the best worst part of the workouts. Thankfully, this is the last workout of the week, and the gym is about to close within an hour and a half. 

Toji breaks the suffering silence between you two. “Y’re still stiff; take deeper breaths f’r me.”

Oh, if only he knew how your dirty mind took that sentence. You chew on your lip with a gulp, “Maybe I still have a little energy in me that still wants to exercise.”

That made him chortle. “Is that so? Well, maybe after your stretches, you can get on the stairmaster for a few minutes.”

You gawk at him, only furthering the smirk on his face. “Are you serious!?? You promised we wouldn’t do any cardio until next week.”

“Well, next week is around the corner,” Toji moves your knees a bit to the left, bending them further down to your chest so his face could be a little closer to yours. Your brain almost short circuits at the movement, trying to distract yourself from the fact that his groin is mere inches away from your shorts. “So, since ya got the spirit, be a doll and do a few minutes on the machine, okay? Five minutes.”

Your breathing is so slow that you’re too scared to move. Your lips pressed to a thin line to conceal the quiver, and your eyes don’t dare venture down. You already know your body is going through its own internal turmoil, a throbbing sense occurring in your lower regions the more you keep looking at Toji, who lifts a brow from awaiting your response. Oh, this man is going to kill me.

“…Five minutes.” 

“Atta girl.” With a scoff, he finally straightens himself and places your legs on the mat. Toji then stands on his feet and grabs his bag. “Gonna head for the showers; finish up those stretches and head for the stepmaster. See ya later, Y/n.” And you watch him leave for the men’s locker room, finally having room to breathe. Before you can conclude your stretches with a cobra and child’s pose, you grumble to yourself in a whisper.

Why the hell did I have to fall in love with such a snarky, gruff, older guy like him…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You enter the locker room after completing the instructed exercise. Your mind is dizzy from walking on the step machine for about fifteen minutes, and your legs are mere minutes from turning into jelly. You curse Toji internally for the insufferable torture you’ve stressed on your poor limbs. 

No matter, though; you’re finally done for the evening and can head home to your soft bed. The gym will close soon, so perhaps you could use the locker room showers to freshen up. But then again, after the strain you’ve put on your body for almost two hours, all you want to do is be home and listen to your favorite music. I don’t feel like cooking today…  

Further into the room, you can hear the sound of someone using the showers, indicating you had picked the right idea to head home. You head for the locker side to grab your items to put in your bag before leaving, and it’s then that you hear the water stop running from where the showers are. Oh, shit,  make this quick, Y/n!

In front of you is the locker with the number you’re familiar with — where you always leave your things, like your own spot. You open it only to find….nothing is in the locker? Huh? Where are my leggings? And my phone??

Come to think of it, where’s your duffel bag that you usually leave on the bench against the lockers? You’ve never had a problem with people stealing from you in this place, so how does a bag full of your stuff magically disappear? There is a bag in here, but it’s definitely not yours. And now that you get a good look, you start to notice that the color of the lockers is of a different, darker shade than what you’re usually accustomed to. Wait a minute, am I in the wrong—

“Y/n?”

You go still at the familiar voice. Oh no, please, God, no. There’s no way. Your eyes teeter to the corner as you ever-so-slowly turn to the direction where that voice was coming from. And, of course, it was your personal trainer, who is—OH MY GOD!!!

Toji stands afar on the opposite side of you from the showers, without clothing, his body and hair completely drenched from water. The only thing that covers him is a white towel wrapped around his lower body. His body, which you’re used to seeing being snug tight by his gym clothes, is out for you to see as water trickled down from his clavicle, pecs, ribcage, and abs. For a split second, you take in as much of the image as you can, storing this as it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity in your mind (maybe to fuel more of your erotic fantasies when you go home). But you avert your gaze when your eyes travel down his abs, counting each one until you reach below his belly button, where strays of dark hair become more prominent with a trail down his pelvis and—Okay, stop looking, stop looking!!

“M–Mr. Fushiguro!?” You croak, eyes wide with realization at what you’ve just done. Your dumbass just walked into the men’s locker room without checking first. And to add salt to the wound, your crush is the first person to catch you in the act, “O-Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to walk in here! I’ll get going—“

“No, no, Y/n, calm down,” Toji walks to where you’re standing; a mini-heart attack was about to be deployed until the older man turned to the side to grab for something in his bag. He pulls out a smaller towel. “Ya walked in here on accident, right?”

You gulp, seeing the steam from the shower still leave from Toji’s nude body. “Uhm, yeahhh, I don’t know where my head was at. Sorry…”

The gym instructor scoffs at your apology. “It happens; must’ve been a bit light-headed from the exercise and forgot where y’re at. Heh, guess those five minutes did more damage than I thought.”

“Ahaha, yeah, it was…pretty….dreadful……” Were you distracted? Yup. Because Toji used the towel he pulled from his bag to wipe off the water from his arms and face. You couldn’t help but survey the man’s movements, watching the small white towel brush on his triceps and glide down to his torso. You continue watching the small towel until your eyes drift to the happy trail on his pelvis. Your breathing goes uneven, thinking of more indecent things that connect with the trail of hair and the limb that’s shielded by the towel around Toji’s waist.

“…–ou there…Y/n?” Your name said to you snaps you back, realizing where you are and what you were doing. Your eyes crawl back to Toji’s face, who throws a small smile at you. “Eyes up here, sweetie.” Sweetie?!? If the floor could give way and swallow you, that would be appreciated. “Is there anythin’ else you need to tell me while y’re here?”

No, I’m in the men’s locker room, so I need to hurry and get the fuck out! “Uhmm, n-nope, nothing at all! So…I better get going now. See you later, Mr. Fushiguro!” You turn on the heel of your foot to head for the door, only able to take about five giant steps before Toji stops you again.

“How was it today?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, what now!? You look over your shoulder. “Excuse me?”

“The workout. How was it?”

“It…It was, umm, alright, I guess. I feel like I could’ve done better on the weights.” 

“And why is that?”

Your body turns to have your front fully face him again. “Well, I mean, I was struggling at the last few reps…I’m sure you noticed, too, since you scolded me about it.”

He hums. “Ya know I correct you because, I know, you can do better, right, Y/n?” It was rhetoric, but you humor him with a slow nod. He brings the small towel to his head and dries his damp hair. “I’ve had many clients who come at me with everything they got or burned out before the first two months. But don’t worry, Y/n, I can tell you take pride in what we’re doing, and it’s good to know…” 

His words drown out from your ears. You didn’t mean for it to – you really didn’t. But while Toji was fixing his hair, you snuck more peeks at his body, enjoying his side profile. Admiring the way his arms move and flex, following the rocky silhouette of his abs that lead down to the towel again, you gasp at the dent of something that appears to be between Toji’s legs. Good lord, even with the cotton material covering him, you can still see it and—

“….Y/n.” Oh no, I did it again. You gulp with eyes venturing back to Toji’s face; the grin grew broader than before. “That's twice, sweet thing.” 

“S–Sorry, Mr. Fushiguro. It’s just that you have a...uhhh…” The heat in your ears makes it hard to concentrate on looking at the ground, anything to avoid your instructor’s gaze. “…..areallynicebody—“

“Hmm? I didn’t hear that, sweetie,” Sweetie? Sweetie!? Why'd he call me that? What you should be questioning is why that nickname made your stomach flip. But who are you kidding — if anyone had a crush on their instructor and were called a cute name like that, of course, they’d be as hot as a volcano. “Didn’t catch that, say it fr’ me again.”

“I–I said that,” Oh for fuck’s sake, this is so embarrassing! “You have a nice body…An attractive body, really…” The heat on your cheeks and ears is reaching heights that would have you combust at any moment. It’s what you’d hope for, honestly. It’s bad enough you’re stuck in the men’s locker room for not paying attention; now you’re here admitting to your instructor that you got the hots for him. God, please strike me here and now!

Toji says nothing after you say that, and it has your nerves at an all-time high, wondering if you should wait for his reply or just dash for the door and hope no one sees you leaving the men’s locker room. However, his voice breaks the silence, “I can say the same fr’ you.”

Oh, stop it. “Oh, please, no need to butter me up, Mr. Fushigu—“

“I’m serious.” He shuts down your argument down your argument before you can even finish. “C’mere.”

Why did you do what you were about to do? You could’ve just declined, exited the facility, and headed straight home to wallow away about this entire interaction, maybe find a different gym to form a membership with. But you didn’t. Instead, with downcast eyes, you slowly approached your instructor, who stood behind the locker bench. “Closer,” he says, noting how you’re about two arms length away from him, which you meekly decrease to one. “You don’t think ya got a nice body?” 

The adjacency between you two was too much for you, your face minutes from imploding. Too shy for words, you settle for a nod to give.

“How come?”

For God’s sake, this is not a conversation you want to have now with your crush instructor in the middle of the men’s locker room. “I…Well, Mr. Fushiguro—“

“Toji,” he cuts you off, discarding the small towel to the top of his bag. “Y’re over here tellin’ me I look good when you’re the one lookin’ like you could strike any guy that walks up in this place. Doncha think so?” 

Again, your eyes avoided his toweled figure, focusing on the tiled floor beneath your sneakers. “I guess, but…Toji, when compared to you, I—“

“Then that’s what ya shouldn’t be doin’, who told you to compare y'rself to others?” Toji brings a hand to your chin to make your avoidant peer placed on him, a move you were not mentally strapped in for. “I’m me, and y’re you, right?” 

“Right…”

“And that’s a good thing,” the hand on your chin slides down to the inside of your hoodie, his forefinger sneaking under the band of your sports bra. It makes your breathing stop. “But ya know what else I think?”

“What?” You sounded so low – so tiny – you didn’t know if he could hear you. He then brings his face close to your ear, and you could’ve sworn you almost felt your heart jump out of your throat. His free hand comes around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. The cotton of the towel now brushed your leg, and you could sink into a pool of embarrassment at the gasp you let out.

His voice was hoarse and low, the air from his nostrils grazing the skin of your ear. “…I think y’r body is the sexiest thing I’ve seen.” 

The sentence hit you like a truck, your heart almost giving in to a complete shutdown. “Huh–Ohhhh, wait,” Toji takes a nibble of your ear while his hand slithers your hoodie off of you, freeing your arms and covered chest where he creeps his hand inside next. You whimper at his fingers on your nipples that harden at his grinding touch. “Toji, wait, please wait…Do you really mean—“

“Mhmm, I do,” He coos, and a kiss to your neck nearly has you give way and lose balance; lucky for you, Toji was smart enough to have a leg between yours. “Now that I have you here, I’ll prove it.” 

“We’re—Ahhnnn…But we’re in the men’s locker room,” Toji brings his face up to look at you, your half-lidded eyes locked with his emerald orbs. “Someone could see us…”

Your worries are taken with a caress to your cheek. “Don’t worry about other people when y’re with me. I gotcha, baby.” 

“And I’m…Ohooo, really sweaty…”

“Nothin’ a shower can’t fix.”

And before you refute him again, Toji places his scarred lips onto yours, a shocked moan muffled as he kisses and sucks on your bottom lip. The hand in your bra now positions to the back of your neck, positioning you for him to deepen the kiss once you allow him access to your mouth. And once you kiss him back, all the reins of restraint have been discarded along with your hoodie to the floor.

The sounds of lips smacking get louder by the second, the passion in the kiss unraveling when you bring your hands to cup his cheek and have his face practically glued to yours. And Toji complies, shoving his tongue to tease and play with yours. The hand that was on your waist comes down to your ass for him to grope with the flesh, urging more of your sobs to be taken from him. Is it possible for your brain to turn into mush from a kiss? You’re finding that out now, breaking the kiss to gather whatever air you can before Toji claims your lips again.

The leg you’re riding on is nestled between your thighs, rubbing against the groin of your shorts. With every kiss and hump comes a grind on his leg, and it alleviates the growing ache that’s flourishing in your panties. Shivers travel up your spine and heighten your horniness, this elated feeling so dangerous that you could turn into putty at any second.

Toji lets go of your lips with a heavy pant, breathlessly snickering at his work; turning his cute client into a mess flipped a switch he’s been dying to indulge with. “Mmmm, y’re too fuckin’ cute, baby,” he wipes your mouth before letting you go; you hold back a whine when he removes his warm figure from you and steps back. It’s then that your instructor finally removes the towel that’s been shielding a now-discernible tent. The white towel meets the floor, and you follow his happy trail to meet with his erection, a sight that makes your jaw drop. The older man takes a seat on the bench behind him, and his legs spread out for his dick and balls to be ever-so-present and seen.

“Ya see how crazy you and y’r body make me?” He bites his lip, getting more turned on with you marveling at him and his length. “C’mere, angel, lemme see what you can do.” It takes a good mental slap to snap out of your frozen state and look at the thing you’ve been imagining all these months. Now, when the chance has finally been brought to you, how could you pass this up?  Following Toji’s command, you come close and go to your knees between his legs. 

The sheer size and girth of his length nearly put you in a trance, your eyes taking every detail of his erection before your eyes. Every dent and curve, the prominent veins from the underside, and the oddly pretty pink tip where bits of precum dare protrude from the urethra. Your raised hand has hesitance, yet Toji is quick to assuage your unease, taking your hand with his and wrapping it on his cock. The rough skin on your palm hitches your breath, “Hmmm, oh fuck. Yeah, just like that, princess.”

And there he goes again, egging you on with more cute pet names. Your hand slides up and down along his shaft from the tip to the base, and the sensation of its veins is so raunchy for your overwhelmed fingertips. Toji’s gruff hums to your touches stick to your ears the most, a sound you never in your wildest dreams thought you’d be lucky enough to hear. You want to keep hearing them, want them to be stored in your memory for as long as you can. And when you meekly tease his glans with a tiny lick, the hiss he expresses turns you on even more, so much so that you take the tip with patience and start to suck.

Toji throws his head back to the lockers behind him; the feeling of your tongue rolling around his girth as you inhale his cock is crazy. Fuck, it felt so good – he has to fight the urge to rut into your hollow cheeks and puffy lips. “Hahhh…Mmmm, damn….Ahahaha, ya know how to use that mouth of y’rs, Y/n. Keep suckin’ me off like that, and I’ll—Ohhh! Shit, shit, shiiiit,” he wasn’t prepared for you to take in his entire erection to the hilt. The tightness of your throat around him sends shivers, having to use the bench to grip onto.

You bob your head along his length, a hand accompanying the motions to further the exhilaration. Spit and come wet your palm, yet you’re too focused on the task to care, the haze of your brain increasing every time your lips meet the pubes of his pelvis. The jerk of his hips entails that you’re doing a good job, Toji bringing a hand to the back of your head when you kiss and lick on the head of his cock. You take note, assuming that it’s his weak spot, and continue to suck and tease the tip some more, massaging his testicles which almost had him choke. 

“—Hnnmph! Fuckin’ shit, I can’t…” Toji then has enough of this ribbing pleasure, unable to hold it anymore. With a careful hold on your skull, he stands from the bench and plows your face with his member. The harsh hit of his hips propelling his dick down to the deep crevices of your throat was sudden; the assault on your uvula results in your gag reflex; however, Toji was here to calm you down, “It’s alright, angel, breathe fr’ me.” He caters to you with a mediocre rhythm to the hips, the movement relieving the abrupt stress to your throat as you hum on his cock. You find purchase on his thighs to stabilize yourself while he plays with you orally, dialing up the pumps to your mouth until it reaches an erratic mood. Fuck, it has your head ringing, but the growing twinges and throbs between your legs practically excite you for more. Goddamn, it feels so good. So fucking good. “Jesus Christ—Y/n, I’m ‘bout to cum. Keep swirlin’ that tongue…Nnmmm, fuuck, right there, right there—Ahhhck!!”

His release comes with a few rough hits to your lips, his balls hitting your chin until they’re pressed against it. He pups his load into you, and you take it like a champ, letting the fluid venture down as the girth pulsates around your walls. His choked breathing eventually simmers down, giving it a few long seconds before he steadily removes himself from your warm cavity. The last remnants of his white substance paint your tongue, your saliva coating him. And with a voluntary swallow, you open your mouth again to showcase your clean change.

“Heh, didn’t even have to tell you,” Toji chortles, bringing a thumb to wipe your chin. “Good girl.”

KA-CHA! CREEEEK!!

Wide green eyes shoot wide along with yours, and the both of you go frozen rigid. That was most definitely the sound of a door opening. The door to the men’s locker room, where you are on your knees, in front of your personal instructor, with his dick out for the whole world to see. The blood in your body runs cold, and your stomach drops to the chilly floor. Oh, it’s over. It’s done. Your life is officially coming to an end. Welp, it’s time for me to think of a good suicide note when I get home and—

Pause on that. Because one moment you were thinking of your demise from this discomfiting situation, next you’re being dragged by Toji to the other part of the locker room, the showers. He swiftly opens a curtain and throws you both inside with a close, and the wet tiles soaked to your socks have you cringe, so you take them off.  

“Hello?” It’s a guy’s voice, of course — Ino’s. The young man is probably inspecting the male locker rooms before they close for the night like usual. You don’t dare speak so much as a letter when the footsteps draw closer to the showers, your heart rate spiking to a nervous high, and your breathing shallow. This is worse; now you’re in a confined space, face-to-face with Toji, who is utterly nude, towel left back on the bench. Your eyes locked with his, and your ears to the sounds of shoes entering the plane. “Anyone here? Saw some stuff at the front.”

“Yeah, I’m here,” your expression turns to sheer terror, wide orbs looking at the raven-haired man who spoke. No! Why would you say something!? 

“Hmm? Toji, that you?” Ino’s voice comes closer, in front of the shower curtain that shields you from his field of vision. Your heart is on the verge of dropping to your intestines. “You’re still here? Figured you’d be home by now.”

“Nah, I’m still here. Just about to finish up and head out.” Toji then turns on the faucet, cold peeps of water hitting your sweaty skin, panties, and sports bra. And, of course, it catches you off guard. OH FUUUUUU—  You don’t scream. You can’t. Instead, you shield your mouth and turn your back to Toji after giving him the most outstanding death glare of your life, which the older finds amusement in. You wipe your face from the water, cursing internally at this entire predicament. 

“Oh, okay, cool. I was just worried someone left their stuff on that bench over there. Carry on, and have a good night!” Ino dismisses himself and leaves the showers, and you exhale a silent sigh of relief. Oh, thank goodness…

Toji, on the other hand, sees your relieved state, and he can’t help but grin to himself with what he’s about to do. Moving closer to you, he brings his wet hands to your sports bra and immediately goes to fondling your breasts. A moan sneaks past you at the contact, prompting him to grope you even more. “T–Toji,” the water gradually gets warmer, juxtaposing with his cold fingers. “Stop, we have to leave, this is—Ohooo…” He tweaks your nipples with his forefinger and thumbs, and a leg sneaks in between yours.

“Relax, dollface, it’s just you and me here,” Oh, sweet Lord, you almost fell to your knees when he whispered to your ear and a teasing lick to your helix. “Got ya all to myself, now…” Toji kisses the crook of your neck, his wet hair brushing your cheek while he snakes his hand down into your panties. The way his fingers graze your clit again has you arch your back to him, another hushed shriek when he bullies his way between your folds. 

“Hey, Toji?” Ino’s voice again. Back to anxious stakes now that Toji’s toying with you. Goddamn it, Ino! What are you still doing here!? “I noticed you left your towel on the bench over there. But I also saw Y/n’s hoodie there.” Oh, fuck me!! Shit, shit, shit—"Ohhmph!!"

With quickness, you covered your mouth before your moan caught the ears of the front desk employee. And the reason for that is that Toji pulled down your soaked underwear and gave your chasm a sudden lick. If Ino weren’t back here, you’d give your personal trainer the nastiest kick to the throat you could ever do. But when he inserts a finger inside you, your aggression withered away in seconds. 

“Huh? Ohh, yeah, ‘bout that,” Toji stands back up and continues to finger you, chuckling at the sight of your trembling figure using the wall as leverage. “I saw ‘em before headin’ to the locker room. We talked for a while, but then they said they needed to change and told me to hold their hoodie for ‘em.” He says it so casually, all the while scraping your inner walls with the tip of his forefinger, summoning hushed cries that turn to silent screams when his free hand comes down to playfully pinch and press on your clitoris. God, this is too much torture for one night. 

Ino keeps questioning. “Really? I had someone check the other locker rooms, and she said she didn’t see anyone or anything except for a few personal items and leggings in one of the lockers. I’m guessing those would be Y/n’s, but where could they be?” Little did he know that you were just a curtain pull away from being found, chewing hard on your lip to quash your screams from the erratic swiping on your clit and the curving hits of his digits in your wetness.

“Mmmm, they probably are at another part of the gym or waitin’ for me at the front.” He lies effortlessly, yet his attention is still on you as he removes his fingers from you, the pleasure subsiding from the removal. Instead, he brings his erection in between your folds and humps you, and the feeling of his dick on your lips worsens the throbs in your awaiting cunt. With the heat coming from the shower and your uneven breaths, you’re bound to faint at any moment. 

“Ahh, makes sense. Alright, I’ll try and find them then,” you don’t say anything, just hesitant breaths when you feel the tip of Toji’s cock align and lightly push to your slick-coated entrance. Holy fuck, this is actually happening! Your lips quiver when Toji comes down to your ear to tell you to relax your body from tension, quietly maneuvering you by pulling your lower half to him. You do big inhales and exhales while the man pushes his cockhead to enter your cunt, wincing at the few seconds of pain that accompany each push. “See you later, Toji, and I put your towel on the hood next to your shower for when you’re done. Good night!”

“See ya.” And with Toji’s dismissal, Ino’s footsteps draw farther and farther from where you two are. And the moment you hear the locker room door slam close, Toji pushes the entire cockhead inside of you. Finally, you can squeal out to your heart’s content, balling your fists on the shower wall while your personal trainer wedges his length inside of you and stretches your walls. The girth was definitely something you knew would be an obstacle to accommodate, and it’s worse when your slit keeps clamping around the foreign limb invading inside. Tears begin to swell from the stinging touch, not that they would be distinguished by the shower water hitting behind you and Toji.

“Haahh, ahahhnn, mmmm,” Your wails seep out from your system right as the base of his cock kisses your lower region lips. And after a few seconds, he starts with a slow pace. Knowing that you can feel every dent and vein within you is insane to comprehend; the heat across your cheeks cranks up due to the euphoric sensations. “Ohhhh, my God, Tojiii. I’m so full…”

Toji pecks on your shoulder, “Yeah, sweet thing? I bet so. Just be a good girl and keep grippin’ on me like that, alright? Gonna start movin’ now…” His hips rut into your vagina, pulling his shaft slowly outward and rushing it back inward. Holy shit, it felt so dreamlike — having him actually move inside of you. But it was very much real; having his pelvis meeting the flesh of your ass was proof of such.

A hand snakes down to your clitoris, and a gasp leaves your lips at the brush of his thumb rubbing against it. Your legs tremble at the flick of his finger on your bud, and the pace of his thrusts crank up in speed, making it hard to concentrate on one thing. So many senses are being activated all at once; the shower water raining down on your back, the exhilarating combination of Toji’s dick grinding down on your insides, and the swipes and pinches on your precious clitoris. God, it was all too much. 

“Arch some more fr’ me, princess,” Toji gets up to push your back further down, the walls of your chasm clinging onto him as the more exposed opening gives room for you to be plowed. “Hnnmm, shit, feels so good…Hey, let’s try somethin’ different.”

By the time the last bit of his sentence could be registered, he already had you turned to face him, folding your arms around his neck. You didn’t know what for until he hoisted you up, and then you instinctively grabbed hold for dear life before your back hit the wall, your legs wrapped around him while he held you by the thighs. Toji brings his member back to your labia to insert it back inside, and you two moan at the contact again. Oh, this was different – never have you been lifted like this. And to be elevated by your gym crush, in this connotation, is enough to have you appalled.

But what made your breath hitch the most was Toji’s face being up close and personal. The bangs stuck to his forehead thanks to the shower water; his jet-black hair was wet and slicked. Trails flow down his face, drops of water plummeting from his nose and chin. And – oh, sweet Jesus – those green eyes of his, so striking as if they could pierce right through you. They were piercing through you. He took in your expression just as you were his, eyes filled with wanton desire, and it was all directed towards you – for you. He flashes a small smile, teeth peeking from beneath his scarred lips.

Oh, my God. You turn to the side to hide your face from his gaze; it definitely wasn’t the water that was making your cheeks and ears hot at that moment. But that didn’t fly with Toji. He sneaks into a rut that has you jump on his cock, the new position giving his dick an angle to hit your cervix. Because of that, the jab erupts a shriek you had no preparation for withholding. 

“Heh, aht, aht, don’t do that,” Oh, he knows he’s in control of this entire situation; you can hear it in his patronizing chortle. “Don’t hide that pretty face from me, doll,” he kisses your cheek and trails down to the crook of your neck. “Let me hear you—Aiishhh! Oh, fuuck…” 

Once Toji begins to jerk his hips to you, you dwell into a pleasure that you never knew existed. Toji’s length scrapes your inner walls like crazy, like a euphoric itch. The fact that you’re bouncing on the cock of your personal trainer is scary to comprehend. Having him see you like this, hearing you moan and wail for him, you never felt more exposed in your entire life. And also, him holding you like you weigh nothing and fucking you in the men’s locker room showers?! What the actual fuck!? This is actually so embarrassing – I could die! 

But why would you? The commotion between your legs feels way too good to bring this to a stop – you two are already joined in a union, so why stop? Every stroke to your slit sends a shiver up your spine, clamping onto him every time he brushes up on your sweet spots that make your nerves tingle. And the occasional jabs to your tender cervix? Damn, the stimulation was enough to have you faint with the heat growing tenfold.

“Mmmff, hoohhh, ohhhhh,” your cries are drowned out by the shower, only heard by Toji. Speaking of, this position gives you proximity to observe his expression. His eyebrows furrowed, eyes shut as if he’s in the zone. The huffs of breath he takes with every roll of his pelvis are so hot to the ear that you wouldn’t mind listening to them all day. Anytime the walls of your wetness clamp onto him, he moans and hushed curses at the feeling of you wanting him. He’s an attractive man, but, holy fuck, this was a sight you thought you’d never see in a million years. 

“—Khhhh! Hnmph, ahhhh,” Through the gruff pants, Toji opens his eyes half-lidded, catching you in the moment of staring right at him. You clench onto him; why does this man have to look so fucking sexy!? He smirks, “How we feelin’ now, baby?”

“Hahhh, I–I’m—Ohhh!! Fucking shiiiitt,” you cry out when he slams deep into you, making your toes curl, and your words come out in slurs. “It’s too muuchh, Tojiii, ughhh!! T–Tooo muuuuch…” 

“Ya gettin’ close?” Oh, yes, you were. You could feel it through the trembles climbing up your fibers. Your brows trench at the high, and Toji was mean enough to sneak a pinch to the clitoris without you noticing. Your legs tighten around his waist, and you shake your head hurriedly. He chuckles, releasing your clit from his rough fingers and putting his forehead to yours. “C’mon, angel, I won’t know what you want if ya don’t say it.”

Fuck, he’s such a meanie. You love it so fucking much. You mewl to him, “Pleaseee, Tojiii, I want it so bad!”

He lifts a brow. “Want what?” 

“—To cum!! Pleasepleaseee, I wanna cum on you, I want it—Ahaahhnn!!” Fuck, it’s coming. Almost there. 

That’s all he needed to hear, the grin on his face broadening at your response. “Cum on me, then. I’m right here to catch ya, princess.” His hand returns to your clitoris, pressing down on the delicate button to the point where all he can hear is your sweet screams of lust. His thrusts now get erratically fast, having you rebound to the hilt of his length, the smacks of skin slapping against each other fill the confined space of the shower. And the climb of your aroused high increases until it comes crashing down; you let out one last howl as the electric shocks course through your body, and your release is freed. Your walls squeeze hard onto Toji as you indulge in your climax; him pistoning his cock to your sensitive labia adds to the chilling sensitivity. Your cunt flutters around his cock while you experience your crescendo, your eyes screwed shut to enhance the experience, not aware of Toji watching you ride out your orgasm on him. 

The trembles calm down, the shocks subside, and your breathing descends into a steady rhythm. Throwing your head back, you rest your back against the wall while still in Toji’s hold, using this time to indulge yourself in this moment of clarity. 

Toji lets out a tiny laugh, bringing his face to your neck to suck on it. “That felt good, sweet thing?” You sigh out of breath, nodding to his question. “Hmmm, good. But ya know I’m not done, right?” Your blood ran cold, your body rigid still. Wait, huh? “I let you have your fun, so be a good girl, and lemme have mine.” 

The involuntary twitch of your slit should give you a clue as to how the news hit you, and you can't tell if it'll be him or the shower that will have you melting like a puddle by the time this is over...

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Haibara walks out to the front desk, where Ino hurriedly stuffs his phone back into his pocket, away from his superior’s eyes. Fortunately for the younger man, the older one didn’t see his device. “Hey, Ino, I got a question.”

“Yeah, what’s up?” The associate fidgets with his brown hair under his rolled-up ski mask.

“Have you seen Mr. Fushiguro and Y/n today? Toji told me he couldn’t make it for Monday night, but I haven’t seen Y/n that day or Wednesday.” The older brunette looks around to find any resembling cues, but his eyes see nothing that sparks familiarity. 

Ino blinks before answering. “No. And now that you mention it, I haven’t seen or heard from them since last week…”

Haibara leans on the desk and sighs. “Hope Y/n’s doing all right. Usually, they’d call or shoot a text telling me they couldn’t make it for their appointments with Fushiguro. But this is twice where neither of them show up.” 

“Hmm, can’t say I have an idea.” The other shrugs at his superior’s concerns. “I didn’t get a call or text from Y/n either, so maybe I’ll give ‘em one after my shift. Heh. Let’s hope they didn’t replace us with another gym.” 

With trenched brows, Haibara took offense to the younger brunette’s words. “Cut that out, man! I’d be pretty upset if they just suddenly stopped showing up here. Half a year of coming in and out and getting to know each other, only for them to just vanish like that…At the very least, they could give a call!” He passionately bangs on the front desk, giving Ino a startle.

RING-RING-RING!! RING-RING-RING!! 

The two froze at the sudden ring of the desk phone as if Haibara’s fist magically granted them a call. And by the exchanged glances they shared before Ino picked up the phone, they better hope it wasn’t the call they were expecting. “Hello, this is Golden Gate Gym. My name is Takuma Ino; what can I do for you?” 

“Hey, is that you, Ino?”

“Hey, Y/n!” Ino turns to Haibara, whose eyes share the same perplexity as his. “It’s good to hear from you; where’ve you been? You’ve been MIA for almost a week.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I had a little accident and sprained my ankle; I couldn’t come to the gym on Monday and Wednesday.”

“Oh, shit, for real?” Haibara watched the younger man’s tone change to concern, which didn’t help his nerves either. “Sorry to hear about that, but it’s a good call not coming here and taking care of yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks. Is Haibara there with you by any chance?”

“Uh, yeah. He’s right next to me, actually.” Ino takes the initiative to give the darker brunette the phone to speak with the one on the other side of the line. Haibara outstretches his arm to take the phone and put the receiving end to his ear. “Yo, Y/n!”

“Hey, Haihai. I meant to call you Wednesday, but I’m letting you know that Mr. Fushiguro and I are still doing our weekly appointments.”

Haibara sighs in relief internally, giving Ino a thumbs up. “Oh, thank God! You two had me worried there for a second. We didn’t see you guys here and thought you’d be a no-show again.”

“Yeah, sorry for the scare. Mr. Fushiguro found out about it and decided it would be….Haahhh….best for me to do my regimine at my apartment instead…”

“Well, that’s nice of him to look out for you with your ankle. I’m sure he’s doing what he can to—“

“Ahaahhnn!!”

A sudden yelp pops into the call out of nowhere and completely takes Haibara aback from the phone as if it was so out of place for the topic that was taking place. Ino notices it when the darker brunette gives him a brief perplexed look, which the younger shrugs at. “Uhh, Y/n? You busy right now?”

Oh, you were busy, all right. You’re at your apartment right now. Your ankle? Absolutely fine, nothing wrong about it in the slightest. The only change, however, is not being at the gym for this entire week and staying home instead. Why?

How about asking your personal trainer who has you propped upside down, standing up with his hands holding you by your ass, stuffing his face to your exposed cunt which he licks and sucks on. The feeling of his tongue digging through your labia has your hips jerking, but his strong arms exhibit unmoving effort in keeping your wetness in his mouth. His pants down to his knees, and his erect length in your hand and brushing your cheek. This is most definitely not the at-home exercise that Haibara is thinking of.

“…Hello?…Y/n, you there?”

Oh, shit! “Y–Yeah, I’m here! Sorry, my ankle is acting up on me—Ohhhh…Fushiguro’s looking at it for me…” Oh, please, he’s not checking shit; fucker indulging himself between your asscheecks, ravishing your folds like a sweet fruit to his tastebuds.

“Oh! So you two are exercising together right now?” Toji nibbles on your vagina and grazes with his teeth, having you gasp and twitch. His tongue surprising your clit prompts a choked whine. “That’s good to know then! Alright then, see you guys when you’re ready to return to the gym. And tell Toji not to put too much on you, ya hear?”

“—Khhhh, mhmm…I’ll give him an earful for you. See you later, Haibara…”

“Great, see ya. Happy Friday!” 

And with that farewell, you can finally toss the phone down and coo to your heart’s content, biting your lips at Toji stuffing his mouth on your bare chasm; his muffled groans vibrate your lower half like crazy. “Ohhooo!! Ohhhfuckkk, I’m gonna cumm,” your words slur with a suck to your clitoris, your hips bucking involuntarily. “Lemme cum, Tojiiii, I wanna—Ahaaaa!!”

He removes his face from your ass with an exhale as if he was dying for breath. But based on the grin plastered on his face, he wouldn’t mind being in this position for a little while. “Oh, I don’t think so, doll. I don’t think ya deserve to cum in my mouth.”

That was the last thing you wanted to hear right now. “Ahahnn!! You’re such an asshole, Toji…”

He chuckles crudely. “That’s where I’m gonna play with next if you don’t stuff my dick in that pretty mouth of y’rs already. Suck me good; then maybe I’ll let the princess cum all over me.”

Broad strokes from his pelvis rub his dick on your cheek, a reminder of your part of this endeavor that you must partake in. The smell of him overwhelms your nostrils into a pornographic trance, your head pounding just from looking at it. You gulp and take the tip into your mouth, sucking and licking the precum off while your hands glide up and down his shaft. “Good girl, good girl…” Toji goes back to smacking his lips on your folds, moving his tongue in whirlpool motions that have you moaning on his cock. God, it feels so good, so fucking good. You can see yourself becoming addicted to this, and that’s a bit scary seeing this professional relationship drift to something more touchy and personal…

…But then again, there’s nothing wrong with that, right?

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header art by achumuchi + dividers by @/cafekitsune & @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

#𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑭𝒊𝒄𝒔 #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji x you #toji x y/n #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji x you #toji fanfic #fushiguro toji smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk imagines #jjk fic

[sprout-fics]

Danger Close

(Captain John Soap MacTavish x F! Reader)

Call of Duty Masterlist

Rating: Explicit (18+) Minors DNI Wordcount: 3.8k Tags: Power imbalances, Unrequited pining, Shy Reader, Stuck in a lift, Dry humping, Dirty talk, Seduction, Praise kink, Vaginal fingering, Secret affair, Pet names Warnings: None (ask to tag) A/N: This is a quick little idea of the OG himself. I'll probably do more headcanon based ideas soon, but for now enjoy the filth

The thing about Captain MacTavish is that he’s…intimidating.

The self proclaimed red-blooded Scot is built like a brick shithouse, as one of your fellow officers once put it. Ruggedly handsome, strong, thick with muscle with coarse hair over his arms and stubble along his jaw. There’s a scar over one of his eyes, a slashing wound that should have blinded him. It crinkles slightly when he offers a lopsided smirk that taunts danger, that bares a reckless nature he hasn’t fully shed despite his years of experience. You tell your bunkmate that he’d make very good money as a bouncer at a nightclub, and her laughter nearly wakes up the whole hallway.

Intimidating.

Which is not necessarily the right word, you think. The Captain has a way around his men and fellow officers, an easy likeability that’s hard to ignore. He commands respect from his troops not in the way of brute posturing or snarling demands, but in the display of capability that has saved their lives many times over. He’s the firm touch on their shoulder as they check their gear before deployment, the firm reminder of level headedness over comms, the sharp, ringing command that cuts through gunfire when everything else has gone wrong.

The man exudes leadership, and you are among those helplessly drawn to it.

Yet there’s something closed off there that you can see in his eyes, an untold story that has drawn the lines of age in the corner of his steely gaze. It feels as if there’s an invisible barrier around him that prevents others from getting danger close. Magnetic, it pulls you in despite yourself, an inextricable attraction towards the nick of a blade you long to taste. Dangerous, like a moth to flame.

Not that you’ll ever do anything about it of course. As much as you daydream about the time you saw the captain’s broad back shiny with sweat on the sparring mats as he trained the other recruits, the low lilt of his accent that clouds your thoughts, you know it’s a terrible idea to develop a crush on your superior.

It’s hard not to, not when you deliver him his daily intelligence report in the afternoon, and he always makes sure to look up and greet you as you hand over the folder, smiling and offering: “Thank you, lass.”

Traitorous, you think, how your stomach devolves into butterflies just at the sight of his pleasant grin. 

Worse is the fact that despite his gruff exterior the man is always such a gentleman to you. He gives you his full attention when you speak, ensures his other male officers do not interrupt or speak over you, holds open doors when you walk into the meeting room together, ensures his men don’t harass you just for your status of being a woman. You think it’d be easier if he was just as pompous and arrogant as his fellow officers, but instead Captain MacTavish has the ability to make you feel special, like you’re the only other one in the room with him. 

It makes you feel a little guilty, admittedly- that he’s kind and decent and you constantly think about what it would be like to bend the rules so he can bend you over his desk. 

Caught in fantasy as you are, you don’t notice the way his eyes watch you out of the corner of his eye, take note of you stretching on your toes to reach something in a filing cabinet, the way your brow scrunches in thought as you scrutinize his paperwork, the slight tremble of your hand when you pass him a cup of coffee in the mess hall, the duck of your head when he offers an amicable thanks. 

You don’t notice the way he’s thinking anything but decent thoughts about you.

It’s hard to help. You’re a sweet, shy thing, and Soap is a man not immune to the charm of your bashful nature. He enjoys your wide eyed gaze as he selfishly sneaks gentle touches, a hand on your shoulder as he scoots past you in a crowded hallway, letting his fingers linger a little too long when you pass him a stack of files for him to sign off on, the barest little hitch of breathing he hears when he lets his voice dip an octave as he speaks.

“Thank ye, bonnie.” He tells you this afternoon, and relishes the way you repress a shiver at the endearment. 

Later, when he catches you at your desk gazing dreamily into space, he enjoys the glassy tint of your eyes, and imagines you’re thinking of him.

And, secretly, he thinks what it would be like to have you mewling and trembling under his war-worn hands. 

For all his decency and charisma, there is one thing you don’t know about the captain, and that is that he’s a wolf.

And you, you’re an adorable bunny waiting for the killing bite of his seduction.

Yet shy as you are, never to act on this, Captain MacTavish decides to take things into his own hands. 

He has you move your desk to his office, helping him with his own paperwork, and offers to buy you lunch on the basis of being a good boss, a good superior. He ensures you have everything you need for your space and helps you pick out a better desk chair when you complain about the standard base ones hurting your back.

And if he uses his rank to ensure your colleagues and higher ups don’t complain? Well. That’s his business.

“Good lass.” He tells you in passing when you find a piece of intelligence he requested, offering a small squeeze of your shoulder and feeling you stiffen under him before exhaling unsteadily- unaware of his smug grin just behind your shoulder. 

Cute, the way you think he won’t notice your little reactions, your dreamy eyes and the fantasies hidden behind them. 

In all places, it comes to a head in a stuck lift.

The meeting is in fifteen minutes, and you insist on taking the lift because of the obstacle course drills you were put through yesterday, whining about your aching thighs. Soap, the good captain that he is, acquiesces and allows it, crossing his arms and watching the doors close-

Only for the lift to give a groan and shudder to a stop.

“Bloody old building.” He gripes, giving the doors a small kick in grumbling protest. “Told maintenance these things needed to be repaired months ago.”

He’s not concerned. Worse comes to worse, he’s crawled up through elevator shafts before. Besides, it’s not as if you’re on the eighth floor, merely stuck between the first and second. It’s an inconvenience, but not an inescapable or deadly one. He’s not as young as he once was, but this shouldn’t be too beyond him.

You, on the other hand, press the call button frantically, trying to ask for help and rescue. The operator is quick to tell you that mechanics and the fire brigade are on the way, and tells you to stay calm. 

“How long are we going to be stuck in here?” You ask Soap, fidgeting. A nervous little filly, he thinks, as he eyes you with mild amusement.

“Maybe an hour.” He drawls, watching as your eyes go wide.

“We’ll miss the briefing.” You manage, a little choked, as if that is the gravest of your concerns, and not the thoughts Soap has about taking full advantage of the privacy he has with you.

“Aye.” He replies with a snort. “Shame, that.”

You make a little sound at that, something between petulance and despair, slumping into the wall as your face crumples.

“Hey, easy.” Soap offers, voice gentler now as he approaches you, gloved hands easily balancing you by your elbows across the wall. “It’s alright lass. We’ll be free in no time. Take a breath for me, aye?”

You nod at that, eyes turned towards the ground to avoid his gaze as you suck in a deep breath, hold it, and then let it out slowly.

“Good girl.” He purrs, unable to help himself, and relishes the way your eyes dart up to his, pupils blown wide as you realize for the first time just how close he is.

This is dangerous.

He’s got you crowded into the wall of the lift, all but blocking escape with his brawny frame. The shadow of his figure falls over your smaller form, dwarfing you. His hands cup you by your arms, bare fingers skimming along your exposed skin and leaving goosebumps rising in their wake. Your captain’s expression is calm, but even with the overhead light backlighting his face, you can see the intent, the scarcely concealed fixation there hidden beneath kind eyes and whispered only though a knowing smirk. 

Prey in a snare.

“S-sir-” You manage, voice tight as you finally realize the true nature of his intent with the way he hums a low, deep note in his chest that makes you shiver.

“Thought I wouldnae ken you watching me, bonnie?” He asks in a low, rumbling intonation that vibrates at the base of your skull. “Sneaking looks and off with the faeries everytime I called you a good girl?”

“I-” You try, and it’s a useless effort really. You could summon a thousand excuses, but you know none of them would work on him. Captain Mactavish’s eyes are too keen, too knowing for that. If he’s seen this much, if he’s seen the way you daydream while he doesn’t look, the way you try desperately to quell your infatuation with him, then there’s no use trying to pretend otherwise. 

"You like being called a good soldier? A good lass?” He goes on, and you bite down hard on a whimper of want that threatens to bubble up your throat. Your captain’s thumbs stroke the inside of your elbow gently, pressing down on the divot of sensitive skin and loosing an unsteady breath from your chest. 

“Look at you wobbling like a wee fawn.” He purrs in that low lilt of his. “This isn't because of me, is it? Developing feelings for your superior. Tut tut. Naughty thing."

“Captain-” Your voice is a strangled thing in your throat, choked by the cognitive dissonance of this, of something straight out of your wildest fantasies, a secret you keep to yourself in the dark of your bunk with your fingers buried between your thighs.

John hums, allowing his eyes to roam down your form, gently caged into the wall as you are, eyes glimmering with a hunger you didn’t know he possessed- A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Tell me to stop.” He murmurs then, voice serious. “I won’t touch you. I’ll transfer you if that’s what you want.”

“No.” Your answer comes so quickly it surprises even you, and suddenly your fingers are gripping on the inside of his forearms as if trying to keep him from retreating. “...Please.”

He gives you a moment, then another to reconsider, to retract your agreement and shove him off you. When you don’t, your captain grins.

“Shy little bonnie.” He croons. “Didnae have the words to ask for what you wanted from your superior, did you?”

You shudder when his gloved palm cups your cheek, leaning instinctively into it, sweet and willing. His thumb presses down on the plush bed of your bottom lip, and it takes a moment of courage to part your lips, lean forward so it rests on your tongue instead.

The sound your captain makes is carnivorous.

Hungry, wanting, dark as sin as he watches you engulf the digit and make eye contact with him, as if tempting danger. He tastes like the steel like of a sharp blade, cutting through your senses and leaving crimson want dripping against your thoughts. 

He removes his thumb so a drip of spit trails after it, and before it can spill your captain bends and kisses you.

It’s dizzying, all consuming, all open lips as he groans into you, one arm snaking around to the small of you back to balance you on wobbly legs, the other gripping your chin and directing you exactly how he wants you, tilting your head just so he can kiss you deeper. You feel unbalanced by the sheer force of it, leaving little choice but to clutch at his uniform, go a little limp in his arms and mewling into his open mouth.

“Aye, that’s it.” He groans between wet, sloppy kisses, dragging his teeth over your bottom lip and feeling you press back into him, eager for more. “Fuckin beautiful, hen.”

His warm breath spills against your open throat, where you think he might bestow a killing bite if you’d let him, groaning in appreciation at the raw, heady taste of you as he takes everything you can bear to give him. 

“Sir-” You whine when he wedges a knee between your legs, hands planted firmly on your ass so he drags your clothed cunt over the rise of his thick thigh. “Oh God-”

“No God here, love.” He huffs as your head flops gently to the side, his words fanning across the shell of your ear so you shudder. “Just you an’ me.”

That might be for the best, you think. One less witness to the act of your captain defiling you the way you’ve dreamt of for longer than you care to remember. 

Your captain’s hands grasp the fat of your ass as you give an experimental rock onto his thigh, stifling a little whimper as you do. It only makes him chuckle, dark and hungry into your ear as he nibbles on the sensitive skin  beneath your jaw. 

“C’mon lass, you can do better than that.” He huffs, and you feel him smile against your neck. “Go on, take what you need. Wanna feel you get off just from grinding on my leg like this.”

You’re not sure if you can, honestly, but gods above do you want to try. 

You grab at his neck for support, pressing him further as he bows over you, engulfs you with the heat of his frame. Then you allow your knees to fold, letting him support the weight of you as you begin to drag yourself along his thigh.

The friction is delicious, sends your nerve endings alight with sensation as the pleasure of it spills past your lips with an open groan. You wonder if the mere act of this, of humping your superior’s leg like a cat in heat while he purrs praises into your ear, does more for you than the actual motion itself. Either way, you begin to feel a warmth unfurling in your core, cunt clenching down on a needing emptiness that has you bury a whimper into his shoulder. 

“Thaaat’s it.” MacTavish- John, you wonder if he’ll let you call him, croons in your ear. “Lemme hear all those pretty noises, hen.”

You do, realizing there’s no one else to hear you. You give in, allow him to hear every hitch in your chest, every shuddering gasp and breathless plea of “S-sir-”

“Feel good?” He asks, hands kneading the swell of your ass as he helps rock you along his thigh. “Just imagine bonnie, could have had this weeks ago if you’d only let me.”

He’s right. If you’d only said something to him, had made a move on him, then you could have been having his low, Scottish lilt purr right in your ear as you try to get off ages ago.

But this is good too.

“Cannae even imagine how much it took for me not to pounce on you.” He huffs, pressing fluttering kisses against the thrum of your pulse. “All those sweet little looks you thought I couldn’t see, the way you were mooning over me like I wouldnae notice-”

“That’s- that’s not-” You try, managing to sound a little indigent despite your heaving breaths. 

“Oh I know, bonnie.” He croons with a huff of laughter. “You were just trying to be a good soldier, didn’t want to get caught seducing your superior, aye? What would the other officers think?”

You whimper at that, clutching a little tighter if only out of a remnant pulse of shame. Yet John doesn’t let you stop, drags you more insistently over the bulge of his thigh straining through his pants. 

“They don’t get to know.” He tells you, smirking. “They don’t get to know how sweet ye are like this, how pretty you look trying to come all over my leg, aye bonnie?”

You feel it rising inside you, feel your oncoming climax mount with every low rumble of words against your skin, with the way his scent clouds your senses so there’s nothing else but the sensation of him, the pleasure of you grinding your wet, empty cunt against his leg.

“C’mon, little one. Can feel you trying. What’dye need?” He huffs, and you shake your head into his shoulder. 

“Empty.” You tell him in a little, shy whisper, face burning as you refuse to look him in the eyes. Yet a hand catches your cheeks, turns you up to his gaze so you have no choice but to look into his bright, glimmering stare. 

“What was that?” He asks, and Gods, you think he may eat you alive. “Need to use your words, sweetheart.”

“E-empty.” You tell him a little louder, catching sight of the glassy eyed stare reflected in his eyes, feeling your legs shake with the effort of trying to hold your own weight. 

“Oh poor wee lass.” John sighs, bending down to kiss you again, swallowing the little whimper that bubbles up your throat. “Dinnae fash, I’ll take care of you.”

He pulls away so quickly you nearly drop to the floor, were it not for the hand slung across your hip that keeps you upright. You hear the clink of a belt, and for a single hopeful moment you think maybe it’s his, only to groan in disappointment and need as he squirms his hand past your own waistband, slinking his fingers between your folds. 

“Christ almighty, lass, you’re soaking wet.” He breathes, bracing his forehead against yours so you feel his warm huff of air on your swollen lips. “Just from this?”

Yeah. This. You want to tell him. As if ‘this’ isn’t something straight out of your wildest wet dreams, him easily handling you in close quarters, treating you with greedy hands and yet touching you as if you’re something prized, a beautiful weapon he’s admired from afar for far too long. 

When he sinks a finger into you John groans a deep, resounding noise in his chest, open and appreciating the way your slick heat instantly clenches around his fingers. 

“Fuck, the feel of you, hen.” He breathes as he pumps his fingers with deliberate slowness, as you whimper and writhe and try to force yourself down onto his hand to chase your just out of reach climax. “So warm and tight, cannae even imagine how you’d feel around my cock.”

“Please.” You gasp desperately, body flushed with want as you grind against his fingers, seeking to angle them just right. “Captain.”

The sound John makes is primal, and you’re given little warning before suddenly he’s plunging a second finger into you, giving you only a moment to adjust to the stretch before he’s setting a rapid pace that has you wail into his chest. 

“Is alright lass, I got you. C’mon, wanna feel you cum all over my hand.” He growls, panting, entire body coiled tight as he pushes you further towards your climax. “I’ll fuck you proper after, promise. Just need to feel it when you come, wanna hear how pretty you sound, c’mon-”

It’s that thought, the one of him having you right here in the lift, bending you against the wall and fucking you just like this that makes you arch with a broken little shout, clenching down hard on his fingers as he slowly works you through it, murmuring sweet endearments down at you as you tremble. You feel your walls pulse around his thick digits, coating them in slick and you realize too late he never took his glove off.

You nearly buckle as the last pulse of pleasure pulses bright and powerful through you, clutching at him with a little whimper as you come down slowly. You’re warm all over, muscles flooded with a bright release that has you wobble where you stand. The pulse of your heartbeat echoes in your ears and you try desperately to catch your breath amidst it all. 

And, naturally, that’s the moment when the lift starts moving again.

You almost entirely lose your balance when the floor beneath you jolts, squeaking as you lean fully into your captain. He doesn’t seem to be caught off guard at all. If anything, John seems amused at the sudden motion of the elevator, huffing a warm sound of disbelief up towards the ceiling. 

“Think we’ll still be late for that meeting, bonnie?” He asks, grinning mischievously, as if he didn’t just make you come so hard your knees wobble.

“No sir.” You breathe, leaning back against the wall as he pulls his hand from your pants, leaning up and licking his fingers free of your wetness. 

“Fuck.” You breathe helplessly, head flopping back. “You’re glove-”

He hums, as if just now realizing you stained the palm of his fingerless glove, pulling the velcro strap with his teeth as one hand balances you while you regain your strength. 

“Keep it safe for me.” He tells you, jamming it into your front pocket as the lift whines to a halt. “Give it back to me later. After the meeting.”

After can mean a lot of things, you realize.

The lift dings pleasantly, and your captain hauls a brawny arm to keep the door open for you, ever the gentleman. 

“Go on then lass,” He smiles, friendly and easygoing despite the knowing, hungry glimmer in his gaze. “Tell them I’ll be a few. Have to give the mechanics a talkin to.”

You nod, still a little shell shocked, a little disheveled, blinking dazedly as you scoot past him, then pause. 

Checking the hallway, you twirl around and lean up to kiss him so you hear the little breath of surprise against your lips. 

“After, captain?” You ask sweetly, blinking your lashes up at him and watching his pupils blow wide. 

“After.” He declares, voice just as sultry, leaning down to nip teasingly in front of your face, fangs and all. 

You sway off to the meeting, sneak into the back row and explain the hold up, and nobody looks at you twice, shy as you are. When your captain comes in five minutes later, only you notice the way he struts to the front of the room, smirking wide and assured as he briefs his men on their next target. 

“Weapons hot, lads.” He declares, arms crossed, a smile taunting danger. “We’re danger close.”

#john soap mctavish x you #john soap mctavish x reader #captain mactavish x reader #captain mactavish #captain mactavish x you #I saw a gifset and went a little feral apologies #This is also unbetad to hell so sorry for that too

[ugh-yoongi]

hang up if u want to | kmg

he's in japan. you're at home, knowing there's no point in staring at your phone, waiting. mingyu might not wanna define what the two of you are, but that certainly doesn't stop him from asking for what he wants.

pairing: idol!mingyu x f. reader genre: situationship au; a lil angst, smut warnings: swearing. sexting — use of gendered terms for genitalia, mentions of oral and penetrative sex, masturbation, images/videos, dirty talk i guess?, squirting. one mention of reader wearing a dress. another mention of reader wearing mingyu’s shirt and it being large on her. (not meant to be an indication of size—that mf is just so large i think most people would drown in his clothes.) mingyu is domineering and kind of brat tamer-y but i wouldn't say this is dom-y at all. he also uses the term "baby" a lot bc i refuse to use y/n. rating: explicit. minors dni. wordcount: 3.6k listen to: namasenda - dare (pm) / khalid, 6lack, ty dolla $ign - otw / keshi - like i need u / edward maya & vika jigulina - stereo love / monsta x - addicted / brockhampton - sugar / shy martin - good together author's note: hello, i barely text men let alone sext them, so if this sucks my bad. i'm also not 100% comfy for writing any groups outside of bts, so i'm also sorry if the characterization is off. the mingyu brainrot was brainrotting tho bc if there's one thing he's gonna do it's look hot holding his phone in a photo, so. here we are. i was gonna wait and post this tomorrow but it's valentine's day so fuck it we ball. thank you: @the-boy-meets-evil, @hot-soop, & @effortandmore for checking this over and brainstorming with me. namasenda for the lyrics in the title and inspo.

Kim Mingyu Missed Call (2)

Your eyes glance upwards at the time. It’s nearing one a.m.; Mingyu’s second call came and went only a few minutes ago. The first one will have come not long after he got off stage, because they always do. There’s a script—unspoken and unacknowledged, but a script nonetheless—and Mingyu follows it religiously.

You sigh. Leave your phone on your nightstand as you change into pajamas, back into the bathroom to wash your face. Roll your eyes as you hear the texts roll in, the sound grating and ominous as it vibrates against the wood.

All part of the script.

Kim Mingyu: just got back to the hotel Kim Mingyu: you up

Also part of the script: this is the only way it goes. Maybe Mingyu wants to text you, but adrenaline’s the only reason he ever goes through with it. That post-concert high, nothing else to do with all that energy but invest it into you, and the thing about scripts is that they get old, grow stale. Always the same thing, and you can only have that conversation so many times before you get tired and rip it up.

We all have roles to play. Mingyu is the one who refuses to define what it is the two of you have, put a label on it. He’s the one who calls from countries away and speaks in that low, hushed tone. He’s the tempter, the one who holds all the cards but refuses to lay them down.

A royal flush, every single time.

And you—you’re not helpless. Not some poor creature fighting for its life in a spun-silk web. Mingyu’s capable of devouring you in more ways than one, but it’s not like that. Not really. As laissez-faire as he is, you come and go as you please, too. Perhaps it’s as mutually beneficial as it is destructive, but that’s the nature of the production; the result of the roles you two of you play.

Kim Mingyu: you ignoring me? Kim Mingyu: i saw your ig story Kim Mingyu: knock it off baby

You smile, private and sardonic, because you aren’t helpless. Sometimes it’s your web, and it’s all Mingyu can do to keep his head above water. Another role you’d borrowed from someplace else but still have memorized. Still remember all the lines, the mannerisms.

On your story: a video of you, bare skin glittering beneath the golden-fluorescent light of your bathroom; you, with your dress unzipped, the straps slipping down your arms; your hand pressed to your chest to keep yourself covered. Your back turned to the camera, visible only in the mirror, as the silk dropped to the floor.

In the settings: only two accounts given permission to see, both belonging to the same person.

In your DMs: Mingyu, on his private account with the username that looks more like a keysmash than any legible thing, reacting with the fire emoji.

Related: the image hovering just above Mingyu’s texts. The one he’d repaid you with not long after seeing your story. A mirror selfie of his own: grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, a soaked-through white t-shirt stuck to his stomach, the lines of his abs visible.

That, and everything below it—all left unanswered.

The thing about Mingyu is he’ll give chase. Doesn’t shy away from all the things he wants; isn’t shy about giving voice to them.

But he’ll never, ever beg.

(Not like this, at least. When he’s in your bed it’s always a different story. He’s a kept man, there, and kept men have no qualms about things like that. Begging for your mouth, your pussy. Begging you to let him come.)

Normally you’d let it go. Let him talk to himself in your texts, because he’s got a lot of nerve if nothing else, but you’d gone out earlier. Grabbed a few drinks with your girlfriends, let the alcohol thrum through you like a livewire. Watched as they danced with men whose names they didn’t know and never learned and thought about what it’d be like to be able to do something like that in public.

Got home, felt a little scorned, just on the edge of bitter. Made a show of taking your dress off in the bathroom mirror and posted it someplace you knew he’d look.

You: did you like it?

Rhetorical. Mingyu may not want to put a label on this thing, might not want to be caged-in and suffocated, but you know what you do to him. All the ways you affect him.

i could tell you, comes the immediate reply, and your eyes are halfway rolled when—

Kim Mingyu: or i could show you

It takes a second to come through, but once it does your breath hitches in your throat. Far from the most obscene image he’s ever sent you, but just as effective. An expanse of tanned, soft skin, lean muscle; still in those same grey sweats, bunched up a little on the thigh as he lays in his plush hotel bed with his legs spread.

At the center of it all, the outline of his hard, thick cock, so fucking big as it stretches the fabric taut.

All you can do is stare.

Mingyu is not of this earth. This thought is nothing new: he has always existed outside the realm of possibility, in more ways than one, so this is merely a fact. Grass is green, the sky is blue, sometimes you can love someone in a way that’s so overwhelming and still be no good for them.

Another fact: it’s primal, the way you need him. Always has been.

You: what am i looking at? You: new sweatpants?

On the other end of the line, it’s easy to imagine his reaction. A quick snort of laughter, tongue pressed into the fat of his cheek before he clenches his jaw. If he were here, he’d haul you into his lap, kiss you deep and messy. Trail his fingers along your skin until they settled in the hollow of your throat.

Pull away just for a second. Just long enough to say, “Watch your mouth,” before he’s licking into it.

Kim Mingyu: don’t be like that 🙄

This time your eyes fully roll. Spitefully, you snap a picture of what’s in front of you: your bedroom wall, some drama playing on the TV, a sliver of amber light from the lamp next to you.

You send it.

You: while we’re sending pictures of irrelevant shit

Truth be told, you’re not like this often, but you get a streak of it every now and then. Only ever at times like this, when the two of you haven’t seen one another in a while and the distance between you is still so ambiguous, untitled.

Usually Mingyu will come by your place. Get you stripped down to almost nothing, have you writhing on his fingers. Then, in between satisfied groans, he’ll slap at your thighs, tell you to stop being a brat.

Kim Mingyu: then send me something worthwhile You: you first

Another beat of silence. Long enough to flick through the channels, plug in your phone, let some of that heat dissipate.

Your phone chimes, and when you look down—

Those grey sweats are long gone, replaced with a pair of black briefs barely containing his cock, still hard and curved toward his stomach. You swallow. Let your eyes linger on the corded muscle of his thighs, all that soft skin. Let your mind remind you, just for a second, how it feels beneath your fingertips, your hands, your mouth.

All the sounds he makes.

Kim Mingyu: is that better Kim Mingyu: is that what you wanted

Unbidden, the corners of your mouth lift. hm… close but no, you type out. Let it sit for a few seconds before you delete it. If Mingyu wants to be a tease, you can do the same.

You situate yourself against the pillows. Angle your phone so the length of your body is visible: your bare legs twisted in the sheets, the bruise Mingyu had sucked into the inside of your thigh before he left just barely making it into the frame. What’s fully visible, though: his shirt that’s draped over your frame, how much it engulfs you, the way you’re drowning in it. In him.

You send it.

You: depends... is this what you wanted?

The response is immediate:

Kim Mingyu: absolutely not. take it off baby.

You’ve starred in this production before, knew where it was headed the second you saw the missed calls, so you’d put on his favorite of your underwear. Skimpy red lace, part of a set he’d had sent to your apartment. Used to tell you in desperate whispers how ruined he was seeing you in them; used to have to rein himself in so he didn’t rip them off.

So you snap another photo. Spread your legs a little further, pull the hem of Mingyu’s shirt between your teeth. Know seeing that sliver of your stomach will drive him crazy, too, but it’ll pale in comparison to the underwear.

You consider video calling him. Want to see his face when you send this photo—the pinch of his brows, the slight drop of his jaw. The way he’ll whimper a little, say baby in that tone that floods you with heat: a little desperate, all hushed awe, bordering on a whine.

The same kind of heat that starts to creep back in again. There’s power in desire, in being desired, and even though you’re here and Mingyu’s in a hotel room in Japan, you can still feel it. Subconscious, like some kind of red string shit. Anticipatory.

Kim Mingyu: goddamn Kim Mingyu: you wear those for me? Kim Mingyu: fuck, i wish i was there to take them off of you

You suck in a breath. and if you were? you send back.

Kim Mingyu: you know that pair is my favorite Kim Mingyu: drives me crazy every time you wear that set Kim Mingyu: but i’ve changed my mind. i want you to keep them on Kim Mingyu: want you to keep my shirt on too You: yeah? you want me to wear your shirt while you fuck me? pull my panties to the side? Kim Mingyu: slow down baby, i’m taking my time with you

In your bed, you snort to yourself. Mingyu has never been patient with anything, but especially not with you. Most of the time he’s so keyed up, wound so tight, that it’s all the two of you can do to make it to your bed—and sometimes you don’t. Sometimes Mingyu puts all that body to use, presses your back to the wall and throws your legs over his shoulders as he eats you out. Wraps your legs around him as he fucks you right there, the slide so, so easy with how wet and messy he gets you.

You remind him of as much. Type out, you? taking your time? i’ve got a couple walls in my entryway that would say differently, and laugh when the reply comes through—can’t help myself sometimes—and promptly stop laughing at the next one: never can, with you.

Kim Mingyu: have i ever told you what i love the most? Kim Mingyu: just kissing you. you always taste so good, baby Kim Mingyu: the way you get so worked up and start grabbing at me when i’m doing it. the way you try to get me to touch you. the way you start grinding your pussy on me like you can’t go another second without me inside you

You feel like you’re on fire. Gets worse with every word you read and re-read, try to commit to memory. You know it all too well, what he’s talking about. Know how warm his skin is, how firm he feels under your touch. Know what he tastes like. How soft his lips are. The way he sounds when you start to writhe, the way he groans when he presses tighter against you, presses you into the mattress, hard cock rutting against you, enough to take the edge off but nowhere near what he needs.

You: love that too You: love when you’re inside me even more

Kim Mingyu: me too baby Kim Mingyu: love the way you feel around me Kim Mingyu: always so fucking tight Kim Mingyu: ffuck

Your stomach drops at his last message. are you touching yourself? you type, even though you already know the answer. Another sight you’re blessed to know: Mingyu’s hand wrapped around himself, how the size of his cock makes it look small in comparison. Head tilted back, abs flexing under the weight of the pleasure.

You get a singular character in reply: 응.

show me.

He doesn’t respond right away. The pause is enough to have anticipation thrumming through your veins, make you a little shaky. Your hand trembles as you trace patterns into your warm, soft skin, pretending it’s Mingyu’s touch and not your own. Pretend it’s Mingyu’s hand that grabs at your breast beneath his shirt, thumbs over your nipple; Mingyu’s touch that has soft gasps escaping you. Pretend it’s Mingyu’s hand that dips beneath the hem of your panties.

Kim Mingyu Attachment: 1 Movie

On the screen: Mingyu’s face greets you first, eyes half-lidded and hazy, the corners of his mouth lifted in a smirk. He tilts his head back, lets you see the sweat-slick skin of his neck, the column of his throat; pans the camera down over his collar bones, his bare chest, before he flips the screen. Can barely fit the entirety of his frame in the shot, and it strikes you someplace deep, how big he is. How overwhelming.

You suck in a breath as your eyes focus—as you take in the way he’s stroking himself. His cock glistens with whatever lube he’d indulged in, but you can’t help but pretend it’s from you and your mouth. Wish you could see the way he’d touch himself as you sucked him nearly to orgasm and told him to finish himself off. The way he’d whine, beg a little, get a little shitty with you.

“Fuck,” you say out loud. You can feel your pupils blow at the thought.

“Jagiya,” comes Mingyu’s voice, intertwined with the sounds of the tv, a city so far away from you, “fuck, I’m so fu-fucking hard.”

If you’d thought you were on fire before, it’s nothing compared to now. Hearing the need in his voice, watching the way he’s touching himself. The way his hips stutter as his body seeks out more, more, more, always more, and the way he squeezes the base of his cock so he doesn’t come too soon.

“Wish it was you. Wish it was you touching me like this. I—fuck, need you so bad.”

You watch as Mingyu strokes over the head of his cock, as each subsequent pass gets more tacky and wet. Lick your lips at the sight of it. Want, more than anything, to get your mouth on him and taste the salt of his skin, the precome he’s jerking himself off with.

Before he even needs to ask, you start recording a video of your own. Leave your panties on because you know he’d want you to. Record the first pass of your fingers through your slick, let out a disbelieving little laugh at how wet you are, how you can hear it. Moan as you dip a finger into your cunt, just to the first knuckle. Say, “I’m so wet, Gyu, oh my god,” all breathy.

Not all that different from how you sound when he’s here. When he’s flesh and blood and right beside you, on top of you.

You use the wetness you’ve gathered and move your hand to your clit. It’s throbbing beneath your touch, your body already wound too tight, and you nearly hiss in oversensitivity and relief when you finally touch yourself the way you’ve wanted to. “Fuck.”

You force yourself to take your time. Slow, small circles, when everything in your body is screaming to be selfish, begging for release the same way Mingyu’s had.

“Should I finger myself?” you ask. A sharp inhale as your next pass has your toes curling. “Wo-won’t feel as good as you, but I need—need more.”

Before you cut the video, you zoom in a little. Make sure Mingyu will be able to see the way you’re touching yourself, be able to hear the sound of your arousal, the same sounds that have warmth blooming in your cheeks.

Kim Mingyu: jesusf fuck Kim Mingyu: god baby youre so hto Kim Mingyu: wanna see you finger yourself Kim Mingyu: please

It’s a little embarrassing, how incapable you are of denying him anything. You trust him implicitly, love him even more, so it’s second nature to give in, to adjust your phone so you don’t have to hold it. Second nature to press record, pull your panties to the side just like you’d proposed earlier; second nature to make a show of sticking two fingers in your mouth, sucking on them, before bringing them to your entrance and easing them inside.

Nothing compared to the stretch of Mingyu, both his fingers and his cock, but it’s still good. Enough to have you sighing softly, barely audible over the sound of everything else: the rustling of your sheets, the low thrum of your own television, you in general.

A rhythmic song and dance. Practiced. You grow wetter with each push and pull; know Mingyu will be able to see it, the way you work yourself open. That, too, has you a little dizzy. Breathless. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you. Not only like this, but all the time. Does he see an expiration date? Something good while it lasted? Is there just this—something carnal and superficial?

Or does he just see you?

It drives you crazy. Inspires something within you: not just the desire to please him, make it worth his while, but to be something else, something more than this. Has your fingers moving a little faster, has you grinding your clit against the palm of your hand. Has you a whining, writhing mess; has sounds spilling out that you aren’t sure you’ve ever heard come out of you.

You send it before you can overthink it. Whatever Mingyu sees in you, at least these are the images that’ll play in his mind whenever he thinks of you. At least you’ve sunk your claws into him.

Seconds pass in a blur. You’re still on the brink of a mind-numbing orgasm, stuck in this liminal space simply because Mingyu isn’t here, and you know, too, how this goes. Know you aren’t supposed to come without his say-so in the same way he edges himself until he gets yours.

Kim Mingyu: shit shit shit Kim Mingyu: i wish that was me. wanna take you apart like that. wanna finger you while i eat you out, make you squirt all over me again Kim Mingyu: fuck i thin k about that all the time Kim Mingyu: im gonna cum

I think about that all the time.

So do you. You, on your hands and knees, Mingyu eating you out from behind. Bracing yourself against the headboard with one arm, the other one reaching behind you to pull at his hair. You remember how relentless he’d been that night. A man possessed. Disregarded all your breathless pleas, every Mingyu, Gyu, fuck, fuck, Mingyu, baby— that left your mouth. His tongue left your pussy only long enough to say, you can take it, baby before he was right back at it. Before he worked in two fingers alongside his mouth. Before his free hand came down hard on your ass, the sting startling you, making you jerk, forcing you closer to his mouth.

You remember coming with a scream. You remember coming to with Mingyu’s lips to your neck, the sweet way he was speaking to you. You remember the knee-jerk embarrassment you felt when you saw the giant wet spot you’d left on the bed and how quickly it dissipated when Mingyu pressed a kiss to your temple, called you his good girl.

You: you can come, but you know the rule

You move your fingers back to your clit, feel all that pleasure flood back, start in your toes. It’s not long before you’re pulling a blistering orgasm from your body—one that feels like it belongs to Mingyu, wasn’t yours for the taking.

thank you, he replies, right beneath a photo of his abs streaked with cum.

The comedown is jarring. You feel both too big for your body and completely out of sorts now that you’ve fulfilled your role. Now that there’s nothing to do but sit in the stillness of your bedroom, that same drama playing on television, some girl getting her heart broken.

You wonder if Mingyu’s thinking the same. If his body also sags with relief, if the absence of all that tension feels crushing. If the first thought he has in this newfound clarity is also I love you and if he also swallows it down every single time. You wonder if he thinks about his role, if it’s becoming stale and tired.

Because you know what comes next:

Kim Mingyu: i’ll be home soon Kim Mingyu: can i see you

And you also know what you’ll say. After all, you’ve played this role before.

if you've made it this far thank you so much for reading! this is prob not my best work since it's a lil rushed but i needed something to get me out of my slump.

i would love to hear your thoughts! <3

#mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #mingyu x you #mingyu x y/n #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen smut #jewel writes

[ellemj]

Needs & Wants - Sex Pollen Trope BONUS CHAPTER

Bucky Barnes x Reader

*Read parts 1-10 first for the full effect!*

Summary: It's been a little over a month since you and Bucky decided to begin your secret relationship, but he's grown tired of only getting to have you in the middle of the night. His possessiveness gets the better of him during the team's New Year's Eve party.

Warnings: profanity, teasing, possessive!Bucky, slight angst, public sex, unprotected sex, fingering, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone, thanks for all of the support this holiday season! We've made it to the end of the 12ish Days of Smut!

            It’s been a little more than a month of sneaking into Bucky’s room every night and then sneaking back into your own every morning. It’s been a little more than a month of finding ways to discretely fuck your frustrations away after every mission. It’s been a little more than a month since the two of you realized that you were in love with each other. Truthfully, it’s been the most difficult yet rewarding month of your life. You might be lying to everyone you know and going out of your way to hide the best thing in your life, but Bucky is everything to you and he’s actually yours.

            As you smooth your hands over the tight black dress, feeling the scratchiness of the sequins against your palm, you smile at yourself in the mirror. It’s been a secret obsession of yours to wear Bucky’s dog tags hidden beneath your clothes the last few weeks. It feels so dirty, knowing that not a single person around you would ever have the slightest suspicion that you walk around with his name hanging over your chest every day. James B Barnes. No one would ever have the slightest suspicion that you moan his name every night either. You’ve done such a thorough job of keeping your secret, maintaining that you still can’t stand each other when you’re around the rest of the team but being completely infatuated with each other in private. You’ve loved every fucking minute of it. But Bucky? Bucky feels differently, though he hasn’t communicated that to you yet. He hates the way he has to pretend like you don’t belong to him, like he doesn’t have any right to grab you by the waist and pull you into his lap when you’re around the others. He hates the way other men look at you, like you’re a piece of meat in a damn butcher shop, available for purchase. If they knew who you belonged to, if they knew what he thought about doing to anyone who so much as cast a lingering glance in your direction, they’d all be running for the hills.

            Bucky knows better than to slip into your room before everyone has gone to bed for the night, but he’s been caring less and less lately if he gets caught. So, as soon as he pulls on his black suit jacket and slips his phone into his pocket, he crosses the hall and quietly turns your door handle. The sound of the door gliding over the threshold breaks your gaze away from your own reflection and your eyes flit over your shoulder, watching in the mirror as the door opens fully and Bucky steps in. He shuts the door behind him just as quickly as he opened it and then slides the lock into place before turning around to look at you.

            Fuck. He approaches you slowly, letting his eyes travel from your black heels, up the backs of your toned legs, straight to where the hem of your sparkly black dress is just barely covering the curve of your ass. Your eyes are settled on his face as his teeth sink into his bottom lip. You know him well enough to know that he’s fighting the urge to rip the dress off of you and make you both late for the New Year’s Eve party you’re supposed to be at in half an hour. That’s exactly what you don’t need right now, not when you’re trying to keep this whole thing a secret.

            “You’re not supposed to be in here.” You warn him, turning around slowly to face the man who insists on breaking the rules. Now he has a chance to admire the front of your look. His eyes always search for one thing first: the outline of his dog tags beneath your dress. He finds it instantly, though it wouldn’t be obvious to anyone unless they knew they were there.

            “I don’t care, I wanted to see you before anyone else does.” Bucky reaches out for you now, his hands landing on either side of your waist to hold you at arm’s length. “Why do you always wear things that make me want to fuck the shit out of you?” He pulls you to his chest and presses his forehead against yours lightly, his blue eyes meeting yours with a loving gaze.

            “Because I like when you fuck the shit out of me.” You admit. Bucky groans softly before letting both of his hands fall away from your waist and glide down your hips, curving around to grab two handfuls of your ass. His touch never fails to send the resident butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.

            “I’d do it more often if you let me come over earlier than midnight.” Bucky huffs. He ghosts his mouth over yours but he tilts his head to the side and gently presses his lips against your cheek instead, denying you the sweet taste of him. You know that he’s grown to hate how secretive you insist on being. He’s made that known in more ways than one, but he also knows that it was the only rule you set forth at the very beginning of all of this, so he tries his best to put up with it. If this is what he has to do to keep you to himself, then so be it.

            It isn’t long before you shoo Bucky out of your room, too worried that someone will knock on your door for something or start wondering where Bucky is if he isn’t in his own room. He heads down the hall and finds Sam, Torres, Wanda, Vision, and Clint all gathered around the elevator, ready to head downstairs and separate into a couple of cars to drive over to the club Tony rented out for the night.

            “It took you that long to put on a suit?” Sam questions jokingly, clapping Bucky on the shoulder. “I thought you might’ve been curling your hair or something.” Bucky rolls his eyes but chuckles lightly, finding a little bit of humor in Sam’s joke. He wishes he could just say he was with you, but of course, he won’t. It’s only a minute later when the sound of your heels clicking on the hard floor of the hallway reaches everyone’s ears, and all eyes are on you as you finally appear, ready to head out. A few friendly whistles and compliments ring out from the group, but your eyes are only on Bucky. He stares at you with a hunger in his eyes and lust written all over his face. Before anyone can notice the way you’re staring right back at the super soldier, you break your gaze away from him and remind yourself that you have to spend this entire holiday evening acting like you can’t stand him. A heavy sadness settles in your chest as you pile into the elevator with your friends, feeling Bucky’s arm just barely brush against yours. You’ve just realized you won’t even be able to kiss him at midnight.

---

            “Just give him a chance, he’s a pretty decent guy from what I can tell.” Clint lifts his beer bottle to his lips and takes a small sip after urging you to go talk to the SHIELD agent that’s been staring you down since you walked into the club an hour ago. “Nat would’ve shoved you over there already if she was here.” The mention of Nat doesn’t come with as much sadness as it used to, it comes with a lot more nostalgia now, which you welcome.

            “I’m sure he’s a decent guy, but I’m not interested.” You respond with a sweet smile, dragging your fingertip around the rim of your own bottle. You glance over in the guy’s direction, and once again, find him staring at you shamelessly. When you turn your head back to the group, your eyes land on Bucky, who sits across from you and between Sam and Clint. His lips are pulled together in a taut line, he’s actually nearly scowling at the current topic of conversation. His stare is icy as his eyes rake over you. He’s pissed. The group continues on, all talking about why you should go over and talk to the guy, about how cute the two of you would be together if you just gave him a chance. You haven’t heard a word. You can’t ever focus when Bucky stares at you like he fucking hates you. Bucky, however, has heard and hated every single word that’s been spoken for the past minute since you started meeting his stare. He’s had enough.

            “Go over there and ask him if he has someone to kiss at midnight.” Sam teases, looking right at you as he points the mouth of his bottle in the direction of the guy.

            “She’s not doing a damn thing.”

            Everyone’s heads snap to look at Bucky. No way he just said that. There is no fucking way he really just risked it all over a harmless little conversation. The two of you are staring at each other as everyone else’s eyes dart back and forth between you, waiting for either one of you to say anything else.

            “Why not?” Sam finally breaks the silence, beginning to understand what might be going on here. He wants to hear one of you say it, he wants one of you to admit it. You give Bucky a warning glance that says don’t you fucking dare, but of course, Bucky simply raises an eyebrow at you and then he dares.

            “Why don’t you tell him, sweetheart?” Fuck. Him. Fuck Bucky Barnes. He chooses that moment to stand up and smirk at you, ignoring everyone else in the group as he leaves you sitting there. Bucky heads straight for the bar across the room, weaving his way through the crowd of people as smiles to himself. He knows he shouldn’t have done it and he knows good and well that you’ll be beyond pissed with him. But he was already pissed. You were really going to sit there and let them continue encouraging you to go out with some other guy? Even if you weren’t going to give the guy a chance, how could you stand to listen to everyone tell you how good you’d be with someone other than Bucky?

            “Why the hell did you do that?” Your angry tone rings out behind Bucky mere seconds after he’s stepped up to the bar. He doesn’t even turn to look at you as you come to stand on his right side. He waves over the bartender and lifts his beer bottle, letting him know that he’d like another, all while refusing to look at you.

            “I wasn’t going to sit there and listen to that shit any longer.” Bucky answers nonchalantly, like he didn’t just out your secret relationship to your friends and colleagues, like he didn’t just break one of the only two rules you’d set for your relationship.

            “You’re so damn possessive and I hate it.” You spit the words out like they’re poison. You don’t even have a moment to dramatically storm off like you’d planned, before Bucky’s turning to you and lifting his flesh hand to your chest. Your eyes flit down to the veins on the back of his hand just as the tip of his index finger comes to rest on the notch between your collarbones. You’re frozen in place as he drags his fingertip down your sternum. He’s searching for something. As soon as he finds the outline of his dog tags beneath the fabric of your dress, he stops moving his hand and looks into your eyes. He taps his finger against the tags gently, his tongue wetting his bottom lip.

            “Remember whose name you’re wearing right now, or I’ll take you right here to remind you myself.” An icy chill races down your spine at his words, raising goosebumps all over your skin. He gives you a few seconds to think about what he’s just said before he asks his question. “Whose name hangs around your neck?” You swallow hard, wanting so badly to answer him when he talks to you like this, but refusing to give him the satisfaction after what he just said in front of everyone. He tsks softly and lets his hand fall away from your chest. “I thought I fucked that stubborn attitude out of you the first night we spent together. Such a shame to see it back now.”

You don’t fight him when you feel his flesh hand wrapping around your wrist and spinning you around to face away from him. You don’t fight when he shoves you forward, moving his flesh hand to the small of your back and guiding you to the back of the club where the restrooms are. You don’t even know why you don’t fight him. You’re angry as hell and want nothing more than to throw a fit, to scream at him, to hurt his feelings for disrespecting your only wish.

“Why isn’t it being with me enough for you? Why does everyone have to know about us?” You demand to know as he shoves you through the women’s bathroom door and quickly shuts it behind you both. You stand near the door, crossing your arms over your chest and watching as his stalks across the bathroom, checking each stall to make sure they’re all empty.

Bucky runs his flesh hand through his hair as his eyes coast down to where his dog tags are hidden underneath your dress.

            “I only get to be with you between the hours of midnight and six in the morning, that’s enough for you?”

            “You agreed to this from the beginning Bucky, we both knew this needed to be a secret if we wanted to keep being partners in the field.”

            “I don’t agree anymore.” Bucky says pointedly, narrowing his eyes at you.

            “Yeah, I got that when you outed us in front of everyone.” Your tone is laced with malice. What else could it possibly be laced with when you’re as angry as you are? You want to scream, you want to break shit. Why didn’t he just outright tell you that he didn’t want to keep it a secret anymore? You could’ve talked about it in private before something like this happened.

            “You shouldn’t have sat there and let that conversation go on for so long. What would you have done if they tried to introduce you to the guy? Would you have let him fucking flirt with you?” Bucky demands to know, his fists clenching at his sides.

            “No, I would’ve found a way out of it. I told them I wasn’t interested, Bucky. You don’t have to get so goddamn jealous over nothing.”

            “Jealous?” He chuckles darkly, the anger seemingly melting away from his face. “I don’t get jealous when I have what I want.”  

            “Is that so?” You raise an eyebrow at him, taking a couple of steps further into the bathroom, closing some of the distance between the two of you as you wait for him to say more.

            “Whose name is around your neck, sweetheart? Tell me.”

            “No.” You refuse defiantly, stopping in your tracks. You’re still about two feet away from him and he hates it. Bucky closes his eyes and massages his temples with his thumb and middle finger. He knows you’re mad at him, he knows he broke your trust, but now he needs to break your stubborn attitude down just so he can have a damn conversation with you.

            Bucky closes the last bit of distance between the two of you and places his hands on either side of your face before you can tell say hell no. His lips are on yours in an instant, kissing you the same way he kisses you when you’ve just come back from a frustrating mission that left you both feeling on edge. He puts all of his anger into the kiss, sucking on your bottom lip before sinking his teeth into it a little harder than he normally would. When you gasp against his mouth, he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth and caress your tongue with his. He hears that familiar hum rising from your voice as you deepen the kiss and he knows he has you right where he wants you.

            “If you won’t simply tell me whose name is around your neck, I have other ways to get it out of you.”  Bucky rasps, breaking the kiss and taking a step back from you. He begins unbuckling his belt in a way that makes all of the warmth in your body swim straight for your cunt. You can feel your cheeks heating up as you watch him. You should be telling him off, you should be telling him there’s no fucking way you’re doing this after what he just did out there, but your body is on an entirely different wavelength than your rational mind.

            Bucky’s belt comes completely undone and he uses one hand to undo the front of his pants as he tilts head to the side, beckoning you to step over in front of the sinks with him. Why your body chooses to listen to his silent command you have no fucking idea, not when you’re still so angry with him. But you find yourself standing in front of him facing the mirror, looking at him in the reflection as he slides the hem of your dress up your hips and leaves it to sit snug around your waist. He leans forward more, pressing the front of his body against the back of yours as he wraps his flesh hand around your throat gently. You’re no stranger to what he likes to do with that hand. It only took a week of sleeping with him to find out that he’s no 40s man in bed, though you could’ve figured that out from the night you were exposed to the sex pollen, or the night you spent stuck in the hotel together.

            Instead of choking you, Bucky slides his hand down your throat and beneath the neckline of your dress, fingering the chain of his dog tags and tugging them until they’re out of your dress and dangling in front of the black sequin fabric. He has a thing about seeing his dog tags around your neck when he fucks you, at this point it’s basically a kink.

            “One more chance, baby. Whose name is around your neck?” He asks. Your own body blocks your view as Bucky pushes his boxers and pants further down, freeing his cock and giving it a few slow strokes as he glances down at the black thong you’re wearing. You say nothing, you only bite your lip and try to prepare yourself for what’s about to happen. Bucky sighs and moves forward as much as he possibly can before dragging your thong to the side and guiding his cock between your legs, rubbing the tip back and forth along your already-soaked folds. Normally, he likes to give you time to adjust. He likes to work you up to being able to take his cock so he never leaves you too sore, after all, you never wanted anyone to find out about the two of you. You walking funny every morning would’ve definitely raised some questions. That’s why Bucky decides that this time, he doesn’t give a shit. He looks at you one last time in the mirror, taking in your stare of anticipation and the stubborn look in your eye. Then, he shoves his cock so deep inside of you that you cry out due to the mix of pain and pleasure. You feel more pain than pleasure at first, and you expect him to be still for a moment, to let you adjust to his size. But Bucky doesn’t so much as stutter as he begins to fuck his entire length in and out of you at a bruising pace. You’re a moaning, whimpering mess within seconds, trying your best to pull your hips forward and give yourself some relief from his deep thrusts, but failing due to the way he has you trapped between his body and the sink.

            “Bucky, it’s too much.” You cry out a little too loudly, gripping the edge of the sink until your knuckles turn white.

            “No, baby, you can take it. You always take it so well.” He coos, leaning into you more and pressing a soft kiss to the side of your neck. The way his mouth moves over your skin heavily contrasts the way his hips are snapping forward, forcing his cock inside of you hard, repeatedly. He continues fucking you until he can tell that your legs are trembling beneath you, that you’re doing your best to stay upright but likely can’t much longer. He slips his flesh hand between your legs and does the exact thing that you needed him to do to send you over the edge, he starts rubbing fast circles against your clit. Arching your back, you let out a sultry moan as your eyes roll back into your head. Bucky loves seeing you like this, so overwhelmed with pleasure that you can’t even open your pretty little eyes and focus on him. For the past month, he’s made sure that every single time he fucks you, he cums inside of you. Not only has he never once wanted to pull out, but you likely never would’ve let him even if he did. Tonight is going to be different. Bucky continues fucking you while simultaneously rubbing your clit with his fingers until he feels the walls of your pussy squeezing his cock so hard that he has to bite his lip and let out a guttural groan to keep from cumming too soon. “That’s it, cum all over my cock, baby.” Your release is instant at the sound of his command, and your legs nearly give out as your orgasm wracks through your body. He fucks you through it until your moans die down to soft whimpers and you’re able to open your eyes and look at him in the mirror once again, then he pulls his cock out of you.

            “Bucky, no, don’t—” Ignoring your protests, he stops rubbing your clit and instead wraps that hand around his shaft, stroking it quickly as he edges himself. He uses his vibranium hand to snag the fabric of your thong and stretch it out enough to give him a small canvas. “Oh, fuck.” The curse falls from your lips as soon as you realize what he’s doing. Bucky groans out a string of filthy curses as he cums all over the inner fabric of your thong, thoroughly coating it.

            You’re silent, still trying to catch your breath, when Bucky tucks his cock back into his boxers and pants and then slowly runs his hands up either side of your thighs. He’s gentle as he pulls your thong back into its proper place and then slips a hand between your legs and rubs your pussy through the now wet fabric. Fuck. There’s a soft wet sound as his cum mixes with your wetness, trapped against your cunt by your thong.

            “Whose cum are you about to wear for the rest of the night? Whose cum might end up dripping down your leg?” Bucky asks in a serious tone, staring right into your eyes as he continues spreading his cum over your cunt.

            “Yours.”

            “Good girl. Who just fucked you so hard that you’ll barely be able to walk out of here on your own?”

            “You, Bucky.” His name falls from your lips with ease. Truthfully, you can barely remember why you were denying him before.

            “That’s right, you’re being so fucking good for me now. Not so stubborn anymore, huh? Whose name have you been wearing around your neck for a goddamn month now? Say it for me.”

            “James Bucky Barnes.”

            “You are so fucking mine, and every single person out there needs to know that.”

TAG LIST:

@marygoddessofmischief @its-daydreamer23 @gyokujyn @kandis-mom @millercontracting @alicia-bman @sdddoobydoobydoo @a-rotten-chicken-nugget @buckysbvtch3 @charmedbysarge @hensawweston @black-cat-2 @just-act-natural @phoenixstark1708 @ladyvenera @bubblevicioussss @larajadeschmidt13 @crist1216 @joannaromanoff @jenniferpendragon @i-will-always-kneel-for-smut @justafangirl1 @sydneylaufeyson22 @yourmidnightlover @claireelizabeth85 @multifandom-girlie @keyrani @hhiggs @bambamwolf87 @mrsjoequinn @abitofblues @takeyour-pants-off @buckysbaby-doll @buckbuckybuckaroo @kingfleury @fandomsfeminismandme @purplecolordeer @dear-lolita @dreamlandcreations @imabasicbean @hereticdance @mrs-marc-spector @renatas10 @addymackie @cjand10 @ordelixx @reguluscrystals @bellatrixskr @yujyujj @frombkjar

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #mcu #bucky barnes x you #marvel #the winter soldier #winter soldier

[motherofagony]

FIRE WALK - one shot

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: au, no outbreak!joel x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni word count: 6.5k summary: a chance encounter at a motel has you crossing paths with a stranger in a blue t-shirt. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), very brief references to past non-con encounters (not with joel, no details just shitty men in general), soft!joel, alcohol, mentions of family trauma and ab*se, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (f + m receiving), A Scene With a Belt™, slight mentions of reader's clothing but no physical descriptions otherwise, love as consumption and women as fruit a/n: this was a brain-worm of a one shot, so i had to press pause on AHFE and get it out. consider it a dirty love letter to strangers with stories in shitty motels. and i have to give the biggest thank-you to @iamskyereads for stepping in and offering to be my beta reader in the final hour. she was so unbelievably thorough and thoughtful and kind. i owe you big.

New-age boogeymen hang two-way mirrors and jiggle motel door handles with broken hangers.

That’s what the news says.

August licks an unforgiving line of heat up your back, and cutoff denim and halter tops do nothing but give the sun more skin to burn. 

It’s sweltering, brutal as an Arizona summer is, and The Palms Motel promises a pool and a mini bar on their dirty marquee. You’ll take what you can get, can’t really afford to be picky with fifty dollars in your pocket, but at least maybe you’ll live like royalty tonight.

Some guy you met — Tom, Tim, Jim, whoever — pulls his convertible up to the front office. Your knees knock together over the speed bump, cartilage kissing bone.

It’s the closest you’ve ever come close to a chauffeur, but the chauffeur you see in movies doesn’t usually take liberties with trying to work his grease-speckled mechanic hand up the passenger’s shirt.

You met him at a gas station in Tucson, thumbing your way from northern Texas to put as much distance between you and your whiskey-breathed dad as you could. He’d torn your clothes apart at the seams with his eyes when he spotted you in the parking lot, swimming in blood-infested waters with sharp, sharp teeth.

There was no plan, no directions penned and cities circled on a folded map, just glass in your hair and a final straw.

He asked if you could buy him some booze — revoked license, baby, y’know how that goes — and you shouldn’t have, but when he flashed a leather wallet thick with cash, you knew you’d be stupid not to.

You hid behind a shelf inside the gas station while he idled in the parking lot and plucked a fifty from the wad, stuffing it deep in your bag. You grabbed some shitty malt-something from a fridge along with a 6-pack, flashing the slack-jawed cashier a wink. 

He didn’t try to hide the eye contact with your tits, but neither do most men. Sometimes you milk it in your favor, sometimes it just makes your lunch rise to the back of your throat.

And when you’re by yourself, it’s hot iron, ready to strike. A doe in their headlights, a buck with a nice rack. Skipping through the center of their bullseye.

You bought a little palm-sized bottle for yourself and tucked it safely next to the stolen cash in the abyss of your purse. These tiny cons got you by, made power surge deep in your belly. It made loneliness feel worth it, knowing you had an upper hand to lean on if you were ever in a bind.

He bitched about inflation when you came out with less than was reasonable for the amount you spent, and you just shrugged. Not your cash, not your problem. 

You bartered for a ride to the nearest motel, and now Tom-Tim-Jim is asking you over the purr of the engine if you need company for the night.

If you were feeling a little more you, you might’ve taken him up on it. Maybe he would’ve even paid for the room, maybe he wouldn’t get angry like your dad does. Maybe he’d be able to fuck you without hitting you.

You’re good at diffusing the temper in most men, can touch them in ways that make them grit their teeth, can be a good girl and go fetch.

But you’re not in the mood to bend, to give someone’s son — someone’s husband with a tan line around their ring finger — a place to wipe their shoes on. You don’t feel like wiping their dirt, your mascara from your eyes and saying thank you while they zip up their pants.

And you sure as fuck don’t fancy being on a milk carton.

“I’m alright, sugar. Thanks for the ride,” you say, dipping your chin to peer over your sunglasses. “I know where to find you, don’t worry.”

Yeah fuckin’ right.

He doesn’t try to conceal his disappointment, just sucks his teeth and squeezes at the exposed skin of your thigh. His way of saying goodbye to something he could’ve dripped sweat on, came in too early. You think your flesh might rot off in chunks. 

You open the door and swing your legs out in a way that’s a little too eager.

Tom-Tim-Jim waves solemnly with two fingers up and two bent, and then he’s gone in an aggressive rev.

The motel might’ve been a kitschy dream in its heyday. It’s not a total dump; more of a vintage skeleton of washed-out pink and umbrellas that’ve been ripped by weather and overuse. There are a million faded emblems of cartoonish palm trees. It’s almost endearing how tragic it is.

You can tell that it was popular and swarming with tourists at one time — there are dusty, water-stained pamphlets lining the wall next to the front desk that brag Named one of Arizona’s top destinations in 1996!

A mounted fan whirs and oscillates, but it might as well be someone blowing hot breath down your neck. 

There’s a tired woman holding down the fort at the desk with a name tag that claims Brenda, and she looks surprised to see you. You figure most customers are stopping in for a night’s rest on the way to somewhere more important, their final destination. But you don’t look like you have anywhere better to be.

“Hey, honey,” Brenda trickles, laced with an accent that’s more New Orleans than Arizona. “Need a room?”

“Yeah, just for the night,” you say, fishing out your wallet with confidence that doesn’t meet your eyes. “How much?”

“Forty-five a night, ‘less you wanna upgrade to the honeymoon suite.” She looks somewhere over your shoulder.

That’s nearly everything you have, but it sounds a lot like tomorrow’s problem. At least you’ll be safe tonight from the prowling stares of nighttime predators, and the leftover change will give you a decent vending machine dinner.

“Just a normal room’s fine,” you smile, sliding over the crumpled, stolen fifty.

Brenda types busily on the keyboard, asking for your name but nothing else. And when she hands you a plastic keycard, you finally relax your shoulders. Untangle the nerves in your lower back that are choking one another.

Room 17, it reads. Your oasis awaits!

You thank her, spin on your heel, and immediately bump chest to chest with something hard.

You’re eye level with a worn, cornflower blue t-shirt, ringed with a light stain of sweat at the collar. They’re grasping both of your arms to steady you, and you’re snagging the gaze of a tousled man with a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Watch where you’re goin’,” he murmurs, but it isn’t reprimanding or mean like you’re used to, just sickly sweet and Texan. Syrupy in a way that drips right down between your legs.

You don’t remember seeing anyone else in the lot when you’d pulled up. And the stealth of him entering soundlessly behind you sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, the clench of something that would be fear if it were any other stranger.

But he doesn’t look at you with intent to devour or to claim. Just eyes you like you’re anyone else. An equal. The bare minimum, but rare and shiny nonetheless.

“Sorry,” you breathe, and he’s releasing you a little too quickly for your liking. Leaving brands on the creases of where your forearms meet upper and elbow.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

So you don’t.

You brush past him on the way out, a polite nod. And that’s that. 

The heat is the kind that feels hotter, unbearable when paired with the shrill sing of cicadas. An endless buzzing that you think might be the sun sizzling on the concrete. If you stood in one place for too long, your flip flops might very well melt you in place.

Your room key clicks to unlock Room 17, and you push the door open to a heavy, humid space that smells vaguely of mold. You’re so grateful for the privacy that you can’t even bring yourself to wrinkle your nose.

Flip flops discarded, your toes sink into shag carpet — a dirty luxury that makes you moan. It’s only been two days since you left home, fled home, but it beats sleeping with one eye open on a bus stop bench.

You up-end your leather bag, dumping all of its contents onto the bed. Cigarettes, some loose film canisters, your toothbrush, a lighter. There wasn’t much time to pack, nothing worth bringing, and the less, the better. Nothing to weigh you down if you had to dip at a moment’s notice.

It takes you only a couple minutes and a light sheen of sweat to realize that the A/C is busted. Smothered, you try to crack open a window in the bathroom, but it’s no cooler than the hell you’re standing in.

When you let Brenda know, she just shrugs with an apologetic kind of half-smile.

“Most of ‘em are out these days, honey,” she says, and you decide then that it’s a small price to pay. “We got someone comin’ to look at it next week.”

You shoot her a smile, figure that she’s had enough rotten backtalk in her day. You scoop a set of flamingo-themed matches from the bowl on the counter and turn around, only to see a familiar blue shirt waiting his turn.

His eyes try not to roam, but he’s giving you a nod and stepping up without hesitation, asking Brenda for extra towels.

The way that she titters and blushes, you’d think he’d asked if he could spit in her mouth.

It irritates you, and you can’t say why.

The door chimes behind you as it closes, and you linger, striking a match and lighting a cigarette. When he emerges, a stack of towels so high it’s hitting his chin, you step in stride on the walk back. Tracing his footsteps, catching up with his shadow.

“You followin’ me?” you quip, a cigarette dangling from your mouth. The cherry ignites on every breath, smoke erupting in tendrils that hug each word.

He answers with a laugh, turns and squints back at you with one eye. Almost as if he was expecting you to ask.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Could say the same to you.”

You stop in front of 17, hand over your brow to shield from the sun that’s winding its way down, getting ready to tuck itself in for the night. There’s nothing that touches your tongue that doesn’t sound exactly like a fuck yes. So you don’t say anything.

“Enjoy your sauna,” he chuckles over his shoulder, passing you with his towels on the way to Room 20.

��

Led Zeppelin filters out through the radio, half-static, half-electric. Your legs are crossed in the air behind you, and you’re posted up face down on the bed, kicking along to the beat while you flip through whatever Cosmopolitan someone left behind in a drawer.

Someone raps a few times on the door, and if it’s a repairman, they’re getting their fucking dick sucked.

You army-roll off the flowery duvet, abandoning a how-to on finding your g-spot, and you peer through the peephole.

Your breath hitches on a soft swear.

When you open the door, you see Blue T-Shirt standing there, skin creasing around his eyes slyly. An unopened beer hangs and swings from his restless fingers. He offers it up wordlessly, the butt of it pointed at you.

It’s ice-cold and slippery to the touch, erupting goosebumps on your forearm. Saliva coats your tongue, and you don’t think it’s the thirst for alcohol, but maybe the tall drink of water. 

“Um… thanks?”

“Figured you’d either be dead by now or parched,” he says smugly, and it’s velvet to your ears.

“Oh. Yeah, thanks. I got the fan to work at least,” you mutter, jerking your thumb vaguely behind you.

“Listen, uh —”

He’s rubbing the nape of his neck, and you catch the way the network of muscles flex from his elbow to the seam of his armpit. He looks like he’s in pain, struggling with the fit of a puzzle piece into something rough and jagged.

Something he shouldn’t be trying but has to see it through, exhaust it until it’s definite one way or the other.

You just squint, sucking in the corner of your lip between your teeth. You nearly grin, but it’s much more fun to watch than to connect the dots for him.

“A/C works in my room, so ‘f you wanted to… y’know,” he trails off, not even sure in his own offer. “No pressure. It’s hot as hell outside, don’t want you t’get heat stroke ‘f I can help it.”

This kind of approval you like. This kind that sizzles girl-honey between your legs, winning it from a man that’s playing to earn, not to cheat.

“I try not to make a habit out of going into motel rooms of guys I don’t know the names of,” you harp sweetly. But it might as well be a done-deal.

“D’you make a habit outta accepting beers from ‘em?”

You smile. Typically, yes.

“Joel.”

His hand shoots out, strong and suggestive. Fingers like alligator teeth that’ll grip you, hold you under until you thrash. 

And you pluck your cigarettes and gifted liquor bottle from the bed, arms full when you carry them down to Joel’s room.

—

You’re sprawled on the full-size bed next to his, head propped up on hand propped up on elbow.

You’ve been trading your little fist of bourbon back and forth, swapping stories in the same way. Somehow, you fall into it easy like old friends, and it’s nice to follow someone’s lead instead of keeping one step, three, seven steps ahead. Arm outstretched to the door knob, feet ready to break into a run at the change in tone, blackening of pupils.

Without meaning to, you’ve wordlessly agreed that the person in possession of the bottle has the proverbial mic, and they swig to help with details and theatrics. It’s counter-productive in flow, but it makes you laugh when Joel exaggerates the story he’s telling on purpose, reaching out to pass it back and suddenly yanking it back, remembering a shade of gray or a funny expression.

Your knuckles keep zapping each other, brushing a little longer than the time before. There’s no numbness to consensual touch.

Joel’s mid-40s. From Texas, like you. He came to visit his daughter Sarah at college, says she’s growin’ up too fast, doesn’t need her old man anymore. It’s a thrill to see someone talk about their own flesh with love, admiration for who she is and who she’s becoming. You find yourself leaning in, enraptured that there are no IOUs or fine-print that you know to come with a parent’s love.

Mentions of his stubborn brother Tommy who he works with and who just can’t stop getting into trouble. The unspoken guilt that maybe he could be the one to keep him out of jail if he tried harder. It doesn’t work that way, and you tell him so.

You tell him about your dad when he asks about your life, your story, and you don’t know why you do but maybe you know exactly why. No one ever gets close enough to ask, so it comes leaking out of the corners of your mouth.  

You’ve never told anyone, not even your diary, not even the guidance counselor who slipped a note to your fifth grade teacher and pulled you out of class. Shaky fingers, shaky limbs when they asked if they could roll up your sleeves just to see and you said no. 

Crying because you knew your dad wouldn’t let you go back. Not to school, not to your friends.

You omit the nitty-gritty details, but Joel gets the gist. Swigs his share of the liquor a little too angrily with tight lips. Not like your dad does, but you don’t miss the irony of it all.

He holds anger for you, on behalf of you. It simmers as he listens to you in patient silence, coming to a boil at the bad parts when he gets up and starts walking lines in the shitty carpet. Pretending to look outside in interest at his truck parked at the end of the lot, but gripping the curtains until you can see every expanse of bone in his hand.

You don’t need this from him. It’s a hurt you’ve wedged between the pages of a book and doused in flames of acceptance long ago. But it spreads from your toes to your ears, the burn of someone feeling like this. For someone like you.

He finally settles down in an armchair by the window, a funny corduroy thing that would probably light up under a blacklight on one of those crime shows. Legs parted, a warm stare on the way you take up space on the bed. Facing him comfortably, your vision buzzing around the edges. A loose smile shared as if this room was meant for the two of you all along.

“So, what’s your plan?” Joel’s humming, his words getting lost in an echo of the bottle neck.

You don’t have one. Can’t have one when you have nowhere to go but gone.

It stretches on and on between you — a mouth opened and closed too many times on possibilities. If you admit to it, you end up with pity or an upper hand dealt to a stranger. You can’t afford to owe anyone a favor, nor can you front the cost of needing one.

But you’re so tired.

“Dunno. I’ll figure it out.”

“You got enough time for that?”

And you know what he means. Enough time in the motel, enough time before you’re a thief at wit’s end, doing anything for survival. He doesn’t need to ask to know you don’t have a destination, some relative waiting for you in a California dream.

You’ve excused yourself to the bathroom, soft radio bleeding in under the door, arms braced on the sink, all glossy eyes.

You want him, bad. But he won’t make the first move, won’t take advantage of what isn’t his and what others before him took without asking. You’re a pawn, entitled to the first move. The rejection would kill you, but not knowing would be worse.

He could hold you soft, give you something to think about when tomorrow rips you both in opposite directions.

When you pull open the door, Joel’s frozen in mid-stride towards you, like he’s just made up his mind about something.

He straightens but he’s still. Afraid of moving too fast, saying too much, scaring you into flight. Out of the unlocked cage of his room — something he did on purpose, because he doesn’t expect anything from you and wants you to know he doesn’t.

You meet him in his dusty shag quicksand. You take his wrist in your hand, kiss the thrum of life in the dip where veins meet palm. An offering.

Joel looks like he’s in pain, like what you’re doing is excruciating and thorny. The front of his jeans strains. He’s searching you for any hesitation, any obligation because he did something kind. He knows what currency you feel the need to pay in, and this isn’t that.

“Please,” you whisper simply. And he nods, accepting, succumbing.

There’s a careful meeting of lips, wanting to do it the right way, in the right order. When you push your tongue in, used to the pace of animals, he just holds your face and slows you down. It’s languid, his mouth showing you what sweet and gentle can taste like. Your tongues take their time, and your hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt, all ribbed muscle with a sprinkling of hair.

He shudders against the lightness of your feather-fingers.

Joel’s hands are peeling your shirt off, his thumbs resting to press against pillowy hips. He’s not letting your lips go, something like impatience stirring in you. 

Doesn’t he want to fuck you hard? Fuck you fast and selfish?

Isn’t there a catch?

He’s taking his shirt off now, up and over. Carved by Michaelangelo, thrown up on a ceiling in a library book you read once. You’re touching him in reverence, but not letting yourself learn too much of him.

His eyes are molten. Joel walks you back to the edge of the bed, scratchy quilt tickling your thighs when you fall back on it. You start to pose yourself, angles that make you look more desirable, pliable. But he’s not paying attention to that, just unbuttoning your shorts, kissing the jut of every curve and permeating down to the bone, punching out a soft groan when he slides the denim off and sees the shining ambrosia that’s waiting.

He’s kneeling, tugging you down to meet his waiting mouth. And you’re just breathless, flinching when he pulls you apart, guiding your legs over his shoulders and wasting no time devouring you. Your legs, his bib.

Joel’s tongue flicks through the shell of you, teasing you in alternates of quick and slow, starving and full. It feels like a slice of heaven. 

You pitch out a tangled gasp, hands instinctively moving to knot in his hair. Anything to hold onto, a different kind of grounding.

“So wet f’me,” he vibrates lowly into you, all husk. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

He sinks a middle finger into you, and you’re keening, hips canting and unable to stay glued to the mattress. You feel him smile against your cunt, just pressing his forearm across your lower half to keep you still.

Joel’s twisting and working into you, onto you, and you’re so fucking close from just this — a tiptoeing to the edge that grows longer, more erratic in stride. He sucks your clit — pulsing sensitive, so swollen — into his mouth and grazes it with the tip of his tongue just so. Baring his incisors and closing around you in a delicious scrape like a Venus flytrap taking its meal.

You think you see God behind the flutter of your eyes.

You’re close enough to warn him, to rasp it out in the symphony of moans. His free hand reaches up to roll your peaked nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and he stretches you with an added ring finger. You’re writhing. Possessed.

He’s watching you through thick lashes. Letting your heels dig into his shoulders as the drenched sounds of you fill the room.

“Joel, please — I’m gonna —”

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he just murmurs.

You feel that little pull at your navel.

And you’re tipping in a freefall, seeing stars. You clench down around his fingers, fingers that are still pumping against that spongy spot deep inside you. Your arousal gushes, wet and sticky against the scrape of his beard. He laps you up, the sight making heat creep up your chest and wrap around your neck.

When he lifts his head, he’s high on it. Pupils dilated like tiny, round moons. Your orgasm glistens on him, smeared over lips and chin. The fur of a peach peeled back far enough to sink teeth into.

It’s fucking filthy.

Joel places open-mouthed kisses from your hip up to the center of your breasts, a trail of your orgasm shiny on your skin in perfect, sloppy Os. His breath meets your throat where he nips at you, and you don’t have time to drag in a breath before you’re tasting the saltiness of yourself on his tongue.

Your fingers fumble on his belt, practiced with years of releasing the tension on the metal prongs, the slithering sound whooshing from the loops of pants. You’re good at it, like you used to be good at gymnastics until your mom stopped getting out of bed to drive you. 

There was always a little gold for contorting your body.

He detaches from you unwillingly, putting all of his weight on his knees and shins as he straddles the space of your thighs.

You’re pulling yourself up in a sitting position, pushing denim and boxers down past his hips. Letting his cock spring free, the head a dark pink and beaded with precum. You swipe the flat of your tongue against it, peeking up at him while you soak up the taste of it. 

When you push the length of him into your mouth, ridged hard with veins, Joel tips his head back, chin to the ceiling. He groans something brutish yet helpless, cradling the back of your head. You’re seated in the driver’s seat, all control. 

It’s new, different.

But then he’s moving his hips back, pulling himself from your mouth, wiping the saliva from your chin with a steady thumb.

“Don’t need t’do that,” Joel whispers hoarsely. “Not ‘f you don’t want to.”

Confused, you knit your brows. He laughs darkly, shaking his head.

“Didn’t mean it like that, it’s — it feels fuckin’ good,” he says, awestruck. “Would just rather make you feel good instead.”

Oh.

He doesn’t wait for an answer or a negotiation. The rest of his clothes pool on the floor in a pile, and he’s climbing back over you, an anchor or a buoy in a storm.

He lines himself up at the seam of you, puffy and so wet from before, nudging the tip of his cock at your warm center. A thumb coaxing the bud at the apex of you in lazy circles.

Joel’s sliding in slowly by each inch, filling you full until there’s nothing left and his patch of hair prickles the pearl of your clit. All you can do is whine and tense around him.

He’s resting tentative hands on either side of your face, indenting the weak mattress with handprints. He groans, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give in when you try to rock against him.

“This alright?”

You’ve forgotten how to do anything, hoping that digging your fingertips into his forearms is communication enough.

“I’m gonna need a yes, baby.”

You feel around in the dark for the tether back to your body, and it jerks you like a marionette, giving him a nod.

“Yes. Fuck.”

That’s enough. He’s rewarding you with a roll of his hips, and you feel like you’re on fire. It’s a stuttering, painfully slow pace at first, his mouth so close to your ear that every grunt is amplified. But it evolves into something eager, unsatiated, snapping up into you with a relentless sort of fucking.

He’s hitting that place so deep within you, letting you unravel and grow hoarse from the moans tearing their way up your throat. That pressure is roiling, the kind that you get only when you touch yourself but intensified by a million.

It just feels so right, because there’s nothing to prove. 

You’re ships passing in the night, strangers making a pit-stop on the way to nowhere. There’s no backstory, no history to make mention of. No shame in the morning when he inevitably rolls over and pretends to be asleep, and you scrub off the smell of him with your provided travel-size shampoo.

It’s not love, but it might be the closest you ever get.

The glow of him above you, a deity with his face screwed in agony. Chasing after you when he feels the tightening of your cunt, the easy glide of every thrust that tells him you’re close.

Then, you’re snapping like a rubber band. Gushing in a dripping mess that trickles to where your ass meets thigh. Crying without tears, overstimulated but blissful. Joel is quick to follow, like he’s been waiting his turn.

He’s trembling, emptying inside you in a warm flood. Groaning low and beautiful, gripping your hips to keep you flush to him.

When pulls out, tearing himself away, he’s slinging an arm over his eyes on the pillow beside yours. One hand on your leg to make sure you don’t go anywhere.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him mutter.

At some point you drift off, his arm draped over you. You open a bleary eye to a neon 2:49AM that casts a halo over the nightstand. Joel’s tucked you in, the thin duvet snug up to your shoulder. He’s not snoring but not not snoring, just breath getting caught in his throat in a satisfied, well-spent way.

It’s all too much, too pure to be real.

Before you let yourself change your mind, you slink out from under the warmth of your generous stranger. You step in your shorts one foot at a time, tugging them up gelatin legs too springy from coiling and uncoiling.

You promise yourself that you’ll take just one mental picture as a keepsake, and it’s this. A sleepy Joel who will be well on his way to a second cup of coffee on the way out of Arizona, maybe even nursing a little headache behind his right eye. And he’ll remember an apparition of some girl he fucked in a motel. The touristy thing to do, a sight to see. 

He might even tell Tommy, say you were a crazy little thing with too much baggage, but it was fun to stay up past his bedtime.

You don’t mean to do it, really you don’t, but you flip through his wallet that lays innocently on top of the TV.

If you take a little something, that’ll turn this into another one of your stories that you tell your kids born from a loveless marriage somewhere in the crevices of a future from now. It won’t pull on the tendons of your heart.

And it won’t mean anything. You won’t let it.

—

The next morning, there’s a soft knock at the door, and it’s probably housekeeping kicking you out for overstaying your welcome. Time to turn down the bed for the next lost soul. You imagine Joel’s long gone, hopped in his truck and back to a reality you’ll never meet him in.

Your fingers are slow to gather up your purse, and you’re shoving your toothbrush in from its place on the sink.

“I’ll be out in a second!” you yell in a voice that reeks of years of diner-flavored customer service.

More persistent knocking that borders on pounding. It shakes the chain in the deadbolt.

You’re yanking open the door, and there’s Joel, white shirt and jeans. And it isn’t that cushion of admiration from last night, no greeting with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Just a wolf coming to claim his continental breakfast.

Fuck.

You try to shut the door, suddenly too ashamed of what you’ve done, and to someone undeserving. Someone that showed you kindness, empathy.

But his boot catches the door before it can close, and he’s inside, slicing through the space between you. It’s not quite anger, but it’s shadowy. Sardonic.

Your shoulder blades kiss the cheap wallpaper.

“You’re real funny, y’know that?” he starts, and he’s smiling but not really.

Shrinking small, so small that maybe you’ll disappear.

There’s a tick of silence. His thumb skates to your collarbone and then to the hollow at the base of your throat. He wants to squeeze but he doesn’t, his fingers wrapping loosely around the column to fix you there. Heat creeps up the back of your neck into your hairline.

The instinct to flinch bubbles up against your joints, but you can’t bring yourself to.

“Y’think you can fuck me,” he muses, disgustingly deadpan, “‘n steal from me.”

Dread weighs heavy like lead in your stomach. You can’t stop yourself from shaking your head, still playing dumb.

He bristles at that, thunderous. You both know it’s a lie; you’re a hundred dollars richer than you were last night. His fingers briefly flex around you in a way that you’ve seen before, and horror hits a fever pitch in you.

Tears prick your eyes, and you’re putting your palms on his chest and shoving, but he doesn’t give. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, and all that.

It’s not so much the blaring punctuation in a sentence, the ticking of dynamite ready to blow. He’s confronting you with proximity, with your own dishonesty. Wanting to shake you and tell you that it doesn’t have to be this way.

Joel just leans in closer, almost grazing noses. You try to breathe around the lump of panic.

“The hell’s the matter with you?”

It’s disbelief, it’s hurt. In the same way, it’s understanding, incredulous. It’s him stepping back and loosening the hold around your neck like no one’s ever done; it’s softening and imploring.

He’s shoving his hands in his pockets, guilty and recoiling. Sorry he could even make himself look like one of them — a forced penance in the flesh.

There’s no answer that can justify what you did. Nothing simple about nothing personal. But truly… that’s all it was. A pie wafting steam on an open windowsill. Something to make you feel better about the void he’d leave.

“‘F you needed money, you coulda just asked.” 

He’s disappointed, desperate. In a tone that really says, I would’ve done anything you wanted.

A dam inside you gives, crumbling deep at the foundation and knocking the walls down around you. Words don’t come, but you shove your hand in blind into your bag, pulling out the loose bill and extending it.

Joel sees the regretful offering and your heart with x-ray vision. That you think of yourself as a doll, less valuable without her box. Used without tags. Free to a good home.

He shakes his head, the softness of a keep it barely peeking out of his mouth.

You’re skinning yourself raw, wanting another way out but having none. With half a mind to say that the next night could come with fangs.

You feel the stab of relief, and shame. So much shame.

Like a soothsayer, he foresees the coldness of a bench, the shrinking of you into the safety of an alley.

You drop to your knees in exaltation, thinking you know what’ll fix this. You can’t see through the watercolor blur of your tears, but you touch his belt with fingers that are cold to the tips.

But Joel knows what you’re doing, shaking his head no no no.

He won’t let you do it like this. He drags you up gently by the elbows. Pulls you into his chest, says stop stop stop. Kisses your hair, then your lips. You cry until he can taste the tears, until the front of his shirt is damp.

“I’m sorry,” you rasp out roughly. “I’m so sorry.”

He tells you to never say sorry to him again.

—

Joel pays for a room for two more nights, but only one — his with the working A/C.

You move your toothbrush and your bag over to Room 20.

You go to the pool, swimming laps around him in a tank top and your cherry-embroidered underwear, squealing and splashing in a flail when he swims underneath your legs and stands up to hold you on his tan shoulders.

Sunscreen streaks greasy on your stomach when you lay out together on the loungers after. Joel likes a cat-nap with his face under a towel, grumpy and tired from the sun. But he never snaps at you, never gets impatient when you ask too many questions while he’s dozing off.

You learn the pinched expression he makes just before he comes. That his right palm has hundreds of lines you can see best by lamplight. He misses the noise of Sarah in his house, of sharing the coffee pot with someone. He doesn’t like the small piling of toast crumbs left only by him on the kitchen table.

He learns that you apologize for wet, clean hair on his pillowcase, for laughing too loud. Things that don’t need a sorry. A collection of oversaturated manners that might take time to unlearn, but he promises to teach you.

He learns that you approach an orgasm with tentative toes in cold water, almost unbelieving that sex can give, give, give instead of take, take, take. He learns that you like the meeting of eyes when he’s buried between your legs, pushing your thighs apart to keep from suffocating. That when he does let you get on your knees for him, you know just the spot to caress with your tongue on the underside of his cock.

Joel’s belt is snaked under your stomach, across your hips, fists intertwined in the leather as he pulls you back, slams himself forward. It bites and creates indents in your flesh, and you don’t care. He gives you marks to love, to admire in your reflection, never ones that are ugly. Never ones out of hate over spilled milk.

There’s a dirty slap of skin, growing louder, competing with your moans. Your nails are tearing into the cheap sheets, and Joel’s so close but won’t come until he coaxes another out of you. A grand total of at least four by now, but you’ve lost count.

At long last, you splinter around him. Pitching off the cliff in a cry. Joel’s leaning — his chest, your back — and spilling deep, holding onto you for dear life. You hear him whimper in a strangle. Big, tough game that’s been taken down with an arrow in his chest.

Hot tears are flowing out of you, stuttering sobs close to follow, and Joel pulls out slowly. Seems to know why. And he rolls you over, into him, hand careful in slow strokes against your hair.  

You’ve never been good at goodbyes. Maybe that’s what this is.

Men like to say that women like you are insane, too analytical, too tear-streaked, too conscious of the way they look when they sleep. Because waking up with your mouth open, a drying corner of drool threatening your cheek is too human, not pretty.

Sometimes women like you are dead, rotting pomegranate flesh. Long forgotten in decay on the ground when the weight became too heavy to hold yourself up. And those men pick up your seeds and shove them squelching back into places where they don’t fit. 

The winters come bitter and harsh, but you’re always reborn in the spring. And without fail, you grow back fiercely into a tree reminiscent of Eden, low-hanging apples plucked and bruised and bitten into once and spit out in tart disgust. 

Women like you choke men like this with your pits, strangle them with vines, poison them with berries. They can consume, but so can you.

But then, in the ripe, cool shade of summer, you’ll have a visitor like Joel that will come with a basket and a blanket and they’ll stay and read books beneath you. They’ll enjoy your fruit, you’ll drip from their mouth and dry tacky like flypaper, and they won’t be able to imagine a day before you. 

They’ll collect all the pieces of you on a Tuesday morning and give you change to get a Coke after checkout. They’ll tuck you into the front seat of their truck, let you put your feet up on the dash, hand protective and calm on your thigh while the other steers you both back to Texas. A new home without shouting and bottles thrown.

And they’ll stay through every season.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut #the last of us au #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #fire walk #my writing #joel miller one shot #motherofagony