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omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts · 1 year

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It’s Been a Long, Long Time ❥

Pairing: Pre!Outbreak Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’re the school nurse at Sarah’s middle school and you’re volunteered to chaperone the school dance alongside her father, Joel Miller. After some other teachers upset you there, he makes a point of showing you how he feels while also teaching those assholes a lesson.

A/N: okay so i know i just wrote one but you guys were so sweet in the notes :) *sobbing* and im obsessed with him so another Joel Miller fic for you, this one’s more fluffy tho here’s a sweet, smutty one, inspired by that one scene in “The Lost Husband” YALL KNOW WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT, enjoy and feedback as always is appreciated >~< i cant stop writing him PREPARED TO BE SICK O’ ME

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, fluff, cheesy, just absolute fuckin fluff, mentions of death, months pre-outbreak, language, reader is insulted, slight angst, mentions of alcohol, slight age gap, reader has panic attack, public making out, jealous!reader, Joel loves his pet names, he talks you through it, oral f! receiving, p in v, praise, unprotected sex, y’all it’s a lot

You sip on your mug full of sugary coffee and rub your temple, tired from a night of little sleep. That’s when Sarah Miller, your favorite student, patient, and professional instigator, strides through your office doors with a big smile on her face.

You open up your snack drawer with an affectionate roll of your eyes, grab a pack of skittles, and throw it her way.

She catches it mid-air and sits down on the bed by your door, kicking her feet while she pops only the red ones into her mouth.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble one of these days, hun,” you breathe a laugh.

“Don’t worry,” she sighs, still grinning. “I’m on my lunch break and I finished it fast so I could come see you.”

You smile softly behind the rim of your mug, “Well, I’m glad to see you. What is it that you’re smiling so much about?”

“Awe,” she points to your mug. “You’re using the mug I got you.”

You look at the front of the mug, the words, “World’s Greatest Grandma”, on the front of if it with the word Grandma scratched out with a wash-proof marker and replaced with “Nurse”. She claimed she couldn’t find one that said what she wanted so she had to get creative. It makes you laugh every time you pick it up.

“It’s my most prized possession,” you nod, matching her expression. “Now answer my question.”

She leans forward, having finished off all the red skittles, and hands it back to you so you can eat the rest.

She says it in one, hyperactive breath, “I got my dad to volunteer at the school dance!”

You choke a bit on your coffee.

Setting down the bag of skittles and your mug, you look up at her and chuckling, “Why would you want to do that? Don’t most kids want their parents far away from their homecoming?”

She shakes her head like you’re not getting what she’s saying, exasperated, “I invited him for you, Nurse y/n.”

“I- Why would you-” you let out a nervous laugh before pulling yourself together. “Sarah. Why would you invite him for me, sweetheart?”

“Because you like him,” she props her head up against the wall behind her, a sly little smirk on her lips. She crosses her legs. “Obviously.”

You sip your coffee, a small scoff leaving you, “I don’t have a crush on your father, Ms. Miller. Since when do you play matchmaker, huh?”

“Since he asks about you like all the time,” she groans. “I told him that you’re coming and he basically dropped everything to come.”

Heat blooms in your face but you clear your throat and feign nonchalance despite it. It would be incredibly unprofessional for you to have a juvenile, little crush on a student’s father. Even if he is incredibly handsome, sweet, charming, funny, and a wonderful, single father to his little girl who you also have a soft spot for.

But you do and you’re convinced it’s a bit bigger than a little one. You don’t act on it though because you’ve kidded yourself into thinking it would go away, wither from neglect like a dying plant with no sun. However, that hasn’t worked out very well so far.

Sarah doesn’t miss the flush in cheeks and the small smile you dawn before maintaining your composure once again. She decides to hold onto this information instead of call you out because she’s nothing if not devious. She’s very observant for a 14 year old, you’re sure she gets it from her sharp father.

He doesn’t let anything get past him, like hair in your face that he pushes away for you, a fallen eyelash on your cheek, your shoelace undone, your ponytail getting loose and about to fall out, and whatever else. It’s been almost an entire school year of this, going on field trips, meetings, him picking Sarah up from school when she’s sick (whether she fakes it or not), and around your shared neighborhood because even if it was big in Austin, Texas, he made it feel so damn small.

And now Sarah says this and you can’t contain your excitement. But also your nerves were shot, you haven’t felt this way about someone in a long time. It scares the hell out of you.

“I’m not volunteering,” you laugh. “Why’d you lie to him?”

“Because I’m going to convince you to come,” she raises her eyebrows. “Please, please, please, please!” she clasps her hands together. “I’ll buy you all the skittles you want, I’ll take the red ones out of all of them for you, too!”

“What if I’m busy?”

“I know you’re not.”

You gasp, “Rude, Sarah! I should write you up for that,” you tease.

She smiles, “Come on, you can come and wear a pretty dress, drink punch, and eat free food. What’s not to like?”

“The bitchy moms and other teachers, for one thing-” you put a hand over your mouth. “I’m so sorry, Sarah. I shouldn’t have said that,” you chuckle, embarrassed, with your face in your hands.

She waves you off, “My father cusses like a sailor and I won’t tell. I don’t like anyone that works here besides you, anyway.”

“Well, now I feel like I have to,” you relent with a sigh, mulling it over. She was right in that you didn’t have anything to do, so what was the risk here?

She looks at you expectantly, mustering up puppy dog eyes to persuade you.

“If I go... no teasing me and your dad. He and I are just good friends,” you say, which is at least half true. “We enjoy each other’s company, nothing more.”

“Uh-huh,” she says in a sing-song, knowing voice, fingers crossed behind her back. “Sure, Nurse y/n. I promise.”

“I’m serious,” you point at her, taking the last sip of your coffee just as the class bell rings. “Now get out of here and go to math.”

She groans in protest but hops down from the table anyway and fakes being dizzy, “What if I have a fever?” She coughs.

“Then walk it off,” you chuckle, knowing she’s lying. “See you tonight, Sarah.”

She grins widely, waving, running out, “Bye! Dad and Nurse Y/n sitting in a tree-”

“Sarah!”

~~~

Walking into the schools’ gymnasium, you’re almost shaking with nerves when you walk in. You feel like a teenager again, anxious and waiting for someone to ask you to dance.

You slipped on a black slip dress with white trim at the ends and the sweetheart neckline, it hugs your body nicely and accentuates curves, dips, and makes your skin glow with a red sweater that hits at your waist and matches your red, strappy heels. Your hair is pulled back with barrettes to show off your makeup and fresh curls.

The dance has already started thirty minutes ago, so everyone’s already dancing and having fun to the child-friendly music that the DJ spins for the room. You pick up a red solo cup filled with crappy fruit punch and spot Sarah in the crowd with a few of her friends.

She waves enthusiastically in your direction before running over to you and hugging your side. “You look so pretty, Nurse Y/n!”

“Thank you, sweetheart. So do you!” you hug her back, trying the punch and wincing at the off-taste. “Tonight, you can just call me Y/n, if you want.”

She smiles, glowing at your arrival, “My dad’s over there talking to another parent. I’ll go tell him you’re here.”

You look up when she says this and meet his eyes from across the room, which means he was already looking. Joel Miller cracks a lopsided smile at you, excuses himself from his conversation with a pestering mom, and crosses the room to the two of you.

He’s wearing a red flannel shirt, rolled up on his burly forearms, tucked into a pair of dark jeans with a black belt holding the pants up. His hair is slightly wet from a shower, you presume, and he smells of aftershave and smoke and cedar wood. He looks so good, standing in front of you with those all-encompassing brown eyes, you think you might cry.

Those said eyes fall over you, and admire your dress, your hair, your everything. He looks down at his daughter, watching you both with avid attention.

“Don’t you have friends to get back to, chick?” he cocks an eyebrow down at his scheming daughter.

She rolls her eyes, smoothing out her blue dress. Her hair is braided into a bun at the back of her head, matching teal flowers pinned in her curls. “Okay, dad. Have fun!”

She races back to her group of friends and leaves you and Joel alone, two awkward adults who feel like kids again.

“You did her hair tonight?” you smile softly, gushing a bit now. “It looks so nice.”

He flushes and scratches the back of his neck, “Thank you. I tried my best, she did most of it. I just wanted tonight to be perfect for her. She forced me to come, though.”

“She got me, too,” you tilt your head, biting back a grin. “She should be a lawyer when she grows up, this kid.”

He looks out at her dancing with her friends and smiles fondly, “She would be great.” His eyes fall back down to you, “You look beautiful... by the way.”

You beam, “Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself, too, Joel.”

A blush spreads across his nose and cheeks, “Thanks. I was worried it was too simple and that I should have worn a suit... I didn’t know if it was nice enough to-”

You place your hand on his arm to stop his rambling, “You look great. Seriously. Don’t worry, all the moms and teachers will still drool over you.”

He pinches his brow when he stares down at you. You get the sudden urge to smooth out the small wrinkle between his eyebrows, ease his tensions.

“Really?” he pins you down with his stare, but his dark eyes are glittering with amusement. “You’re way off base, sweetheart, I promise you. None of them think of me like that.”

You ignore the heat blooming in your chest at the nickname, he used it often but it never failed to make your brain short-circuit, “They all talk about you.”

He raises his eyebrows, “You’re joking.”

Jealousy swirls in your belly at the thought of these women and the things you’ve heard around school, but you pull it together with a quick tilt of your head, “I’m not laughing, am I?”

He notices your jaw clench a bit and how you gulped before speaking, logging the observations for later, “How do you notice?”

“How do you not!” you say, moving to his side and unintentionally brushing your arm against his. He shivers. “It’s obvious. It’s hard not to.”

His eyes linger on your lips before glancing back up your eyes, “Maybe I’ve been distracted.”

You grow flustered under his gaze and look ahead, stammering, “Yeah... maybe. And well... Sarah tells me that they ask her about your life in the pickup line after school. So it’s proving to be borderline obsession,” you laugh.

He smiles softly, seeing past your nerves, “Poor Sarah. She must love that,” he says dryly.

“Sarah might say some choice words about them,” you shrug your shoulders. “She’s fine, though. I probably shouldn’t have told you, we tend to share secrets,” you look at him, filled with care for his daughter, for him.

“She adores you,” he says sincerely and you can tell by the warmth in his tone that he means it and appreciates it. “You’ve quickly become one of her favorite people within a little over half a school year. Tommy thinks you’re great too, from the few interactions you’ve had when he picks her up sometimes.”

You grin and his chest seizes at the light that exudes from your sweet expression, “Tommy’s a wonderful uncle. Good brother too. He talks about you often.”

“Oh yeah?” he looks at you, his voice sends shivers straight through you. “And what does he say?”

“Can’t betray a friend’s trust,” you shake your head, teasing.

He discreetly shows you his flask of whiskey, “Not even if I let you drink from my emergency flask?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you one thing,” you hold up a finger and he slips you the flask, cracking a dazzling smile, while you turn around and take a long sip. The DJ transitions the E.D.M to a slow song, something sweet and best to sway to.

He takes a long sip himself and tucks it away in his pocket again, holding out his hand to you, “Do you want to tell me while we dance, darlin?”

You look around the room, your boss nowhere in sight. There was technically no rule against dating a student’s parent, but you didn’t want the judgement. You knew the people around here talked and there would be rumors, shaming. But he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the room, putting himself out on a limb just to ask you to dance.

It didn’t have to mean anything anyway, it could just be two friends sharing a dance. You’ve danced with friends. It’s the same thing. Your internal monologue was racing a mile a minute.

“Are we allowed to? I mean, as chaperones.”

“We’re watching the students more closely.”

“Yeah, I just...” you pause, pinching your brow.

His face falls slightly. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to,” he starts to pull his hand away. “It’s really no-”

You put your hand in his, “I’d love to dance with you, Joel.”

Warmth blooms in his handsome face and he pulls you into the crowd of dancing people. Joel pulls you gently towards him, placing his hands on your waist as you wrap your arms up and around his neck. You both try to keep your distance, make a good example for the kids, but it’s growing increasingly harder for him not to hold you close and kiss you right here in front of all these people.

You catch Sarah giggling excitedly at you both dancing, whispering with her friends. You roll your eyes with a small smile.

You look up at Joel, resisting the urge to lay your head against his chest, “You still want to know something Tommy said?”

“Desperately,” he laughs.

“He told me you said I’m pretty.”

Rosy color spreads across his nose, but his eyes are darkened, his lips part slightly, “I should’ve known he’d tell you.”

“So he’s telling the truth?”

His eyes soften, “Of course he is.”

“Well... thank you,” you flush, blood rushing to your face, making Joel smile. You feel like a schoolgirl again.

He chuckles, eyes searching your face, “You’re welcome.”

You tilt your head, “You’re pretty, too, Joel.”

He spins you as the song picks up a bit and pulls you back to him, your dress spinning as you do. He pulls you back against his chest, hands in against shirt and his around your waist. Warmth radiates from his broad chest, his hands are calloused even through the fabric of your slip dress, and your breath catches in your throat.

He doesn’t pay any mind to the stares he gets for doing it, but he lets his head drop to your shoulder, writing love letters in your skin when he lets out a breath. He says nothing about the compliment but he’s holding you closer, and that’s all he needs to do. A quiet understanding washes over the two of you in that moment.

Joel’s always been the strong and silent type, but the longer the two of you have known one another, the closer you get, he’s begun to let more things slip. He begins to ramble, his nerves making an appearance when he’s near you, a teenager again. Then there are times like now when his actions do all the talking for him and neither of you need to comment on it.

Then there are others when he won’t shut the fuck up.

“People are looking,” you whisper.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“...No.”

“Then why do you care what they think?”

There’s a beat of silence before you sigh out the three words, “I don’t know.”

“We’re not Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey over here, the kids will be fine,” he teases. Then he lifts his head to bring your joined hands up to his side, moving you to the changed song with the more upbeat tempo.

You snort, “Wouldn’t that be something.”

“If we were somewhere else...” he muses, looking at you to gauge your reaction.

You meet his eyes, your own crinkling with amusement, “You’d do the lift?”

He throws his head back with a thunderous laugh, “I’d try for you.”

“Think I’m too heavy?”

“God, no,” he spins the two of you, dodging a pair of kids dancing. “I’m just old.”

“You’re like 35, Joel.”

“You’re only 27, you don’t get it yet,” he whispers into the side of your hair and you laugh, not even bothering to glance in the direction of the judgmental moms and teachers.

Joel Miller had a talent of making you feel like the only person in the room.

The song ends and you feel out of breath just from being this close to him. You step away from him and smile softly, “I gotta run to the restroom. I’ll be back.”

His eyes sweep over you, then he nods, “Okay.”

“What?” you grin. “No dad joke about not falling in?”

“I’m classy Joel tonight,” he chuckles. “No bathroom jokes.”

You shake your head with a laugh as you walk back towards the restrooms. Stepping inside, you move to stand in front of the mirror and grab your lipstick from your bag, fixing up your makeup. You try to calm your nerves, hands shaking when you bring the golden tube to your lips.

After taking a deep breath, your mind begins to wander about how his hands felt on your skin and how he thinks you’re pretty. The thoughts fill your head and litter your skin with goosebumps.

You don’t usually like being the center of attention, but with Joel around you, it was hard not to be. And you couldn’t say you minded it.

A few other women walk through the door and you recognize them to be Bethany, Sarah’s rude math teacher, Cara, a mom who gives you trouble constantly, and Kristina, another mom who thinks Joel is hot and constantly asks Sarah questions about him.

“Hey, y/n!” Bethany draws out in a sing-song, forced way that sends a chill through your body. “Saw you out dancing with Mr. Miller. Ain’t y’all cute?”

You look at her blankly in your reflection and she clears her throat.

“Adorable,” Cara’s shark eyes roam you over in the mirror, making you feel small as you fix your foundation. You don’t let it show though, you weren’t going to give them the satisfaction.

“Such a shame about Joel’s wife,” Kristina hums, putting on her own bright pink lipstick. “Wonder if he’s still looking for a stepmom for sweet little Sarah.”

The three of them laugh together and you feel your blood pressure quickly rise. Three wild vultures circling a carcass, kicking it while it’s down.

“Can we not tonight, ladies?” you turn around to look at them. “Let’s just forget this and have fun.”

“What do you mean, dear? This is fun,” Bethany blinks her stark, blue eyes, red lips curling. “This must be a lot for her though, girls. She’s probably having a rough time considering what happened to her.”

You freeze.

“Oh yeah...” Cara finishes her makeup and frowns at you. “I remember hearing your fiancee passed away before you came here, how sad.”

Your blood runs cold, sirens going off in your head, and a pounding begins in your skull. No one’s brought up Rick since you’ve gotten here, you’ve dodged the questions from the nosy parents, the gossiping neighbors, and the rude coworkers. You don’t know how they figured it out, and now you feel it, being back in the car with Rick the night that it happened.

Joel and Sarah didn’t even know, you had pushed it to the back of your mind so you would never find it again. Now it’s coming back like a wave, full force, and pulling you under the current until you’re drowning.

“Then you moved here to Austin in July,” Kristina slits her eyes at you and cocks her head to the side. “Now you’re trying to get back out there with Joel, huh? Like you’d really have a chance with him.”

She looks in your direction and it’s as if she sees right through you, past your carefully created facade and into your core, that sad, broken girl with no family left and nowhere to go.

Your eyes fill with hot tears, you want to run away, but you can’t move. You’re frozen, feet glued to the linoleum tile.

“I knew Rick... your fiancee,” Bethany says. “He was so sweet. We went to college together.”

“So sweet,” Cara looks at you and flashes another sickly sweet smile.

You inhale sharply, tears falling down your face. You hastily wipe it away, “I... I gotta go.”

You grab your purse off the counter and rush out of the door, slamming into a hard chest and a pair of hands that fly to catch you by the waist.

Joel stares down at you, grounding you, and your eyes begin to brim with tears, “What’s wrong, sugar? What happened?”

The words tumble out of you, wiping away the tears that slip out while you ramble on, “Nothing, I just... the women in there, they’re horrible, they hate me, and they make me feel like shit. They brought up Rick and they think you’re hot and they think we’re dating and I just wanna go. I’m just gonna go home-”

He looks over your head at three women leaving the bathroom, waving in his direction.

Joel looks back down at you before tucking his fingers into the straps of your dress and pulling you into a searing kiss. Your inhale sharply when his soft lips meet yours, and your hands grip onto his flannel shirt, sighing into his mouth. He slips his hands up to the back of your neck, tilting your face up to kiss you more completely, unraveling you in his capable hands.

Bethany stares at you wide eyed, getting the other girls attention, all jaws dropped in utter shock at the image before them.

His tongue dances with yours as he moves his lips expertly, his thumb gently rubbing against your cheekbone as he coaxes your lips open. He hums small praises while tracing shapes into your skin. You let a small noise slip past you, unable to contain how good he’s making you feel, swallowing your sadness and helping you breathe again.

He groans as he forces himself to pull away from you, struggling not to kiss you again. Forgetting you’re not alone.

Joel’s hands slip down to rest on your shoulders, lips flushed and swollen from the kiss, voice gravelly, “I hate terrible people.”

You look at him, mouth parted, lipstick probably smudged. He licks his lips before glaring at back at the women before they scoff and walk away, muttering under their breath.

Neither of you get the time to speak of it before Sarah is running down the hallway, after hearing the commotion. You and Joel split apart when she comes up, and she’s smiling widely.

“Kelsey asked if I could sleepover, can I go get my stuff at the house and go to her place? Pretty please,” she begs her dad, clasping her hands together.

He tears his eyes away from you and nods, smiling, “Yeah, that’s fine. We’ll head home and I’ll walk you there.”

Sarah grins happily before looking up at you. “Everything okay, y/n?”

You force a smile and fix a flower falling out of her hair, “Yeah, I’m good. And I think I’m ready to go, too.”

“Do you need a ride?” Joel asks. “I know you walked here cause we all live so close, but I don’t want you walkin’ home in the dark. Also Sarah’s got control of the radio on the way back,” he offers you a grin. “She’s got good taste.”

“We’re listening to 80′s hits,” Sarah nods, taking her job very seriously.

You nod, feeling better just by being near the two of them. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

~~~

“Head Over Heels” by Tears For Fears is blaring through Joel’s truck and you’re humming under your breath while Sarah is screaming it in the backseat. Joel laughs at his daughter in the rearview mirror.

Grieving your boyfriend’s death has been something you’ve pushed aside for a long time. You knew these women could be catty, but you never thought they’d be downright cruel to you, bringing up Rick the way they did. Looking out the window, you think back to the moment you felt frozen in that bathroom, unable to speak or move. You feel embarrassed for not standing up for yourself, blaming yourself instead of them and their hateful words.

Joel notices your faraway expression and rests his hand on your thigh in a way so Sarah can’t see. He rubs his thumb over your bare skin and it both calms and excites you, heat rushing to the apex of your legs.

You let out a small sigh and lean back into the chair, resting your hand on top of his. He has to rip his eyes off of you, willing himself to ignore your pleased exhales if he was going to drive properly.

He pulls the car into the driveway one-handed and comes to a stop, turning around to talk to Sarah, “Go grab your stuff, chick, and we’ll go to Kelsey’s.”

She nods and hops out, running towards the house.

Joel turns to you, hand still on your leg, clearly nervous, “Do you want... do you want to come inside? I have wine and some clothes you can put on, if you want something more comfortable.”

You search his set features for confirmation, “You sure? I can just walk next door to my house, I don’t wanna put you out-”

“Y/n...” he stops you. “You should know by now that if I say something I mean it, I promise you.”

You didn’t know if it was a good idea being with him alone like this, but you honestly didn’t want to be by yourself right now.

You relent with a nod, “Alright. You had your chance to change your mind,” you flash a sneaky smile.

The two of you step out of the car and head into his house. Sarah’s already tumbling down the stairs, changed into pajamas with a packed bag slung over her shoulder, “Ready to go when you are.”

“Damn, you got ready fast, kid,” he laughs despite himself. “Let’s go.”

Sarah runs up and hugs your side, “Bye, y/n!”

“Have fun with Kelsey, be safe, okay?” you squeeze her shoulder.

Joel whispers to you as they walk to the door, “There’s shirts upstairs and some shorts you can borrow. Make yourself at home, okay?”

“Okay,” you smile softly.

They head out and leave you alone in the dimly lit house. You exhale slowly and head up the stairs to go to his room. You look around at the messy bedroom, one king size bed with blue covers, and minimal decorations. It felt like him, smelled like him, cedar and oak and smoke. You open one of his drawers to grab one of his big tee shirts from work, and a pair of baggy gym shorts.

You slip out of your dress, let down your hair, and set your red shawl down on top of it. You tug on the big tee shirt and pull on the gym shorts. As much as you had liked that dress, you feel like you can finally breathe now, much more comfortable in your sleepwear now. The clothes smelled of him, too, and it filled your chest with heat, a red glow pouring out of you.

You’re in Joel Millers room... wearing his clothes.

You can’t help but look around at the photos of Sarah and him in framed photos, some hung on the wall and others propped up on his drawers. There’s one photo that catches your eye in particular, though, the side of it folded in and tucked into the frame. It’s Joel smiling down at Sarah, just a baby in his arms, and there’s a part of the photograph hidden. But you spot a glimpse of a yellow dress in the corner, the rest of it hidden away.

You wonder if it’s Sarah’s mom. You don’t know much about her, just that Sarah says she never got to know her, and hardly remembers anything about her. It broke your heart hearing that, wishing she could have, but also selfishly wanting to be that person for her.

“Found what you needed?”

You jump at Joel’s sudden presence in the room and turn around to him. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to snoop, I-”

He smirks and it feels like a lit match to your insides, “I know, darlin. Nothing to be sorry about.”

His eyes trail over you in his clothes, your arms folded under your chest, “You look good in my clothes, sweetheart. Better than I do, that’s for sure.”

You smile, “Thank you. And thanks for letting me borrow them. I feel better.”

He pinches his brow together, “Do you want to talk to me more about what happened? We don’t have to, but just know I’m here.”

You take a step towards him, “I know, I just haven’t talked about him in a long time.”

“Him?” his eyebrows raise.

You laugh at his shock, moving past him so he follows you downstairs, “Down, boy. I’m single, wouldn’t have let you kiss me if I wasn’t.”

He blushes. “Well, then, what about him?” he trails behind you to his kitchen. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

You love his Texan drawl and voice a bit too much, how deep and molasses like it was, how it coated you in sweetness and didn’t let up. Maybe it was because you weren’t from here and you weren’t used to it. But his was different and it affected you all the same.

“I might tell you,” you hop up on the countertop. “Over a glass of wine.”

Joel cracks a smile, happily obliging your request with one of his wine bottles, “I can do that.”

He pours you a glass of red and hands it to you, “So... who’s Rick?” He sips his own.

“My um... my ex fiancee,” you say, taking a long sip of your wine. “It feels weird calling him that...” you let out a dark laugh. “-since the two of us never ended it ourselves, it sounds wrong. But he uh-” your voice gets thick. “He died the beginning of last year.”

His face falls, genuinely on your behalf, wanting to wrap you in his arms, but also wanting to let you continue, “I’m so sorry, y/n.”

You’ve heard that more times than you can count from friends, family, and strangers alike, but from him, it’s one of the most sincere you’ve ever heard. You actually believe he truly cares and you wonder why you didn’t tell him sooner, maybe worried you’d scare him off. You wanted a fresh start in a place where no one knew Rick, where no one knew what happened.

“Thank you,” you sniff, mustering up a small, grateful smile before you continue. “It was New Year’s Eve. I didn’t know he had been drinking... he really seemed fine,” you recount like it was just yesterday that it happened.

“He didn’t see the ice on the roads,” you take another long sip, hands shaking again. You clear your throat, “I tried to help him, I thought we would be fine. But there was a bridge... and we went off. He got me out,” you blink the tears away, breathing out the words as if expelling them from your person. Like you wouldn’t have to hold onto them anymore. “He didn’t.”

“I’m alive because of him,” you inhale sharply, finally looking at Joel. “And he’s dead because I didn’t notice...”

He frowns, “It is absolutely not your fault, y/n. It’s a horrible thing that happened and it is not because of you.”

You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand and it breaks Joel’s heart a bit more and more, “I haven’t thought about it in so long. And they brought him up in the bathroom. I don’t know how they found out, I haven’t told a soul here.”

Protectiveness slips into his deep tone of voice as he steps towards you, it sends a shock through you, “What did they say about him?”

You shake your head, letting out a laugh, “It’s not important.”

“It is absolutely fucking important,” his eyes darken when he speaks to you, you’d never seen him so worked up before. “I’ll go to the damn superintendent if I have to, they’re grown ass adults. They shouldn’t use the death of your fiancee against you.”

You can’t help but let a smile slip through, “It’s cute how mad you are about this.”

He scoffs, mirroring your amused expression, “Believe me, I’ve dealt with the wolves before. They ask you inappropriate questions and dig into your personal life, pushing your boundaries like it’s nothing. No one can have any secrets around here.”

“Yeah,” you sniff. “I noticed that.”

There’s a beat of silence before he sighs and says quietly between the two of you, “When they found out about Sarah’s mom leaving her when she was a baby, they brought it up to her at a school picnic. Made her feel small. She ran home, crying her eyes out. I’d never seen her so upset. I was scared what I would do. It broke me.”

You nod in understanding, “That’s awful, Joel. I’m sorry. For you and for Sarah.”

“The next time they brought it up, Sarah asked Bethany why she’d been divorced six times. You should have seen the look on her face,” he laughs and you join him, throwing your head back at the mental image of Bethany’s pinched, angry face.

“Oh my god, I love Sarah so much,” you let your head fall into your hands, still laughing loudly in the otherwise silent kitchen.

“I was very proud,” he grinned.

“I’d hope so,” you tilt your head slightly. “She gets it from you. I wonder how she got that information about Bethany.”

“Beats me,” he smirks and you narrow your eyes affectionately in his direction. “Smart kid, that one.”

The two of you let the moment sink in for a bit in the silence. Joel’s standing between your legs now, hands on either side of your thigh, steadying himself. He searches your face like he did at the start of the evening, fingers itching to touch you again.

“Should we...” you finally say, pulling you both back into reality. “Should we talk about the kiss back there?”

“What’s there to talk about about?”

You frown, filling with a sense of dread that you’ve misread this entire night, “What do you mean?”

He jumps to fix what he said, hands falling to splay out on your thighs, “No, baby, wait not like that-” he sighs. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m out of practice with this, sweetheart-”

You press a kiss to his lips, causing him to abruptly cease his rambling. You tilt your head and pull away from hm after just a couple seconds. He leans against you even after you’re away from him, lips trying to follow you.

“I just meant...” you whisper with a small smile, looking up at him through your lashes. “Like what does this mean? Because I haven’t done something like this since Rick and I’m trying not to feel guilty...”

“Guilty bout what?”

“For moving on.”

“You shouldn’t feel guilty for that,” he shakes his head, lowering his voice. “I understand if you’re not ready though. It took me awhile, to open again, I still haven’t completely... But I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you. And I know I’ve never met Rick, but I believe he’d want you to be happy. With whoever, even if it’s not me.”

Your heart cracks open at the sweetness of his words, splitting you in two right in front of him. You know you shouldn’t feel bad, even if you’ve moved on from loving Rick, a part of you will always mourn and have a place in your heart for him. You needed to realize there was more than enough room to let other people in too.

Your eyes soften, “You’re more out of practice than I thought if you think I’ve moved on with anyone else but you, Joel Miller.”

His eyes darken with something like raw desire and complete adoration, something like love that you haven’t seen in a long, long time. You don’t know if he’s been looking at you like this all along and if you’ve just now begun to notice.

Joel leans down to whisper to you, hand on your neck, thumb tucked under chin and other fingers on the side of your throat, squeezing just so. You dreamed of this, thought if he would be rough or sweet, when he was really a stunning, swirling mix of both.

“You were so jealous earlier,” his voice is wrecked in your ear, low and gravelly. “I thought I was just imagining it at first, but talking about those moms that think of me, you got so red. It was so sexy, sweetheart.”

You gasp a little, wanting to deny it, tease him. But who were you both kidding? You were jealous, and now there’s a warm satisfaction in the center of your chest at the fact they were wrong. Singing insults, saying he wouldn’t want you. Now you’re in his kitchen in the middle of the night wearing his shirt and he’s in between your legs, pressing against you.

“They said I didn’t have a chance with you,” you tangle you hands in his shirt, tugging him closer.

He shakes his head, eyes never leaving you, “I’m only yours, baby. Always have been.”

You all but pounce on him in that moment, wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him close. He laughs just before you softly press your lips against his, the rumbling, beautiful sound vibrating against you. You’re tugging at each other almost immediately, his hands pulling and sliding up and down your waist while your arms wrap around his head. You fingers slide through his brunette curls, pleasantly humming at the satisfaction of knowing his hair is just as soft as you imagined, how even his rough hands feel gentle, and how his lips move with yours, slowly, languidly, painfully.

“You’re beautiful...” he kisses the words into your neck, repeating it over and over. “My beautiful, beautiful, girl.”

“Joel...” you sigh out and tilt your head back.

“Puts your arms around my neck, baby,” he whispers, arms pulling your legs up so they wrap around his torso. “What I want to do to you won’t work exactly on my kitchen counter.”

You quickly oblige him and he carries you up his stairs, your hands and lips never leaving each others. He stumbles while holding you, making you giggle into his shoulder, shrieking when he almost drops you.

“Was this the kind of lifting you had in mind with me tonight?” you smile softly into his skin.

He kicks open his bedroom door, “I’ve always had this in my mind, sweetheart.”

You both drop onto the bed, wanting to take this slow but also get to what you’ve both been wanting as soon as possible. He’s atop you, hands on either side of your head while you kiss like college students, handsy and messy and surprisingly amazing. How fast you two fit together, how good it feels. He grinds his lower half into yours. You moan into his mouth, earning one from him, both enjoying and exploring the other.

“I wanna taste you, sugar,” he lifts your chin up with his fingers, kissing down your chin then your neck then your collarbone and chest.

You wordlessly slip off your, his, shirt revealing that you have nothing on beneath it. He inhales sharply, taken aback by you. Your fingers scramble for the buttons of his flannel and you honestly think you break a few, moving so quickly.

“Impatient, are we?”

You look up at him through your lashes, “Just know what I want.”

Joel shrugs off his shirt, undoes his belt, and pulls off his jeans. You barely have time to admire his toned body, broad shoulders before he descends. He tugs off your, his, shorts, tosses them, and kisses everywhere his fingers leave, wet, open mouthed whispers against hot skin that make moisture pool between your thighs. His lips trail from your belly to your inner thighs and back up again.

“Nothing underneath?” he kisses the soft flesh, noting the slick at the apex of your legs. “This all for me, darlin?”

You nod when he licks a stripe up your cunt, “Only you, Joel.”

He buries his face in you, eating you out like a man starved, rutting against the bed like he’s enjoying it as much as you are. You all but scream at the way he’s unraveling you with his tongue, circling your clit, accompanying his skilled mouth with his equally capable fingers, bigger than yours

When you tug at the ends of his hair, he groans into you, the noises fueling the coil in your gut, begging it to splinter and snap. He sucks hard and you let out a loud moan at the feeling. He holds you down against the bed with a palm flat against your stomach as you begin to lift your pelvis. Joel’s tongue enters you while his fingers take over, stimulating you with gentle rubs and flicks.

Your orgasm washes over you, the pressure relieving through every nerve and vessel, his name a prayer leaving you over and over. Wishing for him to come fix you again.

You pull him up to you and bring him down to press your lips against his. He melts into you, arms wrapped around you while he holds you close, filling you out in all the right places while you taste yourself in his kiss.

“Can I...?” you ask him, hands slipping down to palm him through his boxers.

He groans, head falling into the crook that meets between your neck and shoulder, “As much as I would enjoy that, baby... we’re gonna need to do that later. Need to be inside you.”

You look at him for a moment, just breathing him in as cheesy as it sounds. It’s only hit you now how much you’ve been longing for this.

“You have all of me,” you tell him, moonlight sculpting his handsome features.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that, y/n...” your name is blanketed by his voice, delivered to you in the way Zeus gives the world lightning. Simple bursts of electricity that can tear the earth.

You hold his stubbled jaw in your hands, rubbing his cheek with your thumbs. He doesn’t remember a time anyone has ever looked at him like you do, gently, adoringly, openly.

Joel puts his lips near your ear, kissing your temple, “Are you ready for me, sweetheart?”

You nod as he pushes himself inside you and you bite back a moan into his shoulder.

Your hair is in messy tendrils in every which way and you’ve never been more breathtaking to him. The color of your eyes brighter, skin flushed with warmth, and lips puffy. His eyes scan over your face, committing your soft and sharp features alike to memory. Lust blown and glowing with dewy sweat.

“Eyes on me, beautiful,” he holds your jaw in his hand, kissing you again.

He quickens his pace and you whine into his mouth, nails digging into his skin. You wrap your legs around his torso and he hits you so nicely. He rises and looks at you, lips swollen and red from kissing, eyes clear and pupils large, and face flushed with heat.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he praises in your ear, littering kisses across your jaw. “Wanted you for so long...” he find your lips again with his own.

You mewl into his lips, licking his tongue as he pushes inside you again and again and again.

This past year of stolen glances and touches seem so pointless when it could have been this, this beautiful mess of limbs and lips and tongue. You never knew euphoria until this moment.

Joel’s hips begin to stutter and you’re both already close to release. You lick up his throat and kiss a constellation across his jaw, feeling him gulp under your touch.

“Keep kissing me like that, sugar, and I’m done for.”

You can’t help yourself, overwhelmed with feeling as the two of you reach your climax together. Blissful and stupid. His lips wander down your neck and nipping that sweet spot, as you arch into him.

You whimper and his movements slow as do yours, walls tightening around him. He reaches down and rubs your clit with his expert fingers.

You finish together, mouths open and hands all over each other’s bodies. It overcomes you in a tingling, perfect sensation, continuing on in euphoric waves, leaving you aching and wanting more. He kisses you through it and it aches, all of the love you have pouring into him and him into you.

As you both lay there, chests heaving slips parted, he smiles down at you.

“Will you go out… with me?” Joel says sweetly, kissing your temples. “That usually comes first but we- I…”

You interrupt his nervous ramblings with a soft kiss, “The answer is always yes.”

You interrupt his nervous ramblings with a press of your lips quietly, “Yes. The answer is always yes.”

Joel rubs his knuckles over your cheek, softly and adoringly he looks at you. You tuck yourself into his arms under the blankets. Your chests heaving, out of breath but happy. Everything you both have wanted for a long, long time, laying right in front of each other.

“Can I...” he searches your face, face red and nervous you’ll say no even when you’re in his arms. “Can I take you out tomorrow? I usually do that before this, but we just... I-”

You interrupt with a kiss, his new favorite thing, whispering, “Yes, Joel. The answer is always yes.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal joel miller #fanfiction #smut #bella ramsey #ellie the last of us #ellie

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jyoongim · 1 month

Note

okay soooo i’ve never really done this before BUT ngl im absolute whore for when people make flustered alastor fics idk why,maybe it’s bc of how i am personally-

but something about the way he’s always so cocky and arrogant but then suddenly reader makes a flirty comment and next thing you know he looses his composure(mans is absolutely FOLDED like a lawn chair tbh) in a way,even if he tries to hide ittttt UGH those are so good. It can be a smut one or just a short cute little fic but either way i’m curious to how you’d write this! :))

i swear i have another request from you in the depths of my inbox hehe but this I couldn’t pass up! HE WOULD FOLD SO BAD

—————————————————————————————

Alastor was always so put together.

In control of every little piece of himself.

He was an intimidating Overlord that all of Hell feared.

He was cocky and arrogant and nothing could shake him.

But he does have a mortal soul and he can't get rid of natural reactions no matter how much practice he’s had.

”You're such a tall glass of water Al” you cooed at the red demon beside you as you nursed a drink at the bar.

Alastor blinked in surprised. He felt his ears flicker and that annoying sensation of his tail trying to wag.

Heat rushed to his face ”you do realize that means good-looking my dear?” He asked, head tilting, as he quickly poured himself another shot of whiskey.

You beamed at him “Of course!” You leaned closer to him, making him lean back a little, nervously. Your eyes narrowed as you watch his red eyes avoid yours.

”Are you blushing? The mighty Radio Demon is blushing from a compliment. Ooh Alastor! I knew you were tall, dark and handsome, but cute as well? I hit the jackpot” you giggled when you watched him choke on his drink.

He cleared his throat and glared at you, but the pinned ears and red cheeks gave him away.

You giggled, standing up looking at the flushed Overlord.

“Dont worry Alastor, I wont tell anyone the big bad Radio Demon can’t handle being flirted with”

He went to say something, but tensed when you pressed your lips against his cheek. Static crackled and popped, a record scratch track played when you purred in his ear.

”I look forward to hearing you later tonight hot stuff” your voice floated from the hallway.

Alastor’s eye twitched and a choked laugh made his eyes narrow.

Husker was trying his best not to laugh at the demon

”What’s so funny?” He hissed.

The old cat shrugged, cleaning your glass “oh nothing never thought I see the day someone gets under your skin”

Alastor bristled “You tell no one of this” his eyes flashed to dials.

He disappeared into shadows making the cat smirk

”angel’s gonna love this”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #jyoongim #alastor the radio demon #alastor x y/n #alastor hazbin hotel

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mphountitled · 5 months

Text

𝐒𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐍𝐚

Pairings: Jaemin Na x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Jaemin Na, the dashing yet ambitious magnate, is tired of playing the toll as a silent stakeholder. He wants your father's business. He wants the whole thing, even if it means seducing the boss's daughter to get it.

Warning: Business Rivals to Fwb to lovers, Toxic Family Relationship, Violence, Business politics, Businessman AU, Forbidden Relationship, Slight Angst, Male Manipulation, Manipulation tactics, Smut (+18) Minors dni, Daddy Kink, Degradation Kink, Rough Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Ownership Kink, DDLG, Fingering, Spitting, Marking, Bruises, Grinding, Breeding Kink, Unprotected Sex.

A/N: My third NCT Dream fic! They're truly my favorite group, so I plan on writing more for them. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this. Excuse me while I project my daddy kink onto Jaemin. Im sorry, but my bias fuels it way too much. You all saw that live, right?... THAT one live. Iykyk. Anyway, he's so daddy coded, okay bye.

The moon is high, and the night is deep when you find yourself quite literally being paraded around a bustling open reception. Goldleaf and tinsel wrap around the off-white columns, veneering the room in a deep but faintly expensive sepia tone. Despite the hatred festering in your bones, you did have to admit that the clubhouse in the very center of a highly competitive Country Club did make for a good party reception indeed. Nestling all of 100 dapper guests, 100 partners, wives and mistresses, and 100 wallets, to sink their wrinkled hands into.

Your father did know how to throw a party, you'd certainly give the man that. That is all you give him, however. That is all the grace he deserves.

Despite the tempest of emotions in your veins, the laughter you emit to the group surrounding the small appetizer's table is static and robotic, and anything but genuine. It pitters politely out of your lips as you raise the flute of shampagne, hoping to disguise just how fucking annoyed you actually were.

"You'll do well to remember the name," your father proclaims before laying a hand on your back as he pushes you closer into the circle of suited men - a lamb to the proverbial slaughter.

"She's going to be running things once I retire," a Jazz number played by a live band is not enough to drown out the influx of chatter that spreads throughout the main hall of the Clubhouse at the news of your father's retirement. You could practically here the thinning lips salivate at the very sound of it: The emperor, stepping down, leaving his empire vulnerable to the raiders.

"I feel proud and so unbelievably lucky to have such a reliable line of succession." Says your father, "When I'm six foot under, I'll know that Neo Tech is safe in her hands-"

A snicker escapes, likely concocted by the decent amount of alcohol in your blood, "Although that time isn't coming soon enough!" Your statement allows for a grand chuckle to fall across the table where you all stood, nursing your deviled eggs and bacon-wrapped asparagus.

The display is that of good-natured jest between a father and daughter to the guests around you, clad in ambercrombie suits and Alexander Mcqueen gowns.

Your father, however, slithers a hand onto your shoulder, squeezing all too hard as he laughs statically.

You can feel the warning in his calloused grip. A stern threat...

Not too much, it cautioned.

The action, though seemingly innocent and fleeting to the rest of the table, draws the attention of a man whose countenance had been sparse and dismisive the entire evening. Despite this being a private gathering for your father's most trusted stakeholders and their partners, Jaemin had been far from interested in attending.

Once, he was made privy to the knowledge that this was a retirement celebration, however... that changed things, and Jaemin threw on his jet black Armani blazer over a silky unisex blouse that stretched across his chest.

He admits that he made his attendance out of greed. Having to save face and play the roll of the responsibile stakeholder before he was truly able to pillage your father's company right from underneath him. If that meant entertaining the degenerate conversation of greying white men with viagra prescriptions and a cocaine addiction, then so be it.

"It truly is a shame that I have to take something from someone as promising as yourself." He whispers to himself over the rim of his own champagne flute, his darkened eyes stationed on you. It was difficult not to stare, when you were being hounded by business associates, men and women alike, eager to ascertain how they might win the hand of the queen.

A silk gown drips like the liquidfied night sky down your curves, spilling on the floor around what Jaemin imagined to be ample, soft thighs - something he could sink his fingers into, sink his teeth into-

You're chuckling very fakely at something an investor said at a round cocktail table nearby. Although what really gets Jaemin's blood rushing through his arteries is the sight of your father dragging you away from the main hall, up a spiraling stair case. Jaemin prided himself on minding his business. This came second nature to him.

What he could not ignore, however, was the slight alarm, marring the scowl along your soft face. Nothing could spoil your perfect makeup, but the frown he caught a glimpse of before you disappeared was enough.

Jaemin almost immediately found his Hilfiger loafers leading him down the path you had just walked. He downed the golden liquid in his flute and, never breaking eye contact from the spiral staircase, placed the glass on the tray of a mobile waiter. He wiped the access champagne off his lips, quite barbarically, with the sleeves of his blazer as he emerged into the main foyer.

Immediately, a hiss of conversation could be heard from the mezzanine above.

"-the hands of the company! Do you understand how important this is?! How fucking ungrateful you are-"

"Not to interrupt," Jaemin speaks, slyly climbing the stairs as he stuffed his hand into the pocket of his dress pants. The look your father thows him is absolutely villanizing.

Instead of shying away, however, you swallow thickly to note a slow sick sort of smirk curling onto Jaemin's face.

"Who the fuck are you?" Instead of sparing your father any look at all, Jaemin's gaze is solidified on your father's violent grip on your forearm.

"You don't know who he is?" You ask your father, marginally shocked but not at all surprised as Jaemin neared the two of you.

"That's okay, that's okay," he says, letting the gleaming smirk stay solid across his face, "My father sends his greetings, by the way" Jaemin says, "I didn't wish for our 45% share not to be represented at such a monumental event."

Therein lies the very first signs of embarrassment around your father's face. He begrudgingly removes his grip from your forearm but does not leave before he quickly tacks on, "Excuse me, Mr Na, but this is a private conversation -"

Jaemin is already lifting his hand, his Rolex gleaming under the crystal chandelier as he casually says, "Important enough to miss an audience with your shareholders? Everyone is asking for you, big man." Jaemin replies smoothly, "You are still the boss, right?"

Then, and only then does Jaemin exchange the very first real bit if eye contact with you tnh entire evening, and God strike you dead if it did not release an influx of warm, sputtering butterflies with molten wings in the pit of your stomach. You're still glidd to his side. The successor cradled tightly to her Daddy's arm.

"We'll finish this later," Your father hisses in your ear before stepping back and giving Jaemin one final nod. His disappearance births an uncomfortable heat and even more uncomfortable silence in the mezzanine. Jaemin does nothing but watch you with a tilted head and a near constant smirk.

"Hi." He says cheekily, all of the seriousness in his voice gone as he begins to move closer to you. You only roll your eyes before turning around to scour for a free room in the clubhouse. He follows cooly and calmly.

"Stop staring at my ass," you chide, pushing open a heavy door before switching on the light.

"Nah," Jaemin follows you inside. "Don't tell me what to do,"

He turns to peer down the corridor with one raised eyebrow before effectively sealing the door shut. You had led the both of you into one of the very many guest suites peppered across the Clubhouse. Jaemin is remarkably pleased to notice how your inhibitions immediately melt away. Your shoulders relax as you kick off your red bottomed heels, letting them land lazily in a corner.

"You haven't told him have you?" His voice is stable but rumbles like a heavy cloud throughout the room.

You evade eye contact as you quickly walk up to him, beginning to splay tiny kisses around his exposed neck.

"No, Jaemin," Your breathe fans across his exposed skin as you undo thr little bow of the silk blouse, "I did not tell my father about your plans to rape his company," You push down his blazer and he lets you. Watching you with a piercing glare as a deep, warm, pool of lust begins to grow in your core at the very sight of how big he truly is.

"Would you rather he find out on the day?" He asks, still letting you undress him as if he was a lifeless piece of him. "I know you're evil but that evil-"

"Fuck, you're so hot," Jaemin's cock stirs, as it always did, when that needy sort of whine pushed itself out the confines of your throat. You knew what buttons to push, to get the reaction you wanted. Tonight, however, would prove to be a much different occasion.

"How long do you plan on waiting?" You're nails are dragging itself down the front of his muscled body. Before you can reach his cock, already causing a bulge in his dress pants, Jaemin roughly grabs at your wrist.

"I said. How long do you plan on waiting?" Despite the calmness in his voice, Jaemin's grip on your wrist is unrelenting. It is rough, and it is violent, and it makes your father's earlier grip on your forearm feel like a child's play.

"Fucking forever, Jaemin! Jesus!" You burst in a flurry of rage and lust and frustration. "I will wait until forever it means I won't get outed as a shit daughter and a fucking rat, Jaemin!"

He tilts his head as he smiles and cooly says, "Watch that tone."

But he's already got you going, and you're finally letting out the feelings that had only been building for the duration of an entire, hellish evening. "Can you even begin to understand how I feel?! I know you want this company, but -"

"But?" Jaemin asks in a sing-song voice before pulling you closer by your wrist. He dips his head down, folding his tall frame over as he tilts your head up. "There shouldn't be a but, baby." The words are veneered in a lustful whisper as he finally places his lips to your throat.

"With me, it's either all or nothing." Now it's Jaemin's turn to slowly drag his hands up the side of your curves. He lets the tips of his fingers tease the fabric as he smoothes his hand over your chest. Your resolve explodes, and you melt right into him, as his hand makes its way up your throat. His palm enclosing the spot where his lips have just been.

"I hate seeing you like that, baby. I hate seeing you glued to his side when you should be glued to mine."

You're faintly aware that you're both mobile now. Not knowing which way is up and which is down as your back presses against a wall.

"He's..." you swallow thickly as Jaemin slips down the soft fabric of your dress. Your exposed shoulder is immediately assaulted by his reign of wet and drunken kisses.

As he tongues at the skin, Jaemin makes sure to look up at you. Siren eyes under thick eyebrows as he pushes the fabric all the way down until your dress is pooling at your feet and you're left in nothing but your Fenty underwear.

"He's family." You applaud yourself mentally for having the brain capacity to formulate all of two words. That celebration, however, immediately falls short when Jaemin snickers. He pulls back, turning his head slightly as his tongue stabs the inside of his mouth before swinging his head back to you.

"You always tell me you only have one, Daddy, don't you?"

A deep, angry heat blossoms around your skin as you evade eye contact. "Jesus, Jaemin."

"Jaemin?" He mocks, before pushing you back further onto wall.

"Is that who I am to you?"

"That is your name, yes." Your confidence waver when his hands begin to push down the straps of bra. He undoes the clasps as he says, "Interesting. So then, i guess, my name wasnt Jaemin, when i fucked you on a nalcony in Mykonos? Got it."

He's quick to push your panties down far enough so that he's forcing his fingers between your legs. The gasp you emit is almost painful as you immediately buck your hips into his hand. “Fuck-”

“You cum on my hand, correct?”

“F-Fuck,” he lets you hump lazily into his palm and you all but whimper as your begin to yearn for him to fuck you with his long digits.

“You cum on my hand. You cum on my cock. Only I can do that for you, baby”

“God, yes, Daddy.”

Jaemin has to physically stop himself from not pulling his pants down and fucking your brains right right and there. Those words leaving your mouth did something animalistic to him- scratching a very archaic part of his monkey brain that let him know that you needed him. You needed him to reach orgasm, you needed him to fuck you to feel good. You needed him.

“You don't need anyone else, but me, right baby?”

You're so dangerously close to the edge, your vision blurring with your oncoming orgasm as you reply, “You, Daddy- only you.”

His cock is pushing painfully against dress pants and Jaemin swear as he pulls his blouse over his head. Your breathing grows even more precipitous when you see his torso in all its big and gleaming glory.

“need you so bad,” you mumble, still pushing your hips out even though his hand has disappeared and there's nothing there.

“Yeah?” He asks, pulling his cock out without breaking eye contact, “You need Daddy’s cock, don't you, sweetheart?”

“I need it,” you whisper and watch as your words affect him in ways you had not seen before.

Jaemin’s eyes are blown into saucers while the tips of his brown hair is drenched in sweat. Gone is the cockiness. Gone is the smirk. He only brings a cupped hand up to your mouth as he orders you to, “Spit.”

Almost without thinking about it, you do just that, and Jaemin watches with an open mouth as he begins to stroke his himself with your wetness. He throws his head back in a broken amalgamation of a moan and a gasp, and you're only left to watch while your hand almost subconsciously moves down your own body.

The sound of your wetness brings Jaemin back to the mission at hand as he lolls his head forward. The sight of you fucking yourself, knuckles deep, as your eyes zero in on his hand, has him immediately pushing you against the wall.

“You're such a fucking slut-” He hisses and you moan as he pulls your hand up to his mouth. “Did Daddy teach you to be a slut?” and when you fail to respond he only says, “Answer me,” he says cooly, “Did I teach you to be a slut, or a good girl?”

You have truly reached a stalemate. Not knowing what to say that might garner a favourable response. Dread pools in your tummy and Jaemin only watches as go to war with yourself. The conflict in your eye is present and raw.

All is quiet as Jaemin bends down slowly and that signature smirk curls at the end of his lips.

“Cute.” He whispers before crashing his lips against yours.

Your hands enclose around the back of Jaemin's hand as he effortlessly picks you up off the ground, forcing your legs to wrap around his waist. He pushes you up against the wall and the immediate contact of your dripping pussy pressed against his skin has you both moaning and groaning into the kiss.

“So fucking cute...” He whispers before easing his cock right into you, “You're so fucking tight- fuck-” the wind sounds like it has been knocked clean out of him as he begins to fuck you with harsh, violent thrusts.

“That's it, pretty girl,”

You can hear the smile in his voice and you fight to open your eyes. If there was one thing that got you even wetter it was the sight of Jaemin just managing a lazy open-mouth smile as he forced his cock into your cunt. It stings and hurts but the pleasure in his hooded eyes make the experience all the more worth it.

Jaemin clenches his jaw together as he leans down until you're both forehead to forehead.

“That man downstairs isn't your Daddy, is he?” His eyes dare you to disagree with him but all you do us shake your head as you say, “You. You're my Da- oh God.”

“I'll take that title too,” he chuckles before pushing his face into the crook of your neck as he sped up his pace. Jaemin fucks hard and rough and you claw mindlessly at his back. He loves it. You know he does because his cock is twitching inside of you and you know he's close.

“Fuck-Daddy, please!”

Your begging nearly sends him over the edge but he still manages to keep his thrusts hard and unrelenting. “You gonna cum for me, Princess?”

“F-Fuck yes, Sir-”

“You're not gonna keep me a secret, are you? Promise me. ” You knew what he was doing, forcing you into a mental state of complete disrepair as he bullied his cock into your cunt.

“F-Fuck," he hisses, "Answer me, baby- ‘mgonna fill your cunt so fucking fast,” he breathes out, before throwing his head back again.

“Promise!” You grit out, “I promise-” almost immediately, your orgasm washes over you eliciting wave after wave of delicious pleasure that has your mind rumbling.

“F-Fuck you're so tight- Fuck, Fuck, fuck-!” He exclaims before he's emptying himself inside of you. He's fucking you with the stamina of a caveman as he forces his seed all the way inside. “God you're so sexy, you know that?” He says, with his eyes still clenched shut as his aftershocks pass through his body. “So fucking hot.”

While his mind soars on the wings of his orgasm, that post nut clarit crashes through gradually. You breathe out steadily as you stare into nothingness. “I can't believe I gave our family company away like that,”

A hand is quick to pull you by the chin until you're looking up at him. Even with his wet and matted hair, along with the beads of sweat growing pregnant on his brow, Jaemin remains ever handsome. His smile ever present.

“It's still the family business, Honey.” Jaemin smirks, “Our family.”

♡♡♡ if you made it this far, thanks for reading

#jaemin na #jaemin na x reader #jaemin na fanfic #jaemin na smit #jaemin x reader #jaemin smut #jaemin fanfic #jaemin fluff #jaemin fic #nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct dream x you #nct dream fanfic #nct dream fluff #nct dream smut

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ihavemanyhusbands · 3 months

Note

Hello, thank you for writing the imagine, I loved it so much, I came to torment you again and ask if you could write another one? *3* Hannigram x reader, some hilarious situation where they get jealous but the reader doesn't notice lol which ends up resulting in a smut hihi

Hey again!! ❤️ not a torment at all, thanks for requesting once more!! Im soooo excited for this i havent written much jealousy for them!!!!

———

After the final guest of Hannibal’s dinner party had finally left, you felt like you could breathe once again. It had been a long night of both entertaining and running around to make sure things went smoothly.

Your heels came off first, and you groaned with relief. You had been so wrapped up with everything that you hadn’t noticed Will or Hannibal brooding for the last hour.

What caused their ill humor was a burning jealousy, but not one you had consciously caused. Instead, Dr. Chilton was to blame.

My, you two, I did not think you would show off your conquest so… brazenly. But I cannot say I blame you. That sort of beauty is best admired up close, don’t you think?

And lo and behold, they had seen him introducing himself to you later on. They couldn’t hear your conversation, but they still noticed his efforts to make you laugh. Still, they didn’t want to cause a scene.

On your end of things, Frederick had been charming but respectful, just another one of Hannibal and Will’s acquaintances that you didn’t think much of. You were unaware of just how much he liked getting a rise out of your partners, simply because it amused him.

You found them in the kitchen, Hannibal putting away wine glasses while Will leaned against the counter nursing glass of scotch. You approached him with a tired but content smile, intent on undoing his tie for him.

He observed you quietly for a moment, a muscle in his jaw still twitching with leftover tension.

“Long night, I know,” you said, misreading his expression. “My social battery’s completely drained, too.”

“Some people were enjoying themselves perhaps too much,” Hannibal said. “You stirred much interest.”

“Me?” You said, confused. “Well, I was trying to be a good hostess.”

“A very beautiful one, at that,” Will added.

You blushed a little, grinning. “I did get some compliments here and there.”

He made a hmph sound and in the next moment, he drew you in for a kiss. You chuckled softly, now understanding the possessiveness of his action.

Hannibal set down the glasses and approached as well. Without breaking the kiss with Will, you reached back for him.

But instead of letting you bring him closer, he kneeled behind you.

“What’s gotten into you!?” You gasped as Hannibal yanked down your panties, hiking up your dress.

“I have to have you,” he rasped. “I need your taste.”

He was usually the less frantic of the two, but it seemed his composure had been thrown out the window. To see him like that ignited something deep in your core.

Will grasped your chin and brought your lips back to his. You moaned into his mouth at the first swipe of Hannibal’s tongue.

Jealousy always led to their passionate reclaiming of you, and you were already aware that you had a long, long night ahead of you. Perhaps you would have to find ways to make it happen more often.

——

#hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #hannigram x reader #will graham x hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal fanfiction #minors dni

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thelastofhyde · 5 months

Text

you cut your hair, and take some space.

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 1 of 2 !

warnings. no use of y/n, age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, officer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, so much crying ( reader spends half her time crying over javi p which is honestly a mood ), violence, undetailed depictions of sa ( not javi ), smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 15k

hyde’s input. this was written over the course of four months and could easily be used in court to prove i am, in fact, unequivocally in love with one mr. javier peña. if you take the time to read it, just know i appreciate it so much. i really poured my heart and soul into this and, as someone who's been writing for years, it's been so long since i've written something so self-indulgent that's brought me nothing but joy to write. as the fic has surpassed 30k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it, i've decided to post it in two parts. part two will be posted within the following weeks.

(it'a nearly 4 am as i post this, please look the other way at any typos or editing errors.)

“i told you, corazón mia (my heart),” he can't meet your eyes. “made it clear from the start i wasn't looking for anything serious.” “i know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “but if it wasn't serious, why'd you treat me like it was?”

I cut my nose to save some face You cut your hair and take some space.

The mirror is not clean enough to see yourself.

Where there are usually your eyes, there’s a discoloured splotch of brown. A crack runs down the left of what should be your face. Someone’s taken it upon themselves to draw a cartoon penis just where your mouth is. But in your drunken haze and laser focus, you don’t care enough to notice. All you see is the spot where your nose is, a tiny ball of silver nestled just above your right nostril.

It’s something new to fidget with.

On the flip side, it stings like a bitch. Or, more appropriately, like the tequila shots that led you to this run-down tattoo parlour.

You wonder if, come the morning and mental clarity, you’ll regret it.

If you do, you’ll blame him.

Your night was going fine. Good, even. And, with a lack of good nights in the recent week, that was an accomplishment.

You’d dressed up, let loose, had fun. A friend on either arm and a drink close at hand, you’d giggled and gossiped your way through this impromptu girls’ night.

They’d ambushed you, in a way, forced their way through the barricade of tissues and take-out boxes into your apartment. A skimpy dress tossed at your head and four hands dragging you, limb by limb, into the shower.

Get some dinner, hit the town, get fucked up. That was the plan they set out for you.

You skipped dinner, dove head-first into the town.

You were careful all night to never speak of him.

One part fearful it would summon him, another part embarrassed to admit just who you’d gotten tangled up in. A third part, tucked away in a locked closet, ready to do it all over again.

And then it happened.

You didn’t say his name, no.

Not aloud.

You thought it, for just a second, hearing the person beside you at the bar order the same drink you’d watched him nurse time after time. It wasn’t him but, instead, a man far too short and a clean-cut kind of handsome to even begin to compare to the ex-agent.

But it was enough to make you want to leave.

Giving up your space, you’d made your way back to your girls and made up some little white lie, surprised neither of them called you out on it- what kind of bar doesn’t have white wine?

They left to find someplace with wine, you left to find some peace of mind.

The bar they dragged you into was familiar, the setting of many of your father’s stories. It only took you walking through the door, tugging down the dress-too-short, to hear your name called across the floor.

“Hey kiddo!” Your dad’s a tell-tale kind of drunk, his eyes giving away even the smallest sip of alcohol he has. He was just tipsy, scooting his way out of a tattered booth to wrap you up in his arms. It felt as nice as it did guilt-inducing, knowing you’d been avoiding his calls all week since The Incident. A punishment to yourself more than one aimed at him. “You here yourself? Could join us for the night, if you like. Ain’t that right, boys?”

It was only then that you’d realised two men were sat within the booth, collars undone and ties loosened after a week’s work.

There were usually three of them.

"We’re just waiting on Peña." Oh god, it makes you feel sick. Heart in your throat, stomach at your feet. His name no longer feels real, not when spoken by anyone but you.

“And raising bets on his tardiness,” one of your father’s friends said. You recognised him from a few of the barbecues and Christmas parties your dad's thrown. He's nice, responsible. Married, to a woman his own age. “I’m saying he’s chasing some tail. God knows he could use some stress relief. Boy’s been wound up all week, nearly bit my head off for asking him about some files."

It’s a wonder none of the three men- one a retired lawyer, the other two members of the force- noticed the blood drain from your face.

“My guess is he’s pulled some muscle in his back and can’t get himself out of bed,” a nudge from your father’s elbow, delivered straight to your ribs. “Whatcha think, kiddo?”

You didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t get to give an answer.

“You need to quit speaking ‘bout me like you’re not a whole decade my senior, viejo (old man),” it came from behind you and threatened you to look. Like the foolish final-girl in a slasher, you ignored your basic instincts and glanced over your shoulder.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you know what you were hoping for.

Tired eyes, chewed lips, unkempt facial hair. A twitch of sadness drawn between his brows and the stains of cigarette ash on a worn-out suit.

Javier Peña was none of that.

The suit, grey. One that fit him all too well and had you wishing you could stain it with your drink.

The signature moustache, perfectly groomed, sitting perched above the bow of his pouty lips, rosy-red and fresh for picking.

His eyes have always given him away but, staring down at you in that moment, they read only as passive, unaffected.

It was like, nothing.

And, yes, that’s what you’d asked for- from now on, whenever you see me, can you at least pretend that none of this happened?

But he's smart enough to know you didn't mean it, right?

“Hey officers, sorry to interrupt but,” a hand curled around your arm. It tugged and you let yourself be inched away from heavy brown eyes and your father’s smile. “She’s ours for the night. We’re going clubbing!”

That was never part of the plan.

Neither was skipping dinner, though.

You caught the back of him as you were dragged away, some pleading from your father to take it easy and call me in the morning, and noticed it only then.

His hair, freshly cut.

“‘S getting too long,” a mumbled sort of thing, hidden in your neck, spoken against your pulse. A kiss placed upon it, and then another for extra measure. Fingers dragging through his hair, ridding him of the knots your very same hands had worked into them an hour of passionate touching ago. “Lo sé (I know).”

A pause of silence. The blissful moan birthed from nails on his scalp. And, then, “no. It’s nice, I like it.”

That puppy-dog stare, so particular to the cool-down moments between you, meets your own, chin propped up on your sternum. He’s sweet like this, honeyed skin and pleasant smiles.

“Yeah?” He asks, like he even needs to. “You like it, corazón (sweetheart)?” You opt for a hummed confirmation, finger tracing over the arch of his nose. “Guess I better keep it this way, then.”

Now he’s gone and chopped the overgrown curls off.

In a way, it feels like he’s cut you off with them.

We don’t speak cause it’s too tricky But if I’m tricky, why’d you kiss me?

The next time you see him, a wedding is taking place.

He sits on the groom’s side, you sit on the bride’s.

It feels unreasonable to be surprised by his presence. Why wouldn’t he be here, sitting four rows from the back, at his cousin’s brother-in-law’s wedding?

The bride is gorgeous, the groom is in tears. The priest drones on a little too long.

Somewhere between the exchanging of vows, and the ceremonial kissing, and the cheering of guests, your instincts get the better of you and you glance back at him.

He’s already staring right back, eyes ignited with something that weakens your knees and shakes your confidence. The newlyweds walk down the aisle, cut through your line of sight. He’s still staring at you when they’ve passed.

The reception takes place in the events room of some glammed-up hotel, the kind you can barely afford the one night you’re booked in for.

An open bar, a local band. The catering is tasteful, handpicked by the couple, and the table you feast at is so far away from his that you don’t get that chance to see if he chose the chicken or the beef.

You find a friend behind the bar, in the shape of a bottle and toothpick-impaled olives.

You dance till your feet hurt, slip away to your table, take off your heels. You’re back on the dance floor in time to catch the bouquet, too busy basking in the envy of the other women to notice his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

If it weren’t for the dent in your bank account made by the room you booked, you’d gladly dance away the whole night. But if a bed with a view costs double your rent, you’ll be damned if you don’t get to sleep in it.

So you stumble to the elevator.

Clutch your heels and flowers to your chest, struggle to remember your floor number. The fifth floor seems to ring a bell, but it might’ve been the eighth floor. Your room key! Maybe, you hope, that’ll have your floor number on it. You struggle with your purse’s zipper, trying your best to pry it open.

You succeed, but at what cost? Heels and bouquet tumble to the floor, thumping and clunking as they knock against it, flower petals falling loose.

You try to bend down, stretch your fingers out to grasp the clasps, seize the stems. A wave of exhaustion mixed with too much alcohol washes over you and you stand up straight again. Take a calming breath, do a little song and dance before reaching down again.

“Déjame. (Let me.)”

Scuffed shoes come into view as you’re halfway down, bent at the waist and holding your balance with one arm against a wall. You stand up straight, too fast, lose your balance and stumble forward.

He catches you.

For a moment, it feels like you’ve never left his arms.

“C’mon, let’s get you to your room.” You hate the way he ends his sentence, no term of endearment and no impure intentions.

He asks for your floor, you give him your key. He punches the number into the elevator and it shakes to life.

Neither one of you makes an attempt to part. There’s a chance he pulls you closer to him. You let yourself melt, regardless, muscles relaxing and sinking into his arms.

He’s still warm. He’s still steady. but his cologne’s different and it makes your eyes sting.

You’d warned him he was about to run out of his signature bottle, made a note to buy him another one for his birthday or Christmas, whichever came first.

“You look like you had fun,” he rasps out, eventually, as the elevator slips past the fifth floor.

“I did,” you tell a partial truth. You would have had more fun, if he’d stood at your side, ate at your table, danced in your arms. But you can’t say that, because he doesn’t want that.

“I’m glad.”

It turns out your floor is the ninth. He’s careful to guide you out the mobile-box, hand on your hip, pressing you to his side. Your heels dangling from one of his fingers and the bouquet gripped in his palm, smacking against his thigh every other step. A little down the hall and there you find it, your precious and expensive home for the night.

It’s easier to let him open the door, he tells you.

It’s easier to let him guide you to bed, you tell yourself.

Dropping the heels on the floor, he disappears out of your line of sight and you stare motionless at the ceiling above, buzzing in your brain and pain in your heart.

You’ve never shared a space like this with him, one that’s hollow and decayed. The shell of a creature that’s long abandoned it, grown too big for its home.

Your eyes sting all over again, this time enough to brim with unfallen tears.

A thud against the nightstand.

You roll onto your side and find he’s still here, a glass of water and some painkillers lay to rest at your bedside. The first tear gives way, running down your cheek and dropping to the crisp white sheets below. Even more fall as he raises a damp cloth to your face, wiping away smudged mascara and bringing your lips back to their natural colour.

The undressing is gentle and so unlike his usual impatience.

Fingertips drag down each inch of skin released as he unzips the back of your dress, tugging it down and folding it by your heels. The weight off your chest helps you breathe as he unhooks your bra. Left only in your underwear, the sheets ruffle as he drags them up your tired limbs and tucks them under your chin.

“Get in bed, please,” you plead like you have any right to ask that of him. “Javi.”

It’s the first time you’ve said his name since that night in May. His shoulders tense and release, his fingers smooth down his moustache. He looks like he’s going to fulfil your request, slip in behind you and wrap you up in his soft but steady embrace.

He looks like he wants to.

His back cracks as he bends down and presses a kiss.

Against your forehead, lips that linger.

Then, he stands up straight and walks out the door.

On the forehead, way up north Pressed the scar and found the source

Vermont, ‘98.

That’s where it all began.

Your dad, turning fifty.

Javi just hit forty.

It was someone in the station who had the wild idea they celebrate it together. The sheriff and the station’s rookie- really, a hardened, inching-out-of-a-fresh-retirement former DEA agent your father manipulated back into the force, some promise of a light workload and a hefty pension. With no need for money, you wonder why he ever accepted the offer.

Plans were set, money was put in a pot, and a wheel of fortune was spun. It landed on the northern state, a downpayment to rent a ski lodge placed within a matter of twenty-four hours.

Somewhere along the way, you’d been roped into joining this boys-only trip. Your dad argued you needed a break from studying. Your mother argued there needed to be a responsible adult to supervise your dad. and, well, a free holiday never hurt nobody, right?

Wrong.

The final evening, with a constant pounding of a hangover never-quite-nursed, a litter of bruises down your back from falling and a firmly closed chapter on any possible career as a ski prodigy you may have had, you trailed your way down to the only bar in the tiny ski town.

Textbooks on the table, glasses on your face.

A half-drank glass of cabernet, an empty plate.

Peaceful and quaint, until it wasn’t.

The cheer of a frat-boy out in the wild warrants the same response as hearing a lion’s roar in the dark of the Saharan night.

The kind you hear them before you see them, spilling through the door in their obnoxious jerseys and their face-painted cheeks. one wore the badge of honour, a giant Soon To Be shackled Married printed poorly onto the back of his jersey.

You put your head down, breathed more subtly.

The pride stormed their way over to the bar, pounding their fists onto the surface and gnashing their teeth, spit spilling down their mouth as they brutally tore into the bartender, demanding pints of beer and rounds of shots.

The key was to avoid eye contact, keep low and out of sight.

They dispersed through the area, sniffing out free booths and the occasional local to irritate out of their seats.

One of them found the jukebox and wasted his coin on blasting Pour Some Sugar On Me. The group of older women playing bingo scowled and made their way out of the joint, calling it for the night.

You got up to follow suit, hands slowly packing up your belongings and slinging your bag over your back.

Inching towards the exit, footsteps light as a feather.

“Woo! Look at you,” just as you were close to slipping out the door, a single member of the pack spotted you, prowling his way over. He already had his chest puffed out by the time you turned around. “Ain’t seen an ass like that since we left the city!”

Hardly charming. Tame, compared to other things frat boys have said to you.

“Why don’cha come join me and my buddies over there?” He nodded back at them, like they weren’t the obnoxious centres of everyone’s attention.

You were not scared of him, exactly. But you’ve seen where things can go. Heard about it, countless times, from your own father.

So you spoke with caution, gripping your bag a little tighter, “thanks, but I’ve got an early flight. Have a nice night-” He told you his name, like you cared. “Yeah, thanks, bye.”

And then you were stepping out into the quiet of the night.

Fresh air, cold enough to sting your lungs. You breathed it in like it was going out of fashion.

You barely got a moment to compose yourself before that grating voice was back in your ears.

“Oh don’t be a buzzkill!” He whined, you cringed. Took a step back, watched him move an inch. “It’s early, stay. Have a drink.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“To have fun?! C’mon, it’s too cold to be out here by yourself.”

“I have an early flight.”

“It’s just one drink, sweetheart. I ain’t asking you to sign your life away.”

A couple bumped past you both, weaved their way between you. His eyes trailed after them, your feet twisted around, carrying you away from him slowly, carefully. Best not to make yourself look like prey, not to this predator.

“Hey!” He called after you. Your steps sped up. “Where you going, sweetheart?”

It didn’t even matter that you were walking in the opposite direction of the ski lodge. You told yourself you would find your way back, once this lion was off your back.

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!”

The lion pounced, sank his claws into your back and ripped through you.

Your hand flew out to break your fall, the contents of your bag spilling out onto the sidewalk.

Pain, the kind that stings. It nipped at your knees, and your hands, and your eyes. Pushed it down, pulled yourself up.

He froze, maybe surprised at his own actions, maybe waiting on the chance to pounce once more, this time with his fangs instead of his claws.

You wouldn’t give him the chance. Filled your bag, collected your senses and ran.

It was tricky on frozen ground, trying so hard to not look back.

He followed and you knew it, heard it. Roaring and growling, chasing you down streets you’d never walked.

You slipped, momentarily, slammed into a wall. A crossroads, go right or go left.

You don’t remember which direction you turned.

“Quit running, you bitch!”

He was still following, how was he still following?

Caving in, you glanced over your shoulder and saw the blurry figure of him running after you.

He was getting faster. Maybe you were getting slower.

You came to a screeching halt, body smacking into something solid. Eyes shut, mind alive. You feared the worst, hoped for the best, expected to open your eyes and find yourself trapped in a dead-end, nowhere to run from this predator.

Instead, you heard your name. Called softly, at first. Gentle, coaxing you to pay attention. The second time it was more urgent, worried and aggressive. You sank deeper into the wall, felt your feet shuffle on the gravel below.

“...Gotta let me know, nena,” the wall pulled you back from it, a firm grasp on your forearms. Your eyes opened and met his. “Fucking Christ, look at the state of you.”

You’d not known much about Javier Peña at the start of the trip.

Your dad had mentioned something about a family ranch. Your mom let it slip that he’d enjoyed the pumpkin pie she’d brought to the station’s Thanksgiving feast.

There’d been one time you’d caught the end of a conversation between him and your dad. Nothing concrete, just some shameful mutterings about Colombia and Los Pepes. You’d left once you heard your dad start to comfort the man, deciding your intruding on the moment had already gone too far.

You now knew he liked his whiskey, no ice. His coffee, no milk. His bread, no butter.

He didn’t like the mess of mixing things, and you had to wonder if it had always been this way. Or had he learned his lesson, the hard way? Mixed the wrong things, burnt his own blessings?

“You’re bleeding,” he announced it, fresh news for you.

A pleasant warmth thrummed through your veins as he took hold of your hand, inspecting it under his scrutiny.

His thumb swiped over your palm.

Your mouth winced, your arm pulled back.

He held you in place.

Something visceral shifted in him, enough to coax you to glance at him.

He was looking past you, eyes a deadly killer stalking their prey. You followed their line of sight and found the lion at the end of the street. Standing still, arms at his side, eyes a little wider than you remembered them. You’d not really been looking, in the first place.

The former agent twisted you behind him, an effortless shield. Took an urgent step toward the frat boy, and then another three.

You grasped at his sleeve and tugged him back, didn’t let him stray too far.

“I’m fine,” you lied. He didn’t believe you, furrowing his brow. “I’m just cold.”

He seemed to hesitate, softened by a tremble in your voice.

He glanced back to see the lion was retreating, staggering his way back to the pride of frat boys. A perfect opportunity for him to attack, from behind and unexpectedly.

“Leave it, he’s not-” The sting in your eye got the best of you and a tear tracked itself down your cheek. You wiped it away with your scraped hand, leaving behind a smear of gravel and blood. “It’s not worth it.”

You said it not for the agent’s sake, but the boy’s.

The agent puffed out a breath of frustration, then followed your plea. Turned back to you, licked his thumb and swiped off the dirt on your cheek. Pulled you in, against him once more, and pressed a deliberate kiss against your forehead.

It was instinctual, no thought placed behind his action.

He did it because that seemed to be in his nature: to nurture.

“C’mon, the lodge is this way,” he pointed in some direction.

You didn’t bother paying attention, more than willing to follow wherever he led.

“Put this on.” It was not posed as an option, not when the agent tugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders.

Somewhere along the path, you realised you’d lost your key to your cabin. Your dad carried the other.

Officer Peña offered to take you to him, drinking down in the ski lodge’s bar with the rest of the men.

You shook your head, told him your dad couldn’t see you in that state.

He took you back to his own cabin instead.

Cleaned up your hands, put on the fire, poured you a drink.

Then fucked you into his bed, till you clawed and sobbed around him.

If you don’t love me, Why’d you act it?

Late june brings nothing but gloom.

You get bored quick, no college to fill your days. Pick up extra shifts, hope to combat the empty feeling in your chest with the rush hour traffic that torpedoes it’s way through the cafe.

Friends invite you out, you rarely go. They tease you’re becoming a recluse, and that just makes you want to shut yourself in even more.

Tonight, you’re appeasing them.

Some line dance event, downtown in a bar that’s only gimmick seems to be a worn-down mechanical bull. It’s missing a horn and no one seems to know why.

Truth be told, you don’t want to go.

You want to stuff your face with take-out while you melt into your couch, watching reruns of the first season of Friends and drooling over Joey till you forget about another smooth-talking, raven haired man.

Here you are instead, fighting against the cheesy cowgirl hat till it sits on your head correctly.

In the mirror, it’s still lopsided.

The clock sits at eight forty-seven.

They’re 2 minutes late.

You give up, decide to pretend you want the hat this way. Slip on your jacket, do a sweep around your apartment: windows locked, flat iron off, fridge closed. Grabbing your purse, you unzip it and wrestle around in it’s contents, searching for your keys.

You pull on something and- it’s a pack a gum.

Dive back in, search again.

An empty tube of lipbalm.

Third time’s a charm, you think, and try once more. Something scratches your fingers, coaxes you to tug it out and inspect it.

A broken earring.

A familiar car honk’s outside, you stay frozen in place, staring at the broken hoop and counting one, two, three.

Bile burns the back of your throat.

He opens on the fifth knock.

Any other night, he practically rips the door off it’s hinges and tugs you in, before you can so much as raise your fist for a second knock.

Maybe he was busy, on the toilet or on the phone. You don’t think too much into it.

He steps aside, lets you in. Stands so far away, it’s hard to read his eyes.

The air’s uncomfortably quiet.

You think’s it’s all in your head, self-doubt at an all time high after a bad day.

“My earring snapped today,” there’s a growing pit in your stomach, just from staring at him. He looks so distant, not present. Mind a galaxy away. "Your favourite ones, too. You know, the little hoops with-”

“The hearts dangling from them.” He finishes, on your behalf, and it’s the first green flag you see. Green enough to lull yourself into a faux calm.

The silence returns.

You rock backwards on your heels, glance around the apartment. Try to find what has changed, because this no longer feels like the place you’ve grown so familiar with. And neither does the man observing you from a distance, hands glued to his sides.

He should be touching you by now, in any way he could: his foot bumping against yours under his dining table, his hand trailing patterns over your shoulders as you settle into his side on the couch, his tongue delving between your folds as you lay splayed out on his sheets.

You notice his bedroom door is shut.

It’s never been shut before.

“Is- Am I-” You don’t have to find the words, but the courage to speak them. “Do you have someone over?”

He blinks, slowly.

It’s hard to tell if it’s from guilt.

“Because if you do, that’s fine!” It’s not. “I understand,” You don’t.

He doesn’t answer.

You keep talking.

“Totally chill, I’ll comeback some other night. Or, you can just come by mine! Yeah, actually, that sounds better. Won’t risk interrupting again-”

“This needs to stop.”

You don’t have to question it.

You do, anyway.

“What?”

“Us. This-” He’s pointing between you both, a little haphazardly. It’s like he’s rushing to get the words out, get it over with. Get you out his apartment. “Thing we’re doing. It’s done.”

“I don’t underst-”

He cuts you off with your name. “Why’d you come here tonight?”

He’s stern.

Not in the way that makes you want to bend to his will and indulge in all his sins. But in a way that makes you feel dirty, wrong. A child scorned for touching fire and getting themselves burnt.

“I,” you’re beginning to wish there was someone else in his bed, so she could stroll out of his room in one of his stupidly soft shirts and interrupt this conversation. “Uh, I had a bad day.”

“Okay,” he nods. Smooths a hands over his chin, pops out his hip. “What’s that got anything to do with me?”

Everything, you want to tell him.

For every single thing that went wrong throughout your day, seeing Javi gave you something to look forward to.

“I just thought-”

“You thought, what?” His face twists up, just like your insides. He’s angry and you’re the one to blame. “This isn’t a- I’m not your boyfriend.”

I know, you mouth.

Because you do know. Repeat it to yourself all the time.

When he calls to make sure you got home safe.

When you sneak off to pee in the middle of the night and are welcomed back to bed with a forceful tug into his chest, a sleepy, gruffed out ‘where’d you go?’ whispered into your neck.

When he picks up on the things you say, remembers silly things like your favourite toilet paper brand and the exact milk to cereal ratio you enjoy.

Javier Peña is not your boyfriend.

So why does he act like it?

“Look, kid, you’re young, and I know-”

Kid.

That makes you angry.

He wasn’t calling you kid when he bent you over your parents’ bathroom counter.

“Don’t call me kid.”

“And I know,” he pushes through your protest, keeps up the distance. “This can be a lot at your age. Don’t blame you for getting caught up. But whatever you think you’re feeling for me, it’s not-”

“Is this about the p-” The word won’t come out of you, so your change the verbiage. “The hospital? Because I told you, Javi. We’ve been safe. Safer than a pair of purity-ring wearing teenagers-”

“No, this is about me needing to do the right-”

At this point, you’re just interrupting one another.

Fighting to get in the next word, frowning at what you do hear.

He tilts his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, a groan leaving his cracked lips. You’d imagined him doing that tonight, but not like this.

Eventually, the back-and-forth stops.

Silence.

You take the lead.

“So, what? That’s it just... over?”

“I told you, corazón mía (my heart),” he can’t meet your eyes. “Made it clear from the start I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”

“I know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “But if it wasn’t serious, why’d you treat me like it was?”

It takes him a few minutes to answer. There’s a twitch, in his hand, reaching up only to drop back down at his side.

Usually, he wipes your tears before they get chance to fall.

The rug at your feet turns darker with each wet spot that drops.

“I got caught up,” his eyes seem so sad, so lost. Staring across the ocean of his living room, searching for a lighthouse to pull him safe to shore. But he won’t let you be that. “In the way you deserve to be treated, instead of some sleazy secret.”

He breathes out your name, the most painful melody you’ve ever heard.

“This has to end,” you’re unsure if it’s only you he’s attempting to convince. “Before someone gets hurt.”

Too late, you want to say.

You’re already being torn apart by his hands, and he’s standing ten feet away.

“Corazón, I’m so sor-”

The car honks, again.

You breathe in, and find it’s hard, snot piling up in your nose and tears splashing down your cheers.

Another honk.

You never make it to the line dance.

You curl in on yourself, instead, and fall asleep to the sound of Joey and Chandler’s bickering.

Love’s a verb And not a bandage

In retrospect, it’s hard to tell where the lines begin to blur.

A promise of casual, turned into something fragile.

Whenever you think about it, for too long, your mind carries you back to the same night. A few months after Vermont, you don’t recall the exact date.

All you remember is a pounding at your front door.

1 am. Too late to be causing ruckus.

You nearly trip over discarded shoes, curse earlier-you for assuming you would remember their existence. Undo the bolt, grab the key and then-

Pause.

This could be anyone, anything.

You check the peephole, find exactly who you were hoping for.

He’s on you like a moth to a flame, pressing you flush against him the instant he can fit through the crack in your doorway. Mouth on mouth, hands on waist. The door thuds as he closes it behind you both, you’re too distracted to notice.

You let him invade your senses.

Smell his aged leather and nicotine thrill. Feel his strong arms and bulging crotch. Hear his laboured breaths and muttered pleasantries. Taste his whiskey tongue and metallic lips-

You pull back. He follows.

It’s flattering, his inability to get enough of you, but you halt him nonetheless.

Cup his cheeks, pull down his face, and stare.

“My dad finally figure out who those panties in your glove-box belong to, Peña?” It’s meant to be a joke.

There’s nothing funny about his bleeding lip and split eyebrow.

He graces no response, dives back into you and submerses himself in your touch. Kisses you slow, with deliverance, his final mission to arrest all your sense of self till you turn yourself in to his embrace.

Only as you pass by those discarded shoes do you realise he’s inching you both deeper into the dark of your apartment.

This time, you do trip over them.

It’s okay though, Javi’s there to catch you.

He finds refuge in your neck, burrowing in deep, mouthing at the skin like a dog does a wound. Your arm shoots out to find a light-switch. A warm glow fills the apartment, bathing you both in an orange hue.

The gold of his skin shines brighter.

The red on his skin appears darker.

“What happened to you?” You don’t need to worry about him. And, yet, doing so comes naturally.

“S’not important,” it’s spoken against your skin, as if he intends to seep his gravelled tone into your pores and have it grow a new life for itself within you. A gentle scraping of his teeth sends a shiver down your spine. “I’ll tell you later.”

Later with Javi never seems to come.

‘If you’re not busy, I’ll make you dinner later.’

‘Keep it up and I’ll be fucking that attitude out of you later.’

‘I’ll get these back to you later.’

He’d never made you that dinner.

He’d dragged you into the station’s bathrooms and fucked the attitude out of you only seconds after.

You’d never gotten those panties back.

You decide to grant him no time for later. Shove him down into a seat at your dining table-for-two. Roll your eyes as he asks if you’re “gonna put on a show for me, corazón?”

The makeshift first-aid kit put together by your mother resides at the back of a cupboard, hidden by mugs and cups. It takes several minutes and a smashed glass to manoeuvre it out. You step over the pieces of glass and head straight back to the table, dumping out the contents.

You click your tongue, point your finger. He scoots the chair back from the table and you slip between the space. Press back against the surface, stand between his parted knees and do your best to not look down at the jeans that grant him no modesty.

Distractions are not welcomed, your patient needs tending to.

He’s insisting he’s okay, yet he’s hissing when you dab at the tears in his flesh with betadine. His hands find a place upon your hips and give a tight squeeze as you press butterfly stitches to his no-longer bleeding brow.

“I,” he starts up, an indefinite time of silence passing between you both. He shakes his head.“It’s stupid.”

“Javi,” you stroke your finger over his jaw, tilt his head back to meet your eyes. “The less you tell me, the more I’ll worry.”

It does the trick, unlocks his tongue.

“I was just wanting one drink, was gonna head home... Or to you, after. I had a shitty day at work and... You probably don’t care about that,” he has no idea you’ll hang onto those words for the weeks to come, wondering how to lighten his workload, ease his tension. “Heard some loud-mouth kid beside me at the bar, he was talking to this girl. She gets up to leave, he follows. I was just gonna go back to nursing my drink but-”

He hisses.

You’re pressing too hard on his fragile lip.

There’s no malice in his eyes as you pull your hand back, only soft and tender. He must sense your remorse for hurting him, chasing after your fingers and grazing a gentle kiss upon them.

A splotch of red stains your skin.

“Corazón,” he croons, shifts himself closer to you. His hands grip the backs of your exposed thighs, his chin presses into your lower stomach. A few movie-strand hairs cover the molten brown eyes that stare up at you. “You’re exhausted. Vamos, basta de preocuparte (C'mon, stop worrying), I’m fine. I just wanna crawl into your tiny bed so I can wake up to your bedhead and more back pains.”

It’s a tempting offer, and one you’ve given into far too many times acceptable for the casual agreement you both share.

A deep breath. Your hand lands on his cheek, his eyes flutter shut.

There’s bags under them. Heavy, dark. Bearing the exhaustion he hides behind charming winks and dashing smiles. Your thumb grazes over one and you ache to give him the rest he deserves, the rest his body craves.

“But, what?” You persist, pleading for him to continue his story.

Javi sighs, gives in.

He always gives in, to you, eventually.

“I just- I don’t know, it’s crazy, but I kept thinking of you,” his eyes reopen, sorrow buried deep in his soul and a worry-line etched into his brow. “In that bar. Alone, in Vermont, when you...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

He doesn’t need to.

“So what did you do?” It’s best to keep him talking, drag his mind away from whatever dark thoughts those memories bring up.

“I followed them outside,” he admits with a tinge of shame. “Tried to be subtle about it. Lit a cigarette, took a few drags, scoped out the street. Neither of them were around,” you’ve long abandoned the first aid kit, transfixed by the tight grip he holds you in, his hands smoothing up and down the backs of your thighs in an attempt to soothe himself. “I thought I’d maybe read into it wrong. Maybe she was into him, and they’d got a cab back to her place. Or his.”

He’s rambling.

Stumbling through words he deems unimportant, rushing to push out the thoughts that clog up his brain pipes.

You listen closely, swallow up every morsel he offers.

“It was just as I turned to go back inside that I heard something,” his hands no longer dance over your skin. They sit stagnant, halfway up your thigh, fingers flexed and nails digging into flesh. He’s burying himself into any part of you he can, rooting himself in your solid figure. “Rustling, or something. Coming from the alley. And I just... I felt my stomach drop. Followed after it. Found them, him-”

He chokes.

On his words, on his breath, on his failure.

You run a hand through his curls, soothe the lines off his face.

Bend down, drag him up, press your lips to the arc of his nose.

“Didn’t think, I just dragged him off. Punched him, a few times. Felt his nose crack under my fist.” He’s still pushing through, his earlier unwillingness to talk now a streaming fountain you can’t switch off. “I must’ve tripped on some glass, lost my balance. Gave him the space to get a few hits in, and-”

“Did you arrest him?” You cut him off.

He nods.

“Did you help her?”

Another nod.

“Did you get her someplace safe?”

This time, a reply.

“An officer checked her in at the hospital, stayed till her friend arrived.”

“Then Javi,” you make a point of saying his name, remind him of who he is when he’s not on duty. Not parading around with a badge and a gun, and answering to Officer Peña. The shift in his stare tells you it helps. “You did enough.”

A weight slips off his shoulders and he slumps further into you, eyes squeezing shut.

“I didn’t,” frustration steals the show, coursing through his voice.

“What more could you have done?”

“I don’t know... I could’ve-” He groans, like something pains him, and purses his lips. “I should’ve helped her sooner. Followed them, the minute they left. Shouldn’t have let...” A whiff of whiskey reaches your nostrils. Javi pulls you in tighter, breathes in the mixture of sleep-sweat and lingering cologne on the shirt you wear- Pink, the top buttons undone, left behind by him. “Shouldn’t have let you go out alone.”

You whine out his name.

The air is miserable, dragging through your lungs and staining them.

The chair creeks at the loss of his weight, knees straightening him up to his full height. Instinctually, you lean back into the table, head tilting to meet his broken eyes.

He’s searching for comfort, in the only way he knows how.

Slap a bandage over a bullet-hole, place a kiss upon his gaping-heart.

“Not everything about that night was so bad,” you play into his game, splay a hand upon his shirt. Trace a finger over a stained blood spot. “If I hadn’t gone out, then maybe we wouldn’t be...”

The words catch in your throat.

Partially because you don’t know what you are anymore. Boundaries crossed, lines blurring. Hands that hold and eyes that linger. Too close to be nothing, too reckless to be something.

But mostly because he kisses you.

Desperate, hungry. Groaning into your willing mouth.

He’s a man on a mission, to consume your soul right out your willing body. Unravelling you where you stand, he takes pleasure in peeling his shirt off you.

Hot mouth to hot skin, the tip of his tongue meeting the peak of your breasts. Your hands pull at his hair and he grips at your waist.

The descent into madness is quick, bodies melting together in a dance that’s unique, improvised, and yet always in sync.

He tugs at your panties and you undo his belt. He hooks your thigh over his hip and you anchor yourself to his chest. He teases you with a pinch to your clit and you torture him as you cup his heavy balls.

When Javi fucks you, he fucks with purpose.

The table thuds and scrapes along the floor with each punctuated thrust he gives, driving his cock deeper and deeper into your welcoming cunt, the coarse hairs at its base gifting you the occasional thrill of friction on your aching clit.

He’s slurring out curses and pet-names, lavishing you with delightful proclaims of what a pretty girl you are when you 'shut up and take my cock'.

When he does manage a full sentence of logical wording, his forehead’s pressed to your shoulder, his cum coats your thighs and the sweat between your frantic bodies holds you both together.

“There’s not a universe where this doesn’t happen, corazón,” you feel him softening against your thigh, yet you still delight as he drags a finger coated in his own spend up your folds. “Want you too damn much to miss out on you.”

Curling up into your bed that feels too big these days, you grip at the pink shirt and wonder when that changed.

When did Javier Peña stop wanting you?

And I’m spiritual cleansing (but the truth) Is I’m good at pretending (oh and you)

By July, things change.

The stud in your nose is traded out for a silver ring.

The lonely nights in your apartment turn into stumbling back home from some nameless club in the early hours.

Boredom leads to hobbies.

At first, you try pottery.

Four plates broken and a crumbled mug later, you put on your dance shoes.

Slip. Almost break your arm. Wrestle with the doom placed on your budding dance career. Throw out the dancing shoes, bring home running shoes.

You hate it, running.

You sweat, you ache, you exhaust.

But when you’re gasping for a breath and your feet pound into concrete ground, you don’t think about it.

The heartache.

The headache.

The agent.

You drop a few pounds, tone up your muscles. Watch your body’s shape outgrow your wardrobe, investing in a new one while clinging onto the items you love too much to lose.

Like the dress that now rests just below your ass, instead of it’s usual place mid-thigh. Or the sweater that once hung loose, that now hugs new curves and creases. The jeans that were tight now sliding off your hips.

The pink shirt still lives on one of your hangers.

But you’re not thinking about it, or it’s previous owner.

Not right now.

Now, you’re balling your fists and counting your breaths. Music blasting through your headphones, sweat dancing on your forehead.

The sun is warm on your back, even as it makes way for night to begin. This is the best time to run, dusk, you’ve discovered.

No kids loitering on park grounds, no threat brought on by the dark, no slow-walking pedestrians crossing your path.

You run your self-made circuit with freedom, switching off all your senses and emptying your mind.

Today, however, it’s more challenging.

The thought of him creeps through, no matter the effort you put in to fight it. Your father’s the one to blame.

You have to come, kiddo.

The phone-call still echos through your thoughts.

Because it wouldn’t be the same without you there.

You’d wanted a better explanation than that.

Then, you tried some lame excuse of already having plans.

You had no plans.

Bring your friends then! The more the merrier!

You nearly groaned out loud at his enthusiasm, but held back. Your father’s light didn’t deserve to be dampened by your shadow.

C’mon, kiddo! I’ve not hosted the annual barbecue since you were still wearing your braces!

You bit your tongue. Fought against telling him that, back then, there were no pretty-eyed, heart-breaking agents for you to worry about.

The whole station’s gonna be there, you have to come!

He said it, like that would persuade you.

Keep asking about ya, the whole lot of them.

The more he spoke, the less you wanted to go.

Just last night Javi was asking how you’re doing!

You’d hung up.

Immediately.

Called back, 3 minutes later. Mumbled an apology and an excuse- I lost signal!- and ultimately agreed to going to the damn barbecue.

Now, you run from the phone call, from the impending doom it brings.

All this heartache and pain, it’s not good for the soul.

Of course, being dumped is a lot easier when the person isn’t your dad’s closest confidant.

It gets hard to breath. Each pound against concrete shakes the cassette player glued to your hip. There’s a sting of tears in your eyes.

Until you come to a screeching halt.

Double over.

Place your hands on your knees.

Dry heave.

You pay no mind to the figure sitting a few feet away on a bench.

Nor to the dog that’s chasing it’s ball back forth between it’s owner’s throws.

You let the sadness flood your soul, deflate you like some discarded party-balloon.

You’ll have to see him.

Spend time near him.

Watch him laugh, and smile, and share beers with your father.

It’s unfair, and you hate him for putting you through this.

For not quitting the force.

For being your dad’s friend.

For not wanting you the same you wanted him.

Want him.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand. Try to stand up straight, get lost in the knots you’d tied into your laces. Sloppy and uneven.

You’re usually more careful.

You catch, in your peripheral, the figure on the bench move. Take it as your sign to compose yourself, get over yourself.

You pick your pace back up.

Manage only a handful-or-two steps.

Your feet fly out in front of you.

Land ass-first on the gravel below.

Beneath the sounds of Olivia Newton-John demanding you get physical, you hear a muffled sorry! yelled out. Spot as the dog rushes to grab it’s ball, halfway down the path thanks to your kick.

You groan and prepare to get back on your feet.

You’re met with a hand in your face, palm open and waiting for you to accept the open offer. You take it, no hesitation.

Big mistake.

The hand tugs you.

You glance up.

And meet the eyes of Javier Peña.

“Easy, tiger,” he coughs up a laugh, like you don’t wind him as you slam into him, full-body force, nerves on fire and all systems shutting down. “You trying to break my ribs?”

It’s no less than you deserves, you think.

And instantly regret it, heart turning blue at the thought of him hurt at your hand.

You take a few steps back, create a safe distance where you can’t smell the remnants of his last cigarette or count the eyelashes that line his eyes.

He asks you how you’ve been, and tries his best to smile.

It comes off as awkward. A crooked line across his lips.

You try to remember the last time he smiled at you and meant it.

You come up empty handed.

Maybe it was back in April. A hospital hallway, one hand clasping yours, the other peeling through the leafs of some medical pamphlet.

Or, was it after, on the drive home, back to his apartment, hand still holding yours while the other spun the wheel?

There’s a vague memory that toils in the depth of your mind.

Sharing an elevator, your heels in his hand, his lips on your forehead.

Wedding attire, a post-party glow.

It’s toyed with you since you woke up in that hotel room, driven half-mad by an image you can’t quite form of him tucking you into bed.

Had he smiled, then?

Had he even been there?

Or was he merely a product of martinis and negronnis-

His fingers grasp your chin, no warning, and tilt your face.

His eyes don’t greet your own. Instead, they’re focused on the centre of your face, inspecting you like a piece of evidence.

“Hmm,” he’s so close, you smell the mint of freshly bitten gum on his breath. Dart your eyes down, catch the glint of his badge poking out his pocket.

He’s still on duty, a tailored uniform contrasting the hair roused by stress. Maybe at his desk, in the office next to your father’s, hands running through his tresses to express frustrations, tensions.

Were they his own hands, or someone with longer, brightly painted nails? Your stomach turns at the thought, your loins warm at the memory of writhing in his desk chair, legs thrown over his shoulders whilst his own dug into the ground below, eager to please mouth and a happy to taste tongue working you to a orgasm muffled by your own hand.

He’d slapped your ass, kissed your cheek and sent you out his office door, wiping your own wetness off your cheek just in time to greet your father.

“You suit the ring,” his voice and a gentle breeze bring you back to the present. To the park. To the heavy feeling that hangs between you both. “I prefer it to that stud.”

“I- What?” Confussion.

You furrow your brow, wipe your sweaty palms over your thighs.

He just smiles, still crookedly, and brings his hand up to your nose.

Adjusts your piercing, swipes his thumb over your cheek.

It’s hard to breath, but you do it anyway.

Thank him, in a struggle to find your voice, with a whisper.

His eyes bore into your own, chase them as you look off to the side, watch the dog still chasing it’s ball and failing to catch it.

You wonder if it’s a cruel metaphor sent by the universe, a symbol of you and Javi.

And then you wonder if you’re the dog or the ball.

Or both.

“You never answered me,” his voice, honey, sweet on your ears. It melts away your other senses, turns you blind to anything other than him. “I want to hear how you’ve be-”

“Peña, if you don’t report your skinny ass to my office in 5 minutes and share a celebratory drink with me, I’m putting you on cleaning duties at our next poker night.”

A static-filled voice blares out his walkie-talkie.

Your father’s voice.

It’s enough to set things right, force your body to retreat from his.

He’s not your Javi anymore, desperate to hear about your day and kiss any aches away.

He’s Peña, your dad’s best friend, meant for nothing more than to be a passing figure in your life.

His eyes are heavy with emotion as he fishes out the device.

Maybe it’s sadness you see.

There’s definitely remorse.

Guilt, too.

“We... Your dad caught the guy that’s been breaking into college girls’ apartments.” He tells you, shares information that should help you sleep better at night. You’ve not done that since the last time he lay next to you. You watch him press down on the call button, hold the speaker up to his mouth. “Do that and I’ll shit in your shower, pendejo (asshole).”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d commit an indecency within your parent’s bathroom.

But none of that matter, anymore.

You’re already walking away.

Wringing your hands and hoping the tension in your limbs falls out.

He calls out your name, loudly.

Attracts the nosy eyes of people around.

People who know fine well who your father is, who Javier is.

You turn in time to see him half-jog, half-pace his way over to you.

He reaches out for your hand.

And quickly gives up on the thought of holding it.

“I’ll, um,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, grinds his teeth in an attempt to say something. “I’ll see you at the barbecue, right?”

He knows the answer.

You still give him it, “yes.”

Smile, uncomfortably brightly, before you turn and walk away once more.

You feel his eyes on you.

And pray he takes no notice of the sob that shakes your shoulders.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think I’m alright

You’re laughing but it’s mostly fake.

A courtesy, a polite gesture. A signal that you’re still listening, despite tuning out her voice five minutes ago.

She’s a nice lady, someone who works alongside your father. Specialised in forensics, she balances the darkness of her job with the brightness of her wardrobe.

Today, she’s paired a lemon-yellow skirt with a vibrantly orange camisole. She looks like a walking cheese cube.

You’ve known her since you were a kid, even if you can’t remember. She claims you used to stand on her desk, make a big spectacle out of nearly matching your dad’s height.

You’d got to talking to her after she helped you wipe ketchup off your chin.

That was half an hour ago, and the discomfort of wanting to be anywhere but here is finally settling in.

It’s not her fault. You know.

She’s not the one who roped you into going to this barbecue.

Your dad is.

And right now he’s stood on the other side of his backyard, half-drunken beer bottle in one hand and Javier Peña’s shoulder clapped under the other.

Even from here, you can hear him bragging.

So then Peña’s on his ass.

Chases this guy, whilst he’s driving down the street!

Catches him at an intersection, physically rips him out the car.

All while the man in question shrugs, sheepish. Dismisses your father’s praising.

He’s exaggerating.

The guy was barely going 5 miles an hour!

He stepped out the vehicle at his own will.

Sweat lines his forehead, shirt-sleeves hug his biceps, joy wrinkles his eyes.

He’s happy, at ease. Enjoying himself, in a way he was always meant to.

Something about him fits so perfectly in this picture: laughing with your father, complimenting your mother, playing fetch with your dog.

If you step inside the frame, it cracks.

Shatters.

And maybe he knows that.

Knew it all along.

Broke things off before you could try find a frame large enough to fit you all in.

And, though it hurts, you see why things had to end between you and feel relieved it happened before it was too late.

The feeling lasts all but four seconds.

“Kiddo!”

Your father’s voice is obnoxiously loud. Several of the party-goers turn their heads, follow his line of sight. Spot you, frozen in place, glass full of watered down lemonade and a belly full of dread.

It takes a moment, but you wave.

“Come over ‘ere!”

Not the response you were hoping for.

Still, you do as he asks. Smile at your mother, shuffle your feet, make your way across the yard. Do everything in your power to not look at Javi.

Even if the weight of his stare threatens to crumble you.

“You having a good time?” Your dad’s got this smile, big and dopy and oh so caring, that you can’t bring yourself to ruin with the truth.

“I’m having a great time,” you barely manage out before he’s squeezing you into his side.

The condensation on his bottle of beer seeps through the shoulder of your top, his arm secured safely around you.

He must be tipsy already, a buzz in his veins making him more affectionate than normal.

“I can’t believe it,” he laments, speaking to no one in particular.

In your peripheral, you fail to ignore tight jeans and a loose-fitting shirt.

It’s hardly buttoned, the top three undone and leaving a golden plain on display.

Perhaps you’re going crazy but he seems thinner, skin drawn a little tighter against his ribcage.

It’s not a sight you want to see.

It fills you with dread.

Pulling you out of your own head, you father continues to drone on.

“My little girl’s spreading her wings soon, going on her first adult holiday to-”

“London.”

Javi’s voice, interrupting your father, finishing his sentence.

All eyes snap to him.

Your own, wide and panicked. Scared. Trying so hard to dismiss how intensely he’s staring back you.

Your mother’s, amused and curious. Flicking back and forth between his face and her husband’s.

Your father, confused and perplexed, “I- Yeah...” He speaks slow and the arm on your shoulder slips down. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve been, you know?” Two hands dance in front of you, somewhere in the dark, intwining and unwinding. It’s a nervous habit, of Javi’s. You welcome the contact of soothing touches. “To London.”

That peaks your interest.

Enough to shift positions. Rip your hand out his own, roll onto your side and rest a hand under your propped up head. Your other, inevitably, finds its way upon his warm chest, rests over his no-longer-racing heartbeat.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been a few times, actually. I’ve got some friends out there.”

With Javi, friends could mean anything.

A fellow agent, a government official, a moonlight lover.

For all you know, this friend could be the Queen of England.

So it’s best you don’t inquire on it.

“Where do you recommend I visit then, Mr. Bond?”

“Mr... Bond?”

The room is dark, but you still notice the furrow in his brow.

You can practically hear it, in his voice.

“You know, like James Bond.” That’s the thing about jokes, explaining them makes you realise how dumb they are. “‘Cause you were an agent and you like London, and he’s an agent in Lon-”

He cuts you off in the way you like best: his mouth against yours.

The kiss is brief, and leads no place further than the simple act of wanting to silence you.

And, though it goes unaddressed, because it’s been too long since he’d last done it.

Even if he’d done so less than an hour ago, naked bodies intertwined on ruffled bedsheets.

“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard, corazón,” somehow, the words don’t bruise your ego.

Instead, they make you giggle and burrow your heated face into the crook of his neck.

His lips press against your hairline before speaking again.

“I’d need to write you a list of places to go, too many for me to pick one.”

“Maybe I need a tour guide,” a hand of his greets your back, strokes soothing motions back and forth. It’s lulling you to sleep, at last. “Y’know, show me all the places a real Londoner goes.”

“I could,” he pauses. Clears his throat. Pulls you a little tighter against him, till your limbs are tangled and it’s hard to tell where he stops and you start. “I could check my calendar. See how many holiday days I’ve got left. Could come with you, to London, if you want me there.”

It’s too late though.

You’re already snoring against his skin.

“How does he know?” Your mother shatters the silence, tone incredulous. “I mean, seriously, are you blind!?”

For a minute, it feels like she knows.

She knows why Javi knows.

You should be panicking.

Both of you should.

Should look away from one another, should wipe the guilt off your faces, should already be working on some excuse for when your mother exposes what once was between you.

But you aren’t. Neither of you are.

You’re just staring at each other, as if you’re working to commit each other’s face to memory.

“He knows because you won’t shut up about it!”

Your dad gives an unceremonious oh.

Your mom rolls her eyes.

Javi takes a sip of beer and looks off to the side, eyes breaking contact from your own at last.

“Ok but,” your father’s back to talking before you can fully work up the courage to leave. At least that’s the excuse you try give yourself, anything to distract from Javi. “I bet I’ve not told you what she’s decided to do on her travels!”

“You have,” your mother’s tone is pointed.

Javi laughs, sputters up a little beer back into the bottle. Tilts his head back, accepts his own backwash.

There’s a worn-out cigarette box squeezed tight inside the front pocket of his jeans.

You try ignore the fact he’d promised you he was working on quitting.

“Shh,” your father waves a hand in your mother’s face, dismisses her teasing with a playful wink.

Pulls her close, kisses her shoulder.

Gives both you and Javi a display of what a relationship is.

Open, celebrated, acknowledged.

Not secretive, dirty, scandalous.

Javi cuts the tension with a chuckle and a gentle shove to your father’s arm.

As his hand retreats back to his side, his knuckles brush your skin.

“She’s gonna get herself a christmas-tree decoration every holiday,” your father reveals. You’re frozen at the fact he even remembers you mentioning it. “What was it you said again, kiddo? So in the future, when you’re decorating the tree with your kids, you’ll think of the places you’ve been and tell them all about it?”

Your heart drops.

Javi’s seems to do the same.

For a moment, you worry he’s stopped breathing.

Till his chest rises and falls, no thanks to your father’s stupid rambling about you, and the future, and kids.

“Uh, yeah,” the ground can’t swallow you sooner. You’re already planning your exit, from this conversation and, hopefully, this party as a whole. Your dad’ll understand. You just need to tell him something came up. Or came out. Tell him you’ve got food poison. Blame it on some dodgy take-out the night before. “Something like that.”

But I’m actually bloody Motherfucking batshit crazy

There are moments in one’s life where they must question their own sanity.

You’ve lived plenty of such moments.

But none quite like right now, half-crouched in the middle of a grocery store aisle, peeping into the next one through a gap between two cereal boxes on the shelf.

And all because you heard his voice.

“This is what you’re craving?” Through the crack, you see him wave about something in his hand. It’s hard to see what exactly he’s holding, though.

He’s facing a woman.

She’s pretty.

With dirty blonde hair, piercing blue eyes that not even the shelves and produce between you both can block the shine of.

And a well-rounded belly.

“No, Javi, this,” she doesn’t say his name the same way you do- did. There’s a jovial tone, but there’s no awe, no seduction. Maybe that’s just what your bias hears. “Is what the baby is craving.”

You’ve never seen her before.

Not on the mantel of photos that line Javier’s television. Not at any of the station thrown parties. Not in his wallet, tucked behind the picture of his mom.

She’s a total stranger, to you.

But that doesn’t mean she’s a stranger to him.

A very pregnant, non-stranger.

“We gotta get this kid some better taste.”

His hand rests on her bump.

She welcomes it, placing her own against it to hold him in place.

The image of the American dream, a beautiful woman and a handsome man. The promise of a child, soon, half her and half him.

The blood drains from your face. There’s a lump in your throat and a sting in your eyes.

You won’t let it fester.

Take deep breaths, pretend there’s no shake in your exhales.

It’s not enough to stop the vicious thoughts that sink their jagged ends into the soft tissues of your brain.

Was she the reason things between you and him ended?

Had he got her pregnant, decided to stand by her, and found love along the way?

Was he with her, all along, while he was with...

Surely, he couldn’t have.

But, then, why couldn’t he have?

You were never exclusive.

You were never anything.

“Did-” Somewhere, between the aisles, Javi speaks in amazement. The smile is practically dripping off his words. “Did it just kick?”

Your heart’s palpitating.

Your hands are sweating so badly, they threaten to drop the box of Cap'n Crunch in their grasp.

Jealousy turns to misplaced anger, irrational in every form but impossible to conform.

Because, how could he do this to you?

Make a mockery of you, turn you into the other woman?

Love you so deeply and leave you so easily?

Settle down with this woman and her baby, yet run from you at the first scare of a-

“He’s a real kicker, ain’t he?”

At first, you think it’s spoken to you.

But, no, it’s too distant. Too far.

A third person enters your view through the window in the shelf.

He’s handsome, in the typical sense.

Blonde haired, a nice smile.

There’s a little girl in his arms, resting on his hip, half asleep and clinging to a worn-out giraffe doll.

“He?” It’s Javi who echoes.

“Don’t get him started,” the woman seems to beg, rolling her eyes.

The man nods, pride on his face, “I’m telling ya, Peña, it’s gonna be a boy. It needs to be a boy, ‘else I’m gonna be overrun by little girls.”

The woman must give him a pointed look, or a gentle nudge, for not two seconds later he’s following his words up with a tickle to the sleepy girl’s side and “little girls who I love very much.” Pause. He leans closer to Javier, hand covering one side of his mouth as if to block the woman and the child from hearing him. “I still want a son, though.”

“Olivia,” the pregnant woman strokes a hand over the little girl's head, coxing her to keep her eyes open. It’s hard to tell if there’s a drool mark on the man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you show uncle Javi your favourite toy?”

The bile in your throat burns more than ever before.

The misplaced anger bleeds into sadness, shame, embarrassment.

Here you are, going stir-crazy over a man who never wanted much of you in the first place, raising your heart-rate at the thought of him moving on from something that never even existed.

And there he is, fine as can be- in every sense of the word-, sharing laughs and exchanging smiles with old friends in the grocery store.

Friends his own age.

Worlds apart, yet nothing but a shelf between you.

Through the gap, you watch him lean down to the little girl’s eye-level. A twinkle in his eye, he happily tugs at the stuffed giraffe’s tail.

“Glad you liked it, Olive,” curse him, and his soft voice, and his gentle touch and his everything, for still forcing you to swoon over him, knees weak and ovaries treacherously screaming. “I had to go all the way to Africa to find him.”

The little girl perks right up at that.

Eyes widened, head off her father’s shoulder.

“Really?!” She’s amazed, and how could she not be? Javier Peña is beaming at her, ear to ear.

“Mhmm,” he nods, feeds into his own lie, ignoring the disapproving looks from the other man. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll go back next year and get you a zebra.”

“Quit lying to my kid, Peña.”

Javi, undeterred from keeping the little girl’s smile, rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue out at her father, huffing under his breath “Your dad’s a right grump, Olive.”

You begin to wonder how long Javi’s known this couple, how he knows this couple.

“Just wait till you’ve got your own kid and I’m feeding it lies.” The man punctuates his empty threat with a dull punch to Javi’s forearm. Javi barely flinches, unfazed. “Speaking of, when are you making me uncle Steve?”

In sync and apart, you and him both physically freeze.

Your breathing stops.

Javier stands up straight. Rolls his shoulders, scratches at the back of his neck, clears his throat and, “not any time soon.”

“Really? What about that girl you’ve been seeing, the-”

“That- We- It didn’t work out, we wanted,” you begin to see cracks in his facade. Fake laugh, solemn eyes. “Different things... I want, wanted to settle down but, yeah, no it was for her best that we-”

“Sorry, can I just,” your heart jumps in your chest, flying back so quickly from your peep-hole that you nearly knock over the person behind you. “Grab one of those?”

You nod, gain composure, watch the stranger pick up a box of cereal off the shelf.

They walk away and you’re left alone, again.

Your eyes flicker up to the shelf and-

He’s no longer standing on the other side.

You turn on your heel, ignoring your half-filled cart and book it out of the store before you fall apart.

Try as you might, you can’t shake off the weight of his stare as you pass by the check-out.

I kept it in, but it wrecked my organs So pour the gin and call Graham Norton

You wake up early.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re seizing the day.

Making the most out of your time upon foreign land.

The early bird gets the worm, and all that proverbial bullshit.

The truth lies in that you can not sleep.

Jetlag. Your body clock is at odds with the timezone.

Which lands you here: strolling upon the cobbled streets of Notting Hill.

A quarter past six.

Its barely light out, the sun still fighting to rise over the horizon and the streetlights still shadow your every step.

Colourful houses, cosy shops, a melodic thud each time your feet meet the ground.

It’s picturesque, straight out of a romantic comedy.

Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt more gloom.

In the silent bustle of a city awakening to a new day, you’re startled.

Trip over a cobble, nearly meet the floor, and just about save yourself from rolling your ankle.

Your ringtone is the culprit.

Loud, imposing. It scares a flock of birds off a wire and gains you a stare from a man stepping out his home.

Scrambling to get the clunky cellphone out your bag, you spare the screen a fleeting glance.

You question if it’s one of your friends, awakened back in your shared hotel room to find you’re not there, and press the green button.

“Corazón.”

It’s funny how one word can drain the blood from your face.

You swallow the lump in your throat, made of equal parts anger and sadness.

Anger that this is the first time you’ve heard Javier Peña’s voice in nearly two months.

Sadness that it sounds so broken down the line.

“I- Shit, I can’t tell if I’ve even dialled the right number...” He’s muttering in your ear, confused and at odds with himself, mouth a fountain his thoughts pour out of. “... Probably changed it or- Can she even receive calls all the way in-”

“I’m here,” it’s only a whisper.

It’s enough to shut him up.

Silence rings down the line, a static buzz that reminds you of the distance between you.

“You’re in London,” he states.

“I am,” you affirm.

He hums, sips something.

Ice clinks against glass, and you feel a little sick.

“How have-” His voice sounds strange. Muffled. Different. Maybe it’s the poor connection. “Was your flight okay?”

“Yeah,” you spare him the details.

The truth.

The boredom, the turbulence. The fact you’re dreading the flight home.

“I’m glad,” he sighs the words out, worry going with them. “Know you’re not the biggest fan of planes, kept thinking of you alone and afraid on it.”

“I wasn’t alone,” it’s defensive, and ironic.

You sure felt alone.

“That’s right, corazón, you weren’t,” something slips, rolls, smashes. Glass shatters and is met with cursing anger, an oh, shit! followed up by hollow laughter. “You’re never alone.”

“Are you...” The street’s a little brighter, a few cars have begun to back out of driveways and you’re still there, frozen in the middle of the street, phone pressed to your ear. “Drunk?”

“No, I’m javi.” If his laughter is anything to go by, he thinks himself the comic of the century. “Had a few drinks with your dad, sweetheart, that’s all.”

For a moment, it feels like you shouldn’t be here, in London.

You should be home, in Laredo, dragging a drunken Javi to bed.

Stripping him of his clothes, kissing his rosied cheeks, urging him to go to sleep. Leaving him a pair of painkillers and a glass of water for his breakfast before curling yourself into his soft arms.

You blink, and feel the familiar weight of a tear on your lashes.

“Why’d you call me, Javi?” It’s a desperate plea.

For answers, for clarity, for closure

“I wanted to hear your voice,” that’s too vague of an answer, too unfair of an answer. Your heart swells nonetheless. “Wanted to go to London, with you. I should be there.”

“It’s your fault,” that’s as cruel as you can bring yourself to be towards him.

Even then, it kills you to do so.

“’S half my fault. Joder (fuck),” you can picture him, leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. You wonder how much he’s drank, and if he spoke to any women. Maybe he took one home, fucked her nice and good before dialling your number. “Wanted to give you my answer, too.”

Someone bumps your shoulder on the street, walking past you.

You pay them no mind, vision blurred to the world around you.

“What answer?”

“Where you should visit, Mrs. Bond,” he says it, like it doesn’t send you into cardiac arrest.

You miss the nights like that one, tangled in your bed, smelling him on your sheets and feeling him against your skin.

He’d woken up first the next day, coaxed you out of bed with the promise of homemade pancakes and his head between your legs.

“There’s this little bar in Inslington, called the Distillery Club. The owner, he makes his own gin. You like gin, don’t you, corazón?” You nod, and it’s almost like he feels it. “It doesn’t look like much from the outside. Or the inside, either. But it’s some of the best gin I’ve ever had, in the greatest company.”

You try to picture him, sat amongst friends you’ve never met. Friends who don’t know your dad.

You try to picture yourself, next to him, scooting your bar stool closer to his.

The image doesn’t quite form.

“Want you to go there, get yourself a drink. Tell him Javier Peña sent you, and that you’ve not to pay.”

It’s like he’s given you a piece of his soul. A piece of his history, someplace he’s sought out refuge in his lowest moments.

Refuge he’s willing to share with you.

That tear finally gives way, dropping off your lash and rolling down your cheek.

You wipe it off with the sleeve of your sweater, before anyone can see.

“Promise me you’ll go, corazón.”

Your reply is instant, “I promise.”

“Ok, I’ll let you go,” it’s solemn, regretful, devoid of truth. You almost beg him not to, but that didn’t work last time. “Enjoy yourself, okay? Come home, safe.”

“Javi, I-” the line cuts off, disconnecting before you even finish. “Miss you.”

I’m gonna throw you down the river Your mum can watch it over dinner

“How you feeling, kiddo?”

You startle awake at your father’s voice, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Before you can give him an answer, you erupt into a fit of coughs.

“Not good,” he grimaces and slowly steps into your room. “Got it.”

Stepping off the plane, you’d managed only one night back in your own bed before the fever had taken over.

All it took was hearing your nasally voice over the phone for your mother to demand you come stay with them.

Just till you’re back on your feet, she’d said, like she ever needed an excuse to have you over.

She’s not quite adjusted to being an empty-nester.

Neither of them have, really.

“Actually,” your tone is matter-of-factly. “I almost smelt something earlier.”

“That’s great, kid!” And he means it, you know he does. Even if his shoulders slump at any sign of you feeling better and returning to your apartment. “Now we just gotta figure out if it’s your sinuses unclogging or your stench just growing more rancid.”

Try as you might to aim the pillow right at his head, he still manages to catch it inches from his face.

“Hey, I’m just saying! You’ve got the flu, you ain’t dying! Could be a little courteous to those who’ve gotta be around you and take a shower.”

“You’re literally in my room!”

“Which is literally in my house!”

Downstairs, your mother yells something unintelligible.

Likely, she’s telling you both to shut up and to quit behaving like children.

Making eye contact, you both can’t help the roll of laughter that comes out.

He steps a little closer, and that’s when you spot it.

Tupperware, clasped in his hand.

The contents are hard to decipher.

Luckily, your father spots you eyeing it.

“Your mom said ya wouldn’t be up for eating much but, if you’re hungry,” he pauses, at the foot of your bed. Tugs a little on the homemade-blanket you’ve had since you were in grade school. You wonder if he remembers making it with you. “One of the guys down at the station made you some stew.”

Your stomach growls, hungry and unfed.

The prospect of a hot, boiling bowl of brothy stew suddenly peaks your interest.

In fact, you can’t think of anything better.

“It’s a family recipe, he said it would cure ya right up.”

He’s popping the lid open, presenting the delicacy before your eyes.

Immediately, you spot chicken.

Some corn cob, a couple lumps of potato, flakes of chilli.

You wish you could smell it, ingest it through your nasal canal and get a taste of it before you even put it in your mouth.

Your father continues, practically talking to himself.

“What’d he say it was called again, ga-sue-lay day ah-vay?”

“Cazuela de ave.”

A change into warmer, drier clothes.

Your hair still sits wet upon your head, but it no longer drips puddles onto his floor.

Thirty minutes it took him to drive from where he’d spotted you, walking soaked upon the sidewalk.

It would’ve only taken him seventeen minutes if he’d dropped you at your apartment.

And that fact is partly what warms your insides.

You watch him, tie discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone, strutting around his kitchen.

Objectively, you think, he’s gorgeous.

Yet the word somehow doesn’t seem like it’s enough to summarise him, when he’s making his way round to you, two ceramic bowls in his hands and a look of pride in his eyes.

He put his own bowl down first. Sloppy, uncaring, spilling a little of it’s contents over it’s edge.

And then yours. More careful, slowly, both hands guiding it down.

The scent alone is enough to have you salivating.

Warmth and care, all encased in a bowl of brothy goodness.

“It smells delicious,” you inhale deeply, for dramatic effect.

And to get more of that meaty, comfort-food goodness.

Javi sits on the opposite side of the dining table, and you try hard to stop your mind from wandering off to visions of you both sat like this, out in public, in a restaurant.

A real date.

Only, this isn’t even a fake date.

You guys don’t do that.

“It’s- It was my mom’s recipe.”

Frozen in place, you wonder if the shock spills over your face.

He’s never mentioned his mother.

Or much about his family, really.

There’s the occasional comment about projects he takes on at his dad’s ranch, and tid-bits of information you hear across a dinner table that's set by your mother and seated by your father.

But you’re no fool blind enough to not realise the obvious.

A worn-out polaroid in his wallet, his mother smiles brightly in permanent ink each time he opens it. It contrasts her impermanence in the real world, dead and gone long before you became so much as a ripple in the lake of Javier’s existence.

Across the table, he’s relaxed. At ease.

Open.

His eyes, his mind, his heart.

And so you try venturing inwards, test his waters with a dip of your toe.

“Was she a good cook?”

Lukewarm, they appear, when he favours you with a tiny smile, his eyes staring somewhere off in the distance.

“No,” and he laughs at his own admission.

Not just a scoffed out chuckle, or a gesture meant to feign joy.

A full, hearty laugh, that shakes his shoulders and splits his cheeks.

It’s disturbingly beautiful.

You wonder if there’s a life where it could be like this, always.

Javier laughing at his own jokes, you smiling at his visceral joy, plates of homemade food filling the space between you.

“No, she, uh,” he restarts, relaxing a little bit. He wipes under one of his eyes with the back of his palm, a rogue tear breaching his waterline. “She was awful. She burnt every slice of toast she made, and even served an unbaked cake at one of my birthday parties. This dish is actually one of the few she knew how to nail.”

You can picture it, a young Javi, party hat on his head and a cheesy grin topped by rosy cheeks, eating away at gooey batter mix sprinkled in icing.

It’s hard to imagine him complaining, or getting angry at her.

In spite of his reputation, and the career he’s undertaken, Javier Peña is a gentle soul, who nurtures and protects anyone he can.

A modern-day hero, a knight who’s exchanged his shinny armour for form fitting jeans and unbuttened shirts.

“Tell me more about her,” the words are out before you can reel them back in.

Because you like this feeling, and you like this Javi, reminiscing on his late-mother.

“She not only was awful at cooking, but she had the worst coordination too.” It’s like he’s been waiting to tell you this, with how easy he slips into doing so. “She was forever falling and tripping over herself. And her driving, god! Pops used to dig out his rosary each time she’d be out on the field, driving the tractor.”

There’s something intimate about him recalling details so many would see as flaws, whilst he sports the most earnest, heart-wrenching smile.

Like nothing about her was wrong, all of her perfect and angelic.

“She was brave, too. I’d like to think I’m just like her in that respect. She didn’t let anything stop her from doing things she set her heart on, and she never let her inabilities hinder her,” he’s getting a little emotional now, you can hear it in his voice, see it in the lump he swallows back. You stretch a hand across the table and watch as he leans on you for support, fingers interlocking with your own. “There was this one time when I was a kid, I was swimming in a river and got stuck in a current. She dived right in to save me... She didn’t even know how to swim!”

You don’t know what to say.

You opt for saying nothing, silence speaking more than a thousand words.

Give his hand a reassuring squeeze, feel him squeeze back harder.

Your stomach rumbles, but it doesn’t ruin the moment in the way you feared it would.

“Listen to me being a sap and starving my poor lady to death,” still, he tugs your hand closer and plants a kiss on your knuckles. You’re still trying to process the possessive adjective he’d used to address you. My. His. “Eat up.”

Both of you settle back in your seats.

You pick up your spoon, scoop up a piece of chicken out the steaming bowl and-

“Asi no, corazón (not like that, sweetheart),” he spews out, panicking to pry the cutlery out your hand. He ignores the questioning looks you give him. “You drink the soup first, eat the filling after. Like this.”

Leaning over the table, he scoops your bowl up in his careful hands and guides it up to your lips.

When your lips part and rest against the bowl’s edge, he tilts it and you feel it’s warmth invade your mouth.

And then your chest, branching out over your heart, your lungs, your stomach.

Horned-up bias you so often show towards Javier aside, it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

Like a hug on a gloomy, wet day, all wrapped up inside a ceramic bowl.

You hum, hands taking over his own to allow him back into his own seat, focusing his attention on drinking his own soup.

“Javi, this is...” You trail off, eyeing the small ring of liquid pooling at the bottom of the bowl. One more mouthful and you’ll get your taste of the stew’s fillings. “Amazing. Your mum would be proud.”

Instead of modesty, instead of 'thank yous', instead of bashfulness, Javier smiles, takes another sip from his bowl.

“She would have liked you.”

You stare across at him and find no jest in his eyes.

They’re as open as before.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. She always liked pretty girls smart enough to put me in my place.”

“Kiddo?”

You’re ripped out your own head by your father’s voice and his hand, waved repeatedly in front of your face.

“Hmm?”

“You okay there? I was talkin’ to you but you seemed lost in thought.” There’s a little excitement in you father’s voice as he presses his cold hand to your sweated forehead, the prospect of you still being ill, still needing taking care of, filling him with the relief of keeping you in your parents' home a little longer.

“I’m- Yeah, just tired, s’all.”

“Ok, let me know when you’ve finished your food,” he presses a kiss atop the crown of your head, and you hold back the pointless comment of not risking getting himself or your mother sick. “Need to get the tupperware clean ‘fore I give it back to Javi.”

Your stomach twists and longs for the meal before you, while your heart shatters into pieces you doubt will ever be repaired.

#javier peña smut #pedro pascal smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña oneshot

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koostarcandy · 1 year

Text

nonsense, it's l-o-v-e!

summary: "she's a, oh my god, she's like a taylor swift song!"

pairing: student!jungkook x student!fem!reader

genre: fluff, mentions of smut, koo is a music major here hence the banner :)

wc: 1.8k

a/n: there was an anonie who wanted a song fic based on into you so i combined that and my new playlist i've been obsessed with! also im abit obsessed with writing a whipped male lead ;)) oktyilybye <3

"are you out of your mind? it's not nausea, you fool, it's called being in love."

"love? like l-o-v-e love or what you and taehyungie hyung do everyday?"

jimin has half a mind to punch the innocent doe-eyed face infront of him, who's slightly trembling because of a text he got a few moments back. and left it on read.

"you idiot, reply to her quickly or she's gonna think you fainted again!"

jungkook scrambles for his phone, tossing aside the controller to goodness knows where. "i will see you, no, i will pick you up and we will go for boba together tomorrow. with a heart, duh." he says what he types out loud, a habit he developed along with your blossoming relationship. either his namjoon hyung would be there to correct his grammar which he would've made a ton of mistakes in his eagerness to reply to you or he would be batshit scared if he sent something which may or may not upset you, very slightly. hence why jimin is there, who is nursing his empty can of beer, wishing he had something stronger, because he doesn't remember signing up for this clownery, just for dance club.

"jungkookie?" jimin calls him sweetly, a fond expression growing on his face when he looks at his best friend's lovesick smile.

"yes, hyung? is it my hair again? i didn't put too much serum this time, right?" jungkook has registered that tone of voice in his head under the category of "uh-oh. something isn't right."

"when you and your, uh, lover move in, do you expect me to do the same with you both?"

"why are you moving? did the landlord raise the rent here too? do you want me to knock some sense into him? people are acting crazy now, don't they know broke college students actually exist?"

"no, kookie," jimin giggles, "you always need one of us around when you're doing anything remotely concerning her. like what we were talking about before, maybe you should tell her, no? save yourself the heartbreak and whatnot."

jungkook's thighs which were shaking in excitement slowly cease. he's way too familiar with that concept, always hoping and praying and wishing that isn't the case with you. he likes you too much that he can't imagine his future without you. somewhere, in his rose-tinted dreams and in a perfect house, you're growing old with him, laughing at something silly he said. in the 2 years he's known you, he was lucky enough for you to like him back, getting giddy again when he remembers you asking him on a date quietly in the middle of class, fingers intertwined with his tightly when he whispered an excited "yes!", not caring if he garnered a few concerned and judgemental looks.

"don't think about it too much, little one," jimin pats his head and pecs, throwing the can into the bin. "go home and worry about the outfit you're wearing tomorrow 'cause lord knows you've pulled all-nighters for that one."

"you look so pretty right now, i'm actually jealous, koo."

jungkook thinks you're more beautiful and more pretty but he's too tired to argue now. the golden rays are hitting the both of you just right, golden hour living upto it's name. your warm skin against his cold one raises goosebumps, wondering if you can hear his heartbeat from the close proximity. you shift from your position on his chest to propping yourself up on your elbows, the duvet slipping from your bare shoulders.

"your hand goes down any further and i'm yeeting you out of this bed, my love." you threaten jungkook half-heartedly, referring to the wandering hand on the small of your back, inching towards your hip chain.

"you couldn't get one more out of me even if you tried your very best, darling." he says, leaning his head back on the new pillow you bought with an infatuated smile, throwing a tattooed hand over his eyes.

"is that a challenge, jeon?" you tease, fingers playing with the thing string of sliver around his neck, matching pendants with your bracelet. you let the magnetic pendants do it's job, looking at the pretty heart stuck together with a solicitous gaze. "looks adorable, doesn't it?" you praise his choice, reluctantly pulling away to place an indulgent kiss on his sternum.

you had all but jumped on him when he had come early to pick you up, in your favourite jacket and his ripped jeans, kissing him all over his face, claiming you missed his cute dumbass. that compliment ensued scattered clothes on the floor, needy lips trying to convey so many emotions fervently.

you're now tracing impatient shapes on his chest, your quickly shifting mood and pouty lips hinting that you're hungry. it's currently 2.45 pm on a sunday, but honestly, who cares? jungkook has the love of his life wrapped around him and is practically on cloud 9. he could literally-

"did you just say love of your life?"

jungkook shoots up, suddenly sitting up and looking at your blinking face, rubbing your eyes for some reason.

"what did you say?"

"i thought you were sleep talking again but it seems like it wasn't," you mumble, looking away from him. this is it, this is where the sky comes falling, pigs are flying, hell is freezing and-

"you're so annoying, i wanted to tell you that first!"

you're close to tears, frustrated for some reason. he takes in your messy hair and swollen lips, courtesy of him of course. you're glaring at him, like he just stuck his tongue out at you and he told you that he finished the last of the raspberry cheesecake in your fridge. "oh thank god," jungkook lets out a sigh of relief, strong arms pulling you to his lap and kissing your lips repeatedly. he's acting like he's come back from war, holding you so close and so tight.

"what? why would you say that? is this some big set up so you can finally ask me to move in with you so you can quote, unquote save money and electricity?" you ask, eyebrows furrowed cutely that he can't help but place the sweetest of kisses on your forehead, smoothing the creased lines.

"let's save money and electricity, i've had enough of you complaining of inflation along with jiminie hyung."

"you're just ditching your hyungie, my precious roommate, just like that?"

ah, so that's why jimin asked. so much for him being concerned about his love life. "we'll think about the technicalities later," jungkook says cheekily, chasing your lips and holding your face between his large hands.

"that's cool and all but can i get off you now? koo junior seems to want attention now."

"you know, some of us are very painfully single here," yoongi comments, staring at jungkook over his simple lunch of kimbap and iced americano. "so, the lyrics sound good?" jungkook smiles, stealing a bite of veggie kimbap.

"you're whipped, man, you've written these lyrics in record time. the last time this happened you were crying on our shoulders, telling us you love us all so, so, so, so-"

"okay, i think the point has come across, hyung." jungkook shudders at the thought, vividly recollecting the time he got drunk with his friends for the first time, dragging them all to their shared studio so he could showcase his latest assignment.

"you must really like her alot, huh?" yoongi comments off-handedly, secretly trying out a theory that taehyung had put out. one mention of you had jungkook's irises turn into pink hearts, his hands quickly taking his phone to show pictures of your latest date.

"i'm sure like is a understatement at this point, hyung," the said whipped man says sagely, like he's preaching to an attentive crowd of 100.

"oh god, here we go-"

an elmo-like laugh resonates in the small spaced studio, jungkook anyway going on a joyful rant about you. it can be seen in his lyrics, the way his eyes light up like you're his most precious person (and you are, no doubt), how he sincerely writes love poems for you and how he loves seeing your face light up when it shows randomly in one of your notebooks, happily tucking it away in a file you've saved especially for his letters.

"its like I can finally relate to those poems namjoon hyung reads to us sometimes you know?"

"mhmm.."

"and every one of iu's love songs is suddenly right and the universe finally makes sense and-"

"uh huh?"

"she's like a, oh my god, she's like a taylor swift song!"

"wow."

"whatcha upto, handsome? too busy to spare some time for your hungry roommate?"

jungkook glances at the time from the digital clock, glaring 12.30 am. he stretches and breaks his finger knuckles, legs moving towards you on a mind of it's own. you're wearing one of his many oversized shirts, a white one this time, big but it seems to fit you just right.

"why are you still up, baby?" he asks, arms around you immediately. "i'm hungry, koo," you say again, "was waiting for you so we can order some snacks and watch hotel del luna again," you mumble against his chest, your hands rubbing his tense back. "let's go then," he grabs his phone and throws you over his shoulder effortlessly, nonchalantly saying it's been awhile since you've had spicy tteokbokki and bingsu. you stumble when he puts you down, unfazed when you're voicing out that you both can't eat spicy food at night anymore, as if the last time that happened wasn't scarring enough.

you kiss his cheek, reminding him to save his work and that you'll get everything ready in a jiffy. jungkook all but zooms to the bedroom, already eager to get back to you. he chuckles at the title on his screen, knowing that "nonsense, it's l-o-v-e!" is going to be the best birthday gift you've ever gotten.

he finds you sipping away on a cranberry breezer, can of chilled beer waiting for him. your eyes are enraptured by jang manwol and her beauty, instinctively leaning on him when he's settled next to you.

it's like a satisfying puzzle, feeling all the pieces click easy when he's with you. in your shared abode, huddled up and in your own cosy bubble, away from the world. hands easily finding their way around your bodies. synchronized laughing at a clever comment passed by the male lead. jungkook feels like this is one of those moments he would write about in a song later or write in one of your weekly love letters. you're the definition of right person at the right time, knowing that if you both were in a rundown apartment or in one of the biggest bungalows ever, you'll still love him the same.

pt time: @armys-dna ; @junsai-tree ; @soobhyun ; @shatzkrinslinzki ; @astronaut-jin-moon ; @cherishoshi ; @fragmentof-indifference

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook drabble #jungkook oneshot #bts x reader #bts jungkook #bts oneshot #bts fluff #wow so soft im.melting bye

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poppy-metal · 2 years

Note

i fully believe steve prefers hitting it from the back idc idc idc. i want to fuck him so bad i'm going to have a meltdown fuck omg

He looks so pretty when he's miserable.

warnings: asshole!steve, reader is okay with it though. brief hints of nancy/reader. an even briefer hint of poly nancy/reader/steve at the end bc i have no control of my clit. hopeful ending. smut.

a/n: literally just wanted to write angry steve hitting it from the back but backstory snuck in and now im thinking about this dynamic. help.

ike....post breakup with nancy. you're buzzing when you hear he's at the party you're at. as the rumor mill goes, he hasn't been the partying type since wheeler broke his heart. at a party, you hear. so knowing he is hear has your heart beating fast.

you've always had a thing for him. ever since your freshman year really, when you'd been that annoying person who showed up to school with too many supplies. colored pens and highlighers neatly lined in front of you, pink notebook and fuzzy pink pencil posied and ready to take notes. it was embarrassing really. you felt a little silly when you saw how everyone else wasn't nearly as eager as you were.

but then steve had come into the room, laughing with his friends. that good smelling cologne filling the space around you as he passed. he'd stopped for a moment, glancing down at your colorful assortment and you'd felt so humiliated, sure he was about to say something sarcastic. but he'd merely curled his lips in a half kind of smile and rapped his knuckes on your desk, "look at you all prepared. putting us all to shame already, eh?"

maybe it HAD been sarcastic. you didn't care. either way, you'd been obsessed with him ever since.

but he'd gone and fallen in love with nancy wheeler. you couldn't blame him. or her. she was very pretty, you'd caught yourself sneaking glances in the lockerooms when you'd been changing for gym. had nearly had a heart attack when she'd smiled at you one day and said she liked your bra, thought it was cute.

so you hadn't been bitter. just disappointed. they were a hot couple. you'd moved on anyway, dated throughout high-school, done your thing.

it was the end of senior year though. and you and steve were at the same party. and he was single. ready to mingle? you'd find out.

finding him wasn't easy. you felt like a bit of a stalker, you had to admit, scouring the crowded rooms, peeking in rooms. you guessed just because he decided to come, didn't mean he was in a party mood.

you did find him though. at the last room at the end of the hall. the master bedroom, you had to guess. he was sagged in chair in the corner of said room, nursing a half empty bottle of beer, gripped loosely in his fingers. he looked beautiful. and a little pathetic. mostly beautiful, though.

he wore sunglasses, tipped precariously on the edge of his nose. he was wearing black, all black, which even you knew was strange. his hair wasn't styled. hanging into his forehead in a messy heap. his cheeks were flushed pink. he had to be tipsy.

you stepped gently into the room, "who's funeral?" you said idly, trying to keep your voice cool. like you'd just accidentally stepped in and hadn't been searching like a stalker.

steve peered at you from the bridge of his sunglasses, squinting like he was trying to place you, and then relaxing when he stopped trying to figure out who you were. "mine." he replied simply, swinging the bottle back to take a large sip. you watched his adams apple bob.

"oh, well. my condolences to your family." you try to joke, "i heard steve was an upstanding young man. he will be missed."

he looked at you then. really looked at you. in a way that made your skin heat, before he was looking away again. propping his chin on his hand and staring off somewhere. "will he?" he sounded wistful. you had a feeling he meant nancy. you winced.

"i think she was dumb, you know." you blurt without thinking. steves eyes snap to yours though, so you can't fold the words up and swallow them. you have to push forward. "b-by breaking up with you, i mean. i would never-"

you stop there, realizing you were about to lay out your minor obsession just like that. you feel his eyes on you, heavy and intense, but you're looking at the floor now. you hear the sound of him setting his bottle down.

"close the door." his voice sounds a bit clearer now. you look up at him, startled. the glint of his sunglasses meet you. you gulp, and hesitantly close the door.

"lock it."

you do that to. you're like a puppet, you think. a quiet marionette. the click of the lock sounds thunderous in the now quiet room. the thump of the party downstairs sounds distant, like a different universe from the one you're in right now.

steve stands up. you assumed he was at least a little tipsy, but he walks fine. walks you all the way back until your hip touches the dresser behind you. your own wide eyed reflection meets you in his glasses. you feel trapped. you don't want to break free.

he tilts his head, a lock of golden hair falling. your hands twitch to feel it. you know his hairs got to feel so soft. absurdly so.

"you'd never." he parrots back to you. "you'd never.....what? break up with me in a bathroom? lie about loving me? ditch me for some freak with bad hair?"

you blink. there's alot to unpack there. your fingers dig into the wood behind you. "u-um. well, y-yes." you look down again, "I'd never break up with you....if i had you."

"you're that girl from chemistry." he says suddenly, like hes just now remembering. you feel your skin light up with his recognition. "i remember now."

you start to smile-

"could always feel you staring at me. like, you never stopped. it was kinda creepy."

your smile falls.

"you've waited a long time for this, then, huh?" his voice sounds distant. casual. "for us to break up. wanted to swoop in and, what? comfort me? make me feel better? remind me why im the king of fucking hawkins?"

he sounds like he's making fun of himself. bitter. you realize this isn't about you, you're just a vessel. you could turn and walk away. he doesn't want you. not in the way you want him to. but- he sounds so sad, too. and maybe you were creepy, and weird, and a stalker. but.

"if that's what you want." you tell him, blinking up at him, resolved in your decision. "you've always been a king to me. even what you and nancy split. you're the coolest guy I know."

you hear his sharp inhale of breath. see his pink lips part. he closes them. jerks his head, "turn around. bend over." when you pause he raises an eyebrow, "you wanna help me right? this is what i need. i need to fuck." he touches your waist, where your skirt meets your top. "Is that good with you?"

you spin around without another second delay, bending at the waist over the hard wood of the dresser. the way he said fuck is running through your head, making you dizzy. steve harrington wants to fuck you. jesus.

you feel your skirt being hiked up, and your toes curl in your flats, cunt already wet and slick. ever since you saw him sitting there with a bottle in hand.

you feel his finger on the outline of your panties, push yourself up on your toes to grind back.

you hear his husky chuckle, and then his sunglasses are being thrown haphazardly on the dresser next to you. you hear him unluckle his jeans, unzip.

"I should have never dated nancy." he says, to himself. you whine as you feel the pressure of his blunt tip at your folds, he's holding your panties to the side, not even bothering to yank them down your thighs. "when wet willing pussy like this was around-" his chest presses against your arched spine, his head catches against your slick hole. pushes in. he grunts and you whimper. "could've. fuuuuck that's it- could've been fucking girls like you in the back of my car every weekend. instead of. buying. fucking. flowers. shit- goddamn."

he punctuates each word with a hard thrust, slamming your hips into the hard wood. the slap, slap, slap of him fucking you fills the room. makes you drool. hes using you, using you to feel better about himself. about the pain she caused. and you're fine with it, thrust back into him when he growls "that's right. back that ass up on my dick.", squeeze around him just to hear his breath hitch. you'd have gladly been a wet willing pussy for him to fuck into whenever he wanted. you don't care. this feels amazing.

"fuck, you're so good." his praise makes you dizzy, drip around him and the slick sounds your pussy is making around his cock are downright lewd. "such a good pussy. god, i missed this."

"you can have it," you whine, humping back into him, "whenever you want."

"yeah?" he sounds breathless. close. "gonna give me your number after this and let me cash in on this hot little piece of pussy whenever i want, huh? gonna pick up and drop everything the moment i call, right? spread those pretty legs without me even having to ask?"

you nod desperately, feeling yourself start to peak, bite down on your hand because you'll scream if you dont. he fucks so good. he hits so deep. hes so fucking big.

"good girl." he groans, gripping your hips and pulling you back to meet his pounding. "gonna cum in you. you're gonna let me."

you're so glad you're on birth control. you'd let him anyway, even if you weren't. "uh huh." you babble dumbly, "want it. cum in me."

he fucks you hard, before stilling, slamming into you to the hilt and pressing you down with his hand at the back of your head into the wood underneath you. you feel the warm splash of cum inside you, the grinding of his pelvis against your clit making your own orgasm gush around him. you feel limp and exhausted afterwards, panting heavily.

steve is quiet as he pulls out of you. you're both quiet as you right your clothing. he picks up his sunglasses and runs a hand through his hair, not meeting your gaze.

"do you." you lick your lips. "do you. uh. want my number?"

he puts the glasses on. shield his emotions from you, just like that. he nods once, jerkily. "sure. why not?"

____

steve doesn't call you after that. and two years later, when hawkins is overrun by monsters you never thought could be real, he saves you. you'd thought you'd never see him again. but there he is, but he's not alone.

nancy is with him. at his side. they're holding hands. in a way only lovers do. in the way you saw them do in the hallways your sophomore and junior year.

you almost wish he would have let you die. remembering that night, two years ago. him inside you. him using you. you letting him. of course, you'd only been an outlet. duh.

you let him convince you to stay with them though, guessing the protection couldn't be the worst thing.

you don't see the way he looks at you. don't see the guilt in his eyes, the shame. he wasn't himself that night, and you didn't even know it. he'd wanted to call. but then everything had happened. and he got nancy back. that's all that should matter. right?

he doesn't know why he can't stop watching you then. why he can't stop wanting to apologize and swear to you that the him you saw wasn't the him he actually was.

but he can't. when he looks at nancy, he's a little suprised to see her staring after yout too, pretty lips parted. like she's remembering something.

when she catches steve looking she blushes and looks away.

huh.

#ask #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x you

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soggyriceee · 11 months

Note

Moth to a flame part 3?

Moth To A Flame | Konig NSFW

| first of all, I just wanna say thank you for all the support on this story. when I say I was not expecting to make this a series I wasn't. I literally was listening to the song and got some really good inspiration for a quick little smut and kept it pushing lmao. im so glad you guys like it and I hope to write more long stories in the future! in this part I will say Konig is a little crazy, and a lot of mentions about stalking, mommy king(hehehe), and aggressive sex are mentioned. also horrible German translation. if these are any triggers to you please please do not read this part! thank you again ily all sm <3 |

four months have passed since you moved away. you and your boyfriend now live in New York, working a daytime job as a school nurse. you finally decided to put your college degree to work. your boyfriend worked at the same company, got a raise and is planning on taking you both out to Cancun for the summer. and of course,

you got the abortion.

it was the least you could do to help make your boyfriend feel better. the last thing you needed was to be alone in New York, a city too big for someone to learn on their own. you were happy. contempt. Konig was out of your life and you were able to focus on your boyfriend now.

however, arguments and trust issues were inevitable after what happened. as much as your boyfriend loved you, he couldn't trust that the same thing would happen again. whether it was Konig or someone else. a ring light camera was placed at the front of your apartment door, checked by him every night for Konig but also any suspicious activity. "its more so for our safety." he had told you a few days ago. but you knew it was more to prove his doubts wrong.

Konig harnt reached out to you. he was blocked on everything, completely ghosted. but you knew that wouldn't stop him from looking for you. you just hoped it wasn't anytime soon. the abortion was already a big step into the right path for you, Konig coming in and ruining that path was not what you needed. you were happy where your life was now, you were happy with your boyfriend. Konig would never be an issue again.

that was until you heard a knock at the door of your office. "come in~" you said sing songly, expecting another high schooler to come in with some lame excuse to be here and not in class. you paid no mind to when the door open, finishing putting the rest of the cough drops into the jar. "what can I help you with?" you asked, back still turned.

it was quiet for a moment. then, you felt two strong arms wrapping around your waist. you gasped, turning quickly. there, Konig looked down at you, a wide spread smile on his face. "Meine Liebe, ich habe dich so sehr vermisst.." he whispered, leaning down placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

to say your heart felt like it would jump out your body was a humungous understatement. you know it wasn't your fault this time it was happening. but you still felt beyond guilty, and most of all scared. pushing him back, you moved to the front of your desk. " h-how.. how did you find me- how did you get in?" you asked, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. "dont worry about that my love.. im here now. im here to take you back home." he said, tilting his head slightly.

he looked around, humming softly. "this is a cute office. very you like." he said, smiling at the photos of you and students you had grown close to over the last few months. but he didnt really care about that. he cared about getting you back to "home". "I am home Konig. you need to leave me alone im serious this time. im happy here im happy with-"

"but you aren't. I know you aren't. I know you miss me meine liebe. I miss you too. think about you all the time." he said, another smile coming across his face. he moved closer to you but you backed away. he sighed, crossing his arms. he was unhealthy. he needed serious help. help you simply couldn't offer him. "how long are you going to play this game." he said, his tone more serious, his eyes shooting you daggers.

"im not playing a game Konig you need to move on. you cheated many times. you lost your chance to be with me." you said, looking to his side. he wasn't one to get angry, so you weren't worried about that. you were worried about falling for his gaze, his puppy eyes. " gosh those were mistakes. I regret it. I love you. I love you please come back to me." he begged, his voice going from demanding to desperate.

he moved forward again, this time following you until your back hit the wall.

shit.

he placed an arm on the side of your head, the other moving for your chin. smiling, he tilted his head. "dont you see.. no matter where you go, how many phone numbers you make. ill find you, like I always do. and ill fuck you good, like I always do. ill have you leave him and be with me. who you really wanna be with." he whispered, his eyes moving down from your lips to your covered breasts. your chest rose and fell quickly, tears brimming your eyes. you hated him. but you hated him even more because you know he was right. he always fucks you good. he always finds you.

"please.. please leave me alone." you whimpered, fighting back the tears. he ignored your cries and moved his hand to your tummy, frowning. "our baby.. where is it? you should be a lot bigger by now." he said, stepping back a bit.

at that moment you had remembered the abortion, cursing yourself for allowing it to slip your mind so quickly. "where is our baby?" he asked again, his eyes going back to dark, angry ones. you opened your mouth to say words, but none came out. what were you to say? what if he really got angry with you this time? but he had the right to know. and you knew that. after all, he was the father.

"i..I aborted it Konig.. it wouldn't have grown up with its real father anyways." you replied after a moment. you couldn't bring yourself to look at him. you knew all to well he wasn't going to have a pleased look on his face.

silence filled the large room until finally, he spoke up. "well. we can always try again." he said, turning to the chair at your desk. he rolled it out, sitting on it. "come here." he said, patting his lap. but you didnt move. he smiled, shaking his head. "always been defiant. I remember when we first got together I had to train that pretty little mouth of yours to not talk back to me. now look at you. thats what happens when you mess with boys, libeling. not men."

his words didnt bother you in an annoyed or angry way. unlucky for you, it made you clench around nothing. and he knew it did. he knew you loved being talked down on while being treated like a princess. he knew exactly how to turn you on and he was abusing that knowledge right now. " I bet you missed being thrown around, fucked like some worthless toy and then babied right after. dont you?" he stood from the chair, making his way back over to you. " you miss your mouth getting fucked, filled with cum. swallowing it all. making a mess on my dick.. fuck I think about it all the time. those pretty little eyes of yours looking up at me. mascara running down your face while I slide myself down that tight, tight fucking throat of yours." he said, looking down to your throat before quickly looking back into your eyes.

wet wasn't even the word to describe the situation going on in your underwear. you cursed yourself mentally for allowing him to talk to you like this. but you couldn't stop him. because he was right. your boyfriend, no matter how hard he tried, simply couldnt man handle you the way you loved. the way you needed. he was gentle, afraid to leave so much as a hickey on you. but he was slowly becoming more open to it, especially since seeing Konig pounding you from behind. he wanted you to stay, he didnt want you to move on to another. or back to Konig.

"Konig you need to leave.. im not coming back to you. you messed up far too man-"

" so let me make it up to you libeling.. lassen Sie mich um Sie kümmern.." he was now standing right infront of you, looking down at you. you couldnt look away. the way he spoke to you in his mother tongue turned you on, always. even if you couldnt understand every word, his deep voice and accent made it hot. his hand slid up your nursing shirt, gripping your covered breast. you bit down on your lip, closing your eyes. you couldnt give in. not this easy.

shoving his hand down, you stepped away. "Konig leave or ill call the police. ill write a restraining order anything to get you away from me." you finally said, fixing your shirt. "your so hot when you try to act all tough maus.. fuck its making me so hard." he said, pulling at his pants buckle. your eyes flickered down for a few seconds, but it didnt go unnoticed. "see dont fight it maus.. I know you want me to fuck that tight little pussy of yours. make you cum all over me. in this office of yours. you want me to fuck you on your desk huh?" he whispered, unbuckling his pants and slowly pulling his already hard dick out.

the tip literally dripped pre cum, dropping to the floor. it made you whimper, only fueling his craving for you. "Konig.. please leave." you whispered out, but it wasn't confident enough for him to believe. he smirked, turning down towards your chair once again. "maus dont you see how hard I am? I need you. I crave you." he said softly, eyes looking at you so "innocently".

his hand gripped the base of his dick, a sigh coming from him. he leaned over, spitting onto the tip and moving his hand down his shaft, slowly back up. a quiet groan left his lips, his head resting back and looking to you. he sped up his hand movements, keeping eye contact onto you. small, desperate whimpers slipped from his lips as his hips bucked up. "oh maus.. please~" he whimpered, his chest rising fast, falling at the same rate.

you whimpered at him, wanting to go and slide down on his dick. not matter how badly you wanted to keep up with the happiness you had in your life right now, you needed him. he saw your confusion and smiled, taking his other hand and reaching out. you hesitated, but slowly walked over to him. his movements slowed down, his eyes looking up at you. "please.." he whimpered.

you knew this was wrong. and you hated how much he always found a way to wrap you around his finger. how he always managed to get you beneath him, fucking into you relentlessly. and you hated how he always came back into your life when you were happy. you hated how badly you craved him, no matter how far away he was, or how bad he treated you.

you couldn't process anything until you felt him pull you down onto his lips. and you couldnt stop yourself from kissing him back. your hands cupped his face, forcing your tongue into his mouth. he smirked against your lips, pulling you onto his lap. you grazed over his exposed dick, sitting right front of it. you pulled away, a long strong of saliva connecting you two.

" maus.. i wanna fuck you so bad. please." he whispered, his hand sliding up your shirt, pulling your bra down and playing with your nipple. you whimpered, nodding your head quickly. "c-can I lock the door?" you whispered, looking down at him. but he was so focused on your nipples, and playing with himself that he same time. you assumed he didnt care, and continued to pull your shirt up and off.

he wrapped his arms around your waist and stood, sitting you on your desk. "imma fuck you... send you back home with my cum swimming around inside you. you want that?" he said, pulling your pants down. you hated how much you wanted to say yes. it was killing you. but the way his tip ran up and down your slit, teasing your entrance as he whispered filthy words into your ear, you couldnt help but whimper out a pathetic 'yes'.

thats all he needed to hear from you before he slid his full, thick length into your tight cunt, a deep groan coming from him as his head pressed against the top of yours. a gasp slipped from you, your hand covering your mouth. as hot as this was, fucking in your nurse office with the door unlocked, it was risky. in fact, you could loose your job. but he wanted that. he wanted you to have a reason to leave and go back with him, no matter how crazy or detrimental the reason. " so fucking dirty.. getting fucked on your office desk-shit- I bet you want someone to come in here and see this tight cunt getting fucked huh?" he whispered, gripping the back of your head, pulling it so your eyes met his.

he was hot. you couldnt admit it. the way he looked as he fucked you made you go feral. his hair sticking to the top of his forehead, eyes locked onto yours as small whimpers and groans left his pretty little lips. he could say the same for you. the way your tits jerked up and down every thrust he gave, your desk squeaking along with it. your hands gripping onto him as you gave him small, pathetic begs. "say it louder baby.. what do you want? be a big girl for me." he whispered, pulling his now shiny dick out, slamming it back into you. your hands gripped him harder as his grip on your head did too. "f-faster.. please" you finally were able to muster out.

his hips waited no time to move faster, feeling every vein and inch of his thickness move in and out of you. it was heaven. no matter how much you hated him, you couldnt stop yourself from letting him fuck you. anywhere. anytime. you guys were like magnets, no matter how hard you both tried you couldnt keep away from each other.

the more time went on, you realized the tears forming in konigs eyes. they weren't from pleasure either. " k-konig?" you asked, your hands falling to his lower stomach. but he kept going, no matter how hard you tried to stop him, he kept going. "I-i hate you.. so fucking much. I hate y-you because I know I c..I cant live with or without you-fuck.. I-i crave you even when I shouldn't.. I fucking hate you" he cried out, small whimpers coming every now and then from him.

for a moment you had to stop and think about what he just said. but, he didnt give you much time. the more his tears fell the faster and harder his thrusts became. the more aggressive he became. he let go of your head but pushed your body back, your bare back hitting the cold desk, pens and papers falling to the floor. "k-konig" your whimpered, your legs wrapping around his waist. "I-im gonna..cum soon..fuck!" he groaned, his head falling into your chest. his hot tears covered you and you could've sworn you heard 'mommy' fall from his lips every now and then. it made you clench around him seeing him so vulnerable, so emotional while fucking you.

he took one of your legs, pushing it up so your foot rested on top of the desk. his thrusts became deeper, the sound of your moans growing louder. his hand quickly found your mouth, silencing all the whimpers and moans that slipped from you. "m..mommy im cumming~" he cried out, his thrusts becoming more and more sloppy.

his sudden change in persona threw you off guard, but you liked it. too much. the closer he got the more he chanted 'mommy'. and you could tell, he was really close. "m-mommy I-ill hold it back.. ill hold it back till y-you cum first~" he whimpered into your chest, his arms finding your waist and pulling you up into him.

your hands quickly found his hair and tugged it, moaning how good you felt. "k-konig keep going.. im so close~" you moaned, your head falling back off the desk, eyes shutting closed. he growled, slamming deeper into you, stabbing your squishy g spot each time.

the knot in your stomach quickly came undone and not too long after, he came with you, his grip on you tight enough to snap you in half if he really wanted. he whimpered as the last bit of his cum shot into you, small 'plat plat's coming from beneath you two. he pulled out, watching the mix of cum pour out of you as if you were a waterfall, dropping to the floor.

heavy breathing filled the now silent room as you slowly lifted yourself up. "ill get you a paper towel." he said softly, shuffling over to the counter and grabbing the roll. he brought it over, getting to his knees and slowly, spreading your legs. taking the towel he ran over your pussy slow, collecting the cum. it was silent. you didn't know if you should bring up what he said, what he called you.

he sensed your tension and looked up at you from below. "I meant every word I said. I hate you. but I hate you because I love you too much to let you be someone else's. nobody.. nobody has ever made me this crazy.. ever. you've unlocked a part of me that I didn't know existed. I didn't know I had. my heart hurts seeing you happy with someone who isn't me, having a life with someone who isn't me. and what hurts more is to know I caused that." he spoke, his voice soft.

you looked down at him, your chest hurt. you opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. "you dont have to say anything. ill leave you and your boyfriend alone." he stood, throwing the papers away. "im moving back to Germany." he said, looking down at you. and you couldnt lie, your chest felt like it was tightening. tears began to pool but you looked down.

" I leave in three days. I just.. wanted to say goodbye. I guess. I know you hate me, I know you want me to leave. and I love you enough to do anything that will make you happy. if you-"

your hands wrapped around his shirt collar and you pulled him down, slamming your lips to his. his large hands slammed against the sides of you, holding himself up. he immediately kissed back, moaning into the kiss. thats when the tears fell.

"please..please dont leave.." you whispered, pulling away. you looked up at him, looking for anything that said "I won't".. but his lips formed a small smile, his hand meeting your cheek. "your happier without me.. you know you are." "I dont c-care. I cant ha-have you not here. please"

the tears kept falling and he caught each one, flicking them from your face. " oh meine liebe.." he whispered, pulling you into a hug.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

2 years had passed. you were pregnant. again. getting married in a few months too. you were excited because you felt like you were happy, for real this time. you stayed in New York, working at a new school more uptown. it was great, you were happy now.

" okay chicken orrr steak?" you asked your fiancé, rubbing your baby bump as you stared into the fridge. your soon to be husband came behind you, kissing your neck and putting his hand on top of yours. "chicken. we can make Alfredo." he said. nodding, you grabbed the meat, putting it in the sink to defrost.

" ill go run you a bath and we can get ready to go to the bakery. im excited to taste all the new cakes." he said, taking your hand and kissing each knuckle. " me too. especially the Oreo one. pleaseee at least try it. for me." you pouted. "your gonna say no to your pregnant fiancé?" you smirked, pointing to your belly.

you were due exactly 3 months after your wedding. so you both decided now was the perfect time to get married before you both had no time. "I guess I cant huh." he laughed, opening the bedroom door. you sat at the edge, watching his tall stature move to the shared bathroom.

as you watched him from your bed you smiled, thinking of all you both had been through. maybe it was the hormones, but you felt the tears well in your eyes. and it didnt go unnoticed either. " meine liebe? whats wrong?" he asked horridly, rushing over and wiping the tears from your eyes. you smiled and shook your head, placing a high kiss on his cheek.

"I just love you a lot. thats all." you whispered. he smiled, lifting you bridal style before kissing you passionately back. " Ich liebe dich mehr, meine liebe."

| tried to be cool and only highlight when y'all knew he was speaking at the end hehehe anyways guys this is like.. the end! if you guys would want one where the outcome is different and she stays with her current boyfriend lmkk cause I can do that too. but yea like I said thank you all so much for the love on this mini series <333 |

#konig #konig smut #konig fanfiction #konig x reader #cod #cod x reader #call of duty fan fiction #call of duty x reader

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purecantarella · 2 years

Text

Yes Ma'am

im a little loopy writing this because of rotc but its fine, its an adventure, my lovelies!! i hope you all enjoy this one!! brat!irene x reader disclaimer/s : smut. i suggest going to look for fluffier or angstier content.

You slipped on your suit jacket before looking around to look for the tie you saved for the dinner with you and Irene's friends. A sigh breaks from your lips as you lift the loose clothes around you.

Before you could utter any curses in frustration, your fiancée pipes up from behind you, the tie in hand, twirling in between her fingers gingerly with a cheeky smirk, "Looking for this, hotshot?"

You chuckle as she struts up to you, sinfully high heels and in nothing but a thin night slip. Knowing full well she would rather have you home with her than to go to a random dinner with both your friends. You reach out for the tie only for her to wrap it around your neck.

Your pulse hammers as she slinks around the back of your neck, drawing you closer. The cherry scent of her lipgloss enticing you, gaze remaining on her pink lips. Allowing your mind to wonder she smirks to herself.

Irene tugs you closer, her lips touching the corner of your jaw. Your breath trembles as she does, the contact innocent but you were familiar with that glint in her eyes. "Irene." You begin sternly only for her to brush you off.

"You know I could just tell everyone you aren't feeling well..." The shorter woman trails her kisses lower to your neck, allowing her lips to linger on your sweet spot, right atop your clavicle. You swallow hard as you stare down at her lust laden eyes. "And that I needed to nurse you back to health."

You chuckle darkly before taking her hands in yours, "Counter offer," Pausing to place her hands behind her back, keeping them there with one hand while the other props her head up to make her keep your gaze. "We're going to dinner, you're going to be my good little girl..." You smirk watching her cheeks flush at the name, "And if you do that, you'll be rewarded tonight."

Catching her lips between yours, your tongue skimming across her lower lip teasingly. A soft whine breaks from her as you pull away. With a quirked brow, your lips press to the conch of her ear, whispering with much conviction and power, "You're going to be a good girl for me, yes?"

Irene bites her lip as your hand stroke her waist slowly, she gets on her tippy toes and pecks your lips gently, "The best, ma'am."

You smirk before letting her hands free, and fixing the tie around your neck. Eyes glued on Irene's silhouette as she got changed, knowing full well she was putting on a show for you. You silently pray that she would keep her word.

Short to say, the dinner was hell.

From the moment you arrived, Irene had done nothing but tease you, stroking your stomach as you both sat in the den, her leg rubbing up against yours during the dinner proper, her eyes never leaving yours as she did, and of course the comments here and there.

"Yes I would say, Y/n is very, very good with her mouth." When discussing your eloquence. "If she's lucky it won't be the only creamy meal she'll have tonight." Whispered to her cousins between swigs of her red wine. And the real kicker, "Y/n's a softy, she'll cave in to anything I want, wouldn't you say so sweetie?"

Irene's eyes were glued onto you, you grit your teeth together as you wonder how shameless your fiancée is. You down the whiskey Seulgi had given you before excusing yourselves from the party, claiming that you had work early the next day. But the glances you got made you very aware the other guests knew why you were leaving.

"Eager, N/n?" She teases with a small smirk only to be met with silence.

The ride home was silent but you saw how her lips upturned, under the impression she'd get exactly what she wanted. You grumble curses to yourself as you pull up to the parking, turning the car off. Still not looking at her, "I want you in the bedroom, stripped down and ready for me."

You turn to face her, a stoic expression falling on your face as you take her chin in your hand, forcing her to look at you. Fighting back the smirk from peeking on your lips, Irene is staring at you with a darkness in her eyes. "Do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am." She responds before slipping out of the car as you feel your cheeks heat up. You wait a few minutes, taking your phone out to apologize to your friends for leaving as early as you did to which they responded with smirking faces and 'get it' messages.

Before long, you step into your shared home with Irene. You slip into your shared bedroom only for frustration, in more ways than one, building as you saw Irene staring back at you defiantly

"Why the hell do you insist on being a fucking brat, Irene." You growl as she turns to face you with a teasing and sultry grin on her face as she removes her make-up and accessories.

You tug her from her vanity chair. Quickly, you're a mere breathe's away, she gasps at your sudden movements. You glare at her, "Each time tonight you go out of your way to disobey me." She moans loudly as your hands slip down to her bottom, squeezing before laying a quick slap to her bouncy flesh. "Just how desperate are you, slut?"

"Not very nice, Y/n. You shouldn't tease that way." You laugh dryly before pulling her down onto the bed, with her atop you. She hadn't reclaimed her bearings when you tore her dress open, leaving her body exposed for you. Irene gasps as your lips take her neck roughly, leaving dozens upon dozens of reddening marks, "You have no fucking right, Joohyun." You growl into her skin.

"I asked one thing, to wait for an hour at most before I gave into your desires." She whines as you smack her clothed cunt. "But you just had to go about parading just how horny you were."

She cries out as you move from her front to the back, slapping her firm bottom. Once, twice, thrice, the sound rings out through your room, paired with Irene's moans. You lose count until your fiancée has tears in her eyes and is clawing at your shoulder, grinding down, desperately looking for any friction against her cunt.

"Tonight is going to be so fucking long, desperate whore." You whisper as your hand smooths out her red and hot ass. Before Irene can say anything more, your hand quickly tangles between her dark locks, simultaneously snapping your hand back onto her ass. She whines and grinds down into your

"No. More. Fucking. Talking." You whisper, each word being emphasized with a harsh slap on her bottom. Irene was all but drooling as your hand continuously collided with her awaiting skin. Her arms now wrapped around your neck as the most obscene noises from her lips. "Y/n—"

"Not my name to you anymore, brat." You clutch her hair tighter, her voice becoming thin as she cries out in a twisted mix of pleasure and pain. "If you so much as say anything but yes, stop, or ma'am, I'll make sure that walking into practice tomorrow is the hardest thing you've ever had to do."

You pull her into a rough kiss, you're sure that both your lips would be bruised after this little encounter of yours. You pull her head back as you whisper, lips turning up a little seeing the aroused flush of her cheeks, eyes dark, and her mouth agape slightly, catching her breath.

When she doesn't respond, you push your thigh into her needy and damp cunt as your hands soothed her overused ass. "Do you understand, brat?"

Irene smiles dazed, "Yes ma'am."

and irene will forever be my greatest fantasy because out of all the idols i stan i think she would be the most unachievable HAHAHAH i hope you all enjoyed this my lovelies!! my midterms are done but the grind never stops for a barely passing student :"") i'll try to get through it all but i hope you understand why i dont get to post on some days :"") in any case tho, i hope you enjoyed!! i will see you all as soon as i can, i love you all vv much and keep save :>> - r

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amazingmaeve · 1 year

Text

matt murdock fic recommendations

I know that this was already uploaded ages ago but the link that it was really weird and I couldn’t edit it so I just thought about redoing it and putting them here. also some won’t be on here because the link isn’t working and I couldn’t find it.

anyways these are fics that I just love and adore and deserve all the praise and attention they get. so you should totally give them all the likes and comments because the authors sure as hell deserve it.

also what i interpret things as fluff/angst might be different to other people and it's just an opinion based.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff/smut

a slow day by @solemnly-mischievous god it’s just so good and the writing is just *chefs kiss* no other words than amazing!

ೃ⁀➷ fluff/a smidge of angst

sleepless nights by @carters-things it’s just so amazing and great I love the boys of angst followed up by fluff and it will always be one of my favorite fics for matt.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff/smut/little angst

nighttime activities by @crazyxshit can feel the angst in this and it is so good that I would love to read it for the first time again because it’s so amazing. so if you hadn’t read it do it now.

ೃ⁀➷ angst/smut/teeny fluff

spawn ii by @elsolario it’s an au obviously and I love it because it is the devil!matt and it’s so great and it is executed so perfectly. it’s just so good and I recommend everyone should read it. (18 up of course)

ೃ⁀➷ angst/smut/kinda dark

blasphemy by @spencer-van-sunshine so it’s an au again I just love au and it’s a priest!matt au and it’s so good and the author is amazing. as the author states it has some dub con elements so if you aren’t comfortable with than you shouldn’t read it.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff/smut

im gonna ruin you by @aimerriarkle as the other fics listed here it is amazing and I love reading it, it just gives my stomach the butterflies.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff/smut

zip and rewind by @clints-lucky-arrow it’s just so steamy and I love it. the authors amazing and it’s written so beautifully. it’s just ugghhh these are the fics with the writing that i have strive to have.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff

heartbeats by @clints-lucky-arrow it’s just so fucking fluffy and I love it, I love pregnancy fics even though right at the moment I can’t even see my self with a child. idk why I just love these types of fics so much.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff

moving in by @darling-i-read-it matt is just…… a bit of a mess in this fic and you know what I don’t blame him, and it’s just amazing and I love it.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff/smut/teeny bits of angst

the devil of hell’s kitchen by @arahxdjarin there are multiple fics that I love that have the reader basically being matt’s personal nurse and this is one of these. it’s so fluffy with sprinkles of angst and smut it’s just too good.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff/smut

stress by @stranger-nightmare amazing, beautifully written a piece of art that should be praised til the end of times. so good and I recommend everyone who is of age to read it.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff/angst

the defense rests by @dameronology love the fics where they have to hide their relationship and this one of them and as said before I love it.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff

new case by @darling-i-read-it spoilers for spider-man no way home and let me tell you I got so excited for the fic while reading the synopsis because I had seen the movie and loved it. but it’s amazing. the fic and the movie of course. but if you hadn’t watched the movie watch it first.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff/smut/angst

let me hear you by @stranger-nightmare it’s just such a comfort fic for me. comfort fluff, comfort angst, and comfort smut and i love reading it when I’m in my feelings because it always perks my mood up.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff/smidge of angst

bad dream by @ola-elaina another comfort fic that just makes my heart flutter every-time I read it and it never fail to make me happy.

ೃ⁀➷ smut

stress relief by @fluffyprettykitty i LOVE dom matt fics and this one of many examples of those fics and it’s amazing.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff

heartbeat by @darling-i-read-it another fic where the reader is pregnant and matt finds out through his hearing. i love this fic as much as the other one and they’re not the same fic obviously but nonetheless you should just read it.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff

flirting at work by @pastafossa more tooth rotting fluff and god it’s good and foggys there and he is annoyed at the two and if you were in his shoes probably wouldn’t blame him. such a cute fic.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff

up against the wall kiss by @pastafossa it’s such a trope but it’s an amazing way at writing a trope that I adore so so much and it’s sfw so just go and read it if you like matt murdock fics.

ೃ⁀➷ smut/teeny fluff

no sympathy from the devil by @write-orflight it’s kinda enemies to lovers and set in the college time. just so good and great I love enemies to lovers when done right and it’s done so right here since they’re still kinda enemies.

ೃ⁀➷ angst/fluff

running red by @titan-sl8yer it’s such a role reversal where the reader gets attacked and matt has to clean her up and it’s amazing it’s just amazing.

ೃ⁀➷ smut/fluff

overworked by @writingdumpster this fic is just matt being a good boyfriend and the reader is just trying her best to get her work done and I love it.

ೃ⁀➷ smut/fluff

what’s your middle name by @thegingerwriter there’s a lot of humor in this that makes it even greater than it already was and it’s just the reader guessing matt’s middle name.

ೃ⁀➷ smut

justice is blind by @lovelybucky1 friends with benefits is another trope that i absolutely love and adore and this is again one of these fics and read it please if you’re of again obviously

ೃ⁀➷ smut

nsfw alphabet by @lovelybucky1 self explanatory and I always love these ones so please give it a good ole read.

ೃ⁀➷ smut/kinda fluffy

far from innocent by @singledadharrington as said before love dom matt murdock and this fic is just full of it so if you’re 18+ and love dom matt murdock smut this is the fic for you.

ೃ⁀➷ angst/fluff

fleeing moments by @titan-sl8yer god it’s just so fluffy with some angst that melts my heart every time I read it. amazing.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff

morning after by @spideyhexx this fic is the epitome of fluff and matt murdock and if you want to read all that good stuff don’t look any further it’s right here.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff/smut

woman ii by @petertingle-yipyip there’s so much flirting and teasing in these fics that make my heart skip a beat. and they’re ugghhh so amazing.

ೃ⁀➷ smut

client calls by @clints-lucky-arrow a lot of teasing matt in this one and it’s great I love it.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff/teeny angst

the seven stages of matt murdocks jealousy by @alrighty-matty this one is amazing because I usually fics of the reader being the jealous one and it’s swapped here and I love it and I’ll always love a jealous matt.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff/smut

I know you wanna go to heave but you’re human tonight by @2-fast-2-curious husband matt this time and with a breeding kink it’s great and paired with so much fluff and I can’t help but to love it.

ೃ⁀➷ smut

idle hands by @beyondspaceandstars just pure smut and as before I love matt murdock smut and I can’t help but to read every time I see it.

ೃ⁀➷ smut/angst/fluff

not again by @mvtthewmurdvck exes to lovers not a very appreciated trope and one I love and I think I love a lot of tropes fyi. it’s angsty but with a happy ending which I personally love.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff/smut(?)

the girl next door by @deceitfuldevil the reason of the question mark is due to masturbation that’s why I put that here but most of the fic is just fluff and it’s amazing.

ೃ⁀➷ smut

devilish by @foli-vora it’s a lot of teasing and smut which I personally love and this something that every matt murdock lover above the age of 18 should read.

ೃ⁀➷ smut

distractions by @milf-murdock movie night to fucking is an amazing plot ugh.

ೃ⁀➷ angst/fluff

sick twisted fantasy ii by @multiharlot it’s so angsty but with fluff and a happy ending and it’s also a fic where it doesn’t end up blaming karen. I know confusing just read it please.

ೃ⁀➷ angst/fluff

fragile by @devils-dares so angsty where matt needs a hug and he gets some comforting.

ೃ⁀➷ fluff

matching pairs by @peachiswritingg I love, love it when authors write love languages and this the matt murdock version of that and it’s so adorable.

#matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x oc #matt murdock fic #matt murdock #matt murdock x original character #matt murdock fic recommendations #fic recommendations

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mingisaddctn · 8 months

Note

hiii 😋😋 i just wanted to say that you are my fav writer tbh and i love your writing style. YOURE SO AMAZINGGGGG

i wanted to request a yunho smut based off the song body party by ciara? maybe the reader showing him how much they love him or something 😭 i’ve been dying for smtg like thissss..

if you don’t take requests like this i understanddd buttt other than that ilysm and your posts make my day LMAO

omg thank you so so so much ;-; this is too sweet im dying, im so glad you like my writing style. also ive been having yunho brainrot lately so im gonna try a lil something here for you

even though he had the height to be a scary human pole, you couldn't see him in a way other than a giant baby. yunho had this thing about him, a feeling, a pheromone, something that brought you closer to his sweetest self, and made you want to nestle yourself in his scent, engulfed in his being.

oh, you loved him. and you loved him bad — that's why you were milking him dry with your mouth.

kneeling in between his muscular thighs, the ones where your fingernails dug themselves into, you lowered your head over and over on his cock, feeling every little vein on the tip of your tongue, saliva pooling around the corners of your lips and falling to your chin. your jaw almost fell asleep, but the way he laid, hands behind him into the sheets of your shared bed as his head was thrown back, and you could only stare at his adam's apple bobbing from the grunts that left his body with full force.

your pretty, sweet, whiny boy.

he was your whole world, and you were his, and the best way to let him know about that was to be on top of him, taking every last drop of cum like a hungry devil, in a greed of pure sin.

"please" he placed his palm on your cheek, cupping your face and guiding your mouth off of him, leaving a trail of saliva behind. his eyes were two chocolaty irises that stared at you with utter devotion. "I need to be inside you."

and his wish were your orders. you stood from where you were kneeling, with the help of his arms and lowered your panties, sitting on his damp boxers—with the mixture of precum and your drool—and lowered yourself on him, arms holding his neck so dearly, so scared of leaving a mark on his perfectness.

he moaned, mouth open against yours and eyes burning into your mind. no thoughts to be perceived, just the two of you enjoying the moment, feeling pleasure out of this world, fucked out and fucked dumb.

rolling your hips with the help of his big hands, you moaned loud, not minding anything other than the need to bear him all, to lead him to his glory. yunho grabbed your body, enveloping you into a tight embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he helped your moves by pounding upwards.

your motions were made out of pure desperation that turned into primal urges, connecting with the side of your mind that you could never access if it wasn't when you were fucking yourself on his cock, drooling with eyes rolling to the back of your head.

"I love you" you whimpered and babbled and sang into his ear. "I love you—I love you"

he kept on pounding, moans becoming groans and burning against his throat.

"I love you" he moaned back, his words slurred against your skin, but engraving themselves like a thick tattoo, so you wouldn't ever forget.

he was reaching his finishing point when his movements became sharper and you dove into the scent of his sweat mixed with the faint cologne, everything that made him smell like him, leaving the imprint of his wholeness in you, claiming you in every way he could.

his teeth nursed themselves into the skin of your neck, not hard enough to draw blood, but just the right amount to let any wandering eye see who you belonged to. with a deep groan, and the rumbling of his chest trembling against yours, you felt his thighs twitching, and he came into your walls, feeding them what they truly needed all this time.

the only way you could show how much you loved him, was if he allowed you by loving you even more. if it was ever possible at all.

#ateez #ateez smut #yunho #yunho smut

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yourlocalghoulette · 6 months

Text

Stressed Out

brothers best friend!miguel x reader

warnings: brothers best friend, fingering, oral (fem!receiving), smut, use of y/n, lemme know if I forgot anything else!

w/c: 971 (adhd is a bitch and I CANNOT write long fics rn😭)

part 1 of a series!

“maybe you just need a little stress reliever.”

as you ease your car into your brother's driveway, you can't help but feel excited at the sight of the dark blue sports car parked next to you. that means Miguel is over. you step into your brother's dorm, not bothering to knock. you're met with the sight of Miguel on the couch, wearing grey sweatpants and a tight-fitting white t-shirt, lazily tossing potato chips into his mouth.

"hey, y/n," he says in his low, sexy dark voice, locking his eyes with yours. you can't help but notice that he straightened up a little and fixed his dark hair when he saw you walk in. Miguel O'hara is a handsome man. his long, soft dark hair cascaded gently down his golden-skinned forehead, leading to dark brown eyes that were almost red. his face is a resemblance of a greek god. his cheekbones and jawline were sharp and defined, and his clear, soft skin was a dark tan complexion.

in conclusion, this man is goddamn beautiful.

you snap out of your day dream. "hey, Miguel," you grin flirtatiously at him. "where's Steven?"

"he went to the bathroom," Miguel replies, not taking his eyes off of you as you move across the room.

you climb on the couch next to Miguel. "whatcha watching?"

"some documentary about ancient Egypt or some shit," he says, rolling his eyes.

you reach over to steal some chips off of Miguel's lap. "huh, I didnt know you were a nerd," you scoff, grinning playfully at Miguel.

"I'm not," Miguel rolls his eyes again, sounding annoyed. "my history teacher is a bitch this year."

"ugh, same," you sigh. you bite your lip and stare down at the couch, eyes heavy.

he looks at you, a caring look replacing the hard one in his eyes. "what's wrong, chica?" he asks, concern in his voice.

"I'm just really stressed about this year. what if I don't pass the test to become a nurse? I just don't feel ready," you ramble on.

"it'll be okay," Miguel says in a soothing voice. "maybe you need a little....stress reliever?"

is it just in your head or has Miguel gotten closer to you on the couch?

"what do you mean?"

"let me show you," Miguel's voice lowers. he gently lays a hand on your inner thigh and leans in and suddenly, his lips are on yours.

your eyes widen with surprise at his sudden move, then quickly kiss him back, tangling your fingers in his long hair. the kiss grows deeper, more desperate as Miguel leans you back so your small frame is encaged in his large body. Miguel pulls away, breathing heavily, his cheeks a bit flushed.

"I-im sorry, y/n. I shouldn't have done that." Miguel looks down at his hands, embarrassed.

you look at him, your half-lidded brown eyes full of need. his cock twitches at the sight, hardening already at the thought of that pretty face on his dick. you don’t answer, instead you grasp his chin between your thumb and index finger and pull him in. you gasp a little at the contrast of his rough, large lips against the soft, pale skin of yours. he takes that as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your needy mouth, exploring each crevice of your mouth like it’s the first time he’s ever kissed someone.

he tastes so good.

breathing heavily, he separates from your mouth and drags down your jeans, taking your flimsy panties with them.

“such a pretty pussy,” he coos, lowering his body so his face is in line with your cunt. he swipes his tongue roughly in between your folds, making you moan as he teases you with his rough tongue.

he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit, enjoying the sounds that you make when he hits that sweet spot. you throw you head back and close you eyes in pleasure as he teases your entrance with his fingers, not taking his mouth off of your clit.

“fuck, Miguel, please,” you whimper. that instantly makes blood rush to miguel’s cock, hearing how fucking desperate you are for him. he presses two of his long fingers into you, studying your face as he finds your sweet spot. you whine as he reaches that gummy spot inside of you, curling his fingers just right. god, he’s so perfect for you. you start to breathe heavily as you feel that familiar, warm knot form in your stomach.

“f-fuck, miguel, I’m close - jesus -“ you whine as he takes that as a sign to thrust his fingers harder into you, somehow pressing farther into your cunt. your orgasm washes over you suddenly, your body squirming and hips bucking under his grasp. he keeps finger fucking you, tears running down your face from overstimulation. “fuck, so pretty for me, cariño,” miguel coos as you cum a second time, your slick coating his long fingers. “that’s it. that’s a good girl,” he praises as he finally slows down. you lay there for a second, panting as he palms his cock lazily through the soft material of his pants. you start to pull your pants back on as you notice your brother walk out of the bathroom into the hallway next to the living room. he smirks at you, then at miguel. ”I’ll leave you two alone,” he chuckles, walking back to his room.

you look at miguel and giggle a bit, still a little drunk from pleasure.

“you’re so pretty,” miguel coos, beckoning for you to climb into his lap. you do just that, laying your head against his warm, muscular chest. “are you free tomorrow night at 6? there’s a new Italian restaurant I’ve been wanting to try,” you smirk up at him.

“it’s a date,” he chuckles lowly, staring into your pretty brown eyes. ”eres tan hermosa,” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

#miguel ohara #atsv miguel #miguel smut #miguel spiderman #miguel x you #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman

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lunar-knight84 · 9 months

Text

LITTLE BIRDIE

Victor Zsasz (BOP) x (18+)Afab reader

Summary: your an informant for the gotham police and your mission was to catch the attention of Roman Sionis but instead it seems you have caught the attention of his right hand man

Warning/stuff inside: Smut, public sex (it's in a bathroom), P in v action, fingering F receiving, kind of rough/dark sex, a bit of knife play, pet name (dolly, birdie, ect), OOC ( i'm sorry i tired), reader is kind of weird (i wrote this around 1:30 in the morning after a long day im so so sorry y'all), Roman is mentioned in this, kind of noncon at first but the reader gets into it, nipple play,calling Victor daddy, orgasm denial , choking,unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), he cums inside you,no after care, some praise, and not proof read

N/A: This is my first time writing smut so please be nice! I know I'm a bit off my rocker for writing about Mr Zsasz but I watched Bird of prey while I was knitting and I swear I felt a tear go down my leg. I hope you enjoy thi story and feel free to write a comment! Also minors DNI this story is 18+ thank you!

You entered the black mask club wearing a very revealing outfit that you were sure would catch the attention of the very dangerous Roman Sionis. You walked around and surveyed the room seeing who were henchmen and who were here just to have fun. You finally made it to the bar and ordered a drink. Your eyes on the other hand had found Roman sitting in a booth with a few girls and his right hand man. You thought for a moment what romans right hand man name was but the thought slipped your mind as you saw Roman flicker his hand at the right hand man.. You watched as Roman continued to flirt with the girls at his booth while his right hand made his way to the bar. You immediately averted your eyes from Roman as you saw that the henchman stood next to you and ordered a few drinks. ¨here you go Mr Zsasz¨ the bartender says as he passes a few drinks to the henchman who you now know goes by Mr Zsasz. you stir your drinks hoping that Mr Zsasz would leave soon so that you could make your move on Roman but as you say him turn to leave he stops in his tracks but soon walks off to Roman. You couldn't help but let your eyes follow Mr Zsasz you saw he had a bunch of cuts and you definitely knew who he was now and fear creeped into you a bit along with a strange pleasurable fire lit in between your legs. You take a long sip of your drink, yeah of course you noticed that Mr Zsasz was attractive but now that your memory was kicking in of what some of your police pals have said about this man only made your feelings more conflicted. After nursing your drink a bit more you finally made your way towards Roman. You sat in the booth with Roman for a while flirting and chatting him up all while feeling the eyes of Mr Zsasz on you. After almost two hours of chatting and flirting Roman decided he had enough of you and took another poor girl to his penthouse. You breathe out a sigh of relief, happy that you werent gonna have to do the dirty with Roman to get the information you needed. This night wasn't as complete a loss though you did get some information that may be vital to the police so you were kind of glad. While you were heading on your way to the bathroom to make a call someone grabbed you by the waist and held a knife to your throat, pulling you into the mens bathroom. You tried to scream but your mouth was covered and soon you felt the coolness of the blade against your neck which immediately made you go still. You felt a breath by the shell of your right ear and soon words came ¨hi little birdie~ i saw you at the bar then with the boss~¨. You gulped as you felt the knife dig a bit deeper in your throat, you immediately knew who had you in their hold. ¨H-hi Mr Zsasz…¨ you let out a shallow whisper as you felt heat travel up to your cheeks. ¨don't be so formally doll , call me victor¨ he says as you feel his hand slowly move under your shirt. You let out a small whimper at his rough hand slowly touching your skin. You were confused, a warm fire ignited in your core when you felt his touch and yet the knife against your neck was only adding to the flame. Victor chuckles against your ear ¨such a pretty birdie~ such a shame the boss didn't take a liking to you…i sure did¨ victor says as he gently strokes the dull side of the knife against your collarbone and down to the top of your outfit. Without warning he immediately rips your outfit open to reveal your bra. You whimper as you go to cover yourself but Victor grabs your arm and pulls them back against his chest as he grinds his pelvis against your ass. ¨you see what you did to me little birdie?~don't move again or i'll cut you~¨ he says with a smirk as you gasp as you feel his drag the blade gently down to your breasts as he cuts your bra letting your chest become bare. ¨please victor…¨ you say flustered as heat travels again to your cheeks and ears in embarrassment and a strange excitement. Victor just smiles as he immediately puts down the knife as spins you around. You finally see Victor's face clearly as you see him give a toothy grin before smashing his lips against you greedily.

You let out a surprised gasp as your lips connect. The kiss is rough and greedy as he forces you to let his tongue in his mouth. You couldn’t help but let out a tiny moan when you felt his tongue dancing with yours. He still had your arms behind your back in a tight grip but soon he let them good and grabbed your hips, pressing himself into you more. With your now free hands you, you had a chance. You had a chance to escape and head to the police station or stay here with Victor and see where this night goes with him. In your head you said fuck it as you stopped kissing Victor and move to sit on the bathroom counter. “Please come play with me….” You say gently as you pull Victor towards you again. “Of course I’ll play with you with you little birdie~” victory grins as his hand immediately goes to your chest, squeezing and playing with your nipples. While his mouth attacks your throat leaving bite marks and hickeys which only added to your pleasurable heating in your tummy. You let out small moans as you move your hands into his hair. “Victor..” you say in a soft pleasurable whimper as he moves down to kiss your collarbone, leaving marks wherever his lips touch. “You have such pretty tits birdie~” Victor says, teasing you as he pinches both of your nipples. He leaves a few kisses on your chest and soon his teasing tone changes to something much colder. “Take the rest of your clothes off now” he says demandingly while beginning to take off his belt. You quickly take off the rest of your already tore up dress along with your panties. leaving you fully nude now. Victor let out a low growl seeing you completely nude as his hand down your curves. “Beautiful birdie~…” Victor says as his hand cups your sex. You let out a surprise gasp when he put a finger in you. “Moan for me little birdie~…” he says with an evil grin as he begins to rub your clit while adding another finger. “So tight and I only have two fingers in ... .your gonna be fun to play with little dolly~” you continue to moan his words only adding more to the immense pleasure you feel with his fingers. Victor kisses your lips while fingering you and rubbing your clit. Soon you feel yourself getting closer and closer to orgasm just by his two fingers. Victor feels you tighten around his fingers and he smirks. As he stops his movement and looks at you, lifting up your chin to meet his eyes. “Does the little birdie want to cum on daddy’s fingers?~” he says, teasing your clit by gently ghosting over it with his finger. You nod hurriedly “please!!” You say crying out as you feel your orgasm fading as you buck yourself impatiently against his finger hoping to get some friction. Victor frowns and tuts “good birdies only cum when they wait for it ....I guess the only way your cumming is on my cock…” he says his mischievous toothy grin. You cry out in frustration as Victor fiips you over and bends you over the counter. He takes his cock out and rubs it against your folds. You whine out “please…fuck me…” victor chuckles “please fuck me daddy?…” he says while slapping your ass. You shiver and let out a mewl as he slaps your ass and repeat his words “please fuck me daddy!” You Lean back against his cock trying to get some more friction. Victor chuckles holding your hips tightly they would for sure leave bruises on your hips. He whispers “don’t move little birdie~…” he says as you feel the coolness of the knife against your back. He slowly drags the dull side of the blade down your back. This only causes you to shiver a bit as you feel the blade against your bare back. “Good birdie…now time for a reward..” he says as he slowly starts to put his cock inside. You moan out feeling the delicious burn of the stretch his cock gives you. Victor lifts you up against his chest as you get adjusted to his cock. “Ready little birdie~” he coos, mocking you as he begins to thrust at a quick pace. You begin to moan out while he fucks you at this pace. One of his hands goes up to your breast and pinches and teases your nipples .

All you can hear is your babbling voice, the occasional grunt ,and growl from Victor,and skin slapping. Your head's so cloudy and full of pleasure you barely register the hand that made it to your throat currently cutting off some of your oxygen. You gasp out as Victor picks up his pace. You feel yourself getting closer and closer to cumming. Victor feels you clenching down on his cock and he smiles as he himself is close to finishing as well. He slows his pace which has to whining, not wanting this organism which is so so close to be taken away. before Victor can speak you cut him off with pleads “daddy! Please let me cum please please!” You say begging for your release. “Good little birdie..” victor says as he picks up his pace once moving and moving his hand away from your throat down to your puff clit. As soon as Victor starts doing messy circles on your clit you feel yourself cumming hard on his cock. Victor moans out as he cums deep inside you, pumping you full of his seed as your legs shake and your mouth is in a silent O. You pant as you feel your body come back down to earth. Victor is panting as well and he leans against you as his cock is still deep inside you. He slowly pulls out as he smirks and puts your panties back on. “Keep this pretty thing full of my cum for me little birdie~” he says as he taps your sex one last time before giving you his jacket and exiting the bathroom.you stand there with shaky legs as you feel his cum dripping out of you. Humiliation begins to flow through your veins as you realize you're still gonna have to report to the police. You sigh as you look at your chest and see the marks Victor left on you. You smile knowing you were gonna think of this night for a very long time<3

#x reader #victor zsasz x reader #dc x reader #Birds of prey x reader #Mr Zsasz x reader #chris messina x reader #x reader smut #Victor Zsasz x you #birds of prey x you

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littlemisslexapro55555 · 19 days

Text

NFWMB| abby anderson

first time writing for tlou i’m scaruuued be nice to me pls. based on the hozier song, arguably the best song every written.

warnings: death, depictions of gore and trauma, violence, eventual smut but i gotta do my angsty slow burn shabang first, i think that’s it idk this is not at all planned out im j going with it lol

MDNI!!!!

She must be minutes away from death. Seconds. Hell, with the way her ribs were piercing into her abdomen, it was entirely possible that Abby was already dead. She can’t even recall how she got here. It was a routine morning patrol, always deserted except for a lone clicker once in a while. Safe. Boring, even, for someone with a skill set as impressive as Abby’s. She’s in the middle of thinking that maybe it’s that same cocky mentality that got her in this situation in the first place, that maybe if she had been less egotistical and more alert, she would’ve clocked the scar sneaking up behind her with a mallet, and wouldn’t have been so easily overpowered by the scrawny kid who-come to think of it, was probably half her weight and, had she been prepared, she could’ve easily-

“Anderson”

Your blunt voice cuts through her near-death psychosis as the lens flares faded from her vision just enough for Abby to make you out and-oh fuck. It’s you.

“Don’t you dare fucking pass out on me Anderson”

Head medic of the WLF. Sort of a community legend, if you will. You had been dragged into the base two years ago kicking and screaming bloody murder. Since then, you’ve accepted that the base offers you safety you could never get traversing alone in the wild, begrudgingly settling into the quaint timber cottage near the outskirts and taking on a job doing what you did best, nursing. Half the faction would be dead if it weren’t for you, which arguably makes up for the fact that you were a stone cold bitch. It also doesn’t hurt that you’re the prettiest thing the WLF has ever seen.

“I needed new sutures twenty seconds ago if you fuckers wanna keep your heads I better see em on my table within a minute!” You barked, and even through her haze Abby noticed how much power you held, astonished at the terrified faces of all the medics inside the tent as they rushed to complete your request.

“You there?” You snapped back to her paling face, uncharacteristic concern etched in your features as you examined Abby with her face cradled in your palms.

“You’re kinda scary, ya know” is all Abby manages to mumble back, but it’s enough to make you crack a brief smile. It suits you, Abby thinks, and as soon as your face drops back to its usual hardened demeanour as you remove her shirt, she can’t help but miss it

“What, miss top-scar-killer is afraid of a little yelling?” You muse, taking the opportunity as she’s distracted to splash alcohol on her gaping knife wound. She gasps at the searing sensation going through her lower stomach, cringing in pain

“Don’t be such a baby, Anderson, you’re fine” you said, working quickly to stitch up her wound

“What’d y-you, fuck, what’d you call me?” Abby managed to stutter out through gritted teeth, “I’m not a f-fu…not a fucking b-baby”

“Whatever you say” you taunt, knotting the nylon thread and cutting it off cleanly, “go home, you’re done”

“I’m not gonna die?” Abby asks, incredulously. She knew you were good but for a moment she was almost certain she saw the light at the end of the tunnel

“Not today, baby” you call from over your shoulder, already being rushed away to attend to the other wounded soldiers.

That was three days ago. Abby hasn’t seen you since, and it was really taking a toll on her, to say the least. You had crawled into every nook and cranny of her brain, you plagued her every thought, in her wake and through her restless sleep. She doesn’t know how she failed to notice you before. Sure, she’d seen you around, watched you get dragged in through the gates on your first day, brushed past you in the med tent before, sat just a couple tables away in the cafeteria. But still, she had never really seen you. Not until three days ago. And now, you were all Abby could see.

Manny’s incoherent blabber muddles into background noise as Abby watches you, her weights lying forgotten by her feet. You didn’t usually go to the gym after dinner, you liked to go early in the morning, before anyone else got there. You liked the solitude, so you were less than pleased when you were informed that the gym was booked the next morning for a training session, disturbing your workout schedule. On the bright side, the buff brunette’s fixated gaze on you as you finished your last set of pull-ups was doing wondrous things for your ego.

“Dude are you even listening to me?” Manny’s voice rouses Abby out of her daydreaming, shaking her head as if she could dispel the thought of you from her mind

“Yeah, ‘course I am” Abby ensures dismissively, but her gym partner isn’t convinced, following her eye line until it locks on your perspiring form in the near distance

Abby groans as she seems something click in Manny’s brain, a devilish grin unravelling onto his smug face

“Don’t-“ but he cuts off her protests swiftly

“You got yourself a little crush, Abs?” Manny taunts

“Shut up, I do not” Abby denies, not very convincingly, hands fidgeting with the dumbbells in her clutch as she allows her eyes to trail back to your distant figure, “Why does a medic need to be in such good shape?”

“In this world, it cant hurt to have strength on your side” Manny shrugs, not about to let Abby divert the topic, “you sure know how to pick ‘em”

“What does that even mean?” Abby asks, brows furrowed

“You know why she doesn’t patrol anymore?” Manny prompts

“I didn’t know she ever did” Abby remarked with wide eyes

“Over in Cali, where we picked her up from, she had massacred at least half a dozen bandits by herself ” Manny recounted vividly, “the girl’s kill count is crazy, Isaac couldn’t wait to recruit her”

“So why is she working as a medic?” Abby wonders aloud, and Manny shrugs

“No one knows” he concludes vaguely, just in time, as you conclude your workout and head towards the lockers. Manny calls out cheerfully as you pass by the pair, “Looking good there, doc”

The sound of his voice makes you halt momentarily, turning your head around with a small smile, “I told you to drop it with the nickname, Manny”

“Nah, it’s gonna catch on, trust me” Manny waves off as you roll your eyes, “right, Abby?”

At the sound of her name, Abby’s face floods with heat as your gaze locks onto her, growing hotter as she barely manages to stumble out an answer, “uh, yeah, definitely”

“Don’t encourage him” is all you say, still chuckling as you turn and continue your walk out.

The interaction is still on Abby’s mind days later, as fresh as when it first happened. She hasn’t seen you recently, you were always working. As steam swarms around her in the communal shower, Abby is reminded of how the mere sight of your muscles, glistening with sweat as contracted and strained, was enough to color her cheeks red. She’s so caught up in her rumination that she almost doesn’t notice when the door opens and you enter with your shower caddy and towel. Almost. Because besides your usual striking features, one thing about you is exceedingly jarring today, and it’s the blood you’re smothered in, seemingly from head to toe. it smeared onto your face and crusted your hairline, your clothes were dripping red as you peeled them off, first your long sleeve and then your jeans and-oh shit, Abby thinks, you’re almost naked.

“oh my god, are you okay?” Abby questions worriedly, momentarily pausing her shower routine

“Yeah, it’s uh…it’s not mine” you answer casually, wringing the blood out of your clothes before holding them under the shower head to wash them

“Do you need any help? I can-” Abby begins, striding towards you until you recoil from her outstretched hands

“I’m fine, Anderson, take your shower” You remark curtly, and if Abby read into it she might find a little rudeness to it

“Are you sure ‘cuz that looks like-” but Abby didn’t read into it, so she continues on with your warning unnoticed

“I said Im fucking fine” you snarl, eyes glaring and fists tight

“Right. Yeah, I-um, I’m sorry” Abby manages to stammer, walking feebly back to her shower slot and finishing up, handle creaking as she shut the water off. But she’s so shaken up that as she grabs the gauze and begins to wrap her healing wound, her fingers fumble relentlessly, like they had forgotten how to function. After her third failed attempt and another string of hushed curses, her breath catches as she feels you approach her, wordlessly snatching the gauze from her and kneeling down in front of her to be facing her abdomen. You don’t speak. You don’t even look at her as you expertly clean the area off.

“How’s it feeling?” you remark coldly, still refusing to look up at her from where you where kneeled, concentrating on disinfecting the stitches

“I’m really sorry for pushing, I know you said it was fine, and I shouldn’t have-” Abby begins to ramble, partly because she does feel bad and partly because she’s desperate for any distraction that meant she wouldn’t have to think about how close you were to her naked body, shivering and still dripping. Anything to keep her from sighing at the sensation of your delicate fingers as they mended her gash.

“I asked you a question, Anderson” you cut her off, grabbing the gauze and rolling out a small strip, “answer it”

“It feels fine” Abby obliges timidly, wincing as you tugged it a hair too tight

“You’ve been disinfecting it?” you inquire, focused on your work

“Twice a day, like you told me” Abby nods

“Good girl, Anderson” you hum approvingly, leaning in to sever the gauze with your teeth, looking up at her briefly from where you knelt before finishing off the wrapping

To make matters worse for Abby, you then stand up, and you’re facing so closing she could see the steam rolling off your skin. It’s when you start to lean in slowly that Abby begins to panic, feeling her heart pound against her chest as she switched her gaze back and forth from your eyes to your lips. Just as the gap between your mouths is about to close, however, you retract, grabbing the towel sitting behind Abby and handing it to her with a subtle smirk

“Keep it dry, okay?” you instruct, taking joy in seeing Abby trying desperately to regain her composure, “Don’t wanna get it infected, ruins all my hard work”

and Abby knows then, from the twist in her gut to the heat growing lower, just how fucked she is.

#abby anderson #abby tlou #tlou2 #tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader

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astrophelstella · 2 years

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The Black Bear of Stormbearer Mountains

Genshin Monstadt Characters X Strong! Knight!Reader

SFW. Has nothing to do with smut. The reader is just intimidating and takes the lead in most things. Kind of like a Ned Stark character. I wanted to do something with a more dominant reader since most of the reader content posts have the reader be submissive or passive to whatever the character does. Idk what im doing. First time writing. There are some descriptions I made for reader being tall and buff, the armor they wear and hair length but otherwise I leave it blank. Also don’t @ me I know I’m a simp for Diluc.

First time writing for these characters. I did my best to make then not OOC but sorry if it seems that way.

The reader is a captain in the knight of Favonius similar status to Eula and Kaeya. They have their own squad that’s located in, you guessed it, Stormbearer Mountains. You're in charge with maintaining the watchtowers and keeping a look out for harsh storms. You're squad is a recent creation, an idea by Grandmaster Varka before the expedition, he knew you were from Stormbearer Mountains and knew the place better than anyone. He left you with the job to keep the monsters away from the watchtowers and remain vigilant for storms. Though in secret, he warned you to keep eye for any strange things that catch your eye out in sea. You always wondered what he meant but you've never seen him so serious and grim so you agreed. There must be a threat he was expecting. Taking up your broadsword you rounded up your troops and headed the thundering mountains. They were all picked out based on how well they could survive and tolerate the harsh weather there. Under your leadership they were a tight-knit yet formidable bunch. Not the typical attitudes for free-spirited Monstadters but living in a place like the mountains its necessary.

With your presence and hardwork, Stormbearer Mountains was now safer than before. Sure, it was still storming all the time but there were little to no chances to come by a hillichurl or a raid by bandits. None of that usual incompetence by the knights were found in your company. You were already spoken of pretty highly while just a knight back in Monstadt, your talents and strengths surpassing most. You even got a vision during your knighthood ceremony, quite the spectacle. After patrolling around Stormbearer Mountains, people saw it safe enough to start building settlements there. Like Springvale, there’s a budding town amongst those tall mountains people once thought formidable. But its residents always felt safe when the Captain of the Stormwatch Company patrolled the area. You're achievements and prowess in battle got you the title "The Black Bear of Stormbearer Mointains".

You got this specific nickname because during one of your patrols, you had stumbled across a bear cub a couple of feet from a slain black bear, presumably their mother. They were injured, so out of the kindness of your heart you helped nurse them back to health. You tried to set it back out into the wild but they would always come back to you. Eventually, you let them stick around during patrols. The bear cub grew in size over the years until they were bigger than most bears of their species. Allowing you to ride on their back even. (You don't know why they developed so large, maybe they were being exposed to elemental energy?) Anyways, it was a common sight to see a large bear following you around. It was scary at first but people got used to them and since they were so docile when not in battle even the children were happy to play with them. People would compare you being so alike with that bear. You were known to be exceedingly tall and broad shouldered. It matched well with your stone faced look and rather intimidating presence, people whispered about how soul piercing your stare was. Your long wild hair was as dark as the bear's fur and you were as dangerous as one. Seemingly peaceful and unbothered until danger was near you become a force as scary as a charging grizzly bear. Hence, the title.

When you return to the city, it's always causes a ruckus. People want a glimpse of the famed Black Bear knight. You were quite the sight entering the city gates riding a bear. People gave you a wide birth. You had stopped using a steed long ago due to your heavy full body armor, when paired with your size, weighed down on a regular horse. You bear companion could carry you easily and still run as fast. You didn't mind the whispers and stares, some pointing out the new scar on your face. Continuing until you arrived to the knights of Favonous headquarters for the usual meeting.

On the way there you meet...

Kaeya

“Well if it isn’t the fabled Black Bear of Stormbearer Mountains. Ever the intimidating sight I see.”

Always one to tease and get under people’s skin, the Calvary Captain saunters up to you with zero fear unlike others. Intent with getting you to crack your stoic face.

But your self-confidence was solid as stone. There was nothing he said that could get you to fluster. Only perhaps be slightly exasperated at his tricks.

You weren’t broody unlike a certain bartender but actually polite and welcoming to be around, if one gets past the intimidation, you made for good conversation. If only he could get one over you.

He would always take the chance to admire your form. There you were, towering over him, majestic in that silver armor and long wild hair. In some ways you seem feral as Razor but it was kept back by experience and discipline.

Once you had picked him up by the waist. (”Do I even weight anything to you?” “No. Its like holding a couple of grapes.”) Just to move him when he wasn’t budging. He was SO taken aback, he doesn’t remember what he managed to stutter out but it probably wasn’t smooth.

In the end, you’re the one who kept making him lose his cool. One trait about you was your bluntness. It didn’t help in certain diplomatic situations. But it made you do things like stating out loud how lovely you thought his eyes were, as bright as the stars you rarely see in your storm-filled home.

He ended up having to retreat, face feeling warm and remembering your words for the rest of the week. The tavern goers would wonder why he was staring into his drink so much instead of drinking like usual.

Shy Kaeya guys it just hits diff

Your competence and leadership would be your best trait in his case. Having dealt with other people’s messes so much, he appreciates the tight ship you run. Leaving almost no room for error. No wonder people in Stormbearer Mountains felt safe.

He would somehow, unsurprisingly, find a way to be in Stormbearer to see you in action. The rumors weren’t exaggerated. Seeing you fight was a sight to behold. Standing menacingly with your form casted in the shadow of the bear right behind you standing on its hind feet looking a lot less like the lazy bear it was around people.

While he was quick to be interested in knowing more about how you tick, finding ways to run into you, it led to you being interested too. Running your eyes over his lithe form.

“Oh, why are you staring at me so much? Did my good looks charm you?” He prodded, smirking at you. Your face held a genuine thoughtful expression as you gazed at him before speaking. “Yes, you’re quite lovely. I like your company.”

He nearly choked.

Diluc

“Ah, hello Captain Y/N. How is Stormbearer these days?”

One of the few knights he likes. You were actually competent and the people directly under you were as well. Anyone who visited Stormbearer Mountains could see how well-protected it was.

You didn’t waste time or sweep things away. Instead, being direct and steadfast in your duty.

During his Darknight duties, he noticed a significant drop in crime when you came to the city. Your reputation scaring away most of the troublemakers until you left.

Fed your bear grapes or other fruit, they like him now. Would approach him whenever they saw him, sniffing around for more snacks. Forcing you to leave whatever you were doing to scold them for bothering Master Diluc. He wasn’t bothered, having an animal companion himself, being rather fond of the sneaky bear.

The bear is an unknowing (or knowing?) wingman bc your personalities wouldn’t have allowed you to approach each other and talk. While he wasn’t much for chit-chat he took the time to express his thanks for the large boom in produce being charted out of Stormbearer that the Winery uses and the ease carriages now have in transferring them bc of your protection.

You had known of Master Diluc during his years as a knight. While you kept to yourself, your eyes would always follow the sight of scarlet red hair. The color was beautiful. Like the owner himself.

You were rarely seen at the tavern but the other knights would keep inviting you to have a drink once you arrive in the city for a meeting with the Acting Grandmaster. He got the chance to observe you.

You didn’t drink too much, letting others do most of the talking but when you did speak people would always listen. It was a rare sight to see you without your full armor, instead wearing a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to your elbows and a pair of black trousers.

He saw all the scars accumulated on your skin. On your exposed arms, collar, neck and face. It never got boring when observing you. When you caught him staring he looked away, pretending to just clean one of the glass cups. He wasn’t aware you allowed yourself a drink at the tavern after hearing he was the bartender.

You would always stay until closing time, making sure the rest of the knights didn’t get too rowdy and got them out the door without fuss. In gratitude, he would give you a free drink as you sit by the counter. You were much better company, never getting on his nerve or trying to get out of paying your tab.

You rather sit and drink in piece, the atmosphere around you pleasant. It actually got him willing to talk. Your conversations would be rather thoughtful and deep as the night goes. He ended up forgetting for a bit to close the tavern.

He would walk you home afterwards. He knew you were able to take care of yourself but he was still a gentleman (and he wanted more time around you). Talk was sparse but he was too busy admiring the moonlight that bounced off your form.

You were in the same case but bolder. Glancing at the strands of soft hair, pale skin, and sweet doe eyes. You were probably one of the only people who thought he was adorable rather than grumpy or scary.

Something bubbled in your chest at the sight. “Sorry I must be keeping you out being here.” He said, having forgotten the time during your conversation. “No, thank you for keeping me company.” In a bold move, you take his hand and kiss it. Perfect. Like a knight. “And you are always welcome in my presence.”

Bruh went home red as his hair. You found you would like this to happen more.

Jean

First off, thank you for being so competent she doesn’t have to overwork herself again.

You two didn’t interact much since Jean was busy in Mondstadt and you had your duties in Stormbearer. But you always made your usual reporting back in Favonius Headquarters.

Every time you worry for Jean but not voicing it out loud or plainly since you weren’t close. But you manage to praise her at how easier getting support was for the storm watch thanks to her.

While you did admire her for being so hardworking, you kind of found some of it unnecessary. Helping find a missing cat? Marjorie should know better than to bother the head of the knights for this and Jean wasn’t helping.

You were sure she wasn’t a push over. You saw how she dealt with the Fatui. But perhaps she saw helping everyone as her job when it shouldn’t. You were a leader and believed in helping people, yes but some jobs should be delegated to others to make time for important things. Like taking a breather.

The way you saw it, Jean was being too hard on herself. There was an inherent problem with the knights in Mondstadt but working hard isn’t the same as addressing the core issue here. It was why your team of knights were doing so well. You didn’t compensate for them, you made sure they were excelling on their own. (can you tell I have some feelings on the knights and Jean?)

When she ends up fainting from exhaustion you drew the line. Without hesitating, you picked her up and carried her to the Church to be taken care of by Barbara. Making sure the other knights wouldn’t cause a ruckus.

You stayed until she woke up. Waving off her apologies you handed her a glass of water and some peeled fruit, saying she needed it. She was flustered, remembering bits of being carried in your arms as she went in and out of consciousness.

It was there you had a soft but serious conversation about her work ethic and the whole system being unsustainable. You weren’t as close to her but that helped further the message as you looked at everything objectively and put things bluntly, some would say rather harsh. She couldn’t refute a lot of the points you made.

She wouldn’t immediately start acting differently but she would look into bettering the knights and finding time off. A lot of her friends were thankful you got through to her.

Since you were sure your company could manage itself fine without you for a while, you would take some time to visit the city and see how she was doing. Noting the changes made. She would invite you to spend her break with her at Vanessa’s tree, becoming friends at that point.

Lisa embarrassed her once saying Jean had really missed you when you left. Jean was quick to head her off. You thought the blush she sported was lovely. Probably sneaked a glance as she walked away good lord Barbatos those pants, RESPECTFULLY ofc

She once stated how you would make for a great Acting Grandmaster, seeing your accomplishments and company’s capability. You rejected the thought, saying you weren’t nearly as approachable as she was. People wanted someone they felt they could talk to and raise morale, you were an intimidating figure.

She reassured you that your presence was comforting. “I doubt there’s anybody who doesn’t feel safe around the Black Bear Knight.” You smiled back, admiring her surrounded by crystal flies. “The day surely feels brighter when you’re around Jean.”

Albedo

You were hard to miss. Towering over most people in your gleaming armor and strong presence. The bear that followed you didn't help.

He's sketched everyone at some point. He's always missed the chance with you since duties kept you away. But he did find the opportunity. Sketching you, he found, was fun. From your impressive form and the rare smiles. There was one of you riding your bear, cape billowing behind in the wind, face stern. One where you were just standing straight, sword out in the courtyard. Another where it was just you relaxed, without your armor, a rare sight he found.

Watching you became a fond past time. He gave you one of his drawings like he always did but kept the others. Like everyone else you weren't expecting it but thanked him nonethless. He would soon fill pages of you in his sketchbook.

Another point of interest was your companion. The bear was obviously special somehow and he asked to run some tests to figure out why. You were wary for your longtime friend but accepted when he reassured you the bear wouldn't be harmed. As long as he informed you of how the bear was doing healthwise. (not like you knew any zoologists around) Now came the shenanigans of lazy bear and head alchemist.

Klee inevitably found out. Her excitement seeing your bear was adorable. She immediately wanted to pet it. Albedo reminded her to ask you first. She was so sweet about it, you told her you friend was a lazy bear and have her an apple so he would be interested. True to your word, they got off thier bum and took the offered apple, letting the girl run her hands in their fur. She exclaimed how soft it felt.

At the end of the day the two were best friends. Granted you knew it was because she would give him snacks. Your bear was having a great time, doing mundande things and recieving food for it. It was a nice day off at least. You could even listen to what Albedo theorised.

There was a day where Klee and the bear went off on their own. You knew the bear was smart enough to subtly keep Klee out of trouble. At least Jean didn't have to worry about a forest fire starting again with bear there ("Only you can stop forest fires Klee" "Mr. Bear?!) They went fish blasting. While bear didnt like the loud noises, he got a lot of fish from it.

With those two off on their adventures, you hung around Albedo. His rambles were cute. When you were explaining how you found a bear cub the conversation led to a retrospective about you. How people saw you as the Black Bear Knight, the association and your compassions to save the cub. He theorised poetically that the bear might have formed a bond with you that linked the two of you somehow. Explaining how abnormally large he was.

You were pleased at the genuine compliment. It was not something people usually said about you. Instead focusing on your strength and titles.

As you stayed at his lab you came across papers. They were sketches of landscapes and peoples. It was so detailed you had to sift through them. He gave you permission once you asked, still focusing on a chalkboard with some notes. You saw some familiar faces like Huffman and places like Windrise. Then you came across ones of yourself. The more you went through the pile, the more you saw there was a lot of drawings on you. With increasing detail.

You remarked that his drawings of you were lovely. You were honored a great artist like him thought you were a worthy subject to draw. Looking up you noticed a surprised look. You wondered if be even realized he was giving permission to look through his drawings while he was so distracted. He admitted he would forget about time while sketching you.

Short boi tried to get something from the top shelf. Seeing him unable to reach it you stepped in and got it for him. The two of you were closer than ever as you handed it over. Your front an inch from his back. He realized you had to bend a little forward to give it. The size difference was very obvious, and he felt something he couldn't explain.

Curious about all things human, he wanted to see what this feeling was. "Looks like those two are back. They let Klee ride their back too. How cute. She'll be riding to battle on him soon enough." you said. "Y/N don't say something so foreboding."

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I would have added Lisa but I was getting tired. Also she would have made this waaay spicier! Black Bear Knight would have their discipline tested by a librarian. It would be out of my control, that woman is something else. Idk how this'll continue or if it does.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact reader insert #genshin reader insert #genshin characters x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #jean x reader #albedo x reader #genshin x top!reader #Procrastination brings the creativity out of me #Need more capable reader insert

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