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wileys-russo · 6 months

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Can you do a blurb about tooney where reader is shorter than her.

sorry seems to be the hardest word II e.toone

"oh for fuck sakes." you grumbled to yourself, hunting around for your training jacket but unable to find it. "ella!" you yelled at the top of your lungs, unsure where your girlfriend actually was in your shared home, head still buried in your wardrobe as footsteps raced upstairs.

"ya called baby?" the girl appeared as her thick accent sounded behind you. "where is my jacket?" you asked her seriously, raising an eyebrow to show you weren't messing about. the smug smile on her face was all the confirmation you needed that she was up to her usual tricks.

"don't know love. have ya properly looked for it?" she asked innocently and your eyes narrowed. "we needed to leave five minutes ago and i am not in the mood. where the fuck is my jacket el?" you warned, your girlfriend gesturing for you to step aside with a shoo of her hands.

reaching up she grabbed it from the very top shelf making you sigh, deeply unamused. the taller girls most favourite way to wind you up was to pick on you for your height, specifically to hide things where she knew you'd need her help to get them down.

"now what would ya do without me hmm?" the mancunian grinned, holding your jacket out of your reach as you grabbed for it. "ah ah ah. now say thank you baby, i love ya." ella teased, stretching her arm up higher as you huffed.

"thank you baby, now give me my fucking jacket or i swear to god i'll kill you in your sleep." you smiled dangerously through gritted teeth, ella dropping the jacket on your head in response.

"short and fiesty. that's how i like my women!" the girl smacked your bum with a whistle as you were distracted with your jacket, the murderous look sent her way having her sprinting out of your bedroom.

"come on love! god you're always makin us so late."

at the training grounds, it would seem that this morning was only the beginning as ella continued to go out of her way to mess with you.

"you are joking me." you grumbled under your breath, returning from the bathroom to see your boots had magically gone missing from where they were previously sat under your cubby.

"maz did you see where ella put my boots?" you sighed to the older woman who sent you a sympathetic smile. "i only just arrived, stuck in bloody traffic, sorry babe." mary apologised as you nodded in understanding, spotting ella speaking with maya on the other side of the room.

"toone!" you growled in warning, maya seeing the clearly pissed off look on your face and hurrying away as you stormed over toward them. your girlfriend however seemed only amused at your reaction, spreading out with her hands behind her head and a smile on her face.

"ya called?" she sung out staring up at you. "where are my boots ella?" you asked, staring at her with a pained expression. "now why would i know that love? are ya losing your things again?" the midfielder pouted sarcastically making your blood boil further.

"go and get them, now." you demanded, pointing to your cubby as she remained unmoved and you heard the training staff blow the whistle to signal you were all expected on the pitch.

"ella!" you repeated with a slight whine when she didn't move. "tooney! get your girls boots, everyone knows you obviously hid them mate." mary stuck up for you, clapping your back with her gloved hand and pointing menacingly at your girlfriend before she filed out after everyone else.

"i think ya should cheer up baby." ella teased, placing a sloppy kiss on your cheek and sprinting out of the change rooms as you yelled after her. "the fucking cheek of her." you looked over to your cubby and from a distance were finally able to see your boots placed on top of your locker.

with a defeated groan you stood up on the bench of your cubby, but even stretching on the tips of your toes you were still unable to reach your boots.

glancing around desperately you jumped down and grabbed a spare corner flag pole from the training room, sprinting back and successfully knocking your boots down with it.

putting them on in record time you hurried out to the pitch, the rest of the girls already split up and having commenced the mornings first drills.

"y/l/n seven minutes late means seven laps. go!" marc called out as your body crumpled but you nodded, most of your friends sending you sympathetic looks.

you knew ella would be one of them but your body burning with anger at her you refused to look her direction, starting your laps and cursing the mancunian responsible to the high heavens under your breath.

if ella hadn't already figured out after your laps that you were pissed off with her, the fact you'd refused to look or speak to her at all since had really solidified that she had taken things too far.

all day she had been calling out encouragement your way, trying over and over to get back in your good books to no avail and much to the amusement of your teammates.

"dog house for you tonight then tooney." millie teased as you all finished for the day, headed back toward the change room as you walked ahead with mary and hayley.

"yeah mate give us a call once you're locked out, you can crash on my couch." maya smacked her on the back of the head as ella shoved her away with a dirty look, only furthering both girls amusement as the teasings continued.

"you can walk home." you spoke bluntly to your girlfriend, kit bag already slung over your shoulder not bothering to shower as you swiftly exited the change room, the whistles and jeerings sent ella's way causing her face to burn bright red.

"nope! you give her some space, i'll drive you home in a bit." mary grabbed the back of the younger girls top as she grabbed her things to hurry after you, pushing her back to sit down with a firm look as ella tried to protest but fell silent, instead sulking in the corner like a scorned child.

"go on then, grovelling time." mary pulled up out the front of your shared home, nodding for ella to get out as she took a deep breath, thanking the older girl and slipping out of the car.

she fumbled around with her keys, trying to open the door but frowning as it stayed closed.

"oh fucking come on." she kicked at the wood with a frustrated huff realising you'd locked the deadbolt, which only your keys had a copy of. "baby come on! let us in." ella whined, knocking loudly on the door and hearing footsteps come her way.

"oh sorry i'm too short to reach it." you spat bitterly, crossing your arms and glaring at the closed door as ella sighed, head thumping softly at the wood.

"love i know i took it way too far. please let me in to make it up to ya!" ella begged, flowers in hand ready to give to you that she'd made mary stop and allow her to buy.

"oh sorry can't hear you? your head is just so much further away from me since you're so much taller. hope the welcome mat makes a comfy pillow!" you mocked, and ella groaned louder as your footsteps retreated away from the door.

slumping down against the door with a huff ella wracked her brain on how she could try to get back in your good graces. she came up with one idea, but it was shit.

however unable to come up with anything else, she had no choice but to go for it.

so dropping her bag by her feet she cleared her throat and began to count herself in, you listening from a few feet away with a frown. unsure if she was trying to rile herself up to kick the door down, something you'd not put past her.

but much to your shock, she instead began to sing.

"what've I gotta do to make you love me? what've I gotta do to make you care? what do I do when lightning strikes me?" ella began to belt out the lyrics to sorry seems to be the hardest word to say by none other than elton john.

"oh my god." you mumbled to yourself, unable to stop the smile which grew on your face as ella continued, confidence growing as she sang louder and louder with each verse.

"it's sad, so sad why can't we talk it over? when, it seems to me that sorry seems to be the hardest word!" you heard her pause, as if waiting for the door to unlock or you to say something before she continued.

"what do I do to make you want me? what I got to do to be heard? what do I say when it's all over? sorry seems to be the hardest word!"

"baby are ya really gonna make me sing the whole song? the neighbors are out watchin me!" ella paused to yell with a groan.

"yes! keep going." you called back as you heard her sigh and continue, again getting louder and somehow more and more off tone with each line.

"what have I got to do? what have I got to do? when sorry seems to be the hardest word!" ella finished, carrying the final word on for at least thirty seconds before falling silent.

with an amused smile you shook your head and undid the deadbolt, swinging the door open to face her.

"thank you! she'll be here all week." you called out to your neighbours over her shoulder, waving at them on their front lawn with a grin as their laughter grew and ellas face flushed bright red.

grabbing your hand she gently pushed you back inside, kicking her bag in and firmly closing the door with a relieved sigh.

"did we learn our lesson then?" you enquired, crossing your arms over your chest and raising an eyebrow. "yes. no more hidin things!" ella sighed with a shake of her head.

"i am very very very very very sorry baby. forgive us?" ella asked hopefully, holding out the flowers to you which you accepted with a nod. "you are cooking dinner, cleaning up afterwards, giving me a massage and doing all the laundry tomorrow." you warned, ella nodding eagerly before she pounced on you, pulling you into a passionate smooch and mumbling yet another apology against your lips.

leaving her to take her trainers off and unpack her bag you made your way to the kitchen to find something to put the flowers in, popping them in a vase and grabbing out some juice to drink. though as you opened the cupboard to grab out a glass your eyes narrowed and your jaw clenched.

"ella why the fuck are all the cups and mugs on the very top shelf!?"

#ella toone x reader #woso x reader #woso #ella toone #engwnt #woso blurbs #woso imagine #woso fanfics

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theemporium · 8 months

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Could ypu mayhaps write something woth poly! Charlos ?

I don't know maybe something where Charles is just subby after an exhausting day and just wants to be taken care of?

🏎️

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

Some days were harder than others.

Between the pressure from the fans and the pressure from the team to the pressure he puts on himself and the dream he had clung onto since he was a child, some days were just harder than others on Charles Leclerc. Some days just exhausted him, completely drained him, left him wanting nothing more than to crawl into a hole and stay there forever.

After a mechanical issue that left him with a DNF at the last race, Charles had been in and out of meetings with the team during the two week break before the next race weekend. From talks with the engineers to discussions with the team strategies, he hadn’t let his brain stop working since the DNF and it was starting to take a toll on him—that much both you and Carlos could see.

The early starts and the late returns home were starting to grow concerning. You barely saw Charles in the last few days, just a few moments here and there where nothing could be shared more than a couple of kisses and mumbled conversations.

Until today.

He had managed to drag himself from the factory at a semi-decent time and you could see the exhaustion written all over his face. His brain felt like it was in overdrive, his body felt heavy and he just wanted to switch off for a while, to have a break.

So, that’s what you and Carlos did.

“Such a good boy, mi amor,” Carlos praised in a soft, low voice as his hand wrapped around Charles’ cock. “Doing such a good job for us.”

“Merde,” Charles cried out, his eyes fluttering shut as he bucked his hips, trying to get more friction, more something, more anything. He just needed you and Carlos and he needed all of you.

“Shhhh, that’s it, baby, let Carlos make you feel good,” you whispered as your lips trailed along his jaw and down his neck. “Let us make you feel good, help you relax.”

“Please,” he whined as he turned his head towards you, his eyes teary and lips pouted and you knew exactly what he wanted.

“Anything you need, baby,” you murmured as you threaded your fingers through his hair, tilting his head back before you leaned down to kiss him.

He let out a pathetic moan when you finally kissed him, not even fighting you as your tongue teased his bottom lip before sliding into his mouth. He was putty in your hands, but there was nobody else he would trust as much as you and Carlos.

“Just relax for us,” you mumbled against his lips between kisses as Carlos’ thumb teased the head of his cock, making him strain and squirm under the Spaniard’s touch.

“Need to be inside of you,” he practically sobbed, his hands squeezing your side and pulling you closer to him. “Please, please, please—”

“No need to cry, amor, we’re gonna help you,” Carlos muttered as he leaned down to press a kiss to the edge of his hip before he pulled away completely.

Charles let out a whine at the loss of touch but was quickly sedated as you climbed onto his lap, with Carlos’ hands on you to guide you down onto his cock. The boy let out a pitiful, low moan that sounded from the back of his throat as he felt your walls clench around him, as Carlos’ hands on his thighs to soothe him as he wiggled underneath you.

“Shit,” you breathed out as you threw your head back, leaning against Carlos’ chest as he settled behind you. “Makin’ me feel so full, Charlie.”

“That’s it, mi amor, doing such a good job for us,” Carlos praised in a low voice, squeezing Charles’ thighs softly. “Just relax for us, we are gonna make you feel good just like we promised.”

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cybrs4pphic · 5 months

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camgirl pt 2!!

camgirl!reader x abby

afab/fem!reader, squirting (:p), full nelson (:0), abby yearns to be inside you, fuckin on the first date, reader has no idea abby knows abt her sex work, kinda awkward first-time sexual tension lol, abby has a fat dick (:D), this is so long???????

18+ mdni (goodbye minors)

it’s the next day and abby is still trying to work up the courage to text you. she doesn’t want to sound boring, but she also doesn’t wanna overdo it. she’s laying in bed, your number typed into the chat, her fingers hovering over the keys.

‘hey, you gave me your number at the coffee shop yesterday and i thought you were really pretty so… i’m abby,’

her thumb was now just hovering over the blue arrow to send the message before hitting it, eventually sending the message. abby immediately shuts her phone off tossing it on the bed trying to find something to distract herself with while she waits.

abby decides to just turn on some show she’s seen a million times. a few hours later you text her back with a ‘hiii abby!! thank u!! sorry, was at work :( i’d love to do somethin w you sometime soon if ur down :p,’

she’s almost, almost, embarrassed at how fast she replies. ‘you’re okay, how was work today? and i’d love to. what did you have in mind?,’

‘well, if u wanted to hangout today, i wouldnt mind just gettin to know you like at mine or somethin, i’ll cook u dinner too whatcha want :3,’

abby’s gonna blow up. ‘i’m not picky, surprise me. and that sounds great, how does 7 sound then?’

‘perfect, i’ll see you soon!’ you send her your address in a separate message with a little heart. abby could actually pass away right now.

2 hours later it’s 7:05 and abby’s standing outside your door, not wearing anything too special— just jeans and a shirt taking a deep breath before knocking. a few second later she hears the door unlocking and opening.

she sees you, looking cute as ever. she then hears the sweetness of your voice inviting her in, abby mustering up a smile through the nerves.

“okay, so, i‘m makin’ chicken alfredo if that works for you?”

“s’perfect,” abby slurs out, practically soaking her underwear watching you cook, mainly your ass in those stupid leggings. is she wearing underwear? floods abby’s thoughts.

“almost done. if you wanna go sit down i’ll get everything ready,” you turn around giving abby a quick smile before returning to your cooking.

abby’s in heaven right now. you sitting across from her, just getting to know each other. finding out you both actually have so much in common makes her feel ecstatic. you guys are having such a good time talking you both nearly forget about the food.

“you’re a great cook,” abby says as you, blushing, take her plate from her placing it in the sink after rinsing it off.

“thank you! tried really hard on this one actually,” you say, giggling. yeah, abby’s obsessed. she needs to be inside you, making you a mess on her cock-

“wanna watch a movie ‘er somethin’?” you interrupt her thoughts.

“what kinda movie?”

“was thinkin’ something scary, if you’re down?”

“works for me,” abby replies, moving to sit next to you on the couch as you scroll through the vast amount of horror movies on whatever streaming app you picked.

“oh! how ‘bout the new texas chainsaw?” you don’t even give abby a chance to reply before you hit play— not like she really cares what you guys watch anyway.

abby has her arm around the back of the couch manspread while you have your knees tucked under you half sitting on your butt half on your heels next to her. within the first five minutes of the movie, she has her arm draped over your side mindlessly drawing patterns into your hips and thighs while you lay on her chest.

you guys get about halfway through the movie before abby breathes out, “hey.”

“yeah?” you reply, picking your head up to meet her eyes.

abby glances at your lips, before asking, “can i kiss you?” to which you just nod a bunch.

abby leans in meeting you halfway to finally kiss you. not long after, she’s grabbing your hips pulling you onto her lap so you’re straddling her, deepening the kiss.

you pull away first, gasping for air. abby’s also gasping for air, but she could kiss you til she passes out, honestly.

“tell me if you want to stop at any point, okay?” abby breathes out as she toys with the hem of your shirt. you nod as a reply.

“words,” abby says bluntly.

“yes,” you breathe out, still catching your breath. abby wastes no time pulling you out of your shirt and bra before taking her own off.

“god, fuck, c’mere,” she’s pushing your hips up so that your tits are eye level with her before she immediately latches onto your tit. one hand is groping your ass while her other hand is toying with your other nipple. jesus, her hands are so fucking cold you’re practically shaking under her touch.

your hands run down her chest, stopping to play with her tits before sliding down to the button on her jeans.

“take ‘em off,” you whine out. abby happily obliges, gently grabbing u by the hips before laying you down on the couch. she gets up undoing her pants sliding them off. she’s immediately on top of you, thumbs under the waistband of your leggings breathing out a “can i?”

“please,” your voice barely above a whisper, but abby’s already peeling your leggings off realizing you, in fact, were not wearing underwear.

“s’like you wanted to get fucked tonight,” abby lets out a small laugh.

“by you,” you shoot back as you spread your legs in front of her making abby blush as she leans forward to kiss your inner thighs, seeing your glistening cunt clenching around nothing. she starts sucking like she’s about to leave a hickey, making your legs shake from the sensitivity.

“abby, please,” you breathe out.

“please what?

“fuck me, abby, please need to feel you,” you whine out reaching out to wrap your fingers in her hair.

“don’t have a strap, ba-”

“i do,” you cut her off. “come with me,” you pull her up by her hair giving her a quick kiss before getting up, taking abby’s hand, and practically skipping to your bedroom. once you open the door abby immediately recognizes it. your bed in the center of the room against the back wall, a desk across from the bed, probably where you set up your camera. what’s new to her is all the decorations that she didn’t usually see when you were live.

“cute room,” abby states as you’re digging through your closet for a dildo.

“thanks! what kinda cock you want?” you ask her it so casually abby nearly.

“how many do you have?” abby questions you back.

“a bunch,” you giggle.

“what, are you some kind of pornstar?” abby smirks and you can practically hear the smirk in the way she asks the question. you have the dildo in your hand, but you freeze at her question. you know it’s a joke, a rhetorical question, so you just laugh it off bringing her the dick.

“you seem like a fat cock kinda girl,” you smile handing abby the harness and dildo.

“and you seem like you love taking fat cock,” abby fires back sliding the harness up her legs, securing it. “now where were we?” abby says, sliding her hands up your stomach to your breasts watching them spill out from her fingers. you lean up to catch her lips in another kiss, quickly deepening it by tilting your head to the side and allowing abby’s tongue access to your mouth. she’s grabbing your hips and placing you on your bed before attacking your neck and chest with kisses.

“fuck, these tits are perfect,” abby says as she slides two fingers down your cunt, teasing your entrance. “you can take two fingers, right, baby? gotta get you ready for my cock,” you practically moan at her words and she’s barely touching you. is she even real?

“yes, yes! please just touch me, abby,” abby responds by sliding her middle and ring finger into you searching for that soft spot. she’s fucking her fingers back into you,, eventually finding your g-spot, hitting it with the tips of her fingers making you let out a mix between a gasp and a moan.

“found it,” she smirks to herself. she really can’t believe she’s actually touching you right now; this is like a dream come true for her. countless nights of her watching you touch yourself and her finally being the one to make you shake and moan under her touch. she has to fuck you.

“do you have lube?” she asks to which you nod telling her where it is. abby gets up squirting some lube onto the cock you gave her, taking her hand making sure it’s covered.

“are you ready?” she asks looking up at you, her hand still on her cock, stroking it like it’s attached to her. you give her a few eager nods followed by a ‘yes’. abby walks over to you, pushing you on your back before asking if you’re ready again like she’s scared she’s gonna hurt you

“please fuck me, abby,” you get right to the point and abby nods before pushing the dildo into your weeping cunt with her hips. the way you’re gasping and whining just from her putting it in makes abby want to absolutely ruin you. abby needs to fuck you so well every time you touch yourself on camera all you can think of is her.

abby begins rocking her hips back and forth at a pretty slow pace, nearly pulling out completely before pushing herself right back in, where she belongs, you letting out little whimpers every time she pushes back in.

“faster, please, abby,” you whine out as she’s pulling out.

“gladly,” abby takes your legs, throwing them over her shoulders before leaning forward to properly fuck you. abby’s fucking you faster like you requested but it’s still not deep enough for your liking.

“abby abby deeper, please please,” you plead for her.

“can i try somethin’?” abby questions to and you, obviously, tell her yes. before you know it abby’s completely pulled out of you, whining at the empty feeling, before she’s leaning her upper back on the bed frame, patting her lap for you to straddle her.

“face away from me, baby,” abby says.

“what’re you plannin’?” you giggle out, smiling at her.

“‘ts a surprise,” she smiles back before patting her lap again to which you throw a leg over her lap (abby definitely slapped your ass) before settling right in front of the dildo.

“now what?” abby put her feet up on the bed and threads her arms underneath your thighs beginning to pull them up towards your chest.

“relax f’me,” she says quietly from behind you causing you to relax into her hold, your back to her chest. once you’re fully in abby’s grasp, you take her cock sliding it back into you.

“you good?” abby questions to which you nod and abby’s hands snake around the back of your neck, forcing you to watch you take her cock.

before you can comprehend it, abby’s fucking you like you’ve never been fucked before. you can feel how tight it is, how deep she is, all of it— you practically feel her in your throat and all you can do is take it and watch.

abby’s grunts mixed with your whines and moans is making abby soak through her fucking underwear

“fuckfuckfuck abby, y’re too deep! please please,”

“you can take it— know you can,” abby replies not letting up on her assault on your cunt. you’re a fucking mess of moans and tears and drool and you can barely handle it when abby’s hand snakes to your clit rubbing it in fast tight circles with her two fingers.

you’re practically fucking sobbing with how she’s stimulating your clit and constantly fucking up into your g-spot. your eyes closes shut as you’re so close to coming.

“eyes open, breathe,”

“can’t— i can’t s’too much, ‘m gonna come,” you’re shocked you can even get out even that much.

“‘m not stoppin’ you,” abby says, not letting up in the slightest. you do your best to keep your breaths steady, but the way your orgasm is building up, it feels different.

“abby… abby abby,” you chant her name, whether it’s a warning or a plea, she doesn’t care. all abby cares about right now is the way her hands and thighs are being soaked right now. your mouth is hanging open in a silent scream just watching the way you gush all over abby’s cock.

“did you just fuckin’ squirt,” abby’s giddy right now.

“are you even human?” you breathe out to which abby just lets out a laugh, releasing you from her grasp causing you to practically collapse on top of her.

“so the answer’s yes,” abby smirks, brushing her fingers gently along the back of your neck, where she knows she definitely put too much pressure on while fucking you.

you feel her slide out of you as you roll onto your stomach eyeing her up and down. you freeze as you hear her say

“i know you’re a camgirl,”

“what?”

pt 3 maybe :3 this is the longest thing ive ever written

#the last of us 2 #tlou 2 #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #holy god

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daceydeath · 1 year

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What Happens Backstage....

Pairing: Jeongin x reader Word Count: 2.8k Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Friends to Lovers Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, swearing, unprotected sex (Don't be a fuckwit), fingering, mentions of oral sex,

Jeongin is your best friend, you adore him and nothing can change that but you probably are just a little too close.

You had heard the phrase what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas but you didn't realize how many different ways it could apply until you and your best friend Jeongin got a little closer than you expected. What happens when the others are asleep, what happens when you are alone in the car, what happens when its late at night and no one is around he had a hundred different ways to use it. You had been best friends for as long as you could remember and you had remained so even after he debuted despite the fact that he could hardly ever seen you due to his busy schedule you spoke on the phone every day and face timed as often as you could. That changed a little when you moved to Seoul for work because at least in the same city you could see each other a couple of times a month but it was still sporadic, not that you cared you knew he was always going to be there for you and you there for him. The first time you had hung out in a month you had decided a movie night was the way to unwind after he had been filming for four days and needed some rest. Cuddled up on the couch together surrounded by blankets and snacks he had dropped his head to your shoulder breathing out almost resentfully as a kissing scene played out on the screen in front of you.

"Sometimes I think I would like that" he sighed blinking slowly.

"What's stopping you?" you smiled his hair tickling your cheek and he nuzzled his face against your neck.

"When would I even have time to find someone I could trust like that?" he grumbled "The only women who I trust are you, my mum and out staff".

"What? you don't have any cute make up noona's?" you teased as he huffed before he softly pressed his lips to your pulse point chastely making you gasp.

"Innie" you warned softly your voice not as threatening as you would have liked.

"Hmm?" he hummed kissing your neck again with a little more force his lips lingering against the skin making you shiver before turning back to the screen.

The following time you hung out you hadn't really spoken about the kisses he had placed on your neck because once the moment ended you both returned to normal. You had gone to dinner with him and he was driving you home since he had an early start the following day, his hand somehow ended up on your thigh squeezing and massaging lightly as his fingers crept further up until you were squirming against his touch. When you arrived home he smiled his normal sweet smile as you got out of the car waiting until you had gotten into the building before driving back to the dorms. You had been confused for about three days but you had decided to drop it after everything returned to normal just chalking it up as his being touchy because he had missed you.

This time however was very different, he had invited you to come watch them perform on Music Core since he knew you were a fan of the show not just a stay. You were excited as he slipped the guest pass lanyard over your head and led you to their dressing room where the other members were all either getting their make up done or were getting changed.

"Hey there you are" Chan grinned as you walked in making you smile, they had known you for so long through Jeongin it felt like you were their friends too.

"Hi guys, how are you feeling?" you chirped back as Felix gave you a quick side hug and Lee Know shouted hello to you.

"Good, it's going to be good to finally perform this new track" Chan continued as Innie pushed you through the room with his hands securely on your hips.

"I'm so excited to see it" you beamed "It's so different to just watching you in rehearsal".

"Well we can't disappoint you then princess" Han flirted cheekily making you roll your eyes.

"You know he hates when you do that" Hyunjin whisper shouted dramatically as Seungmin laughed loudly flopping down next to him while you tilted you head confused as to what they were talking about.

"Anyway did you want to get something to eat after I've gotten changed?" Jeongin interrupted your thoughts.

"Sure, that sounds great" you smiled back at him again and he motioned for you to sit near Chan and Felix. You waited for Jeongin talking to Chan about what their promo schedule was going to be since they always worked hard for their comebacks trying hard to ignore the looks and whispers coming from Han, Hyunjin and Seungmin.

"They are trying to annoy Innie" Felix explained as you furrowed your brows.

"I don't get it" you bit your lip still frowning slightly.

"You are Innnie's best friend" Chan chuckled "They know it drives him up the wall if they say you're cute, flit with you or whatever other stupid thing they might do".

"Oh, right that would explain the 'not' whispering from earlier" you nodded rolling your eyes.

"Exactly" Chan smiled "So they will continue just to wind him up, they don't mean anything by it, even though I have mentioned once or twice to leave our youngest alone" his volume increasing and making them stop talking immediately.

"Ready?" Jeongin asked brightly as he walked back from the changing room.

"Absolutely" You grinned as you stood up and followed him from the room.

The hallways were busy since it was halfway through soundcheck so Jeongin took hold of your hand and kept you close to him so you didn't get separated as you wound your way through the hallways to the cafeteria. Picking up a tray he grabbed you both something then sat tucked away in a corner of the room with you so he could talk to you without too much interruption.

"I'm guessing Chan told you about the guys teasing me?" he sighed poking at his food.

"Yeah but they are almost your brothers aren't you meant to tease each other?" you giggled sipping your iced coffee.

"I guess but I don't like it when they flirt with you" he grumbled cutely pouting as he looked at the rice bowl sitting in front of you.

"I don't care, I know they have no interest in me, they don't mean it" you shrugged stealing a piece of meat from his plate.

"But what if they did?" he mumbled almost inaudibly making you narrow your eyes slightly.

"What was that Innie?" you prodded swinging your foot to brush his leg.

"What is one of them was interested in you?" he repeated flushing pink under your surprised gaze.

"It wouldn't matter I haven't ever thought of any of them like that" you muttered feeling embarrassed that you even had to explain it to him. You knew they were all gorgeous but you had known them so long that you also knew relationships with idols was so difficult especially since you barely got time to see him let alone anyone else. The look he gave you just screamed 'but you might' and you had to look away as he took your trays and got rid of your rubbish before taking you back towards the dressing room for them to start their soundcheck. When you got back the kids were once again being the loudest people you had ever met singing way off key to annoy each other while Seungmin warmed up his voice and Lee Know went over his lines again. When they were eventually called to the stage you were happy your were going to get peace and quiet if only for the length of one song.

"See you when we get back princess" Hyunjin smiled sweetly his fingers dragging along your arm as he walked from the room.

"Yeah don't get too lonely without us" Changbin winked making your eyes widen and Jeongin glare as he followed the others out.

Sitting and playing on your phone you waited until they actually would begin then you would monitor them on the large television screen in the corner of the room. You could hear the stylists and make up artists chattering among themselves about how the comeback was going to be well received since the concept was sexier than what they had done before, making you curious since you had seen the choreography before but you knew what they practiced and what they actually performed was always vastly different. The intro started and your eyes flicked to the screen as they began looking gorgeous and sounding amazing you were quickly sucked into the performance and found yourself physically reacting to every body roll and hip thrust than you would have even anticipated. Jeongin had told you that this comeback would be a big deal but you had thought that was because the song was such a banging track not that it was because the choreography was going to make your mouth go dry. You felt your face heat up as you sat yourself back down needing a moment to collect yourself before they all returned.

"Did you like it?" Jeongin asked flopping next to you his portable fan pointed at his painfully exposed and obvious throat collar bones as he had taking his jacket off as soon as he let the stage.

"Yeah you were incredible, I understand why you were so excited about this comeback" you replied poking his cheek as you spoke "Is the entire point to drive poor stay insane?"

"I mean not the entire point Chan cut in scratching the back of his neck shyly.

"Oh so the incredibly sexy choreography was an accident?" you teased him noticing his neck was flushing with blush.

"I told you he would get shy about it" Felix teased laughing loudly.

"Wow you are going to be all sorts of shy come the next Chan's Room" you giggled absentmindedly stroking Jeongin's hair when he had slid down the couch and laid his head in your lap.

"Oh that I didn't think of" he pouted looking down at his phone awkwardly.

"So you thought it was sexy did you?" Lee Know smirked at you making you swallow hard.

"Compared to your last one yeah" you nodded slowly "I mean this is much more in the league of Red Lights and Taste rather than Maniac".

"Well we're very happy you liked it" Hyunjin purred making you look own at the boy laying in your lap who had turned his head to glare at Hyunjin.

"Innie" you warned softly touching his shoulder "don't start a fight with your brothers" he huffed getting up and striding from the room not looking back at you or the members.

"Too far Hyunjin" Chan sighed.

"I didn't mean to actually upset him" Hyunjin defended looking slightly panicked.

"I'll go find him" you mumbled standing up and making your way into the hallway to follow him looking left and right trying to pick which way he would go. You knew the stage was to the right so you figured left would be a better option, more likely to be quieter than closer to the stage. Passing a few others in the hallway you walked past a few empty dressing rooms until you saw him sitting in a darkened one pausing before you entered you heard a soft whimper before you stepped inside to see if he was ok.

"Innie?" you spoke softly in case he wanted you to leave, his eyes shot up to meet yours and seeing you were alone he half smiled at you before his eyes widened and he turned away. You shut the door behind you thinking of he was crying he would want privacy and walked across the room to him.

"I didn't want you to see me like this you should probably go" he mumbled his voice shaking slightly.

"Innie if you are upset I want to help" you soothed wrapping your arms around him from behind you fingers splayed across his stomach making him groan.

"I'm not upset and you shouldn't be here, not now, I'll come back in a little bit" He swallowed hard as you squeezed his middle again.

"Well if you're not upset why are you hiding in an empty dressing room?" you retorted letting go of him and stepping back feeling a little stung by his rejection of you.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable so it would be best if you just go back to the others" he pleaded with you still facing the wall.

"Jeongin you are my best friend, nothing you do could make me uncomfortable, nothing would make me leave you" You whispered dejectedly "But if you want me gone I'll go".

The last part of your sentence was so soft you weren't even sure you said it aloud but you didn't have time to think about it when Jeongin's lips crashed into yours kissing you messily and desperately, his tongue running along your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth nibbling at it as his hands came up to cup your face stealing your breath and making you dizzy.

"I'm sorry" he muttered against your lips when he broke away from you "please, don't hate me".

"Innie..." you softly panted his lips connected to yours again only this time you reciprocated allowing his tongue to slide against yours while he moaned into your mouth. Backing you up against the empty makeup counter top his hands moved across your body cupping and fondling your breasts, squeezing your hips and finally creeping under your skirt to slip inside your underwear.

"I want you so bad, I don't want you falling for one of the others I want you for myself" He groaned stroking your slit teasingly before slipping between your folds to circle your clit.

"Jeongin" you gasped not even able to tell which way was up with how breathless he had gotten you in such a small space of time, you hips bucking against him slightly while he kissed his way down your neck pushing your top aside with his mouth to suck small marks onto your collarbone.

"I wish we had more time before we had to go on stage" he grunted pulling his fingers from you and tasting them before opening your mouth with his thumb and pushing them into your mouth for you to suck clean "Fuck, later I'm going to fuck that perfect mouth of yours".

Your head was spinning as you wrapped your tongue around his fingers pretending it was his cock letting them go from your mouth with a lewd pop as he stared at you with lust filled hooded eyes. pushing himself between your thighs he slid his hands under your thighs helping you onto the counter and pushed your underwear aside again.

"I promise I'll make this better next time" we breathed against your lips sinking his length into your core hissing as he bottomed out.

"Fuck Innie" you groaned feeling yourself stretching around him as he slowly pulled his hips back and thrust into you again. Leaning back onto you hands you let him set the pace as he stared at where you were connected, watching his cock sinking into you only to pull back and be covered in your juices, speeding up every time you sighed or gasped.

"Shit" he grunted his jaw clenched "You gonna let me cum inside you baby?" he asked finally looking up at you as you nodded mutely the pleasure he was giving you too much for you to speak through. You could feel his thrusts getting sloppier before he swelled inside you painting your walls with his release.

"Fuck" he panted harshly moving to cup your face his soft gesture completely jarring from the way he had just fucked you.

"We need to get back" you whimpered as he slowly pulled out of you not to mess up either of your outfits before tucking himself back into his pants.

"I know" he smiled kissing your lips softly and helping you from the counter "I'll just tell them your my girlfriend now and they need to stop trying to wind me up" you giggled letting him lead you back to the dressing room where the other members were waiting for you both to return.

"Innie, were so sorry" Hyunjin started looking genuinely remorseful as Jeongin sat on the sofa the pair of you had previously been sitting on "we didn't mean to upset you it was just stupid jokes"

"Yeah man we didn't mean any harm it was just to wind you up and maybe get you to figure stuff out and hold up your holding hands" Han babbled.

"Yeah, you jerks should probably apologize to my girlfriend too" Jeongin grinned pulling you into his lap and kissing your cheek.

"Girlfriend hey?" Lee Know smirked.

"Yeah what of it?" Jeongin challenged his arms wrapped around you.

"About fucking time" Felix chimed in.

"You little shits owe me money I knew it was going to be this month" Chan crowed as you hid your face in Jeongin's neck.

a/n: As always thank you for reading I adore you all more than you know. All comments, reblogs and likes are like little pieces of stardust lighting up my life xx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz, @armystay89, @damnyouficc, @roamingpolar, @tara-skyhold, @bakedlilgoonie, @krishastumblernow, @mrsseals16, @fawnpeaks,

#yang jeongin x reader #jeongin x reader #yang jeongin smut #jeongin smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz imagines #18+ content #18+ minors dni

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slasherbvnnie · 1 year

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Until We Found You | Part VIII

Hello again, part viii is finally out. One last chapter left of this series. I hope it’s been enjoyable so far. This one is a bit short, but don’t worry. The next part will be longer. Tomorrow will officially be the last update. I hope you all return for the next series I write. You know the drill, heed the tags below.

Modern Day College Scream AU, Obsessed AFAB!Reader, Poly!Ghostface x reader, NSFW, All characters 18+

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part IX

Word Count: 954

You stumbled on your feet a little as you walked downstairs, in a daze as Stu set you onto the counter. He gave you a kiss on the cheek before heading outside to help Billy with Colton, you grimaced as you saw him and looked away. “Awe come on sweetheart, I saw the photos you had of Casey and Steve in your room,” Billy said with a chuckle, “It’s different in real life, huh? After they die though, it’s kinda the same as seeing it online or in photos. They don’t look real anymore,” he said as you shook your head, “my side hurts,” you said as you looked to them.

Stu was quick to look over your wounds, glaring at Billy and punching his shoulder. “You hit deep, fuckrag,” he said as you whimpered. “Come on sweetie, you’re strong, you can last a little longer, right?” Stu said as he cupped your cheek, your eyes began to well with tears again as you nodded. “Yeah, I can,” you said with a sniffle. Billy was by your side now, kissing you and apologizing over and over as he patched you up. “Come on, little bunny, we gotta get ready now, Tate’s gonna be here soon,” he said as he kissed your cheek and helped you off the counter.

You were sat on the floor of Stu’s kitchen, feeling a jab at your shoulder and blinking in surprise when you saw Dewey hovering above you. “Hey kid,” he said, tears in his eyes as he looked at you. “Dewey,” you said softly, sniffling and letting out a little yelp as he picked you up. “You’re pretty good with a sewing kit by the looks of it,” he said as he looked to the first aid kit next to you. “Oh, yeah, my mom taught me…” you mumbled out, squinting when you saw the daylight. You didn’t remember what time last night you had fallen asleep. You remember Tatum coming back to the house, after the boys dealt with her you remember being in the back of Stu’s car. Stu stayed with you until Billy gave him his queue, after that, things got a little blurry. You remember them hyping each other up about something and their groans, you remember the blood on the kitchen floor of…Stu’s house. After that you remember one of the boys trying to stitch up the wound they gave you, to make it more believable they said. You couldn’t remember which one of them it was, at that point you had began to get a little dizzy.

“Stu…Billy… Where? Are they okay?” You asked as Dewey looked to you. “We’re still taking a look around the house. We’ll let you know if we find them, okay?” He said as he brought you to the ambulance, setting you down for the EMS to check on you. As the minutes passed you saw gurneys with black bags being hauled out, Dewey walking to his patrol car and crying, but eventually you saw Stu on a gurney. Your heart fluttered knowing he was okay, you looked to the paramedic and asked if you could go check on him, thanking them and slowly walking over, being mindful of your injuries. “Stu,” you called out, the older boy looking at you and smiling. “Hey,” he said as he reached for your hand. A moment later you saw Billy, feeling relieved knowing both of them were okay.

You rubbed at your eyes as a few tears fell, feeling everything from the last few hours hitting you like a ton of bricks. You could hear voices in the background, looking up when you heard your parents calling your name. You groaned as they ran to hug you, Stu’s hand slipping from your grip. “I’m okay, really, it’s just a scratch,” you tried to play off, receiving even stronger hugs and more kisses from them.

You noticed a few officers making their way towards you and Stu, both gladly giving them the same story of what happened that night.

All about how ghostface tried to attack you on the porch, how the three of you did your best to get out before learning it was mr prescott behind the mask. How he was going berserk because of the anniversary of Maureen. After he thought he wounded the three of you he left in Stu’s car, meanwhile the three of you were left wounded and exhausted.

It wasn’t long until you could hear the shuttering of cameras and announcements in stuck up news reporter voices not too far. The paramedics treated you, but with the prices of ambulances your parents opted to drive you to the hospital themselves. You looked to your side as you walked to your parents car, seeing Gale Weathers and her henchman with the camera. You frowned, shooting your middle finger at them before climbing into the car. You looked out the window, smiling as you saw the boys parents taking them back into their cars and away from the crime scene.

You were happy to know they were okay, to know they were getting their big dream of being directors of their own movie, to know you all could finally be together. Although you hated the way the girls were left, you couldn’t deny the little twinge of jealousy from last night. They had Billy and Stu all to themselves for so long, when the boys revealed themselves to you, you felt jealous to know Tatum and Sidney had been with them. Despite the small amount of sadness you had now that they were dead, you felt a bit of happiness knowing they were gone and you could have the boys to yourself now instead.

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macfrog · 9 months

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checkmate cowboy like me chapter nine

hi sorry it’s late please don’t hate me 🥲 would just like to note- reader's pasta is gluten free, alright? i have had too many gluten-induced traumas to write about it anymore. she is a gluten free queen. thanks parts 1-8 on my masterlist here, n my ao3 here. love u all the most!!!

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel steals you away during a family meal to give you a telling off...in the form of a quickie

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) pining reader, bratty reader, brat tamer joel, spanking, oral (m receiving), face fucking, dom!joel, orgasm denial, theft of underwear, loose mention of someone cheating, alcohol, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, marty robbins

word count: 8.1k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Know you can take it, baby, you’ve done it before. That’s my girl.” You whimper in response, mouth full of his cock. “Keep makin’ those pretty noises, whole hotel’s gonna be wonderin’ what’s goin’ on up here.” He allows you a second to pull off of him, gasping for air when your mouth’s free again. “Want ‘em to hear,” you choke out, lips slipping back down his cock.

The water dances to-and-fro, kissing the lip of the pool and splashing onto the concrete at your feet. It’s windier than normal today, trees whispering overhead, breeze taking your hair and lightly tossing it around.

You’re sat out back on a lounger, waiting for Joel to come pick you up. Joel and Sarah, that is. Picking you and your dad up. Be nice if it were just Joel, wouldn’t it? You and him, alone together again. Out on a date, or even just following him around, side by side in his truck as he goes about his day. His hand on your thigh, pretending to roll his eyes at your music choice.

As if that would ever happen. As if that could ever happen.

He and your dad have organized some dinner to celebrate yours and Sarah’s return home; some hotel resort with a restaurant looking out over the river. Your dad couldn’t remember the name of it. Said it was all Joel doing the booking.

You can still fucking hear him. Your dad. His voice lulls through the open kitchen window, the wind carrying it to your ears almost comically. You wish you could bat it away. He’s had the same Marty Robbins song stuck in his head all morning. You’d finally reached breaking point when he’d graduated from just humming it to full-volume singing, even doing his own impression of the guitar.

And now it seems that sneaking out to the backyard hadn’t rid you of the damn song either, no matter how loud the trees may be rustling.

Joel said he’d be here by now – he’s late. You slink off to the back gate to slip out front and wait for him there. And maybe also to escape your dad’s voice. No offense to the guy.

A couple minutes to six, his truck pulls up by the curb you’re perched on. Sarah climbs over the front seat to the back, and you join her.

She scoffs when you slam the door shut. “You’re eager.”

You shake your head in response, warning her with a roll of your eyes not to ask. She gives you an understanding nod and your eyes turn to Joel.

“You’re late.”

He looks back at you in the rearview mirror. “Not my fault. Traffic. We left twenty minutes ago, didn’t we?”

Sarah’s lip curls. She shrugs a little. You know he’s telling the truth.

When you turn back, Joel’s eyes are still on you, expression a little softer. A greeting. Making up for the fact he can’t wrap his arms around you, pinch your nose affectionately, kiss you to say hello. You smile back at him.

“That watch a’ yours runnin’ slow, Miller?”

Your dad’s voice is like a fucking foghorn. Sarah covers her mouth to stop a laugh from escaping her lips. He sweeps down the driveway toward the truck and you lean back in your seat. Quiet moment ruined.

Joel lightly chuckles and then gives you one last hazardous glance in the mirror before pulling off, ignoring your dad’s teasing. Probably for your benefit.

The relief of a quiet journey doesn’t last long, though. Barely five minutes in, your dad picks up the humming again.

“Dude,” you groan, “will you quit that? For the love of God.”

“It’s stuck in my damn head,” he chuckles, arms crossing defensively.

You roll your eyes again. “So your plan is to plague us all with it, too?”

“Pretty much.”

“What’s he singin’?” Sarah asks, leaning forward.

“Marty Robbins. Old song.” The lack of tone in Joel’s voice and the quick shake of his head as he says it tells you he ain’t the biggest Marty Robbins fan either. A voice inside you thanks God, like it even matters what music he’s into.

“Never heard of ‘im.”

“Lucky you,” you breathe, and your dad holds up a finger over his shoulder.

“Heard that,” he says.

“’s why I said it.”

Joel’s shoulders jerk with a laugh. “You’re in a real mood today, aren’t you?”

Your head falls against the window, bumping along with the road as Joel drives.

“Hold up a second,” your dad rounds on him, “you ain’t showin’ your kid real music, are you? She doesn’t even know Marty Robbins.”

“I ain’t puttin’ her through the pain of knowin’ him.”

A smile forms across your lips. Just another thing you two agree on. Another little string connecting you both, separating you from the rest.

You almost snort at yourself. Counting strings.

Sarah interrupts your train of thought when she requests the radio be put on. Joel turns the dial up and she sits back, victorious. You stifle a laugh. But even Taylor Swift doesn’t fully drown out your dad’s voice – she sure doesn’t stop the way he bobs his head as he sings to himself. It’s helpful, all the same.

You and Joel have been quite literally counting down the hours until you’re alone together. Alone for a whole weekend. Each morning, you’ll text him to announce it’s one less day. And he’ll reply some witty comment, some crude joke, or else a thumbs up emoji which usually meant he was working, or had company and couldn’t text. Company meaning eagle-eyed Sarah.

It’s been almost a whole week since the last time you had uninterrupted, unsupervised time with him. When you could link your arms around him, feel his head lean down on top of yours, say things without threat of anyone else hearing.

Seeing him there in the front seat, inches away from you, and not being able to touch him or even talk much to him, feels like a form of torture. Makes you curse your dad ‘n his tone-deaf singing all the more.

You’re supposed to be meeting Sam and Anna and a couple others from work at Frank’s, Saturday night, 8PM sharp. Rodeo night. Your dad’s leaving for Fort Worth in the late afternoon, he said. You’d kinda sulked when he told you, realizing that left a tiny window of time you could see Joel that day.

And then he told you he’d text Joel to ask if he’d be around to pick you up from Frank’s if you needed him, and you chirped up.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be really good. Can you ask him to?”

“He said just to text you if you need ‘im, hon.”

“Cool, I will. I mean, I will if I need him. Thanks, Dad.”

If you need him. If. Just on the off-chance, right?

The thought draws a smile across your face. You reckon his presence will be very, very needed this weekend.

Soon enough, the truck pulls in to some ornamented, fountain-guarded resort, bursting with greenery and flowers, paved in pristine sandstone. A red canopy over the entrance, golden letters spelling out Hillcrest.

“Damn…” Sarah leans over into your space to get a glimpse of the building from your window. “This is so fancy.”

“You treatin’ us or somethin’, son?” your dad asks Joel.

He doesn’t reply. But his eyes flit up to meet yours, then back to the road ahead. In a one-second look, you understand.

Sarah’s still staring outside, mouth wide open, blinking eyes taking everything in. “Dad, what the f…”

“Language,” Joel clips.

You smirk. It’s funny, hearing the man who’s whispered far worse things – filthy things – to you in earshot of company, chastise his nineteen-year-old for cursing.

The four of you roll by the water feature – three robed women made of stone pouring water from vases into a pool at their feet – and park up. As you hop out, a woman in a silk dress struts by, floppy sunhat bouncing with each step she takes.

Joel meets you at the back of the truck, letting Sarah and your dad stroll off ahead. They’re busy pointing at different features of the lavish hotel – the purple-uniformed bellboys running in and out of the lobby, the glimmering revolving door, the guests eating on balconies overhead.

“You outta that mood yet?” he asks, and you snap out of your daze.

“Not in a mood,” you reply bluntly, eyes still ahead.

“Huh.” He nods, unconvinced. “Marty Robbins gettin’ to ya that much, is he?”

“Marty Robbins ain’t the problem.”

“No? What is it, then?”

His hand finds the small of your back. It straightens you up like a shot of fire through your spine.

“Not a what. A who.”

You lead him inside.

A man in a pressed white shirt greets you all at the entrance to the restaurant.

“Reservation for Miller,” Joel says, and the man nods curtly and darts off into the sea of tables.

Sarah skips off with your dad on her arm, the two of them fucking ecstatic to be somewhere so fancy and fun. You and Joel amble through, past wine coolers, dodging fleeing waiters, slipping between white-cloth tables and silver spoon diners. His hand never leaves the skin between your shoulder blades, red hot on your goosebumped skin.

You’re seated at a table by the window, overlooking the river. Joel sits opposite you, your dad by his side. Sarah nudges your elbow and holds her phone up, snapping a selfie of you both with the glimmering water in the background. She tags the location and adds text below: fine dining. Her thumbs search for emojis, picking two champagne glasses, some sparkles, and a pink heart. Then she swaps the heart for a smiley face, and tilts the phone to you, wordlessly asking for your approval.

“Cute,” you tell her, and she beams, hittingpost.

The server returns, hands out menus, leaves a jug of ice water and some fancy bottle of wine you’ve never heard of by the table, and then nods his head once again before he rushes off. Your dad salutes him as he goes. You cringe.

“Boy’s gonna take a damn heart attack,” Joel mutters, watching your dad lift the wine from its bucket.

Sarah’s watching, too. She looks from the bottle of wine over to Joel, eyebrows raised. He flatly tells her, “No.”

“Come on,” she protests, “it’s not like anybody here knows what age I am.”

“We know.”

“Dad, I–”

“Water, or nothin’.”

Her eyes dagger into his. “You ain’t exactly a stickler for the rules yourself,” she breathes, sliding the jug across the table, and you scoff.

You’ve seen her do worse on her Instagram stories, and the way she glares at you warns you not to open your mouth. If Joel’s this pressed about some wine with a meal, it’s a damn good thing he doesn’t have a social media account.

“Let’s toast,” your dad announces as he pours wine into three of the glasses, “to…to you girls bein’ back home…” He raises his wine and Sarah lifts her little water, lemon slice floating on top. “…and to a fun summer ahead. Hm?”

You and Joel both hesitate a little before lifting your drinks, clinking them softly against each other with a glint in your eyes.

A fun summer. Sure. You’re certainly having fun. Yeah.

You watch Joel as you take a sip, frowning at the bitter taste. His mouth twists just like yours, neck winces as he swallows. Then he promptly slides his glass along the table back to your dad, clearing his throat and wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“No?” you ask, amused.

“Not my thing.”

You tilt your head. “Maybe they have Bud at the bar.”

“You’re hilarious, you know that?”

You flash a proud grin at him. The denim of his jeans brushes against your ankles. Your dad takes Sarah up in conversation. No one would see if you just…

Under the long white tablecloth, you nudge open his calves and slot your feet between them. Joel’s boots close at the back of your legs, holding you to him. Holding you against him.

It feels…nice. It’s almost normal. Like something a real couple would do. Not a pair of hopeful idiots wrapped up too tight in some clandestine affair. You almost feel like you could reach for his hand, and you’re willing to bet that if it weren’t for your company, he’d let you take it. Let you part his fingers with yours. Let you run a light touch over his knuckles.

When you finally look up at Joel, he’s looking right back. Watching you. Reading your mind.

You avert your gaze, reaching to pour a glass of water.

A few quiet minutes pass while the table studies the menu. You’re still looking around, taking in your surroundings. The more you look, the more you notice. Velvet drapes framing tall Palladian windows. A man nervously checking his blazer pocket while his girlfriend’s at the bathroom. Joel’s legs give yours a wiggle and you’re drawn away from the pocket square and slicked-back hair.

He smiles affectionately. Asks in his eyes if you’re okay. Your shoulders meet your jaw with the inhale you take, and then you nod. Imperceptible. Some dumb smile across your lips that mirrors his. Like you really are on your own or something. It’s stupid.

“Reckon I’ll have the steak,” your dad says.

Joel hums in agreement, nodding.

Sarah orders a Caesar salad and you decide on the fettuccine Alfredo. The nodding waiter snaps his little black book shut and collects your menus, before disappearing again. Conversation flows across the table naturally: your dad’s big client, Joel’s working week, Sarah’s sophomore year. Of course, the Rangers are mentioned once or twice.

Your wrist is shaking your glass, watching as the water swirls around inside. The thought turns over much the same in your head. A question for Joel. When your food arrives and the chatter lulls, you brave up enough to ask it.

“You think I’m…brighter…here?”

He smiles, a little confused. “Brighter?”

“Aw, kiddo.” Your dad shakes his head, knife tearing into his steak. “I knew you’d take that to heart.”

Joel’s still looking at you. Concerned.

Sarah elbows you. “What’s that mean?”

Your dad sighs. “Bill told ‘er on Sunday she used to be miserable whenever she came home. Said that this time ‘round she looks…”

“…brighter.” You lift your hands to form air quotes around the word, pasta wrapped around the fork between your fingers.

Joel’s expression relaxes, his smile grows. “’cause of anything in particular, or…?”

You instantly regret bringing it up. He’s a dick. Has to ruin every sweet moment with a smug smirk and testosterone-induced impulses, doesn’t he?

You mock smile back and shake your head.

“Y’know what I think it is?” your dad says, and Joel finally turns to him. He nods at you and Sarah. “The pair of ‘em. Back home like old times. How long has it been since the four of us were out doin’ stuff together?”

You and Sarah exchange a sideways glance.

“I’m serious!” he says, waving his hands. Cutlery almost flying out of his grip. “It’s nice. Joel, back me up.”

Joel’s sat back in his chair, midway through cutting his steak, watching this show unfold. He clears his throat and offers, “Yeah. Real nice.”

Your dad looks defeated. He retires from the conversation, focusing on the meal in front of him.

“What are you guys gonna do all weekend without us?” Sarah asks, shoving a forkful of salad in her mouth.

“I, uh…keep forgetting y’all are goin’ away,” you lie, staring down at your pasta.

Joel clears his throat again. “This guy at work was showin’ me these videos of folks playin’ chess – did you know there are these…leagues, for chess? Professional leagues ‘n competitions. They win money, good money, for playin’ chess.”

Sarah, like everybody at the table, is quiet for a few seconds. “Is…is this your way of sayin’ y’all are gonna…play chess?”

You’re staring at Joel, amused and yet a tad embarrassed. The dude you’re sleeping with just went on a ramble about chess.

You twirl your fork in your hand before taking another bite. “I’ve never played chess. Maybe you’ll have to play it alone.”

Joel narrows his eyes. “Don’t think you can,” he says, gritting his teeth, “it’s a two-player game.”

“Nah,” Sarah chimes in. “A guy in my Physiology class plays against himself to practice. He’s pretty good, I think.”

Your head nods toward her, eyebrows raised at Joel. He’s grimacing back.

“He always goes on about speed, says it’s all about playin’ fast so your opponent ain’t got time to think. Quick hands, he says.”

Your brows arch, lips petted. Poor Joel. “Aw. Looks like you’ll be playin’ with yourself.”

His brows angle and you notice a twisted smile on his lips. Pissed – sort of aroused, but pissed. You lift your legs from between his. He holds onto your ankles with his own for a second, forcing you to stare at him, before he frees you. You tuck your legs under your chair.

Just then, Sarah’s phone vibrates on the wooden table.

“Oh, shoot, two seconds. Hello?” She screws her face up. “Are you kidding me? No way. No, I don’t– You– Kels, can I call you back in, like, an hour or something? I’ll call you back, I’m just at dinner with my dad and my…No, I’ll literally be, like– Alright. Lemme call you back. Okay.”

She hangs up and swivels in her seat to you.

“You know Kels? Kelly Ramirez?”

You draw a blank. Push your bottom lip out. “Should I know a Kelly Ramirez?”

“She played soccer with me in high school? Remember, that game you came to,” Sarah leans in, knocking your arm with the back of her hand as if giving your memory a swift kick, “she played in goal to fill in for Stephanie, and broke her ankle tryna save Amber Murphy’s shot? Passed out from the pain?”

Nothing. You shake your head.

She huffs. “Coach Lee had to drive her to the emergency room and it’s all she went on about for weeks.”

“Oh!” The penny drops. “That was her? Didn’t she carve his initials into the girls’ room stalls?”

Your dad and Joel exchange a bewildered and, quite frankly, weary glance. Sarah shuts her eyes and nods, ashamed.

“That’s her.”

“Wow. I wonder if he knew how bad her crush was…” you muse, choking back a laugh when Sarah gives you a dead-eyed stare.

“He would have,” Joel says flatly, and you both shoot him a look. “Girls ain’t good at hidin’ that sorta stuff.”

“Oh, like you’ve ever had anyone have a crush on you.” Sarah bats her hand at him and then her fingers lock around your wrist. “Anyway…”

You can see Joel’s grin from your peripheral. He gives your sneaker a tap with his boot under the table, and you feel your cheeks start to heat. You move your leg.

“…she’s just caught her boyfriend cheatin’.”

“Who has?”

Sarah huffs. “Kelly Ramirez! For cryin’ out loud, are– are you even listenin’ to me?”

“I was caught up in the Coach Lee stuff. Right. No, I’m with you now. Is she okay?”

“She suspected it for weeks. He kept cancelling plans last minute, kept coming up with dumb excuses. We were all tryna tell her, just ask ‘im. Ask him or find out for yourself. So, she did. Checked his phone and found all these messages between him ‘n some girl from college.”

“How’d she hack into his phone?” your dad asks.

Joel, head now resting against his fingers, draws him a look: Really?

“She didn’t,” Sarah tells him. “She knows his passcode. Used it to get in, I guess.”

Your dad nods, taking note, eyes narrowing. He looks over to Joel, then you. These kids and their technology, you imagine him thinking. But he’s staring a fraction too long. You shift in your seat. Give him a comical shrug – Don’t ask me – and he eventually looks away.

The rest of dinner passes smoothly – Sarah picking up her phone, rattling a message into it with her thumbs, and then dropping it back down onto the table. Your dad, battling his steak, asking Joel what he thinks of the Rangers’ chances against the Astros tonight, and Joel…well, Joel not taking his attention off of you for one second.

He’s answering your dad, saying all the right things at the right times, but anytime his eyes lift off of his plate, they land on you. Your arm, draped on the tablecloth. Your hand, moving pasta around your dish with your fork. Your eyes, flitting between the view outside to that inside.

You can see him the entire time. Watching you. You’re not fucking blind. If Sarah didn’t have Kelly Ramirez spamming her phone with cheating boyfriend updates, she’d probably be commenting on it. Did she grow a second head, or somethin’? she’d quip.

But you never look back. Not once. Just let him observe you, let him wait for a glance or a kick of the foot that never comes.

You’re leant back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest, when the waiter clears your table. Watching some couple wander off down the riverside path. She’s wearing a white sundress that dances around her calves with each slow step she takes. He’s in a plain black tee, tan arm around her back. Looking around at the view, taking it all in.

Then she turns on her heel to him. He lifts a hand to move her long, dark braids from her face, drops it to cup her jaw. Pulls her in to him, presses his lips to hers. Her hands are linked at his spine. Like they’re the only two people in the world.

There’s a feeling in the depths of your chest. A throb. Uncomfortable. Maybe even painful. You shift in your seat to move it, but it doesn’t budge. Your gaze falls, travelling along the window frame, onto the white cloth and to Joel’s elbow. Up his arm, across his shoulder.

You reach his jaw and look away. He’s watching everything.

“Alright,” your dad’s hands slap down on his thighs, “we good to go?”

“You go on,” Joel tells him. “I’ll get the bill.”

“Absolutely not, bud,” your dad protests. You and Sarah both lean back in your chairs at the same time. May as well get comfortable, we could be here a while.

“I got it,” Joel says, almost annoyed, getting up to stand. Your dad follows suit. Joel holds a hand out. “I’m sure you’ll repay me somehow. Hey, I got that job in a couple weeks I said I might need you for. Help me out and we’re even.”

Your dad’s hands are on his hips. “I ain’t happy about this, Joel.”

“Stick,” Joel mutters. “I’m sure I’ve done worse that you’ve forgiven me for.”

His eyes finally find yours and your cheeks flush. He covers it by gesturing to you to stand up with a snap of his head.

Why was that hot? Is it…weird…? That that was hot? All he did was nod his head.

You stand – Sarah copies you, sliding her chair under the table. Joel pushes yours in for you. His hand’s on your back again, fingers drawing circles. The four of you are walking toward the exit. Your dad’s still murmuring about owing money.

“Hey,” Sarah calls, pointing, “this place has an outdoor bar. Let’s go check it out.”

Your head’s beginning to dizzy. Why is your head dizzying?

Stick.

The way he pointed, flicked his head toward the door. Knowing you’d just fucking obey him. And you did.

Yep. That was hot. Hot enough that it restarts something in you; something deep down begins to wind. An idea sweeps across your mind.

Sunlight bursts through the French doors up ahead, golden rays flooding in through the glass panes. Joel stoops his head as he wanders through, dodging ivy draped around the doorway. On the other side, drowned in daylight, a paved courtyard.

There are tables and chairs dotted around. Benches in front of flowerbeds. More random statues – a cherub, a rearing horse. Wooden planters with vines growing toward the sky. Another slightly smaller fountain in the middle.

This…is fucking insane. Last night for dinner you ate leftover Chinese food ‘cause your dad was working late. Tonight, you’re strolling through a five-star hotel garden after the best fettucine of your life.

Ahead of you and Joel, your dad nudges Sarah and comically offers her his arm, elbow outstretched. She nods graciously and links her arm in his, and they saunter off, chins up, dumb grins across their faces.

Joel scoffs. Your lips tug a little, chest still tight. Body still tense. And he senses it.

“What?”

You shake your head. “Nothin’. Just…taking in the view.”

“’s nice, ain’t it?”

“Mhm,” you admit. “Word on the street is it was all your idea.”

“Wanted somewhere nice for you. For both of you. Didn’t know it would be this nice, but…it’s what you deserve.”

Your eyelashes flutter, blinking rapidly to conceal the look in your eye. The look that says…something dangerous. You betray the thoughts circling around your head and press your lips together in a tight smile. “Thanks,” is all you can muster the strength to say.

Joel looks forward; your dad and Sarah are strides ahead, still gawking at the garden, chatting, snapping photos.

“It improve your mood any?”

“I already told you, I ain’t in a mood.”

“That why you couldn’t look at me at dinner?”

It stops you in your tracks. You glare at him. Almost about to punch him out of frustration, right before you catch yourself and your expression softens.

“Did you want me to look at you?” you coo, leaning in a little. Your hands rest on his forearms.

Joel tenses. Opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it. But you want him to fucking say it. So, you push further.

“What we were doin’ under the table wasn’t enough? Poor baby. Guess you just wanted more of my attention, huh?”

His expression doesn’t change. Lips barely move when he utters, “Thin ice, kid.”

You shrug. “I’m not the one begging you to look at me.”

He swallows. His eyes are staring you down, huge, glowing warm in the evening sunlight. There’s so much energy thrumming around your body that you feel almost faint, like your knees could give. Just swoon, fall into his arms.

“I’m bored,” you back up, turning back to the hotel, “going to the bathroom.”

You’re gone before he can react. Taking off for the doors, stumbling out of the sun and into the cool restaurant, catching your breath when you’re safely in the shade.

You approach the bar – a deep, shiny mahogany, wine glasses hanging from above, glistening footrail at the bottom. Intricately carved, varnished and smooth. Bottles of spirits and ales and wines decorate the back wall, lined up on shelves against a glimmering mirror.

Two girls in black polo shirts stand, elbows leaning against the back shelf.

“I served a duck the other night,” one of them says to the other. She has short brown hair, freckles painted across her nose. A tattoo down her right arm. She twirls a pen between her fingers as she speaks.

“A duck?” The second girl screws her face up.

“Yep. When I gave him the check, he told me to put it on his bill.”

The second girl snorts. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Hey, excuse me?” you call over, and the girl with the tattoo steps forward, still laughing. “Where are the restrooms?”

“Upstairs,” she nods to the doors by your side, “they’re on the right.”

You nod in thanks and she twirls the pen again, resuming position.

The bathroom is freezing cold when you burst into it, almost panting, and stumble across to the sink. Your palms plant firmly on the marble countertop, head falling limp between your shoulders. When you look up to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, a laugh passes your lips.

You look…flustered. Bothered. You’re not sure if Joel noticed it. You were too busy trying to conceal it to gauge whether he’d caught on.

What the fuck is he doing to you? More importantly, how is he doing it to you? Can you seriously not go a couple days without him? Need, want, desire. Everything he causes, only he can fix.

But then, he never can fucking fix it. There’s always something or someone in the way. And you swear Joel gets off on it – watching you need him, miss him, pine for him, and knowing he won’t be able to relieve it.

Staring at yourself, you start to feel that energy charging up again. Heat pooling between your legs, blood drumming through your veins. What the fuck is he doing to me? Nothing, he’s not doin’ nothing.

Nothing I can’t do right back to him.

You push yourself off of the sink and shoot one last glance in the mirror, giving your reflection an affirming nod before striding over to the door. It swings shut behind you as you pace down the hall, feeling a lot more steel and a lot less sweet.

As you round the corner to head downstairs, a familiar shadow stalks up the last two steps and bursts into the hallway. Without a word, his arm hooks around yours and he drags you back the way you came.

“Joel– What the fuck are you doin’–?”

He passes by the restrooms and onto a plush red carpet. In a blur, he flings open the first door in sight and throws you inside, ignoring your gasps.

He slams the door shut, whipping you around to shove you against it. From over his shoulder, you notice your surroundings. A bed over by the window, pristine white sheets tucked perfectly under the mattress. Nightstands spotless, desk against the wall topped with a tray holding a bottle of wine and a tiny card that reads Welcome to the Hillcrest.

You’re in one of the hotel’s rooms. One of the hotel’s empty rooms.

Of course it’s empty. It’s like he fucking planned it.

“Alright. A hotel room. Did you book it, at least?”

“Naw,” his eyes scan you up and down, “I didn’t fuckin’ book it.”

“So…what are we doing in here?”

Joel’s pressing against you, forcing you up against the wooden door. Caging you against it with the weight of his body. Clearly, in the time you spent giving yourself a pep talk in the bathroom mirror, Joel was doing the exact same downstairs. The fucker.

“Said you were bored. ‘n that’s a real shame, given I just took you to dinner. Ain’t no pleasin’ you, is there?”

Your head rolls back against the door with a laugh. “That really got to you? So, what, now you’re gonna fuck me? Wine, dine, ‘n…yeah?”

Joel’s lips are tight, eyes staring you down. He’s seething. He’s turned on, and he’s seething. Exactly where you want him.

“You get sluttier every fuckin’ day, you know that?”

You nod, teeth taking your bottom lip. “You like it, though, huh?”

Joel doesn’t reply. You lean in closer to him.

“You like me bein’ a little slut,” you whisper, running a hand softly over his hard jeans, “just for you, don’t you?”

His voice lowers in response. “Not when I can’t do nothin’ about it.”

You pull back, cocking an eyebrow. Angle your head. “You’re the one who pulled me in here. It’s an empty hotel room, man. Do whatever the fuck you want.”

He glowers at you. His face rigid, one hand still locked around yours, almost assisting you in palming himself; the other above your head, flat against the door.

His head dips. Jaw lines with yours, breath against your ear.

“Whatever the fuck I want?”

“Mhm.” You nod, maybe a little too eagerly. Not that either of you care. Then you pause. “Oh! Wait.”

Joel lifts his head, narrowing his eyes. Looks like you just cut in front of some spiel he had planned.

Your cheeks swell. “Do you have a bottle?”

“A bottle?”

“Beer bottle. You need me to go grab one? What if they don’t have beer? It’s kind of a fancy place. Would wine work? Or is it only beer that gets you goin’–”

“Alright. Enough. Fuckin’ – brat.”

You cock your head, tongue in your cheek, pushing around the shape of your mouth. Keep going.

You spurt out a laugh. “I’m a brat?”

“Yep. Never do as you’re fuckin’ told.”

You lean in close, lips brushing off of his, so close you can taste him. Feel how tense his jaw is. Your voice is low, barely above a whisper.

“Then…make me.”

Joel’s still staring you down, watching you like a predator watches its prey. His eyes are so dark you can’t read the thoughts behind them, but the way his grip tightens on your wrist, so rough it feels like he’s fucking bruising you, the way he yanks you off of the door, tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

“I ain’t got time for this,” he hisses, pulling you over to the bed.

You stagger behind him, still snickering. Joel sinks down into the mattress, thighs apart, pulling you to stand between them. You look him up and down once, smirking, his hands still roughly gripping yours. Then –

In one fluid movement, you’re over his knee. Thighs digging into your stomach, face hovering over the soft carpet. Your hands grip his calf to hold onto something – anything – as he pulls the hem of your dress up so roughly, you’re sure he’s ripped it.

“You want to act like a brat?” he asks, and you smile, feeling his hand run from the back of your knee up your thigh, coming to rest on your ass. “Get treated like one.”

The first time his huge palm slaps against your skin, your mind blanks. The sharp sting, Joel’s grunt as his hand comes down on you. The way your body jerks, and the whine you let slip as it does. The throb when he lifts his hand, the cold air hissing against your heated skin.

He’s fucking – he’s…He has you in an empty hotel room, door unlocked, entire lobby of people downstairs. Over his knee, skirt hiked to your waist, spanking you. Hard.

And then you realize. You fucking like this.

“Joel…” you moan, catching your breath when it comes back.

Another sharp sting.

“Yeah, baby? You want me to stop? You gonna stop bein’ a little brat?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, filthy grin on your lips.

“F-fuck no.”

He slaps you again. You whimper, wrapping your arms around his leg.

“Didn’t fuckin’ think so. Can feel how wet you are for me.”

He curls a finger around the hem of your panties and drags them down your thighs, letting them drop off of your legs and to the floor while his fingers return between your legs, running up and down your slit. You whine.

“Such a pretty little mouth, huh? You were runnin’ it just a second ago. Where’d all your big talk go?”

You open your mouth to reply, barely even make a sound, and his palm smacks against your ass again. He’s not done.

“Always got somethin’ to say, don’t you?” he grunts, hand coming down on you again. “You remember that day I ran you home?”

You whimper in response – yeah, I remember.

“You ‘n me alone, you being a little fucking tease. Wanted to fuck you so badly, baby. Those tight little shorts you were in…fuck…”

“Why…didn’t…you…?” you whine, muffled into the denim of his jeans. “Would’ve…fuck…let you.”

“Yeah? You wanted me to, darlin’?”

“Wanted…you,” slap, “in the kitchen.”

You gasp when Joel’s grip becomes tighter around your waist, holding you still as his hand sears against your ass. Rougher. Harder. It turns you on more.

“Wanted you in my mouth.”

You swear his breath catches. Swear you can feel his hand hovering over you, almost ready to spank you again, but he pauses.

“That right, baby? In your mouth?”

You nod, unsure if he can even see you. And then you feel him bend, feel his fist in your hair, lifting your head until his lips are curled around the shell of your ear.

“You wanna show me what you woulda done?” he whispers, breath hot.

Your body’s still shaking, throbbing; you’re a sobbing mess, but still, you utter: “Yeah.”

Joel pulls you all the way off his lap then, widening his legs for you to sit between them.

“Gotta be quick, babygirl,” he tells you, pushing you by the shoulders down onto the carpet.

Your knees part to lower yourself closer to his crotch, fingers shakily fumbling with his zipper. Joel helps you, shifting his jeans until his cock springs free. He’s as hard as if you’d been playing with him this entire time, so hard you almost begin to drool at the sight of him.

He sighs shakily, hand leaning behind on the mattress to steady himself. “You’re gonna sit there like a good girl and make me cum, alright?”

You nod, eyes blown black with lust.

He grips the back of your head with one hand and guides his cock to your mouth with the other. You take his thick length in both hands, allowing a trail of spit to fall from your lips and cover his swollen tip, running down his shaft only to be collected and dragged back up by your fingers.

“Good girl,” Joel whispers, watching you. “Doin’ what I tell you, huh?”

A few strokes and his cock’s soaked. When his head lines up with your bottom lip and you open up wide, he pushes into your mouth, filling you up without stopping to let you catch your breath. You gag when he hits the back of your throat, and Joel groans.

“Know you can take it, baby, you’ve done it before. That’s my girl.”

You whimper in response, mouth full of his cock.

“Keep makin’ those pretty noises, whole hotel’s gonna be wonderin’ what’s goin’ on up here.”

He allows you a second to pull off of him, gasping for air when your mouth’s free again.

“Want ‘em to hear,” you choke out, lips slipping back down his cock.

“Yeah?” he bucks his hips up into your mouth. “You want ‘em to know? Why don’t I just take you downstairs right now, fuck you in front of everybody, huh? You like that?”

You whine, gasp something that sounds like a yes around his warm skin.

“Thought you would, fuckin’ dirty girl. Want everyone to see just how good you take me, hm? How fuckin’ wet you get for me?”

Your fingers reach for his balls, kneading them softly in your hands. Joel’s head tips back and he lets out a guttural groan.

“Look at you,” he purrs, “soakin’ wet all over the floor, lettin’ me fuck that pretty little mouth. Needed it bad, didn’t you?”

You follow the words he’s saying with your eyes, never taking your doe-eyed gaze off of him. He’s all you can see; the surrounding world blurred by lust and sex and by Joel.

“Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day,” he mutters.

You pull yourself off of him, disobeying his tight grip at the back of your head.

“Yeah?” you breathe, giving in to him. “Been thinkin’ about you, too.”

Joel almost looks surprised, like he wasn’t expecting that to come out of your mouth. He’s never expecting any of what you say to come out of your mouth, is he?

Hell, you don’t expect half of what comes out of your fucking mouth these days.

You sink back down on him, eyes screwing shut with the feeling of him filling you up to the very bottom of your throat.

“So slutty, baby. You like that? Yeah?”

He’s speaking so soft but being so fucking rough, pushing you down onto his dick and then hauling you back off with a fistful of hair. His hips snap against your mouth and your hands leave his body to balance yourself on his thighs, stabilizing yourself with fingers through his loose belt loops.

You’re gagging on him, choking every time his salty head brushes against your throat, but Joel doesn’t stop. Each whimper, each muffled cry from you only pushes him closer, sends his head back in a wave of euphoria at the sight of you taking his cock in your mouth so good, the sounds of you choking on the size of him.

Your chin is soaked, dripping with spit and precum. Your cheeks dappled with tears. He doesn’t let up. You don’t fucking want him to. Your knees are slipping further apart, your cunt wetter than ever, dripping all over the plush carpet of the classiest hotel you’ve ever been in.

It’s fucking filthy, and you love every second of it.

Your lids grow heavy and you stare up at him, doused in rays from the window behind, blissed out on his body, him blissed out on yours, and you know he’s about to cum. His brows arch, his jaw falls slack. He’s focusing only on the feeling of your swollen lips around him, your throat contracting with each thrust of his hips.

He jerks, grunts out a, “Throat?”

“Uhuh,” you choke back, hands clamping around his thighs when he leans back.

One more jolt and he releases rope after rope of warm cum down you, painting the back of your throat and filling up your mouth. That all-too-familiar taste of Joel trickles all over your tongue.

He’s whispering, “Fuck, fuck, darlin’, fuck…” over and over, chanting your name, breathing curses and praises between.

When he stills and you feel him relax, your hands fall limp on your lap. You don’t move, not until Joel’s eyes flutter open and he slides his soft cock out of your mouth.

Your head rolls onto his thigh, eyes wide and soft as you gaze up at him. Equal parts enamored and painfully aroused.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he tells you. “Brats don’t get to fucking cum.”

There are words coming to your mind that you wouldn’t dare call him when he’s in this mood. Words you wouldn’t call him any other time, either, if it weren’t for the agonizing ache between your legs. This – fucking – guy.

You want to sob. Want to wrap yourself around his legs as he stands and beg him to throw you down on the bed, part your legs, use whatever the fuck he wants just to let you cum. Just to give you some release.

It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Dumb for this man.

He sits forward and tucks his limp cock back into his boxers, redoes his jeans. Then he leans down, scoops up your soaked panties and scrunches them in his fist. He slips them into his jeans pocket and, with a heaving sigh, pushes himself up from the bed.

You’re still squatted, knees apart, on the carpet. Arousal probably streaming out of you. Joel only lowers his hand and you take it, letting him pull you up to height. You still don’t believe he’s gonna let you walk out of here undealt with.

Until he wanders off toward the door, and there’s nothing left for you to do but follow.

Each step hurts, your thighs grazing against each other. Your naked cunt throbbing with every tiny movement.

Joel pauses at the door, turns the handle slowly, quietly, opening it just enough to poke his head and shoulders out, before beckoning you forward with a wave of his hand.

He blindly takes your wrist and leads you out of the room in a daze, letting the door close over as you both head back the way you came toward the staircase.

Under spotless chandeliers, past romantic paintings. Along the same plush carpet he’d shoved you along less than twenty minutes ago. Down the stairs, emerging at the bar, pair of you scanning the restaurant for your dad and Sarah. No sign of them.

“C’mon,” he nudges you, “still gotta get that bill.”

You stand by Joel’s side at the bar, catching a glimpse of the pair of you in the mirror opposite. Elbows touching, palms inches apart on the polished surface. Your heart swells to the point of almost hurting at the sight. The cover is back up, you’re back on planet earth; you’re nothing but a pair of acquaintances, friends at best.

Just a guy and his best bud’s daughter.

Joel’s tapping his credit card against the wood.

“What’s up?” you ask him.

“Hm?” he replies, eyes finding you, head still facing forward. Almost bracing for your dad’s appearance at any given moment.

“You’re being weird.”

“Ain’t being weird.”

“Still not gonna let me cum?”

He’s almost startled. You asked it quiet enough that nobody would’ve heard, if there were even anybody around you, but still. It feels like dangerous territory talking about it this out in the open.

“Nope,” he replies, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“You know I’m gonna do it myself the second I get home, right?”

He shrugs. “You gonna call me?”

“Facetime you, if you want.”

His body goes rock solid. You knock into it, smirking. Before he can muster up a reply, the girl with the tattoo shows back up, smiling at Joel. He tells her the table number and she slides him the bill.

“How much is it?” you ask him.

He turns to look at you. “You won’t be findin’ out.”

You mock offense. A small part of you isn’t kidding. “’n why’s that?”

Joel ignores you. You twist over his arm to get a look and he bats you away, holding you at bay with his elbow while he places his card over the total amount and slides it back across the bar.

You admit defeat, though it kills you a little inside.

Joel does his little head nod again and you follow him to the exit. You walk out of the restaurant together, your chin as high as your shame will allow it, Joel’s parallel to his chest. Your dad’s stood against the truck deep in conversation with Sarah. Or, rather, Sarah’s deep in conversation at your dad.

“…so, she thought he was just textin’ his boys, but here she goes onto his Instagram messages, and it’s all these hearts, all these messages sayin’…”

“Where did you two get to?”

Joel opens the door for you silently, and you breathe a slightly awkward Thanks before climbing in.

Once he’s back in the front seat alongside your dad, he replies. “Charged me twice. Problem with the card reader.”

“I hope they apologized,” your dad says with a concerned tone. “Hope they ain’t tryin’ anythin’.”

“Nah,” Joel bats it away – unconvincingly. Or is that just because you know he just…you know.

Sarah’s still yapping – Kelly’s heartbroken, doesn’t know how she’s gonna go on. She – Sarah – is furious with Kelly’s boyfriend – ex-boyfriend? – his name is…Mike? Mick? Something beginning with M…Your ears are screaming.

“Happened to me once at a gas station. Charged twice for one tank a’ gas. I went back the next day ‘n asked the girl, she said she didn’t remember me. I showed her the bank statement, said, Why the hell would I need two tanks of gas for one vehicle? She had to call her manager. It was…insanity, Joel. You be careful.”

Joel’s pretending to listen, murmuring Right and Uhuh when appropriate, but he aims every second glance at you from the rearview mirror. You tug your skirt as far down your thighs as it’ll go, feeling exposed and guilty and ashamed and yet so fucking good all in one.

You can still taste him on your tongue. Your throat feels raw, your jaw sore. He knows it, from the looks he’s giving you in the mirror. It’s satisfaction, mixed with longing, mixed with guilt. Your underwear is in his front pocket. Your thighs clamp shut, feeling yourself seeping all over his backseat. One big, chaotic mess.

The car falls into silence, Sarah’s thumbs typing rapidly, Joel’s elbow propped against the window, cheek leaning on his knuckles. You lean your own head against the window, the engine drumming into your skull, the cold of the glass relieving your scorching skin. Your dad starts quietly singing again, and you wish you had the energy to put on a convincing voice to tell him to shut up.

“Maybe tomorrow a bullet may find me, tonight, nothing’s worse than this pain in my heart.”

----------

taglist: @yvonneeeee @subconsciouscollapse @leahlovestwd @peqchsoup @whorror-s @k1ttybean @whichwitchwanda @abuttoncalledsmalls @anner--nanner @jpbplvr @laysmt @ankhmutes @bookishhella @cannolighost @luvrking @mellymbee @yourwinchesterbros @nostalxgic @scottstotts @daiseygriffithx @letsgroovetonighttt @huffle-punk @unbotheredbeeeee @iluvurfather @wildcat116 @godisawomansblog @55vvaa55 @koshkaj-blog @initforthebooks @theywhowriteandknowthings @thatgirljayy@sasakipsposts @casa-boiardi @milla-frenchy @aim-formyheart @taeslarityy @lxstbxyscave23 @joelmillerxapologist @capt-rex @giixo @capricorngf @feministfanboi @fifia-writes @darleneslane @theplumsoldier @sharp-cheekbones-locked @suzmagine @endlessthxxghts @ivebeenflagged @blognametakenn @jessahmewren @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul @ranahx @pedropascalsbbg @cartoon-garbage04 @caatheeriinee07 @kngslayr @vickywallace @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @casa-boiardi @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @pascalpvnk @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #cowboy like me

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southern-gothic-comic · 4 months

Text

Page 42

Next 💜 Back 🖤 First

(Author Notes)

Panel 1: Finally, Relvin returns with the country doctor, a tired-looking woman of late middle age. She does a cursory examination of Imogen, who can hear her thoughts (as well as everyone else’s) the entire time.

Doctor: Another one. There’s the rash all right. Throat inflamed. Fever. Same symptoms. Don’t know how I’m going to find the time.

Relvin: She’s got to get better -- wonder what it’ll cost -- got a little put by -- poor kid hate to see her lookin’ so done in -- should crop off all that hair of hers it’s sappin’ her strength -- pity though

Laudna: What’s wrong what’s wrong with Imogen can it be cured? Is she all right? Is she in pain? Is she going to die? She looks so miserable what can I do to help?

Panel 2: Focus on Laudna, who is looking worried and uncomfortable. Everyone’s thoughts cloud around her, although only Imogen can hear them.

Doctor: So this is the one everyone’s calling “witch” and saying is the start of it all. I don’t put much stock in wild tales but she seems to have some malady, all right. Don’t have time for it now.

Relvin: how to ask that one to leave maybe if I offer to see her home that’ll get the point across

Laudna: Maybe I did cause this and I just didn’t realize it should I leave I don’t want to leave her I can’t lose her she’s all I have —

Imogen: Laudna. Laudna, it’s okay.

Laudna: Delilah did you do this Delilah if you’ve harmed Imogen -- don’t say things like that don’t start shut up SHUT UP DELILAH

Panel 3: Imogen cuddles up to Laudna as she moves to sit next to her. Rising, the doctor gives Relvin the diagnosis. Lost in his thoughts, he is caught off-guard.

Laudna: Do you need anything, darling?

Imogen: Just you.

Doctor: Despite what y’all may have heard in town, there’s no hexin’ at work. Just a nasty outbreak of scarlet fever makin’ the rounds. She’ll need care. Which of you will be providing it?

Relvin: What even is she she don’t look fey or elvish exactly but there’s something not quite right about her kind of unsettling to see Genny hangin’ on her like that all the time I mean I’m glad my lonely girl’s finally found a friend but did it have to be that friend wonder what kinda grave did she dig her up out of shoot is Imogen readin’ my mind right now???

Panel 4: Relvin hastily steps forward and raises his hand.

Laudna: I will!

Relvin: Now, we wouldn’t want to impose on you. I thank you for your kind offer, but I’ll see you home now, little lady.

Imogen: No! Don’t go, Laudna.

Doctor: It’s probably best if all you three quarantine together.

Relvin: All right. You know best, Doctor.

Relvin, internally: Dammit.

Panel 5: Laudna hugs Imogen, cheered up by the prospect of quarantine together, which provokes a wan smile from her.

Laudna: Oh, a sleepover!

#critical role #critical role fanart #critical role comic #imogen temult #laudna #relvin temult #imodna #southerngothic #imogen x laudna #comics #mintywolf #a long road home

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yanderenightmare · 6 months

Text

Gojo Satoru

TW: NSFW, noncon, yandere, bullying

fem reader

His hand held both of yours in a cross above your head. It's not even all that tight, only three and two fingers are curled around each wrist – but still, it’s impossible for you to pull them free no matter how hard you wish you could.

He enjoyed the sight of you trying. Looming above you with blue eyes, nocturnal in the dark.

With one of your thighs hooked over his hip, the other is pinned beneath his knee – keeping them both spread and open to accept what he planned on doing in between them.

He’d pushed the black pleats of your school skirt up over your tummy but left your underwear on. Grinning at the cute bunny-rabbit print on them while fingering the pink-lace trim slowly.

You were such a geek – it was impossible for him not to laugh while pointing the blunt tip against the outline of your puffy pussylips – sliding the buzzing lipstick-shaped vibe through the cute dip, watching your writhe at the feeling.

“Think I can make you cum through your panties? Huh?” He snickered, his voice in a lilting whisper. “I think I can~”

Blue eyes vivid, keenly staring down at your pouty little face twist with embarrassment and frustration – a little too proud to say anything. But then he angled the edge flatter against that special place he knew your clit to hide and finally coaxed a real reaction.

Brows cinching – hips wiggling. But he made sure you couldn’t escape it, kneading his knee into the soft plush of your inner thigh until you cried out. “Toru-”

“Oh?” He immediately bends down – white bangs falling forward in wisps, ghosting your face softly with his breath tickling your lips. “Callin' my name already?” He teases. “I’ll give you a kiss if you ask nicely.”

Your face soured then, eyes slimming with brows furrowed – but you took the opportunity and spat – hitting him right in the smug twinkle of his right blue eye.

He recoiled and dropped the wand pressing on your bud, and you sighed in relief, finally able to stop tensing beneath the pressure.

But it's a short-lived victory as the hand instead flew up to grab your cheeks.

He didn’t even bother wiping his face, grinning through it – something mad in the blitz of his eyes as he leaned all the way down until resting his forehead on yours – with lips ghosting yours, brushing them for every heated word. Speaking oddly calmly – contained, holding back something that made a chill run down your spine. “Okay then… since you’re begging for it~”

You whine when he mushes his mouth onto yours. Feeling his teeth gnaw your lip into sucking on it, releasing with a groan only to push his tongue inside you. Laughing while listening to you whine around his it – holding you in place when you tried twisting your head away, digging his fingers into the plush of your cheeks – keeping you receiving.

He relieved your thigh from being trapped under his knee, hooking it above his hip like with the other – then rocked forward, pushing his clothed bulge against your heated cunt, teasing it with the zipper – grinning when it elicited a moan from you, feeling your plush chest rise against his where you arched off the bed.

“See? Can’t fool me, buttercup~” He slurs while keeping his lips on yours.

“F-fuck off, Satoru-” You whimper back, trying to angle your hips in any way that takes you away from the bump seeking comfort against you – but the friction makes your lip warble.

“Mh- makes me so fuckin’ hard when you talk like that-” He groans in return, only humping against you harder – slipping his hand down from your face to your neck. He's rougher now, tighter with his grip, both there and around your wrists – making you wince.

“Toru- please, that hurts-”

“You’re the one makin’ this difficult, sweets-" He simpers, swiping his tongue up your cheek – his voice frazzled. "I wouldn’t haf’ta play so rough with you, but with the way you’ve been actin’ lately- tch-” He clicked his tongue as though admonishing you. “Flirting with dipshits left and right when you know you belong to me.”

His fists tensed even more, and you made a squeak – a small plea choked to death on your lips, parted and desperate for air.

“High time I taught you a real lesson.”

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mochalate · 2 months

Text

"no body, no crime" ; f!reader/osamu miya Osamu has heard people say it's not the dark itself that anyone's scared of, it's what could be waiting inside it. He thinks that what all fear boils down to, ultimately — exposure to the unknown. (Osamu has never been afraid of the dark, but now he sees it in your eyes.)

w/c: 1.6k ; fluff angst idk, vibes c/w: involuntary unaliving (you and Osamu are fine, dw), abusive relationship (ditto) a/n: just a little break from the two (TWO!! What was I thinking!) longfics I'm outlining/writing. the banner doesn't match the vibe of the fic tbh, but I just love how it came out lol, look how cute the little skull is

The lightbulb dims and flickers.

Onigiri Miya’s kitchen is plunged into a strange, incandescent twilight; and Osamu pauses mid-step, despite the heavy stack of freshly washed plates in his arms.

He’s never been scared of the dark. But there’s something unsettling about the way the space is transformed so easily; how this blurring of the line between light and shadow makes everything that had been familiar not a second ago, seem uncanny.

Osamu sees you look up from the sink you’re cleaning, the motion made staccato by the flickering bulb.

“We really need to replace that thing,” you huff, face obscured by the shadows. “It’s creepy.”

You’re silhouetted against the window above the sink; looking out on the narrow, deserted street behind the restaurant— more a glorified alley than not. It’s dark out, past eleven. The glow from the closest streetlight barely reaches.

“Ya don’t need to be scared when I’m here,” Osamu says with a grin, as he moves towards the rack. “Gonna protect you from the ghosts an’ all.”

The bulb stabilises, and now he has a clear view of the way you roll your eyes at him. “Oh, so our restaurant is haunted now?”

The plates clink as Osamu puts them away, louder than usual in the silence. “I’ve got a Bluebeard type operation going on here, ya see. Really think you’re my first girlfriend?”

You laugh as you return your attention to the sink. “Wow, shame you didn’t open with that line on the first date.” The steel wool makes harsh, scraping squeals as you scrub. “Nothing like reminding a girl her date could be a murderer. Makes everything a little more exciting.”

“Noted for my next victim,” he concedes. “And I’ll order a new bulb when we get home. Didn’t think it was makin’ ya that uncomfortable.”

You smile gratefully at him over your shoulder as you turn on the faucet and give the sink a final rinse. “We need some new knives too. Those kids you were training for the part time work really wore out the ones we have now.”

Osamu nods. “You okay to finish up and meet me outside? I’ll start pullin’ down the shutters.”

You agree, just like you always do.

Emi would fit right in with those ghosts that (did not) haunt Onigiri Miya.

You’re sitting with her at the only occupied table. There’s a light rain tonight, and the raindrops pattering against the windows drown out what little conversation he would have been able to hear from the counter.

She’s a wisp of a woman, huddled under a mud-coloured cardigan that blends into the restaurant’s wood panelling. She sits incredibly still. Her long, dark hair hangs loose around a pale and unmemorable face. Barely there. Almost a trick of the light.

Osamu watches as you take her hand, telling her something urgently. She never raises her eyes from her lap. Her shoulders are hunched, but her face is impassive.

He wonders what she’s thinking.

“Who’s Sadako over there?” Atsumu asks, reaching for another rice ball.

Osamu slaps his hand away. “Are ya paying for any of that? This ain’t a soup kitchen. And lord, yer rude.”

Atsumu withdraws sulkily. “Stingy.”

It’s easy to tell what Atsumu’s thinking. He says everything that crosses his mind; but even when he doesn’t, it’s written all over his face. Growing up with him, Osamu had to learn that people could lie; and lie well.

That woman looks pitiful, is what Atsumu is thinking right now, glancing over his shoulder with furrowed brows. Is she okay?

“That’s her friend,” Osamu says. “From college. Emi.”

“Yeah? What’s her problem?”

“Shitty boyfriend.”

“I thought you were dating—”

Osamu smacks him upside the head.

The new light bulbs come in. Osamu replaces the one in the kitchen, but it still flickers.

He expects you to comment, make a joke about ghosts; but you just keep scrubbing the sink. You haven’t said much at all, today.

The steel wool screams. Osamu’s worried you’ll cut through your gloves.

“Hey,” he says, because he’s not sure what else he can say, “Easy.”

You start, as if jerked out of a trance. “Sorry.”

The silence after, where you stand with your head hanging over the sink, too far away for him to touch, is suffocating and cavernous all at once. He’s afraid to say the wrong thing, and having to watch it echo and bounce, amplifying itself into something grotesque.

“Emi will get justice. They’ll find out who did it.”

You turn on him so suddenly, so violently, that he instinctively takes a step back; even though you’re half his size.

“I know who did it, it was him,” you spit, face venomous and unfamiliar. “If the police would just listen to me and Emi’s sister—”

“He has an alibi,” Osamu reminds you gently. “There’s no proof.”

You blink, and seem to deflate. “Right, no proof. The police can’t do anything.” You chew on your thumbnail as you mumble, speaking more to yourself than to him, the rest of your fingers curled in a fist.

Your anger seems to have evaporated in an instant, quick as the flickering light. You’re you again. At least, that’s what he wants to believe.

He needs to fix that light. It’s making you look damn scary.

Emi’s sister comes by to see you a lot, after they find the body. Osamu’s not sure what you speak to her about. He’s also not sure why he feels like he shouldn’t ask.

It’s been gnawing at him, lately. This feeling of not sure, not knowing. It's always present, always sapping at his strength. It’s the real ghost in Onigiri Miya, only he’s not sure who it’s haunting— him, or you.

You seem different. He finds himself watching you from a distance, trying to understand what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. It used to be easy; a language he was fluent in.

Now, his tongue feels rusty. He can never find the words that feel right.

You don’t speak as much as you did before, either. The silence after closing used to be warm and comfortable, the time he got to spend with you at the end of a bustling day. But now it isn’t calming. It’s tense, as if he’s constantly waiting for something to explosively fill it in.

There’s just you.

“Osamu, what time is it?” you ask, stripping off your gloves. “Could you check my phone? It’s right next to you.”

He looks at you curiously. You usually left it out front with his, charging under the register. Why the change? He can’t bring himself to ask.

“Osamu.” Your voice is stretched taut.

He swallows and hastily taps at your screen. “Ten.” It’s later than he expected.

“Okay.” You take a deep breath. “Is it okay with you if I leave a little early? Emi’s sister invited me to dinner. I forgot to tell you. It’s at eleven. I want to go home and get ready.”

The photographs the detectives showed you at the restaurant last week flash through his mind. He’d wanted to pummel the man for upsetting you that much. “I don’t want you walkin’ alone—”

“I’ll be fine. It’s only ten.”

Osamu notices you don’t wait for him to agree as you gather your things into your purse.

Emi’s boyfriend is missing.

Osamu doesn’t tell the police the knives they’re taking away are almost brand new.

He doesn’t tell them that you took the old ones to the recycling centre two weeks ago.

He tells them you left the restaurant at ten, and that it was eleven thirty when he finished; a little later than usual, but that was to be expected— he didn’t have your help, after all.

He doesn’t tell them it should have been well past midnight.

You don’t say anything at all, merely watching the detective as you wash out the splattered soy stains on a napkin a clumsy customer had been using. The water runs brown.

He can't get Atsumu's words out of his head.

‘Is everything alright between you two?’

Osamu is watching you clean the sink again. He should be mopping the floor tonight, but he finds himself rooted to the spot.

‘Sorry, I don't mean to be nosy.”

You turn on the faucet, washing away the soap with a face that’s far too serious for what you’re doing.

‘She just looks like there’s something on her mind lately.’

Did you? Osamu doesn’t know anymore. When did you start feeling like a stranger?

He doesn’t want it to be like this. “I haven’t seen Emi’s sister around—” he starts.

“We decided to stop seeing each other,” you reply, never turning back. “Too painful. For both of us.”

You never told him that. He tries to convince himself it’s only because he didn’t ask, but he never had to, before. Osamu realises he doesn’t even know the sister’s name.

The faucet shuts off, but you just stand there, palms resting on the edge of the sink, head hanging over it. Despite everything, his heart wrenches. When he reaches out to touch your shoulder, you don’t tense like he’d been expecting— like he’d been afraid of.

No, you lean into his touch; and he finds the courage to gently pull you back, turn you to face him. You look at him, really look, for the first time in days. Osamu can’t imagine how he could think your face would ever be unfamiliar to him.

The moment is perfect. He could pretend everything is fine now, he thinks. It wouldn’t even be that hard. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t just ask you to meet him outside, while he gets started on the shutters.

He doesn’t know why he says, “Is there something… I should know?”

Something changes.

Your mouth is a straight line. Neutral.

Impassive.

Just like Emi.

The light bulb flickers.

please like/reblog/reply if you enjoyed :) [my other fics]

#osamu miya x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #my fic

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whiskey-tango-matcha · 1 month

Text

Hard to Shake (M, cold)

Woof, that was too long of a hiatus. I'm back with some Greyson sickfic! In this, Greyson has a one night stand and ends up 'running into' his hookup in a not-so-stellar way. This was a fun write, I'm feeling a little rusty after taking a couple months off writing but I hope you all like it. Please let me know what ya think, good, bad or indifferent! :)

CW: M snz, colds, contagion, coughing, some M/M romance but nothing above PG-13 lol. 5k words (it's a slow burn, shocker, I know)

Hard to Shake

The club was dark, humid, and loud as fuck - just the way he liked it.

“I’ll get us drinks,” Matt said, disappearing into the crowd to push towards the bar without waiting on Greyson’s response. Not that he would have stopped his counterpart; Matt had a boyfriend waiting for him at the end of this black hole of a night. Greyson, alternatively, was on the prowl for a bed, and someone to share it with.

They had begun the night at two pm, just an hour after brunch ended, since the only way to get a proper buzz on a Sunday was to start early as hell. Elijah had closed the restaurant early – “We’ve had ten guests all day. It’s too damn hot for brunch, and I want to go home” – and Mark was currently on a plane home from England after a week spent with family; it was like the universe was begging them to go out.

The restaurant’s reservations had been capped at a tiny number the next two days to prepare for their food writer dinner on Wednesday, and Greyson was so nervous about this career-shaping dinner that he could barely keep himself from lapsing into panic attacks at the slightest provocation; it was Matt who insisted on the bender.

“We haven’t gone on a good one since Mark and I got together,” the sous chef had said after service. “And you need a drink, you're acting like a psycho.”

Greyson, never one to deny himself a good binge drink, had taken the bait and allowed himself to be paraded through the city for the rest of the day. Now, at eleven pm and with Mark back at his and Matt's place safe and sound, Greyson could feel the night coming to a close. Time to round it out with a good old-fashioned one-night-stand.

Without waiting for Matt to return with the drinks, Greyson sashayed onto the dance floor and began grinding on whoever seemed the most into it – he ground on a group of drunk men, twirled between two gorgeous women who laughed giddily through the song, and put his tongue into so many people’s mouths that he lost count. Of course it was fun; it always was. But the hunt for a bed partner had proven, thus far, unsuccessful.

“There you are,” Matt slurred, coming up behind his boss and shoving a whiskey into his hand. “Why do you always run off? I’m about three seconds away from getting you one of those toddler-leash backpacks.”

“Makin’ friends, Matty boy,” Greyson said, chugging his drink and slamming the glass onto the closest table he could find. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of goin’ home to a warm, naked man in our bed.” Greyson elbowed Matt playfully and the younger man rolled his eyes.

“Fair ‘nough,” he said, sipping his drink. “Hey, actually, I saw someone who was exactly your type back near the bar. Talkin’ about food and everything.” Greyson raised his eyebrows, intrigued, and Matt looped his arm into his boss’s and led him back towards the horseshoe-shaped bar. “Let’s see if we can’t get you fucked to sleep.”

Matt pushed the two of them through the crowd, his head on a swivel, until finally he spotted the man he’d been talking about. “There he is,” Matt said, pushing Greyson towards the bar. “Do your thing.”

The sous hadn’t lied; this man was quintessential Greyson’s type. Shorter than his six-foot-three-inches by about half a foot, perfect skin, hair coiffed in a way that just smelled of total pretentious douchebag, and a full blazer and dress pants at the club. Oh yeah, Greyson thought, pulling the elastic out of his sandy curls and shaking them to fall around his shoulders, there’s the rest of my evening.

“Hi,” Greyson said, pushing himself in front of whoever the guy had been talking to before. “Can I buy you a drink?”

***

In his defense, he hadn't known the condition of the man he'd left with until they got to his apartment. The club had been dark; he could barely hear the sound of his own voice, let alone the wheeze of someone else’s. And he’d been really, really drunk.

“Hh-! EISHH-oo! ISHH-oo!” The man – Reed, Greyson had learned his name was – curled into his elbow to sneeze as he pushed open the door to his apartment. “Shit, pardon mbe,” he muttered, clearing his throat and beckoning Greyson in. The chef, blasted as he was, simply ignored Reed’s constant sneezing.

“Now, where were we?” Greyson purred, pawing the back of Reed’s head and pulling it into his own. The two stood in the entry of Reed’s apartment – a truly incredible fifteenth-story one-bedroom in the Upper East Side with its own doorman – making out until Reed had to pull away to catch his breath.

“Shit,” he said again, panting, “sorry. Thought the worst of this fuckin’ cold was behind mbe but – ISHHOO! Snrf. Apparently ndot.” He wiped his nose on the back of his hand and cringed. “I understand if you don’t want to stay,” he said, giving Greyson an apologetic look.

Greyson remained unfettered. “Reed,” he said, taking a step back towards the other man. “Stop talking. And get in bed.”

Reed’s face colored. He opened his mouth to say something, but Greyson cut him off with another kiss.

“What did I just say?” Greyson asked, taking off his t-shirt and unbuttoning Reed’s expensive-looking button down. “Get in the bed -” - he yanked the shirt off the smaller man and licked him, navel to collar bone, prompting a moan - “- and let me take care of you.”

To his credit, Reed did as he was told. He did as he was told all night long.

***

“Lij, I don’t want to alarm you.”

“Greyson, I don’t want to hear it. Zip it. I’m being so serious right now.”

“I don’t want to alarm you,” Greyson repeated, slamming the rest of the bottle of Pedialyte and holding onto the prep table as if for dear life, “but I think I may be dying. I think I may need you to call me an ambulance.”

Elijah swung his chair around and strode towards the chef. He took the sunglasses Greyson had placed on his face the moment he walked inside the bright kitchen and tossed them across the room. He regarded the chef with an annoyance usually reserved for parents of crying toddlers at Disneyland.

“Your drinking antics, Grey, are what most people would describe as ‘a you problem’. You decide to get unreasonably wasted and then come in to prep one of the biggest dinners of your career? That’s a you problem. I don’t want to hear it. The only thing I want to hear is your knife going into and out of different types of food.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to hear about the incredibly hot guy I hooked up with last night?” Greyson asked, a smile blooming at his lips. Elijah, despite himself, felt his eyebrows raise halfway up his face.

“But you haven’t slept with anyone in months,” he said, annoyed at himself for taking the bait but too curious to stop himself from saying anything. “I thought you were on a self-imposed time-out?”

Greyson shrugged, pushed his hair into a bun at the top of his head, and secured it with an elastic. “I was,” he said. “But - and you’re not going to believe this, but it’s true – I am finally feeling… I dunno. Healed?”

“Healed?” Elijah asked, snorting. “I think you’ve been taking too many hot yoga classes. Like, spiritually healed?”

Greyson tipped his head back and forth, considering. “Kind of,” he said. “Like… ready. Moved on from Collin. Prepared to get back out there for real, not in a self-punishing way.”

Elijah whistled, long and low. “Wow,” he said, patting Greyson’s back. “Well, congrats, man. A little over a year and you’re finally back on your feet. That’s actually quite impressive.”

“Thanks,” Greyson laughed, shoving Elijah playfully. “I was also really drunk and you know nothing stops drunk-Greyson when he decides he’s going to sleep with someone.”

“There it is,” Elijah said, rolling his eyes and laughing. “So… tell me about him. Did you get his name?”

Greyson dead-panned his boss as he pulled knives out of his bag and cracked his neck. “Yes, I got his name, Elijah. That’s what healed people do, they get people’s names before sleeping with them, and I am, as previously stated, healed.”

Elijah flipped the chef off lazily, non-committal. “Well, out with it then,” he said. “What’s his name? Tell me about the night.”

“His name is Reed Parker, and we fucked til the sun came out,” Greyson said simply, laughing at his own gregariousness. He looked up when he realized that Elijah wasn’t laughing – in fact, his face had gone stark-white. “What?”

“Reed Parker?” Elijah asked, pulling out his phone. “You’re sure that’s his name?”

“Umm, according to him at least, yeah,” Greyson said, unwrapping a pan with a cleaned striploin in it. “Why, do you know him?”

“No,” Elijah said, pushing his phone towards Greyson. “But if that’s him, we’re going to know him in two days.”

Greyson looked down at the phone and felt the wave of nausea he’d been holding back all morning wash over him – oh. Oh, no.

Pulled up on Elijah’s phone was an Instagram post from The Foodie Society – a group of well-acclaimed food critics and writers in the city. The group that was hosting a dinner at Elliot’s in two days. The group that would likely be the deciding factor in whether Greyson got nominated for a James Beard award this year.

We are so excited to announce Reed Parker, writer of the extremely popular food blog, ‘Eat Like You Mean It’, as our newest Foodie Society member! Reed has been a prolific writer and food critic in the city for nearly five years, and we are so delighted to have him aboard. Can’t wait to collaborate with you, Reed!

Above the blurb was a photo of – undoubtedly – the man that Greyson had slept with the night before. He looked markedly healthier in the photo, and his hair was a little longer, but there wasn’t any was it wasn’t him. Greyson swallowed hard.

“Oh… shit,” Greyson muttered, lowering himself to the floor. “Oh, no.”

“Maybe he was drunk, too?” Elijah said, the panic clear in his voice. “Maybe he won’t remember?” Elijah kneeled down next to Greyson, trying to console him. “Hey, Grey, it’s alright. Obviously you guys didn’t know who the other one was. It’s not like he’s going to think you slept with him to get the nomination. It was just drunk sex. Right?”

“He gave me an out,” Greyson muttered, shaking his head. He looked up at Elijah, eyes wild. “Maybe he did know, or maybe he figured it out on the walk back to his place, because he gave me a fuckin’ out.”

“What do you mean?” Elijah asked, pulling Greyson back to his feet. The chef stood, but placed his head in his hands and his elbows on the prep table, as if to steady himself.

“He was getting over some sort of sickness, and he said he’d understand if I didn’t want to stay. He basically told me to get out and I just… fuck. I told him I didn’t care, and I stayed the night. Shit. I’m never going to get nominated now. There’s no fucking way.” Greyson rubbed both hands down his face and shook his head in disbelief. “I fucked myself.”

“Greyson,” Elijah said, taking his friend’s chin and lifting it so their eyes met. “You didn’t fuck yourself. Okay? He didn’t know it was you. It was a mistake, and also he’s brand new there, it’s not like he’s THE deciding factor. Just – wait, did you say he was sick?”

Greyson, his chin still in Elijah’s fingers, looked away from his boss with just his eyes. “Uhh… I mean, yeah, kind of, I guess. He had some sort of cold, I think.”

“You purposely slept with someone who was sick three days before this huge dinner?”

“Umm… did I mention I was really drunk?”

Elijah sighed loudly and threw his hands in the air. “Never a dull fuckin’ moment with you, is there?” he mumbled, storming into the office and pillaging through their medicine cabinet. He returned a moment later with Emergen-C and Airborne in his hands. “Take those.”

“Yes, sir,” Greyson muttered, pulling them to his side of the table. “Sorry.”

“I think it’s crazy that out of all the millions of people you probably saw yesterday, the one you just so happened to pick is a food writer who could decide your future fate who also had a fucking cold. There wasn’t a single other person in the city you could sleep with?”

“Apparently not,” Greyson muttered, pouring Emergen-C into his water bottle. Elijah took a deep breath before continuing.

“Let’s just… let’s try to get through the next couple days,” he said, heading back to the office. “I am glad you want to get back out there,” he continued from afar, “just maybe give them a cursory Google before you bang them next time. Okay?”

Greyson, completely deflated, just nodded. He swallowed and thought he could already feel a twinge of a sore throat, which would just figure. His dick had sealed his fate. Fuck.

***

Tuesday, May 12

NEW MESSAGE

Matt

3:53pm

r u almost back??? idk how much longer I can handle them at each others throats.

Mark

3:58pm

On my way back now! Are they at each other’s throats again?? I thought they were over it..

Matt

3:59pm

has elijah ever REALLY been over smthn..? & greyson’s going down fast af so hes pissy.

Mark

4:02pm

It seemed like he was in the downward slide when I left...ugh. ok, I’ll be back in 15!

“We are ndot,” Greyson said from behind his sous chef, “at each other’s throats.”

Matt jumped at the sound of his boss’s voice and quickly clicked his phone screen off. “Don’t read my private texts, Chef, that’s rude.”

Greyson shrugged and pulled a tissue out of the box on the desk next to Matt. “Don’t talk shit about your boss and you don’t have to worry about mbe being ruuhh – huh! Hh...IGTSZHH-ue! Hh-NTSHZH-ue!” Greyson crumpled into the jacket he’d pulled over his chef’s coat to sneeze. His hair fell over his face, blocking the grimace he hid as he sucked in through his nose.

“Bless you, moron,” Elijah called from the dining room. Greyson rolled his eyes so hard he felt it splinter in his head. Matt winced when he saw Greyson shudder with pain, and stood from the desk.

“The prep sheets for tomorrow are all written, Chef, tell me how I can help you,” he said, guiding Greyson into the chair. Greyson allowed himself to be sat down, despite his better judgment.

“I feel pretty good about -”

“You feel pretty good? Is that a joke?” Elijah asked, pushing through the swinging kitchen doors and leaning on the office door frame. Greyson gave his boss the dirtiest look he could muster and turned back to Matt without a word to his boss.

“I feel confident about the first three courses for tomborrow’s dinner, but the steak and dessert I feel like we’re way behind. Plus I have ndo idea how the guys are looking for service tondight, so pick which one of those you’d rather tackle and I’ll – hhuh! Hh...HUHESTZHH-ue! Fuck, snrf.” Greyson grabbed another tissue and blew his nose before finishing. “I’ll do the other onde.”

Matt nodded while Elijah stood wordlessly in the doorway. “I’ll get with the guys and help them with tonight, make sure it goes smooth,” he said. Greyson nodded back and his sous looked away and scurried towards the line. Elijah, in stark contrast, pushed past Greyson and sat at the other end of their shared desk, unwilling to look away from the mess that was the executive chef.

“How ya feeling?” he asked finally. Greyson pulled another tissue out of the box just in time.

“HRTSHH-ue!” he sneezed into the tissue and let a tickling flurry of coughs escape as well. Elijah sighed, looked into the kitchen, and reached past Greyson to shut the door to their office.

“How are you feeling,” he asked again. “Seriously.”

Greyson sighed wheezily and pulled a hand down his face. “Honestly?” he said, looking Elijah in the eye, “like fuckin’ shit.”

Elijah sighed as well. “You seemed okay when you came in this morning,” he said, as though it mattered.

“I felt okay this mborning,” Greyson admitted. “I mean, I felt like it was coming but I definitely didn’t feel this… shitty.” He shrugged. “It just… I don’t kndow. Hit mbe out of nowhere.”

Elijah nodded. “I mean, if you want to leave so you’re good for tomorrow, you know I’ll understand.” Greyson just scoffed.

“I have so mbuch shit to do before tomborrow,” he said, sucking in through his nose and coughing again. “There’s ndo way in hell.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, until Elijah sighed. “Fuck, Greyson. I’m really sorry.” He looked up at his friend, the true pity evident on his face. “I know how important this dinner is to you. It’s still going to be great, okay? If you need to par it down, do it. It’s not like they know what’s on the menu til tomorrow. I’m cutting off reservations tonight so you can go home early, okay? We’re going to make this work.”

Greyson had to set his jaw to keep from tearing up. “It’s mby own damn fault,” he said. “Ndo need to baby mbe – hh...HTSHH-ue! HRTSHH! NTSHH! Huh! Huhhh-ETSZHHH-uee!” Greyson collapsed into his own lap, lapsed into coughs again. Elijah handed him a water bottle, which he took the cap off of while wiping his nose with the other hand.

“Can we go back to you being a dick to mbe?” Greyson asked, his voice rough. “That I can handle.”

Elijah pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. “Sure, Chef. Get your lazy ass up and start prepping,” he joked, pushing Greyson’s arm lightly. “Sitting is for the weak.”

Greyson smirked, an attempt at a laugh that wouldn’t make him cough. “Thanks, Lij,” he said. “Let’s get this stupid fuckigg show on the road.”

***

Course One

Compressed Cantaloupe

tarragon | smoked sea salt | brown butter crumble

Reed sat in the cushy, velvet chair and attempted to make himself comfortable. He hoped beyond hope that this dinner would go as quickly as humanly possible.

After their little rendevouz at the club, of course Reed had looked Greyson up; in this day and age, who wouldn’t look up their previous night’s partner, if only to make sure they weren’t some sort of psycho killer. And after he looked him up, of course he realized that oh. It was that Greyson Abbott. The same one whose food he was about to be poised in front of. The one who he and his fellow writers gathered around this table were tasked with deciding whether or not he was worthy of a Beard nod.

Of course.

Reed shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. The other writers had started talking immediately and, this being his first dinner with them, he was feeling awkward and left out. He really could have used the distraction of talking about their craft, but apparently he would have to earn a word tossed in his direction. This was going to be a long evening.

At least the restaurant is beautiful, Reed thought to himself. He’d never been to Elliot’s before, and now he was kicking himself for it. The wrap-around bar, the view of the park, the chandeliers… everything was gorgeous. He just wished he wasn’t here with these people, under the circumstance that his fling was in the kitchen plating up. That put a bit of a damper on things.

“Good evening,” a husky voice came from the head of the table, and Reed whipped his head to see a gorgeous plate of food placed in front of him, and the absolute god of a man he’d slept with a few days before standing just feet from him. Reed swallowed hard.

“I’mb Greyson,” Greyson said, and Reed immediately clocked the congestion in his voice. So you did give him that cold. Asshole, Reed chided himself. Greyson attempted to clear his throat before continuing.

“If you’ll excuse mby voice, I’mb at the tail end of a cold,” he continued, and Reed felt his face flame. Tail end, he thought. Yeah, sure.

“Our first course is compressed cantaloupe,” Greyson said. “I hope you enjoy. Pardon mbe, I have to get back to screaming at mby cooks.”

The group laughed in earnest as the chef walked away. Reed, too embarrassed to even look at the other writers, just picked up his fork and gathered a bite on it. He stuck it in his mouth and closed his eyes.

Christ, Reed thought, he cooks as well as he fucks.

Course Two

Hamachi

yuzu pearls | grapefruit | coconut crème

“I swear to God, Mbatt, what is goigg on?” Greyson yelled the moment he walked back into the kitchen. “We’re already behind, and none of the hamachi is on the plates yet? Can we please get it the fuck together che – ehh! HhITSZHH-uh! HRITSZHH-ue!”

Greyson yanked his chef’s coat over his nose and mouth and ducked away from the plates. The cooks called, “Bless, Chef,” and Elijah came up behind him with Sudafed – “The good shit, from behind the pharmacist counter,” he’d promised Greyson earlier, when he made an emergency trip to Walgreens for medicine – and popped two into his hand.

“I just took two,” Greyson croaked, sucking in through his nose.

“Well, it sounds like they’ve already worn off,” Elijah countered. Greyson swallowed the pills and coughed. “Is he out there?”

“Of course he’s out there, Lij, did you think he’d cancel because of mbe?” Greyson said, washing his hands and heading towards the pass to place hamachi on plates. “Like you said, hopefully he doesn’t remember.”

“Hard to forget a giant, loud, blonde buffoon who’s sporting the cold you just got over,” Elijah murmured, and Greyson flipped him off. “Just saying,” Elijah said.

“I don’t have timbe to think about him,” Greyson said, swallowing painfully. “I can’t think about anything but this.”

Elijah nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “Let me jump in with the pearls.”

Course Three

Lamb Lollipop

harissa | mint chutney | bbq ‘chip’

“Pretty incredible, right?”

These were the first words uttered to Reed all night, said moments after the third course was placed in front of him and seconds after Greyson disappeared back into the kitchen. Reed could see him dip into an elbow to sneeze before he made it back to the kitchen. He cringed; poor guy. This was all his fault.

“Reed?”

The writer who’d spoken to him waved a hand in front of his face to snap him out of his stupor. Reed pulled his head back to the table and smiled. “Really incredible,” he said. “I mean, this guy has talent.”

“For sure,” the other writer said. “I mean, he’s been hoping for a Beard nod for years.”

“Yeah?” Reed asked, hungry for any bit of lore he could get about Greyson. The other writer dug into his lamb as he nodded.

“About five years,” he said. “The menu is deemed as one of the best in the city, and he changes it every single day. I mean, the guy’s an animal.”

Reed nodded slowly. He could only imagine how hard Greyson had worked, how nervous he was, especially with Reed's stupid ass sitting here to judge him. Especially when Greyson was sick as a dog.

“That he is,” Reed said, and he took another incredible bite.

Course Four

Rutabaga Tart

fennel | feta | cured egg yolk

“Matt can put these on the plates, Chef,” Elijah said, putting a hand on Greyson’s back. “Take a quick break before you have to talk to them again. Drink some water. Blow your nose.”

Greyson shook his head, pushed the flop sweat off his forehead. “This is mby shot. These are mby plates,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “I’mb here until the end.”

Elijah pressed his lips together and flashed Matt a look. The sous chef just raised his eyebrows and gave a little shrug. Once Greyson was like this… well, there was certainly no arguing with him.

“Okay,” Elijah said. “I’ll make you some tea, then.”

“Thank you, Lij,” Greyson managed, before ducking under the pass to sneeze into the collar of his chef’s coat. “God, fuck, I’mb gonna have to throw this thing away after this.”

“More like burn it,” Matt countered, prompting the first laugh from Greyson all evening.

“Burn it is right,” Greyson said. “HHITSZHH-ue!”

Course Five

Striploin

deconstructed bearnaise | white asparagus | duxelle

The fifth course was placed in front of them, and the writers looked up expectantly at Greyson.

“Forgive mbe,” Greyson said, his voice strained to a whisper. “I’ve yelled mbyself out in the kitchen, so mby number-two will introduce your last two courses.”

The writers tutted or laughed and looked over towards the sous chef – everyone except Reed. Reed was staring at Greyson, hoping he could hear his thoughts. I’m sorry you’re sick. I’m sorry I’m here. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

The sous finished the description and the writers began to eat once again. Reed was sure he could hear the younger chef say to Greyson, “Just one more, Chef,” as they walked back to the kitchen.

Reed sighed and took a bite of his steak. He closed his eyes; perfection.

He did not deserve to be here.

Course Six

Matcha Milk Bombe

coffee | pastry crumb

Greyson placed the final pastry onto the final plate and turned away to cough as the servers brought his final plate of food to the critics. He felt like he was attending his own funeral.

“I don’t think I can go out there again, Lij,” Greyson said, shaking his head and crouching down on the ground. “I can’t look at all of themb, I’ve embarrassed myself enough.”

“You haven’t embarrassed yourself at all, Grey,” Elijah promised, pushing Greyson’s sweaty hair out of his face. “But I understand if you’re too exhausted. I’ll go out for the last one, thank them all for being here.”

“Please,” Greyson said. Elijah nodded, stood, and left the kitchen to meet the writers, while Matt nodded towards the office.

“Go,” he said to his boss. “Sit. You did it.”

Greyson shook his head. “Gotta clean mbyself up first,” he said, standing and moving towards the kitchen doors. “I’mb using the damn guest bathroom, fuck those pretentious assholes.”

Matt laughed in earnest. “You’ve earned it for sure, Chef.”

Greyson slipped into the guest bathroom, hoping no one saw him, and locked himself in a stall. Finally, he sat down and let himself go.

“HITSHH-ue!” Greyson sneezed into the open, then quickly grabbed a handful of toilet paper to keep from becoming the restaurant’s biggest biohazard. “HTTSHH! IIITZSCHUE! Huh! Hh…. huh, huhhh… huhhETSZHHH-ue! Huh! HRRRSHHH! Fuuuck mbe.” Greyson blew his nose, beyond exhaustion. He felt like shit. He knew he looked like shit. He’d put out shit food, he’d been in a shit mood… this whole thing was just… shit.

Finally, feeling a little more cleared out, Greyson flushed the toilet paper and unlocked the stall. When he exited, he nearly jumped out of his skin. There, in the doorway, was his fling - Reed.

“Jesus,” Greyson said, placing a hand on his chest. “Give a guy a fuckin’ heart attack.”

Reed shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, then let Greyson by to wash his hands. “Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to scare you. Bless you. By the way.”

Greyson huffed out a laugh. “Thangks,” he said, drying his hands. “Sombe cold you’re passing around town. Shouldn’t you be finishing your meal? Or was it so bad you’re here to hock it back up?”

“It was incredible,” Reed said earnestly. “Truly, Greyson. Thank you. I… I’m sorry. For being here, for getting you sick, I – I didn’t know that this place was… um… yours.”

“Mmm, more Elijah’s than mbine,” Greyson mumbled, looking away from Reed’s face. “But, uh… thank you. Glad you enjoyed. Hopefully it's ndot for nothing.”

"I don't think it will be. They all had nothing but good things to say. I'm just the grunt, but I mean...you have my vote. You're... You're incredible," Reed said, the words escaping his mouth before he could even consider what he was saying.

Greyson tried to hide a small smile by looking down. They both stood awkwardly until Greyson cleared his throat. “I, uh… better get back to mby guys,” he said, starting towards the door.

“I had an amazing time the other night,” Reed blurted out suddenly. “I, um… I haven’t stopped thinking about it, actually.”

Greyson smirked, the tension finally broken. “Yeah?” he asked. Reed nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “You’re… you’re hard to shake.”

Greyson took a step closer to Reed, looking him in the eye now. He sniffled, rubbed his nose, and crossed his arms, a smile dancing on his lips. “Who are you, Reed Parker?” he asked. Reed’s face flushed bright red.

“I – I don’t know what you mean. I’m a food writer.”

“Mmm,” Greyson nodded. “Well, Reed the food writer who can’t get mbe out of his mind, at the moment I’m a bit, uh… incapacitated. But,” Greyson pulled a Sharpie out of his coat’s side pocket and grabbed Reed’s hand, “if I’m still rattling around in your brain in a few days… give mbe a call.” Greyson coughed into his shoulder, capped the Sharpie, and gave Reed a little smile.

“I will,” Reed said, biting his cheek. “Thank you. For, um… dinner.”

Greyson paused, thinking, then took a bold step towards Reed, grabbed his chin in his hand, and planted a deep kiss on his lips. “It was my pleasure,” he said, and stepped out of the room.

Reed stood, flushed and breathless, for a moment. The kiss sat, swelling his lips, sweeter than any dessert he’d ever had; he looked at the number on his hand, felt his heart catch in his throat.

Greyson Abbott, he thought, looking towards the bathroom door. Holy shit.

#whiskeyswriting #snz #sickfic #snzfic #coldfic #snzblr #snez #male cold #male snz #ooo we have a new character hope you guys are into him bc i have ideas lol #im not a huge fan of the first part of this story but i really like the ending. whatever its fine #we're going with it. idk. i want to post it ive been looking at it for 8 hours so into the ether it goes #happy to be back :)

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