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queen-of-deans-booty · 3 months

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Across Every Universe

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: fluff

Request by anon: Hey Jordan, can i request something where Dean Winchester always have a crush on the reader but never said something to her until one day Sam and Dean are transported (based on the episode French Mistake) and Dean actor Jensen and is married to the reader of the universe and she pass the whole day giving Dean hug and kisses because for everyone is Jensen. When Dean and Sam came back to their universe him and the reader start dating? Fluff

Summary: Sam and Dean are taken back to the same place where Dean is known as Jensen Ackles and Sam as Jared Padalecki. This little trip makes Dean realize his feelings for you.

Square Filled: "god, if only you knew what you did to me" (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

No matter the position you’re in, you’re not comfortable. It doesn’t matter if you lie down on your side, your back, or your stomach. Not to mention the heater isn’t working in the Bunker so it’s very cold. You have three blankets over you while wearing long sleeves and pajama pants. The broken heater doesn’t help your running cold either. You’re not sure where you caught it from but you’ve been trying to stay away from the brothers to not get them sick.

That doesn’t keep Dean away, though.

He’s a complete sweetheart to you since he always brings you soup, makes sure you’re comfortable, and spends time with you even if you tell him not to go near you. You don’t know what you’d do without Dean in your life.

Speaking of, he knocks on your door and enters wearing his usual hunting attire.

“Going on a hunt?” you ask and sit up slightly.

“Yeah. I wish I could stay here and take care of you.”

“Other people need you,” you smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to stay in bed, watch movies, and make some soup later. Did you fix the heater, yet?”

“I have someone coming in a few days. He’s also on a hunt.”

“Right, no non-hunters here,” you chuckle.

“I’ll call you later and check up on you, okay?”

“My hero.”

You cuddle with your blankets more and Dean leaves your room with a slight blush on his cheeks. Before he closes the door, he looks back at you in thought. God, if only you knew what you did to me.

He closes your door and meets his brother in the library. As soon as they are packed and ready to go, they start the long drive to the next state over. When Dean gets onto the highway, Sam turns to Dean with a knowing smile.

“So, did you tell her how you feel?”

“Stay out of it, Sammy,” Dean rolls his eyes.

“How long have you had a thing for her? Years? When are you going to tell her how you feel?”

“I mean it, Sam. Stay out of it. I can handle it on my own.”

“Apparently not, or else she’d be yours.”

Dean punches his brother not gently in the arm and Sam laughs. Dean kept the music high so he could avoid talking about his feelings for you. They get to the town that has its residents sacrificing themselves in the name of God. If anything, it warrants some kind of visit from the Winchesters.

The town looks like a normal town with normal people just trying to live their normal lives. They have no suspicions that something is happening but they only just arrived. They get there late at night so they will have to do their work tomorrow morning. Dean takes out his phone when his brother goes into the bathroom to shower and calls you.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“I’m doing alright but not any better.”

“Did you take your medicine?”

“Yes, I did.” He can hear the smile in your voice and that makes him smile. “And I ate my soup and drank water.”

“Don’t forget to tell her goodnight,” Sam says loudly from the bathroom.

Dean grabs a pillow and chucks it at his brother. “Go take a shower. You stink.”

“Goodnight, Dean,” you chuckle, having heard Sam.

“Night sweetheart.” He hangs up and turns to his brother with a scowl. “I hate you.”

Sam and Dean actually get more than four hours of sleep that night but when Dean wakes up, he doesn’t recognize his surroundings. The motel is gone, the shutty beds and blankets are gone, and the peeling wallpaper is gone. What replaces it is a nice trailer, a comfortable bed, a big aquarium, and other nice shit that Dean has never had.

“Sammy?” he calls out. He gets up and leaves the small trailer only to run into Sam. “What the hell is going on? Where are we?”

“I don’t know.” Sam looks around and spots a name on the side of the trailer that’s behind Dean. “Oh, no. Look.”

Dean turns and sees the name ‘Jensen Ackles’ on the side. He turns back around and sees ‘Jared Padalecki’ on the trailer opposite his.

“You’ve got to be kidding me? We’re back in actor land? What happened last time?”

“Gabriel sent us here to avoid Raphael and his minions. I have no idea how we ended up here.”

“I bet it has something to do with the fact that people were sacrificing themselves in the name of God. My guess is that angels are involved.”

“There you two are.” Sam and Dean turn to see Castiel--Misha--walking toward them. “They’re looking for you two.”

“Yeah, we’re coming.”

If Sam and Dean didn’t do a good job trying to act last time, then they certainly aren’t going to do a good job now. It’s funny in hindsight but it makes for a very long day of filming. After the twentieth time messing up, Dean is ready to get the hell out of there to figure out how to get back to his world.

He looks to the right and sees you at the snack bar. He immediately calls for a time-out and leaves the set.

“Time out?” the director frowns and looks at him. “Everyone, take ten!”

“Y/N?”

“Come here, you have to try this. Gen made it,” you grin at Dean. You take a scoopful of food and present it to him. He opens his mouth and accepts the food, pleasantly surprised by the taste. “Oh, you have something on your mouth.” You wipe his bottom lip with your thumb and lick the food off. Dean is so confused about your behavior but doesn’t have time to figure it out. Your phone rings and you check who is messaging you. “I gotta go. Gen is here.”

You lean up and kiss him quickly before walking off. Dean can’t move after that quick kiss. You did it so casually like you’ve done it a thousand times. He is forced to go back to acting but he can’t do a good job because all he’s thinking about is your lips on his.

They aren’t getting enough filming done so the director calls it for the rest of the day. Sam and Dean convene outside to make it look like they’re busy so no one else talks to them.

“She kissed me, dude.”

“What?”

“Y/N or the woman who she’s supposed to be. She kissed me like we’re together or something.”

“Look, I’m glad you’re going through the five stages of teenage excitement but can we focus here? How are we going to get out of here?”

Dean looks around and spots you entering his trailer.

“Eh, you’ll figure it out. I’ll be back.”

Dean leaves to his trailer and Sam rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“Dean!” he hisses but receives no answer.

Dean enters his counterpart’s trailer and sees you where the bed is. You’re grabbing some night clothes out of the drawers since you’re not going to be leaving the trailer for the rest of the night.

“Hey, I talked to Gen about the cabin and she got it all set up for us this weekend. I’m so excited to spend some time away from all this for two days.”

“Are we dating?” The comment makes you laugh. “What?”

“Are you okay?” He looks kind of nervous so you walk over to him and wrap your arms around his neck. “I don’t know what’s going on with you but I do know how to make you feel better.”

“How?” he whispers.

You run your hands down his chest and take his hands. You take him to the bed and toss your night clothes onto a nearby chair. You fall onto the bed while pulling him so he lands on top of you but he stops himself with his hands so he doesn’t completely crush you.

You pull him down to kiss you and that’s enough to bring Dean into the delusion that you’re Y/N and you’re his. Your lips are softer than what he thought and your body fits so perfectly against his. He slips his tongue into your mouth to get familiar with you. You tug on his hair to get some traction so he pulls away from your mouth and kisses down your neck.

Your neck has always been a sensitive spot for you and he really knows how to work you up. He licks up and down your neck before latching onto the side of it. You gasp, tilt your head back, and moan something that brings Dean back down to reality.

“Jensen.” You’re not his. You’re not you. You’re Jensen’s. You’re not supposed to be with him. He pulls away and pants above you. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we just lay here instead?”

“Yeah, of course. Let me get changed.”

You slip out from underneath him and grab the pajamas you set aside earlier. You strip down naked and Dean has a hard time not looking at you. He can’t help but think you’re a complete stranger. The pajamas you’re wearing are revealing but he feels better at looking at you with clothes on. You climb into bed with him and cuddle into his side, and he tucks a strand of your hair behind your head.

“How did I get so lucky?”

“I’m the lucky one.”

“Tell me the story of how we met.” You look at him in confusion. “I want to hear it from you.”

“Okay, I got tickets to a red carpet event that my ex-friend invited me to. We were going to see the movie My Bloody Valentine because we thought it was going to be the next big movie. The entire cast was there, including you, meeting fans and taking pictures with them. When we locked eyes, it was like something was pulling you to me.

“You came over to me, complimented me on my dress, signed my poster with your number on it which I still have, and the rest is history. I never got together with you because you were a big celebrity. You were genuine, kind, funny, charming, and very sexy. It was hard not to fall in love with you.”

Dean notices the big ring on your finger and puts the pieces together.

“We’re married?”

“Yes, we are,” you laugh. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just… really happy.”

You lean over and kiss him. The next morning, Dean leaves his trailer before you get up. He doesn’t want to wake you even though he wants to. He finds Sam outside his own trailer with a book in his hands.

“Hey,” Dean sighs.

“I might have found a way out of here, no thanks to you.”

“What if we didn’t leave?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“The love of my life is my wife here.”

“That’s not your wife, Dean. She’s Jensen’s wife. She thinks you’re him. Why would you take that away from him? You have a girl waiting for you at home, a girl with whom you’re too scared to do anything about. Don’t take her away from him because you want what they have.”

Dean knows he’s right. He can’t stay here. He’s using this world as an escape from his own.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean sighs. “What do you have?”

“I found this book in the prop section. This might be a TV show but it does have some useful books to make it look real. There’s a ritual we can do.”

And a ritual it is. Once they get the stuff needed and perform it, they are brought back to the town they arrived in a couple of days ago. In order to properly tackle this town, they’re going to need some angelic help. Maybe Castiel can meet them back at the Bunker and figure something out then.

The first thing Dean does when he gets home is go looking for you. You’re still stuck in bed watching your favorite movies on Disney+. You pause your movie when your bedroom door opens.

“Hey, how was the hunt?” Dean doesn’t say anything as he kicks off his shoes. He climbs into bed with you and pulls you close to him. “Dean?”

“I love you,” he blurts. “I should have told you this years ago but I can’t seem to think straight when I’m with you. You make everything better for me, and you’re a better hunter than I ever was. God, I love you so much.”

“I’d kiss you but I don’t want to get you sick,” you smile.

“I don’t care,” he whispers and kisses you.

This is where he belongs. Right next to you.

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xhoneygirlxx · 8 months

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WANTED U

Eddie Munson x Best Friend Reader

summary: when your date is ruined by your best friend, can you stay mad at him when he reveals a secret you've been dying to know?

warnings: fluff, slight angst, Eddie is deep in his feels, two idiots in love. Minors DNI 18+ ONLY! mentions of drinking, Eddie gets drunk. swearing. p in v, creampie (wrap it up kiddos), fingering, body worship and praise. Reader's race/ethnicity is not mentioned! she/her pronouns used. Both Eddie and Reader are in their twenties. Also not proofread, spelling errors and horrible writing!

*if I miss anything please let me know!

a/n: Hi honey bunnies! I just want to thank @ali-r3n for this really cute idea! I'm so sorry it took me forever to post and I'm sorry about the shitty writing! Smut is not my strong suit and I've been plagued with the horrible writers block, so I hope this is okay! I hope you like this and thank you for being so wonderful and patient <3

All you wanted to do was to go on one date. One singular date. For the first time since your high school prom, you were going out with someone who was interested in you. A tinder match that led to multiple conversations, that led to having drinks, to hopefully going back to his place for a well needed time in the sheets.

That was the plan for the night. Then your phone started to blow up with phone calls and texts, an apparent SOS that couldn’t wait. So you had to cancel, mid-date, telling your date that there was a family emergency. You knew walking out of there that Jordan wouldn’t text you back or ever take you up on the second date offer.

It wasn’t like you were heartbroken over it, however you were a little bummed. The whole reason you even got on the dating app was because you were trying to get over your best friend. Eddie Munson stole your heart at the age of fifteen and had yet to give it back. It was a sick cycle that you have been going through for nine years.

You were the lovesick best friend, who just couldn’t take the hint, following him around like a lost dog. Eddie had you wrapped around his finger and you didn’t care. Canceling plans just because he wanted to see you, doing whatever he asked just because, and never dating with the hopes of him finally falling for you.

Those dreams were fruitless however, because Eddie didn’t see you as anything more than a friend. All the pining and unrequited love was killing you, a slow painful death that would put medieval torture devices to shame. It’s not like you could blame the brown haired boy, it’s not like you can pick who you fall for, but that didn’t stop you from wishing it would happen.

So therefore you took the giant leap and put yourself out there, trying to ease the ache of your heart. In the end you ended up in Eddie’s apartment, helping him in his drunken state, get to bed. The emergency that Jeff blew your phone up for, was this. A night out with the guys turned into Eddie getting belligerent and refusing to leave until you came and got him.

The whole car ride there you were disappointed in yourself, the whole reason for your dumb date was to stop yourself from running to the rescue every time he called. You were annoyed and heavily frustrated with the outcome of your night. It almost felt like the universe was against you, whatever god above watching you and laughing every single time you failed to move on.

As much as you wanted to hate the grown man sitting in front of you, you simply couldn’t. His whiskey colored eyes round and glossy, nose and cheeks rosy with the heat of alcohol coursing through him, and his hair messy from the cold night wind. He was so pretty and it was hard trying to stay mad at him, especially when he had a deep dimpled smile adorning his face.

“Alright Eds, I need you to change out of your clothes.” You say sweetly, the pile of his pajama’s hanging in your hands.

Following your instructions, he tries to lift his shirt over his head, only for it to get caught on his head. “Sweets, I need help.” He sounds like a helpless child trying to tie his shoes, and you have to stifle a laugh.

Placing the change of clothes next to him on the bed, you swiftly pull the stuck fabric off of him. When his head is released, he shakes his hair out of his face so he can see you. A childlike wonder flits in his eyes as he looks at you, admiring the way you’re being so gentle.

A small thank you is whispered, you hum in response as you pull the new shirt on him. His eyes close as you gently tug his arms through the hole, soaking up the amount of attention you give to him. It feels like you’re changing a newborn, so docile and content with the way you handle him.

“Can you take your pants off yourself or do you need me to help?” Your voice breaks his sleepy demeanor, droopy eyes looking up at you.

“You gonna buy me dinner first?” Wiggling his eyebrows, he playfully smirks at you.

“Ha ha, very funny.” You deadpan, yet your heart beat picks up at his innuendo.

Surprisingly, he’s able to take his bottoms off and replace them with the pair you picked out for him. Pulling the jewelry off his wrist and fingers, you place them hastily on his bedside table. His eyes follow your every move, like a curious kitty watching their owner. Pulling back the covers on his bed, you gently lay him down and prop his head up with pillows.

“So you have your bottle of water right here,” You show him by picking it up off the table where it’s sat, “And the bottle of Tylenol is right next to it. Now if at any moment you feel like you have to throw up, the garbage can is right next to you on the floor. Okay?”

Humming to you in understanding, he closes his eyes once more. When you think he’s about to pass out, you turn on your heel to grab clothes for yourself. Not getting far, his big hand wraps around your wrist gently, bringing your attention back to him. This time his expression isn’t as content or happy. No, his eyes are glassy with unshed tears and his bottom lip jets out in a pout.

“Please don’t leave.” It’s a whispered plea, innocent and childlike.

“I’m not leaving Eds, just grabbin’ some clothes to change into.” Even with your assuring smile, he’s still frowning at you.

“Please just, don’t leave.” Tugging your arm slightly, he brings you closer to the bed.

“Eddie, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” You’re now concerned with the state of your best friend and why he felt the need to beg you to stay.

“Promise? What about Jacob?”

“Eddie, what are you talking about?” Although he closes his eyes again, you still press for answers.

“I don’t wanna lose you t’some douche. You needa be with me, sweets cause I love you s’much. Don’t wanna lose you to him.” It’s all a slurred mess, his words mumbling together as they fall out of his mouth.

“If you mean Jordan, no I’m not going to leave you for him” You giggle softly, “I left my date with him to come get you. Plus his stories about kayaking were starting to get boring.” You try to lighten the mood, but it only makes his lip wobble more.

“I shoulda made a move, I wanted to b-but I-I was scared. Gareth told me I lost my chance with you and he-he was right.” A few stray tears fall down his cheek and you lift a hand to wipe them away.

The same brown eyes you fell in love with, all those years ago, stare up at you. The heart that’s bleed for him for nine years is starting to heal, the words you so desperately wanted to hear are finally coming to light.

With your own tears glistening in your eyes, you look down at him like you always do. With the biggest heart in your eyes and brightest smile on your face. “You should stop listening to Gareth, Eds. I think you still have a shot, but we’ll talk about this later. When you’re not drunk.”

Bobbing his head the best he can, he squeezes your hand once before retracting it. With his eyes closed and steady breaths leave his parted lips, you get changed and turn off the lights. Maybe the universe wasn’t against you, maybe it was on your side the whole time and just had a funny way of showing it.

The bright sun pouring through the window, wakes you up. The sight before you is one you’ve seen before. The side profile of your best friend’s face, wild hair sprawled over the pillow that lays beneath him. You take this moment in to study his features, the slope of his nose, the way his eyelashes kiss the tops of his cheeks, and how kissable his lips look.

Not much later is he stirring, stretching his limbs out after his wild night out. Cracking one of his eyes open, he winces slightly before running his hands down his face. Blinking once or twice, he finally lets himself wake up, staring straight at the ceiling. You wonder if he remembers what he said or if you should bring it up. Instead you choose to play it cool, or at least try to.

“Good morning drunky! How’d you sleep?” Reaching a finger out, you poke his side.

“Drunky,” he snorts,” I actually slept well, thanks to my wonderful nurse.” He takes a peak over at you, a smug smile already pushing his cheeks up high.

You try to ignore the butterflies in your tummy when you hear his voice, thick and husky with sleep. The giddy feeling rushing through you is written all over your face, covered up by a bad attempt of biting back a smile.

“Well, I’m glad you don’t feel so shitty.” You say, stretching your body to distract yourself from his burning gaze.

“What time is it anyway?” His question comes out in a yawn, loud and exaggerated. Propping up on your elbow, you lean over him to get a look at your alarm clock.

“A little past ten.” Eddie huffs, muttering something about it being far too early. “I know it’s too early for you but that just means we can go to Jerry’s and get waffles to soak up whatever's left in your system.” You coo at him mockingly, fake pouting as you look at him.

“Ya know, I don’t enjoy your fake pity.” Eddie rolls his eyes at you, a frown pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Oh I’m sorry, Eds. Want some ketchup with those cries?” Eddie’s frown deepens like a bratty child, and you eat up every second of it. “Oh, I know! I’ll call a wambulance.” You throw your head back, laughing at your own joke.

With your attention off of him, he sees the perfect opportunity to laugh. At lightning speed, he grips your hands, flipping you over on your back. With the weight of his thighs bracketing you and his hand gripping your wrists together, you’re defenseless.

With a wild glint in his eyes, Eddie wastes no time in attacking you with a finger to your side. Relentlessly, Eddie tickles you to the point there are tears in your eyes from how hard you're laughing, and your pleas for him to stop are swallowed by the oxygen that’s being stolen from your lungs.

“It’s not so funny when it’s your turn, huh?” Smirking down at you, his attack doesn’t relent.

Thrashing around the best you can, you try everything to get him off but with the way his thighs squeeze your legs together makes it hard to do so.

“Okay, Okay! I’m sorry, Eddie! Please!” The last word comes out as the softest moan, so soft that you would miss it if you weren’t paying attention. However, Eddie was and his fingers stopped digging into your sides immediately.

The sound of your heavy breathing is the only thing to be heard. Eddie stares down at you, eyes unblinking and cheeks dusted pink. The usually brown eyes are now dark, the dark pupil over taking the iris. You stare right back at him, chest rising and falling dramatically and lips parted slightly letting the air from your lungs flow out easily.

It feels like the world has stopped, time frozen still for eternity. The mid-morning light painting the two of you in a portrait, cementing the moment forever. Two heart beats synching up together, beating against the bones of your rib cages.

“Fuck it.”

Eddie rushes in to smash his lips against yours. Years of waiting and wondering if this moment would ever happen, now finally laying to rest. The taste of him has been the missing part of your life this whole time and you wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

It’s sweet and slow, his tongue slipping inside your mouth softly. Morning breath be damned, the two of you make out for what seems like hours on end. Parting from each other for much needed air, a small giggle leaves your mouth.

“What?” Eddie smiles, his face as dopey and gooey as you feel on the inside.

“I just wanted this for so long.” You admit, making his smile pull wider.

Leaning back down to you, he peppers kisses all over your face. The snickering that’s leaving your mouth is slowly turned into a whimper when his lips find their way to your neck. A gasp pulls from your chest the minute he finds that spot, eliciting him to suck on it. Hissing when it becomes too much, Eddie is quick to soothe the sting with his tongue.

Pulling his face away from the crevice of your neck, his eyes find yours as his hand glides to find the hem of your shirt. Tugging on it and raising an eyebrow in question, you nod overenthusiastically.

Ripping the oversized shirt over your face, he takes his time to memorize all the details of your skin. The heat of his stare becomes a bit too much, worry overtaking your brain causing you to bite down on your lip.

“I just want you to know that I’ve waited since freshman year to see these bad boys.” Attention still drawn on your bare chest.

“Well, do they live up to the hype?” You question, tone not as confident as you think.

Eddie’s head whips up to you, mouth agape and you swear you can see drool pooling from his lips. “Sweets, you have no idea.”

Diving in, he kisses the doughy flesh of your breasts, going back and forth between the two. Like a magnet to a fridge, his lips find the hardened bud and latches on. Switching between sucking and flicking his tongue, you squirm underneath him trying to find some sort of friction for the ache in between your legs.

“You have no idea how many times I jerked off to the thoughts of this.” Eddie mutters as he moves his attention to the opposite nipple.

Between his admission and the feeling of his warm mouth on your sensitive skin, you moan loudly. The feeling of more wetness pool in your panties alerts you, the overwhelming feeling of need buzzing through you. A small whine comes from you and it catches Eddie’s attention.

Pulling away from your breast and peering up at you, he cocks his head to the side. “What’s wrong, baby? Want some cheese for that whine?”

When his canine teeth shine through his devilish smirk, you whimper. You hate that he’s using your game from earlier against you, teasing you like he doesn’t know what you want.

“What is it, sweets? Tell me what you want.” Fake pity drips from his question and it only eggs you on more.

Eddie’s got you so worked up that you can’t even speak. Lifting your hips to show him what you need, you frown harder when he laughs at you.

“Oh, princess,” He coos, running his thumb along your lower lip, “Be the good girl I know you are, and ask. Can you do that f’me?” Nodding your head, he encourages you with an assuring smile.

“C-can you touch me, please?” Your voice sounds so small and you’d honestly cringe if it weren’t for the fact that you know you’re dripping out of the fabric of your panties onto his bed.

Sighing heavily, Eddie gives your bottom lip a small tug with his thumb, letting the bottom row of your teeth show before it bounces back up into place.

“I would tease you more but you asked so nicely.” Shuffling down your body, he loops his fingers through the sides and guides the thin material down your legs.

Pushing his way through your thighs, Eddie runs the tip of his middle finger up the slit of your sex. His finger grazes lightly over your bundle of nerves, causing you to jolt from the feeling.

“You’re really fucking wet.” Eddie says breathlessly as he parts your glistening lips apart with his fingertips.

Not waiting for your response, Eddie circles his finger around your entrance before plunging it in slowly. The stretch from his finger makes you arch slightly, a muffled moan falling from your mouth. Using the pad of his thumb, he swirls your clit in alternating circles and figure eights.

“More, Eds. Fuck, please!” You beg and who is Eddie to deny you. Pushing another finger inside, he curls them just right and starts going faster.

“Fuck you’re so greedy, baby. Isn’t that right, you’re s’greedy for me, huh?” With his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat and his cheeks a pretty burgundy shade, he looks just as fucked out as you.

Writhing underneath him, you babble nonsense as his fingers hit that spot you always struggle to. “Yes! M’so greedy - Shit!”

“You gonna let me taste you? Gonna let me eat this pretty cunt?” You don’t even get a chance to answer, your body already doing it for you by clenching around his fingers. “Oh she likes that, huh? You like imagining me in between these pretty thighs, baby?”

“Think ‘bout it all the time.” You moan, hips rocking against his hand as you try to chase your high.

“Yeah, sweets? Think about me when you play with this pretty pussy?”

That’s all it takes for you to come undone, gushing around his fingers with a muted scream. Your back arches off the bed, eyes rolled into the back of your head, as the feeling of your orgasm washes over you.

Eddie helps you ride through it, continuing his motions until your tense muscles relax into a jelly like state. When you come back down from your high, you whimper at the loss of his fingers. Moving your eyes to him, you watch as he sticks his middle and forefinger in his mouth, moaning when the taste of you hits his taste buds.

“Yeah, I’m definitely gonna have to eat you out.” Eddie grins at you and you roll your eyes playfully back at him.

“That sounds absolutely wonderful, but” You begin to say and his face drops with the fear of rejection, “I’m going to need you to fuck me in the next thirty seconds.” You smirk and his jaw drops.

After fifteen seconds of pure shock, Eddie shakes his head and tries to play it cool.

“Yeah totally, let me just-” His sentence is cut off when he begins to struggle out of his own clothes.

Once he’s stark naked and hovering over you, you laugh giddily up at him. Putting his forehead to you, he studies your eyes for any sort of regret or doubt.

“Eds, I promise you I want this.” You reassure him, making sure to prove the point with a loving kiss.

With his confidence boosted, Eddie snakes his hand down to guide himself into you. When the tip breaches your entrance, the both of you gasp at the feeling.

Pushing in slowly, he brings his lips back to yours, swallowing your moans. Once he's all the way in, Eddie gives you a minute to adjust before he starts moving.

Nodding your head to let him know you're good, he pulls almost all the way out before ramming back into you, knocking the wind from your lungs.

"Fuuck, sweets. S'fuckin' tight." His voice trembles as he pounds into you.

"You're so big, I can feel you s'deep." You slur, drunk on the way his cock stretches you, hitting that sweet spot with every drag of his hips.

Eddie resituates himself, pushing your knees up to your chest, before bringing his chest back down to yours. This way you can feel him even deeper, which you didn't even think was possible.

You're on fire, belly burning bright with fire. Eddie's everywhere, he's all you can see, hear, smell, touch, think, he's invaded every single one of your senses and you can't get enough.

His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes closed with the pure bliss of being inside of you. It's so intimate yet so dirty and it's driving you insane.

Opening his eyes, he looks down at you like you've hung the stars that shine in the sky.

"I wanted this for so long, sweets. I wanted you, so Fuck-" He hangs his head, speeding up the movements of his hips. A roaring sob comes out of your mouth, the fire in you burning hotter with every drag of his thick cock.

"I'm so in love with you, sweets. Been yours since I was sixteen." Finally he confesses, letting the sacred secret out, only this time he's drunk off of you.

"I love you too! Fuck-I love you so fucking much."

"Tell me you're mine. Please, tell me." He begs and you comply, growing closer and closer to the edge.

"M'yours, been yours since I was fifteen." You confess and it feels like the weight of the world has lifted off of you.

With one last thrust, you come undone with a loud cry. Eddie doesn't let up his movements, now only focusing on his own release.

The way his hips stutter, you know that he won't last too much longer.

"I want you to cum in me, Eds. I wanna feel s'bad." You coax and that's all it takes for the metalhead to come with a stuttering grunt.

Lazily thrusting into you, he finally stops when he becomes overstimulated. The room is once again calm, the now afternoon sun blinds you as it seeps into the room. Heavy breathing and content hums fill the room, while the scent of sex lingers in the air.

Shyly removing himself from your chest, Eddie looks at you sheepishly. "Now what?"

If you didn't know Eddie you'd probably think he's being rude, but you know that he really is just overthinking everything that just happened. In his mind he thinks you're probably regretting everything, even though you told him you felt the same way.

Using your hand to pull some of the hair that sticks to his cheeks away, you smile affectionately at him.

"Well, I was thinking we could still go to Jerry's for breakfast," Eddie still looks at you like he's waiting for the ball to drop, "Then I thought you could keep your promise and eat your girlfriend out. That is, if you're not too full."

"Really?" He looks like a puppy who just heard its favorite word, excited with it's tail wagging back and forth.

Snickering up at him, you nod your head rapidly. Pulling out of you quickly, Eddie runs out of the room and you can hear the chaos of clattering from behind the door.

"Eddie, what are you doing?" More giggles fall from your lips as he races back in with a wet wash rag in his hand.

"Gotta clean you up before we go out to eat, baby. That way I can recreate our masterpiece later." He says wiggling his eyebrows.

Yeah this was the dork you fell in love with and who you were going to love for the rest of your life.

Thank you all for reading! I'm sorry it's not the best!

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x female reader

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rad-batson · 8 months

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Batlantern Headcanons Because I Found My New Brainrot and I Cannot Contain Myself (Platonic or Romantic, You Decide <3)

Hal is the only one who gets away with calling Bruce nicknames. Oliver tried calling Bruce “Spooky” once. He still has nightmares.

Several long-winded missions combined with Hal’s couch-surfing escapades have resulted in Hal having his own official Wayne guest room.

Alfred has smacked Hal with a dish towel several times. Reasons include: trying to wash the dishes, using a mini vac that he brought from home, and spitting gum into the garbage without wrapping it in a tissue first.

Tim gave Hal all of their streaming passwords to piss Bruce off. Hal proceeded to make his own profiles because he fears nothing, so Bruce changed all of his profile names to “Parasite.” Since then, it’s turned into an all-out war of renaming Hal’s profile every time they’re using it.

Highlights so far have included Sugar Baby, Freeloader, Ring Pop, Green Abomination, Magical Girl, Noisemaker, The Better Side Piece, and This is Your Official Eviction Notice Hal. (Bruce still hasn’t changed the passwords.)

Hal: You need to let go of your fear, Bats. Let’s do a simple breathing exercise. Bruce: I am breathing. Hal: No, like calming breaths. Follow my lead, okay? In- no, not that fast. Maybe close your eyes first. In…and out-No. No. Are you having a panic attack? Do I need to call someone?

For one mission, a few other JL members had to go undercover as couples. Bruce and Hal were the spares and paired up out of necessity. To everyone’s surprise, however, they were the most convincing duo because they “bickered like an old married couple.”

Bruce: I’m growing soft, Clark. I’m weak now. Clark: You told Hal ‘Good job.’ What’s wrong with that? Bruce: It’s unprofessional! *in the other room* Hal: I think Batman just confessed his undying love to me.

They have each other’s coffee orders memorized and regularly prepare the other’s coffee for them out of habit when they’re together.

After a while, Hal stops playfully flirting with everyone and reserves it only for Bruce because he gives the best reactions.

At a ‘Thank You, Justice League’ party hosted by Bruce Wayne, Hal slips up and flirts with Bruce in his civvies, only for Brucie Wayne to flirt back without missing a beat.

Hal had to go cool down in the bathroom for a few minutes. He was not ready for that. (Bruce is so fucking smug too. He’s been waiting FOREVER to give Hal a taste of his own medicine.)

Hal, introducing Bruce to the Lantern Corp: This is my pet bat. Careful, he bites.

Bruce, introducing Hal to new JL members: This is my partner. He’s been in training for ten years.

During an important strategy meeting, Hal waves his hand around, and Bruce just sighs. “What now, Lantern?” “Your plan of attack has like four holes in it.” “Where?” Hal gestures to the areas and suggests different strategies, and suddenly Bruce is like Does anyone else think it’s hot in here?

He lies in bed that night contemplating every single life event that’s lead up to Hal Fucking Jordan turning him on with his impeccable battle strategy.

Barry: I think Batman’s mad at me. He didn’t even react when I told him about the great rescue mission from last week. Hal: What do you mean? He was smiling the whole time. Barry: His face didn’t move an inch. Hal: You didn’t notice the lip twitch?

Batman has blackmail material on every single Justice League member, but only Hal has blackmail material on Bruce and the guts to use it. (Hal knows Bruce gets pedicures for fun. And he gets little designs on his toes too.)

Arthur: So when did you and Green Lantern start….you know. Bruce: No, I do not. What did we start? Arthur: You know what?! I think I forgot to walk my fish. Bye!

*Barry sees Hal with a hickey while they’re drinking coffee* Barry, jokingly: Did Bruce give you that? Hal: Yes, actually. How’d you know? Barry, backing away frantically: Oh okay, cool! Okay okay. Cool. Cool cool cool. Okay. Bruce, entering: What’s with him? Hal: I don’t know. He doesn’t seem to like the mug you bought me, though.

The JL has a betting pool called “BatLantern FMK” where they bet on which will happen first: will they fuck, marry, or kill each other?

Only Clark, Diana, and J’onn know that one of them happened already

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samkerrworshipper · 17 days

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the monsters gone

part 3 of beautiful girl series -> part 1 -> part 2

leah williamson x reader, jordan nobbs x reader (wobbs as moms)

warnings: drug addiction, drug abuse, talks of illicit substances, depression, intrusive thoughts, would not advise for people in a bad mental headspace

You wanted her to leave, or you were desperate for a fix and well aware that it wasn’t going to happen until she was gone and you could retreat up to your room like normal.

You scratched at the incision on your forearm, it was hidden underneath your hoodie but you could feel it all the same, it made you feel guilty.

You’d never felt guilty for taking drugs, why would you? It was your choice, your body, your brain that you were fucking with. Yet for some reason, the little mark that you knew was sitting right on top of your vein was making you feel guilty. You didn’t want to admit it, but it felt oddly like the start of something, you weren’t sure what though, whatever it was though, it didn’t feel good.

When the door clicked open around 2 o’clock you felt far more at peace, watching your mom hobble through the door with Lia following her. Jordan stood up almost immediately and if the room hadn’t already been awkward then the awkwardness found a whole new definition as the two women looked at each other.

“Hey Jord, thanks for hanging around, you’re looking good.”

Your mom looked relieved to see Jordan, your ma on the other side looked slightly terrified as she eyed up the two women.

“It wasn’t an issue, you know I love spending time with my chick.”

Leah smiled, looking down at you on the couch, you buried your head in your phone, ignoring her gaze.

“Whether she admits it or not she likes seeing you as well.”

Your ma laughed awkwardly, it took everything in you to not burst out laughing at all of the tension between the two of them.

“Look I’ll be heading off, gotta me back in Birmingham for game review tonight but can we talk for a minute though Le?”

Your mom’s head cocked to the side, a look of curiosity evident on her face.

“Yeah sure, come with me.”

Lia watches them with the same look of curiosity as you, your eyes meeting as the trail back from the doorway to Leah’s office that they both step into.

“They’re talking about me.”

Lia doesn’t bother trying to ignore you or deny what you’re saying, she nodes her head.

“Probably, that’s what most parents do.”

It’s a absentminded answer, and for a second your aware that maybe Lia is in on whatever is happening, that she knows exactly what is going on behind the door. If anything important came from the phone call earlier you know Lia would be the first to know, she was like the third parent you never asked for nor wanted, but somehow ended up with.

“Ma thinks that Mom’s parenting is shit.”

Lia cocks her head, she’s harder to read then your moms, more calculated, more clean, less obviously emotional.

“She just disagrees with some of the things that your mother does, so do I. Nobody else is in her shoes though, she makes the decisions that are necessary and best for you.”

Lia sounds convinced of her words, even though you doubt them.

“Ma doesn’t think so.”

Lia bit down on her bottom lip, finishing with tucking her kit bag away so she could focus her attention on you.

“She worries about you.”

You did your best to suppress the eye roll, it didn’t work.

“She worries that mom is too nice and isn’t strict enough.”

Sometimes you thought that your mom compensated for the void between the two of you by letting you do whatever you wanted, other times you were reminded by your grandma that she’d told Leah she needed to go easy on you and that not everyone could be as perfect as Leah Williamson.

“Your mom knows what you need better than anybody else.”

The conversation paused, the two of you flinching at the sound of yelling from the other side of the door, you couldn’t make out what was being said, both of them were yelling though.

“Set the table for lunch for me, kiddo?”

You couldn’t pull your eyes from the door, you hadn’t hear your moms yell in a long time, it took you back to when they were breaking up, when they tried to act like they weren’t, when they saved the fighting and yelling for when you’d been tucked into bed and they’d thought you were asleep.

“Kiddo, table.”

You stood up from the couch, your eyes staying stuck to the door, even as you pulled cutlery from the drawer and laid it out with the placemats on the table. Eventually, the yelling ceased, and the room was over come with a silence like no other, only being broken by the door opening and your two moms walking out, both of them looking far more content considering that it had sounded like they were screaming at each other, not thirty seconds ago.

“Bubba, Jord is going to head off, if you want to say bye.”

Jordan’s arms opened up to you and as mad and confused as you were, you weren’t going to deny her. You walked around the table, leaning into her hug, wrapping your arms around her the same way she did for you, letting her hold on for a little bit longer.

“I’ll be back when I can chicky, I love you so much.”

You wanted to tell her she was lying, that they were all lying, they didn’t fucking love you, it was so fucking obvious. But for the sake of keeping the peace you didn’t.

“I love you too Ma.”

Jordan let go of you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The same way she had when they’d adopted you when you were eight, the same way she had after your first game when you were 12, the same way she had when you were 14 and you’d been top of your form and given an award, the same way she had when she’d left for good when you were 16. It was the same kiss, yet everything about it was different, the meaning, the purpose, the intention, it was all different.

You watched as she walked out the door, the same as every time, you listened to the sound of her car starting and the sound of gravel underneath her tires as she pulled out and onto the road.

Once you were sure she was gone you turned around, sliding into a seat at the table, across from your mother, staring at her.

“What were you guys talking about?”

Leah looked at you, poker face as good as ever.

“Football, some other stuff.”

It was a obvious lie, both you and Lia knew it.

“You were talking about me, what about me?” Leah rolled her eyes at you.

“It was a conversation between your Ma and I, not for your ears.”

You didn’t bat an eye as Lia set lunch down in front of you, to fixated on your mother.

“You don’t yell over nothing, what were you talking about.”

Leah pushed her tongue out against her lips.

“Your ma had some concerns about you, that’s it, I told her she had nothing to worry about and that we were doing just fine.”

You knew that even if you didn’t want to admit it, Jordan probably had some valid points, your mom seemed unphased though.

“That’s it?”

Leah looked at you, and you could tell that she was holding something back.

“She told me that you’d told her you smoked weed last night and that you were vomiting this morning.”

You tried to keep your face from changing, keeping the confident exterior even if you were slightly scared on the inside.

“I got drunk, I had some fun, it was no biggy.”

Leah’s eyebrow rose in the trademark question.

“It’s a biggy to me because you told all you were doing was vaping and a little bit of drinking, you said you’d be honest with me and it’s clear you haven’t been.”

You hesitated for a second, the air thickening around you as suddenly the tension was between you and your mother.

“I was just having some fun mom, I didn’t do anything stupid, I was safe, just like you asked.”

Leah’s face shrivelled up as you used her words against her.

“You were out with friends I’ve never met, at a house on the opposite side of town that I’ve never been too, Jord said you looked like you’d been on a three day bender and I told her that I didn’t believe her but now you’re here admitting it.”

You reached into your pocket for your vape, desperate for something to take the edge of the conversation off, to make you feel calmer.

You pulled it out and Leah’s face immediately pointed inwards.

“How many times do I have to say no vape at the table?”

You frowned, shoving it back in your pocket.

“It was just a bit of weed mom, it’s what kids my age do.”

Leah shook her head.

“It wasn’t just a bit of weed, I’ve been smelling it on your clothes for weeks and trying to tell myself I was being delusional because you’d told me you were just on the vape, that you had no interest in drugs and yet you were lying to me, you have been for a while bubba and I don’t know how to feel about it to be honest. I thought we were closer than most parents and kids, I thought we had boundaries and that I was giving you enough space, and now I don’t know what to think.”

You pursed your lips, struggling to find words.

“And if you’re lying to me about weed then what else is there? What else is there you aren’t telling me because there has to be more. I let you drop football, I relaxed on the school because I know you were struggling but this doesn’t work if you aren’t honest with me.”

You really didn’t know what to say, your mind was in a million different places, the container underneath your bed, the joints on your windowsill hidden behind the curtains, the three vapes in your bedside table, the drug dealer numbers in your phone, what had happened last night, the meth track mark on your arm.

“Nothing, it was just some weed, I just wanted something to take the edge off, it was no big deal.”

Leah’s eyes closed for a second and you knew this was all about to get a lot harder.

“Except it was a big deal because you’ve been doing it behind my backs for weeks, I’ve tried to be understanding bubba, I have, I know it’s been tough for you with me and Jords breakup, you’ve had a really hard year, I let the vaping slide, I let your attendance drop at school, but drugs bub, it’s no joke.”

You took a deep breath.

“It’s just some weed, I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

Leah wants to say that if you’re this relaxed about being caught doing weed then she doesn’t want to know what else you’re hiding from her that would make you less relaxed, but she keeps it to herself, or for this moment at least.

“I want you to bring me whatever you have of it, I won’t have you smoking illicit and illegal substances underneath my roof.”

You figured there were worse things that could happen, she could find your stash, she could take your vape, she could ground you or make you go to school.

“Okay.”

Your mom nodded, happy she had at least won a small battle.

“After lunch.”

You nod again in agreeance, looking down at the caesar salad in front of you and stabbing your fork down onto it, picking up the different pieces of lettuce and chicken scattered throughout.

You make it through half the meal before you grab your bowl and pick it up, walking into the kitchen to do you washing up, your mom follows behind you, her bowl empty.

You take the dish from her, cleaning it out and stacking both of them in the dishwasher, knowing whats to come now.

You slow yourself down on the stairs giving her the time to follow behind you as she dragged her bad leg up every individual stair.

Leah had been putting in hours everyday for her rehab, it was her main focus, over everything else.

Eventually the two of you made it to the top of the stairs, and eventually to your bedroom door.

You hesitated before opening it, you couldn’t remember the last time Leah had been inside it, way before her acl, ever since she’d gotten injured she’d been avoiding the staircase.

You opened the door, hand pausing on the cold metal doorknob for a split second before pushing it open.

Your room was still freezing, you didn’t miss how your mother shivered from the breeze that hit her face immediately, coming straight from the open window.

“Jesus kiddo, you trying to replicate antarctica in here? You know I pay good money for heating, right?”

It’s a lighthearted joke, yet somehow it hurts for you, you don’t know how or why, you just know that it does.

“I like it cold.”

Leah looks at you, both brows furrowed inwards.

“Alright then polar bear.”

You try not to flinch away when her hand reaches up to ruffle your hair, it’s something she’s done to you since you were a kid, it feels wrong now though.

“Let’s just get this over and done with.”

You walk over to your windowsill, reaching behind the curtain and reaching for the bag of joints that you have stashed behind the material. Leah frowns as you walk back over to her, shoving the bag into her hands before she can even ask.

“This is all of them?”

She looks completely unconvinced, you probably would be too, most kids don’t give up their drugs willingly.

“Yes.”

Leah looks at you, eye to eye, like she’s trying to reach into your soul, or read your mind.

“Bubba, this is your chance, I’m giving you an opportunity to be straight with me, and whatever you tell me or give me I won’t be mad about. I might want to sit down and question your decisions, but I won’t be mad. Teenagers are stupid, they make mistakes, they try new things, I get it. Be honest with me bubba, please.”

You didn’t really know what Leah was insinuating, but it was clear that she knew there was a bigger picture here.

“That’s it mom.”

You had to tear your eyes away from her, you couldn’t handle the way that she was looking at you, the mix of disappointment, resentment and worry mixed into her blue irises.

“Bubba, don’t make me search your room, don’t make me have to ground you, don’t make me have to call Jord and get her to turn the car around to help me out.”

You brought your eyes back to Leah’s.

“That’s it mom, I don’t know what you want me to tell you, I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

You were lying through your teeth and the fact you couldn’t look eye to eye with Leah would have been enough of a warning sign of that.

“Drugs bubba, that’s what I’m talking about, you’re lying straight to my fucking face right now, I don’t know what about or why but you are.”

You didn’t know what to say, you weren’t going to admit it, you couldn’t, but you needed to say something. Fuck, you were so fucked.

You tried to spin it in your head, tried to think about how you could make this work out. You were caught, you were done, this was bad.

Your eyes darted to below your bed, rookie fucking mistake.

Leah caught your line of sight, and you knew as soon as she did that it was all about to go to fucking shit, that you were done for.

“Lia.”

Your mom’s voice was urgent, a yell that had the swiss woman bounding up the stairs in a matter of seconds.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You were so fucking fucked.

You were frozen in your spot, your mom’s eyes looking at you like she’d just been stabbed in the heart.

“Bubba, you can get whatever you are hiding from me or I will get Lia to tear this whole room a part, I’m not fucking around.”

You felt torn down the middle, your brain couldn’t think, you felt the same sickness sink in from this morning, instead of it being withdrawals from drugs though it was the realisation that your whole life was about to be turned upside down.

You tried to think, tried to think about how you could spin this, make it a little bit better than it really was.

Lia looked more uncomfortable then possible, you wished a blackhole would randomly pop up and swallow all three of you.

Something hit you, it wasn’t a full resolution but it was better than what you currently had going for you.

You walked over to your bed, with unsteadier legs then last night when you were so drunk the world was spinning, crouching down when you got to the edge, feeling for the familiar container that held all of your deepest darkest secrets, or at least that’s how it felt.

It took you back to a time when you’d made Leah check under your bed everynight for the monsters under your bed, now though she was looking for the monsters in your head, the monsters that had turned her little perfect girl into whatever you were now.

Your hand eventually met the hard plastic, you pulled it out, biting down on the inside of your cheek as you stood up and sat down on the edge of your bed.

Leah took a couple steps closer to you, standing directly in front of you.

“Look, it’s not mine, I only did it twice, my friends bought it over, I swear.”

Half of it was true.

“Open the box, bubba.”

You felt your throat tighten, you felt like you were going to vomit, or pass out, or have a heart attack.

“Mom, I didn’t want to, I don’t even like it, I just did it because my friends were, I swear.”

It was also another half truth.

“Bubba, open the box.”

You bit down even harder on the inside of your cheek, reaching for the edge of the plastic box and opening it, revealing the two baggies of white powder inside of it.

Leah’s face fell, in a way that you’d never seen, you’d seen her disappointed before, this wasn’t it, it was something else entirely and you weren’t sure what.

“Bubba.”

Your mom was a overly emotional person, you couldn’t handle her crying right now though, you couldn’t do it, you couldn’t deal with her pretending she gave a shit when this was the first time in months that it felt like she cared, and it was all because of Jordan, not on her own volition.

“I swear mom, I swear, it’s not mine, I promise.”

It wasn’t a lie, it hadn’t started out as yours, you’re friends had left it behind after a weekend hangout and had never asked for it back, so it technically wasn’t yours, technically.

“Bubba, what is it?”

Leah reached for the box, picking up the two bags, the bags that you felt like held your whole life together.

“Cocaine, it’s just a little bit of coke, my friends were using it before parties, I didn’t like it, it made me feel dizzy and it hurt my head.”

The cocaine bit was a lie, but the fact you didn’t like cocaine wasn’t, it was the kind of stimulant which put you into over drive, the high lasted no where near as long and it made you feel like you weren’t making sense.

You were hoping she would believe the cocaine, inevitably, cocaine was a pissy drug. Leah would have been at thousands of parties were cocaine was handed around, hell, you were fairly certain your mother had taken plenty of it. Cocaine was less addictive, good cocaine was also stupidly expensive, the value of it was fucked. Meth was cheap but a thousand times more addictive, cocaine was a better like.

“Lia, get rid of it.”

Your mom handed the bag of joints over to Lia, as well as the bags of drugs, shoving them into her hands like they were burning her hands. “I don’t even know what to say to you bubba.”

Your mom looked genuinely at a loss for words, her eyes kept darting between your eyes and your hands, which were shaking in front of you.

“Mom, I promise, it was only a one time thing, really, I was just keeping it for my friends.”

As soon as the tears started spilling down Leah’s face you knew it was about to get bad.

She walked over to your desk, pulling the chair out from it and dragged it across the room until it was directly in front of you, your mother taking a seat.

Her hands came out to rest on your knees, they were shaking like yours, not as badly but still shaking, though for different reasons you assumed.

“You told me the weed was a one time thing, that was a lie. I don’t know what to believe anymore, you’ve put me in a impossible situation, bubba. On one hand, I want to believe you. I want to believe the kid I raised, on the other hand you haven’t given me reason to. You broke my trust, you lied to me, you broke the house rules. I don’t ask a lot of you, I let you get away with more than your ma would let you, and I was fine with it because you were showing me you were a good kid, but now I honestly don’t know what to think. You told me it was just the vapes, I thought you were using a little bit to much nicotine and now it turns out that you’re smoking pot and doing drugs. You’ve been hiding and lying and I just don’t get why. Why bubba? Tell me why.”

Big tears were dripping from your mothers eyes, big, wet, fat tears pooling in her icey blue eyes.

“I don’t know, okay? I’m sorry mom, I’m really sorry. I’m sorry. I love you, I didn’t mean it, it was just some fun, it was a one time thing, I promise.”

Leah pursed her lips, the same way you were, the sleeve of her shirt was pressed to her face, picking up the tears that were dripping down her jaw.

“I’m going to go and call your ma, this is a discussion we need to be having together, I need her here for this.”

Little did they know how bad it really was.

Leah stood up, you thought she would just leave, heading back down to make a call to your ma that would inevitably change your life, instead, she sat down next to you, her arms opening up.

You leaned into her side, letting her wrap both of her arms around you.

“I’m sorry mom, I’m sorry.”

It was the only thing you could think of saying, the only thing that sounded right coming off the tip of your tongue.

“I love you so much my beautiful girl, we’ll figure this out, your ma and I, we’re all going to figure this out.”

Leah held onto you for a little bit longer, her arms tightening onto you like you were holding her down to earth, like she would float away if she didn’t.

Eventually she let go, her face was puffy and red, her sleeves were red and she sounded all sniffly.

“I’m going to go and phone Jord, we’re going to sort it all out, we’ll figure this out, okay? We’re both here for you, we both love you so much, you’re our little girl.”

You found it weird how easy it slipped off of her tongue, you wondered if she actually believed that she meant it, you wondered if when your mother said it that she meant it without really meaning it. There were words but there were no actions to support those words, just empty syllables and letters all formed together in a intricate lie.

You watched as Leah limped her way out of your room, her bad leg trailing behind her good one, rule number one of parenting a child you now know is drug addicted, never leave them alone in a room they can escape from when you’ve just confronted them.

#woso #woso community #sammykworshipper thoughts #leah williamson #arsenal wfc #leah williamson x reader #jordan nobbs x reader #jordan and leah #jordan nobbs #wobbs breakup #its painful #trauma dumping #tears were shed #woso imagine #woso angst #sammykworshipperfics #pain sweet pain #fluff is coming #maybe

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sporadictimetravelgarden · 2 years

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you guys dont know how funny it is that my little brother begged me to take him to see nope but covered his eyes during all the horror movie trailers because he hates horror movies

#this child wanted to see it because jordan peeles horror movies are works of art #hes not wrong #but during the smile trailer he was shaking #i dont know how he made it through the movie #love you little bro <3

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devilmademewriteit · 8 months

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If You Lie Down With Me

pairing: (pre-ellie) dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

summary: there’s only one guy in all of boston that can get you a morning after pill. unfortunately, on top of being a huge asshole, Joel Miller also happens to be your dad’s closest peer.

warnings: rough sex / smut (masturbation, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content; unprotected sex; light choking & restraint; light dom/sub dynamic; fem afab reader; reader has long-ish hair (that gets touched); plot-typical violence (guns, death); plot deviations (no Tess); medication ingestion; pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel); dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance, no explicit consent).

word count: 6.5k+

no use of y/n in this fic

alright y’all I’m baaaaAAAaack! so this is basically the other version of Dark But Just a Game that I started back when I was writing it & figured I’d finish it to get out of my hiatus. like any devilmademewriteit fic, it’s dark and nasty and deprived like meeeeeee <3 hope u enjoy !

don’t forget to reblog, check out my masterlist, sign up for the taglist, & leave any comments / feedback / & suggestions!

(ps: new part of Salvatore up next !)

—

“three times the guy I ever thought I would meet, so don't say you're over me when we both know that you lie”

— lana del rey, ‘If You Lie Down With Me’

—

Fuck.

Waking up to a racing heart, a pounding head, and a stomach swimming with nausea was never ideal, although it was always a better experience alone — when you could squint and hiss at the light slicing through the weaknesses in the drapes without hearing your groans echoed by a lower, louder, and annoyingly more pitiful voice.

Right. What was his name?

Jared? Jordan? Jermaine?

Ah, who cares.

If he’d wanted a safe place to nurse his hangover, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep in your bed. Sure, the odds of dad being conscious at this hour (especially the odds after a party like last night’s) were Kate Moss — no, Rolling Stones — slim, but the man would get up at some point, meaning that this poor J-whatever was likely sleeping through his only window of escape from certain homicide.

You whisper. You shake him gently. You gingerly tap the roundness of his bicep.

Huh — Not bad.

You congratulate last-night-you for reeling in this morning’s good-looking catch.

Still… nothing. Not a twitch. Nary a croaked ‘lemmesleep’ graces your ears.

After loosing an exasperated sigh and running through your options, you decide to take the most effective (and least girl-next-door) route. The corner of your elbow collides with his ribs, and the boy jumps up, his loose, blonde curls as wild as his eyes, searching the room for his attacker.

You want to smile at the scene, but the motion hurts your head.

“Y’gotta go,” you croak out, thumbs rubbing circles against your aching temples.

He collapses onto his back, copying your movement with his own fingers to his brow. “God. I feel like shit.”

Despite muttering your agreement, you let your eyelashes flutter closed and your weight turn you away from last night’s paramour: no use figuring out who he is after the (f)act — that just makes it personal.

After a few breaths, the boy moves back up to a shakey sitting position.

Probably sourcing for his clothes.

He reeks of booze and sex — but then again, so do you. His roughened, unfamiliar tenor climbs to barely above a whisper, “Z’something stuck on my leg… blood, or something…”

His interrupting your suffering comes as a deeply unwelcome annoyance, so you try to sort him out to clear him out: “Prolly just the condom,” you mumble, rolling back onto your shoulders, reluctantly supervising his movements.

He lifts up fully, sitting criss-cross and pulling his calf towards him.

“No,” he tries to laugh but succumbs to the nausea, settling for a low breath instead, “S’blood, dude, from beer darts — and I didn’t use a condom.”

Your eyes immediately dart over, settling on his naked, wretched, shivering form. He notices your ire and the hitching of your throat, immediately defensive.

“I asked if you wanted to.”

Unfortunately, he had. The memories of your drunken entanglement start to resurface inside your mind. “It just feels better without one.” This time, you curse last-night-you for being such a careless, inconsiderate, horny bastard.

You’re making problems for me, girl.

“J’s get out.”

J-whatever spares no time complying, collecting his few strewn belongings and staggering out the front door. Once it slides shut, so too do your poor, weary eyes.

Shit.

There goes the afternoon.

Getting your hands on condoms in the QZ was at least fifteen times easier than snatching a morning after pill. Those were a hot commodity, especially among the younger, less responsible crowds.

Luckily for you, as a member of aforementioned younger, less responsible crowds, you knew where your best chances lay in finding whatever it was you needed (if what you needed was deeply immoral or wholly illegal). Unluckily for you, that ‘best chance’ happened to be your dad’s closest and longest-running business partner: temperamental, judgemental, frustratingly competent, Joel ‘Local Asshole’ Miller.

But that could all be dealt with after another eight hours of sleep.

—

Opportunity strikes sooner than expected.

Miller’s in your living room by the time you wake up, the low rumble of his southern baritone recognizable even through the closed door. After scrambling to throw on some clothes, you press an ear to the chipping paint, hoping to determine the number of bodies gathered in your home.

Not many. Just Miller (and the old man, of course).

The latter’s presence bodes ill for you. This would all have to be done in secret, which was not an uncommon strategy where ever the former was involved. No one dealt with Joel Miller to conduct clean-cut, wholesome activities. No one was calling him up for a spare copy of the holy book.

No, getting him alone was essential.

A drink slams down on the counter. After a good, patient ten minutes, you hear your father (‘s rather crude way of) excusing himself to the washroom and heavy-set footsteps decrescendoing down the hall.

This is it.

You slip through the door.

At first, your company takes no notice of you, his eyes still glued to the maps and papers littering the counter before him.

Then, a low grumble: “fun night?”

His voice makes you weak in the knees — an involuntary, near ritual-like response you’d noticed around your mid teens and hadn’t managed to kick yet.

You swallow before responding. “Yes.”

It’s all you manage to muster. Miller finally looks up, wincing slightly as his back straightens. He looks tired, at least more than usual, with his wild, grey-streaked hair tousled and the lines by his mouth cutting deep into his skin.

You’re sure you don’t look much better, a suspicion proven by the man’s slowly spreading, barely-noticeable smirk. That gaze makes you self conscious, mute; your right hand snakes up, absent-mindedly dragging a fallen bra strap back to its proper position.

“So, what was his name?”

He’s teasing, sure, but Miller was there last night. He’d always had sharper perceptions than your father did, especially — and ironically — when it came to you. That skill tended to squander your confidence as the daughter of a modern-day mafia-boss and the owner of a hard, violent heart.

Rushed by the sound of your father’s footsteps, you default to honesty.

“I don’t remember.”

“Try.”

“Josh.”

Amusement flits across his stern expression. “Again.”

“Jamie.”

“Warmer.”

“J-J-something—”

“Gettin’ colder, sweetheart—”

“I need the pill.”

It just tumbles out, an exasperated, desperate plea. Miller, a bit taken aback by your candor, drains of his previous playfulness. You almost notice the split second those dark eyes glaze over. For a second, you’re almost convinced he’s distracted by his imagination’s recreations of the act that had you making such a request.

You almost notice the tingling between your thighs.

He stares. You stare back.

Fuck.

It was moments like this that made you wish Tess was still around. Oh, she wouldn’t be any kinder — no, not at all — but she’d certainly be more professional. Tess was all work, no play. Joel was…

You’re enjoying this, you bastard. You’re enjoying that I’m cornered like this, aren’t you?

The bathroom handle clicks when it turns, and your heart drops into your toes.

Maybe Miller really wasn’t going to help you. Maybe he didn’t have the pill and you’d just embarrassed yourself for nothing. Or, maybe he did, but preferred outing you to your dad at the very first opportunity — letting him deal with you the only way he knew how.

Your fears seem confirmed: his eyes leave the grace of your own, trailing back to his big, splayed hands on the countertop. Unwelcome tears burn the corners of your eyes as the panic begins to set in, as footsteps begin to fall…

“Mine. Tonight.”

It’s low and rushed, but it’s clear, cutting off to the sound of your father lumbering in. A man who saw, thought, and lived through transactions, he’s (thankfully) blissfully ignorant of the tension collapsing around him.

“Morning,” he throws your way.

A taunt, of course — it was well past noon.

You nod in acknowledgement, slowly backing into the doorway of your sacred, beckoning room. They resume their conversation from before, letting you sink into irrelevance.

Before shutting yourself in, you catch a few of Miller’s hushed words. They’re spoken casually to your father but, you later decide, surely meant for you:

“Not that one kid — Jeremy — don’t trust him.”

The door seals (well, not seals… it creaks on its rusty hinges and squeezes into its shrinking frame), and relief courses through you, reaching the very tips of your fingers.

That only lasts a minute.

Soon, you’re negotiating with the rising anxiety of being at Miller’s place alone, asking for his help with a problem that could’ve been avoided if you’d only kept your legs shut.

Alone with Miller, the both of you knowing that you hadn’t.

Crawling back under your covers, you begrudgingly make a vow of celibacy. If this was the cost of attention and a (potential) mid-range orgasm, you were about to become very frugal.

Dreams come easy, but they don’t come sweet.

Flashes of last night’s sins overlay Joel Miller’s unintelligible speech, his voice from the next room over lulling you into a rather confusing, disturbed sleep.

—

At nighttime, it’s a short walk to his building.

Down this alley, past this street, up this back stairwell. Part of being in with Boston’s seedy underbelly gained you access to the best and most up-to-date intel; by the age of twelve, you could run the safest — well, least policed — post-curfew routes from memory.

(Which had come in handy in situations a lot more dire than this.)

Sneaking in was easy, although you cursed him for being so preoccupied during the day. Coming in at this hour required some delicate maneuvers through a half-shattered window, and a less-than-graceful leap down left you with a nick on your cheekbone and a shallow cut along the side of your hand.

Thankfully, the blood mostly dries on your walk up the six or eight or ten flights of stairs. You don’t resent the exercise; it feels good to move, putting the jitters building in every still moment in abeyance.

Still moments like the kind that passes after a barely-audible, coded knock delivered by a girl sucking on the side of her hand, almost wishing for the door not to open.

It does.

He’s in jeans — dirty jeans, dusty — and a simple flannel. It’s Miller — it’s Miller at his most Joel-Miller-like-ness.

So why am I so fucking nervous?

He holds the door open, brows knitting at the sight of your hand in your mouth.

“Window,” You offer.

He mouthes a silent ‘ah,’ before leaning forward to duck his head out the door and, in the process, somewhat sandwiching you against his chest.

Maybe it’s because he smells like forest-fires, but your skin burns red-hot.

Miller looks both ways, checking the status of the hall (empty), then nudges you into the dim light of his place with the weight of his hand against your lower back.

The door shuts behind you.

You’d been here at least a million times before, but the thoughts rising now feel so… new. The jacket strewn on the side of the sagging sofa is his — Joel Miller has sat at this table and showered, slept, fucked inside these walls.

Cut it out. It’s just ‘cause you’re alone. And older.

But what about it, now that you were alone and older?

Old enough to know what goes on between a man and a woman and a little bit of desperation at just the right amounts… and there sure was a lot of him, and some desperation, too…

“Nervous?”

Your feet hit the floor, all thoughts evaporating at the sound of his word. Blushing, you try to de-code his taunt, spoken with playfulness and too much condescension.

“Wh — what’d you — nervous for what? No.”

He’s already across the room, sifting through a box of miscellaneous items. A yellowed lamp shade catches his side-profile, illuminates the smirk spreading across his face. Then, a low command:

“Relax,” and your spine settles, acceding to his wish. “Some girls get nervous, y’know, takin’ it the first time.”

Oh.

You clear your throat, daring to take a step into his place, incensed enough to trace the indents and stab-marks decorating his kitchen table.

“No.”

You’re taken aback by the accuracy and the strength underpinning your answer. It’s true, you aren’t afraid, and hadn’t been afraid of much in a very long while.

What’s a Joel Miller to your best friend’s public hanging? What’s he to a dozen rows of semi automatics raining down on your zigzagging toes? What’s he to a period cramp?

Like a bolt of lightning hitting you in the chest, that cocky, gauche and indelicate rebel you’d grown into reappears.

“I’ve been told I take things pretty well my first time.” The tension rises — this time, at your command — just as Joel does, carrying a leather pouch in his right hand. “And it’s not, anyways,” you add for good measure.

The leather drops onto the marked-up table. Joel crosses his arms.

“Not sellin’ me on givin’ you one of these, sweetheart.”

He gestures to the bag.

A mock-frown as you draw closer to him. His eyes, although severe, reflect the playfulness dancing in your own.

“Why not?” You ask, voice dripping with false innocence.

Joel’s gaze doesn’t stray as it hardens, focused on your own. “They’re for accidents, mistakes, attacks,” he explains, deep and dangerous, “Not girls who can’t keep their pretty lil’ legs together.”

Oof.

On one hand, it sounds like he’s genuinely chastising you for your careless behaviour. But, on the other, he sounds jealous, taunting, hungry.

I’ll play that hand.

Sleeping all day had left you wide awake, and that long-time, school-girl crush on the man before you was dying for content to fantasize about. Even if he pushed you off, you’d get to feel the weight of his hands on your body, right?

So, you return with a taunt of your own: “You think my legs are pretty?”

He shakes his head, his signature scowl spreading as he mostly ignores you. “I think you should at least use condoms,” a breath, “N’ know their first names.”

Ouch.

“I usually do.” you murmur, “and it broke last night.”

“Bullshit.”

“What do you mean, bullshit?”

Joel sighs and lowers himself into one of the four old, rickety chairs lining the table. His hand comes up to his temples and you notice how his legs, exhausted, part.

The man doesn’t deign to respond.

Irritation begins to well in your core, sneaking through your arms and up into your throat. The muscle in your jaw must be twitching like crazy.

How does he know? How the fuck does he always know?

Across the QZ, as a skilled liar and born and bred bandit, people tended to hold whatever image of you that you’d crafted for them.

Not Joel. Never Joel.

He saw through you in a way that had always felt… intimate. It was one of the reasons, you guessed, he didn’t dare spend too much time alone with you and why you’d always been curious about him (as a man, of course). Now, there was no avoiding your obvious vulnerability from either of you — you were stripped bare, your dressings in his hand.

It makes you want to flee as much as it makes you want to leap into his arms.

You snatch up the pouch, opening it up to find a mass of differently coloured and shaped pills. Rifling through, you ignore Joel’s stare boring into your hands’ erratic search.

“Yellow ones,” he says.

“I know what they look like,” you retort.

“‘Course you do.”

He moves faster than he should be able to.

One moment, your palm is slicing through the air, headed straight for the highest point of his cheek. The next, you’re facedown on the table. Your attacking hand is caged in by a much larger, much stronger one, pinned to the decaying wood; the other, he pins behind your back. Pills litter the floor — Joel’s boot crunches into a wayward one as he adjusts himself behind you, leaning over your struggling, smaller frame, immobilizing you with his weight.

“Let go of me—” you hiss, words smothered by the wooden surface pressed to your profile.

“—Shut up ‘n listen,” he commands, leaning over to tower over his trapped victim. “Try that again n’I’ll do worse’n kill you. Understand?”

Despite the authenticity of his threat, a strangled laugh wracks your lungs.

“Gonna turn me in for contraband, Miller? Watch them gun me down in the square?”

You smile through your heavy breaths. There, behind your hips, is a growing movement indicative of some other kind of punishment he’s got in mind.

“Or,” you continue on coyly, “Give me another reason to need that pill?”

Joel pauses, untangling your meaning.

Then, an exasperated scoff. His hold tightens on your wrist and you wince. “You always thinkin’ of the fastest way to get a man to fuck you?”

“Only when his cock’s pressed against my ass.”

He goes quiet — only for a moment. Somewhere outside, rounds echo through the night.

“Z’that what you want?” His voice is deep and threatening, promising of the kind of hard, mind-numbing fuck you’d been craving for weeks.

After a hard swallow, you nod, catching the raise of his eyebrows in your periphery.

A moment passes as he mulls over your answer. Only your shallow, anticipatory breaths populate the quiet space.

“Alright.”

And he lets go.

Heart racing, wrists aching, you flip around to his neutral, impenetrable expression.

“Get down on your knees.”

Without taking a moment to decide whether you’re living anything more than just a really fucked up dream, you sink to your knees, folding your hands in your lap (to stop them from shaking). Before you, Joel’s bulge twitches while he watches you yielding to submission, and you try to ignore the excitement building between your own two legs.

His eyes burn into yours: black, starved, weighty. He tells you to shut your own and you do, unable to resist the tone of his command. Within the self-imposed darkness, Joel’s following order — ‘open your mouth,’ — parts your lips as if they were under his spell. You wonder what you must look like to him, needy and ready to receive whatever you’re given.

He speaks again.

“Show me your tongue, angel.”

The gruffness punctuating his arousal doesn’t let you stand a chance. You let your mouth fall open wider.

Next, there’s rustling. You try to remember whether or not he’d had on a belt, listening and failing to hear the soft clinks of a buckle coming undone.

Too soon, something wraps around your chin — thick, calloused fingers — and the pressure of a thumb running down the middle of your tongue sends a rush of electricity down every stacked vertebrae. It’s slow, tantalizingly slow, as if the man were trying to memorize the feel of every groove, ridge, and bud on his leisurely way out.

When Joel drops his hand, a small weight remains at the back of your throat.

“Close.”

You do, opening your eyes to meet his own: severe and wanting — or wanting for severity?

It’s a pill. That much is obvious once the taste begins to spread, bitter and chemical and totally gag-worthy. He follows up with ‘swallow’ for his own sick enjoyment; by the time he says it, it’s clear that you already have.

What kind of game is this, Miller?

Your cheeks burn when your company kneels down. He places his big, broad hand partly on your neck, partly to the side of your jaw, and you’re still too taken aback to tear it off. The feel of his rough palm against your racing pulse silences every urge to enact revenge. Words don’t come — too quickly forgotten on one’s knees.

“You’re way too easy for your own good, sweetheart,” he near-whispers, shooting to kill in a blow packed tight with condescension. “Don’t let me see you here again.”

And that’s it: your cue to get lost.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Miller pulls away from your reddening skin, straightening to stand. You follow suit soon after, heart pumping lead, tongue bruised by the memory of his touch (more overwhelming than the metallic residue dripping down your throat).

He turns, running a few fingers through his hair. It’s the last look you get before resigning yourself to the journey back home.

Still, before turning the rusted handle, in a brief moment of respite, of clarity, you seize the final word:

“I’m only ‘easy’ when I’m drunk. Or interested.”

Silence courses through the room as Joel registers the meaning behind your confession.

“Goodnight, Miller.”

With that, you see yourself into the hallway, checking its status before tearing into the stairwell.

You barely breathe.

He wanted me — he had to have wanted me.

Miller was a pragmatic player; surely, he’d only bother to play with toys he liked like that… right?

Right?

Unable to clear your head or cool the heat radiating through your core, you take the long way home, the distant sounds of a war between rivals soothing the cacophony of noise swimming between your ears.

—

For the next two weeks, all you’re able to think about is him.

You think about him when he’s gone and when he’s in the room, grumbling in hushed tones to your father. You think about him when you’re unable to fall asleep, letting your hands slip beneath the waistband of your shorts, imagining your own fingers as thick, tan ones running through the warmth between your legs.

He takes no notice of you — a fact you deeply resent. Even in your skimpiest clothing, he’s like a damn horse with blinders on. You decide, in the past weeks, he’d either acquired the patience of Job or purged every sinful craving from his system when he’d stuck his fingers down your throat.

Naturally, you’re more than happy when, at breakfast (two in the afternoon), your father gives you the heads up about tonight’s gathering at the Bar (which was really just an asbestos-ridden basement equipped with enough prohibition-style gadgets and architecture to host a good ‘strategic meeting’ every other month).

“Everyone’s gonna be there,” he mumbles. “Need you to keep your ears open. Had to take a couple rats out last week…”

Everyone’s gonna be there.

Smiling to yourself, your thoughts start to spin out. Business, distractions, booze. Tonight would host a million opportunities for you to get him alone.

Hope blooms through your chest.

Do your worst, Miller.

—

“Man, I wish we could’ve experienced cocktails. Straight hooch is ass.”

A peer named Mel, just a year older than yourself, cringes as she sips on whatever murky liquor’s found its way into her cup.

You don’t mind the taste so much, having grown mostly immune to its taste and burn. In fact, you’d come to welcome the subsequent lapse in breath and judgement.

There was little else in this world that made you feel alive.

“Mhm,” you respond absent-mindedly, looking for a familiar scowl among the mass of scowls peppering the crowd.

A sigh to your right. “Always awesome, having your attention.”

The criticism snaps you back into your body. You smile sheepishly at your friend, apologizing through a wince.

She shrugs, her raggedy, pin-decorated jacket jingling with the movement. “S’okay. Known you long enough to know that look.”

For that, she receives a quizzical glance.

Mel comes back with a scoff. “No victims tonight?”

“Oh god,” you shoot her a look of disgust. “Do you mind not using such weird vocabulary? Make me sound like a predator.”

As the words tumble out, you zero in on the object of your search. There he is: eyebrows knit together in concentration, drink in hand, unsurprisingly (and annoyingly) in conversation with your father. A few other stragglers are in the mix, too, but they’re easily overlooked. Time slows to a full stop in his wake —only for the briefest of seconds —

“Well since the last guy actually wound up dead a week later, I think it’s fitting.”

Once again, Mel’s managed to wrangle your interest.

You stare blankly into her onyx eyes, ringlets falling through molasses around her face. “Jeremy?”

And she’s bewildered. “You didn’t hear?”

This time, both of your heads turn in the same direction.

“Ratted to FEDRA about the storehouse off tenth,” she explains, gesturing towards Miller and your father with a tilt of her head. Famous for her bravery, she stoops into your shoulder, averting his gaze and speaking under her breath, “Judging by the way they found him, my guess is it was mostly Miller’s stuff.”

It’s as if she’d screamed it.

The subject of your conversation turns to face you right as your company’s words drift off. Despite the level of noise, the amount of people, and the cloudiness of the air, you’re trapped in the corridor of your mutual stare, cornered.

The challenge, the knowing marking his expression.

“I need some air.”

You twist into the body standing behind you, shoving row after row of criminal scum out of the way. Mel doesn’t follow — she’d never hung around to comfort you, only to inform you. A mutual, typical relationship for the age, and just how things worked in the QZ.

You slam into the door, stomping into a deserted, silent alley, empty save for a few drunk strays. Your lips begin to tingle and a scream builds inside your lungs. Stalking blindly into the night, unsure of your direction, alone in half a top and a plain, ass-length skirt, shivering despite the warmth of the air…

You’re practically begging for trouble.

Just as your eyes catch the numbers on the old, rusted street sign above, just as you realize you’re on a monitored street tonight, only safe after curfew every other Monday and Wednesday, you’re grabbed by the waist, pulled into the space between two buildings, and shoved into a sheltered nook.

A dim, yellow light clicks on automatically. There’s a door (chained closed) leading into the building to your left and darkness to your right.

And there’s Joel Miller above you, his expression indeterminable.

“You asshole,” you barely hear yourself breathe over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears before lunging forward in a useless attempt to, once again, strike his profile.

He catches your wrist, no doubt having anticipated the attack. It’s written on your face, in your eyes, in your shallow, uneven inhalations. He takes your other hand before you’ve even thought to use it, lifting it above your head and slamming it against the old stucco behind you.

“You’re violent,” he says flatly.

He tightens his hold when you struggle against it. “Proud of yourself, yeah? You’re a killer.”

That inspires a slight smirk. You half expect him to return with an ‘as if you didn’t already know that.’

Instead, he says, “Sweetheart, you didn’t even know his name.”

“You should’ve told me.”

And that’s the real source of this anger: it’s rage at being the last to know.

And for what? To protect your feelings? Since when had anyone in your life bothered to do that?

“And don’t call me ‘sweetheart’,” you add for good measure.

You’d wanted him to touch you so badly for weeks now, but here, scorned at being left in the dark and confused at the death of a paramour, you only want to get free.

“And what’d he call you?” He spits, leaning down and in, inadvertently pressing his thigh between your legs — when his breath grazes the skin of your ear, it causes them to part (against your better judgement). “Got lots of names, right?” He continues to tease, “Heard your boyfriend’s pretty one for you before I shut him up — ‘that fuckin’ slut,’ f’I’m rememberin’ right.”

Despite your rage-shakes, you’re warming at the core, Joel’s pressure against it dizzying your already-addled head. It confuses you, makes the scorn easier to access.

“How did I come up, Miller?” You exhale, jutting your chin towards him. “Couldn’t help asking for all the dirty little details, could you?”

He smiles, and the act lacks any sort of kindness. “‘Lot easier gettin’ him alone once he thought he was meetin’ you.” Joel slams your wrist harder into the wall when you try to wriggle away. “Not sure you wanna keep making that kind of impression, angel.”

It’s hard to rationalize with him so close, as his pet-names echoe inside your head. He’d used your name to enact gang-law violence on a boy who’d been inside you, and yet, all you can think, all you can hear, is the way ‘sweetheart’ sounds tumbling off his lips.

“Fucking let me go, Miller,” you manage to exasperate, resenting the begging edge to every word. “I don’t need another abstinence lecture from you.”

Kicking one ankle off balance, Joel turns you around, pressing your stomach to the wall, your back into his chest. Ignoring your whines and pitiful struggle, he wraps a free hand around your neck, pushing your head against his collarbone. Your stomach erupts with butterflies as the rough pad of his thumb traces the front of your throat.

Yes — no — yes, he wants me — no, no, this is wrong, this is so wrong —

“‘Be wasted on you, anyways,” he says, rough and earnest, like his hand sliding down your chest, your breasts, your stomach, “Startin’ to realize if I can’t fix your dad’s mistakes…” and he’s finding the hem of your skirt and yanking it up, bunching the fabric around your hips —

“Might as well take advantage of them.”

He moves hungrily. He’s everywhere, sliding into your underwear and across your breasts, his big arms and suffocating biceps enveloping your entire frame.

“Joel—”

But he claps a hand over your mouth, silencing any hope of your pleas being effective.

“Think I haven’t seen you? Your lil’ looks…” a low laugh, “n’ those fuckin’ clothes?” God, the rumble, the sheer want in his voice hammers at your initial resistance, and you feel yourself welcoming the feel of his thick, long fingers, sliding between your wet folds. You’re clay, melting against the curved, firm wall of his chest.

You mewl pathetically into his palm.

Another low laugh wracks his lungs, dances at the top of your ear.

“Knew you’d be this wet for me.”

“Knew since you got down on your knees,” Joel continues, uncovering your mouth only to ease a few fingers between your lips — lips that part as though commanded, and a mouth that welcomes and caresses whatever it receives, “‘N opened this pretty lil’ mouth for me to fuck it. Can’t close my eyes without seein’ you like that — so fuckin’ needy.” He exhales from between his teeth, signalling his approval while you suck him down to the knuckles.

His fingers tease your clit and you give him your thanks by pleasuring those of his other hand.

When his hands move, it’s to hold you steady and balanced as he drags your underwear down your legs. That thick, heavy cloud of arousal hides any and all rational thoughts from view.

And he knows. He knows you’re past the point of no return, restraining you only out of his desire to rather than out of a real need to. He knows from the whine you breathe at the loss of his hand against your clit, moving to work at his belt buckle instead.

“Gonna use a condom?” You breathe, emboldened by your clearing senses at the temporary lack of stimulation.

At first, you think he’s missed your taunt.

He backs up, pulling your hips along with him until the tips of your fingers are no longer touching the decaying wall before you. Joel pulls you upright and against him with an arm around your waist and a hand around your throat, turning your head and tilting it back to meet your eyes.

You grasp onto his forearms, failing to stand, unable to breathe. His hardness digs into your back, and his cruel eyes show you just how much pleasure he takes in your struggle.

“Don’t like to waste ‘em,” he finally answers, rocking his cock against your spine, “But I will if you beg. You gonna beg?”

He manipulates your answer, fingers moving to your red-hot core — he barely grazes the nerves, only dancing over the needy flesh. You can’t tear your eyes from him either, tethered to your body through his gaze.

Joel Miller was a frustrating lover.

“N-no,” is your answer, slightly strangled and softly stuttered.

He smiles. “S’what I thought.” Then, “Show me what you can do, angel,” he coos, lips just inches away from yours, his hold on your body relaxing —

“Use your pretty lil’ hands n’ put my cock where you want it most.”

And you both know exactly where that is.

After a nod, Joel allows you to bend forward slowly — it’s like moving through honey. Your legs burn with effort as you reach between your legs to wrap a hand around his thick, hard length.

Christ, he’s huge.

He groans when you touch him and uses his own hand to help guide his tip between your folds. One hand holds your waist, fingers extended under your ribs to support your weight in a skilled show of experience.

With his tip at your aching entrance, you try to lean back, to slide yourself slowly down his many inches.

But Joel doesn’t allow it.

He pushes into you in one go, clicking his tongue at your strangled gasp —

The man hadn’t even bothered to open you up with his fingers.

“Ah, c’mon,” he condescends, “You can take it.”

Then he’s setting a hard pace, hands moving from your hips to your ribs to your biceps to your hair to your neck — anywhere he wanted to go, he went. One eventually comes to the front of your throat, tilting your eyes back and up towards the ceiling. Every one of his thrusts arches your back further until you’re contorting into a half-moon shape, standing only by the grace of his support.

And it feels so good. Joel fills you up to the brim, takes you to heaven and floods your ears with hymns, punishes you in the kind of way you’d only experienced in dreams.

Words tumble out, but they’re filled with nothingness. “Joel,” “fuck,” and “yesohgodyes,” quickly become staples of your vocabulary.

He laughs whenever you sob, grows harder every time you moan, restrains you when you try to run away.

The hand around your throat tightens, digging unforgivably into the flesh as you start to let go, as your walls begin to clench and flutter appreciatively around his cock.

“M’I making you happy, sweetheart? My cock making you smile?” He asks gruffly, pulling you back into his chest. Joel readjusts you into whatever shape you need to be in at the new angle, hips still slamming into your ass. Struggling to stand on your tiptoes, he steadies you with his arms and his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look up into his rugged face.

“Mmhm,” is all you can offer him, the pitch jumping up halfway through when the head of his cock grazes that perfect spot inside your cunt.

He doesn’t let up.

“Show me, baby—” he commands, out of breath, too, but not nearly as tortured as you, “—Show me your smile.”

You do your best, smiling up at him, degrading yourself even more at the hands of Joel-fucking-Miller. And he eats it up, loves the way your grin turns into a bitten lip and knit eyebrows over closed eyes, slowing his thrusts to rock even deeper inside you.

You moan something unintelligible, and a laugh rustles through your tangled hair.

“Am I makin’ you come?”

You nod, feeling that familiar rush of pressure blooming somewhere within that throbbing bundle of nerves under his spell.

He smirks in pride and victory, the last look you get before your head falls against his shoulder, your muscles going lax as the peak builds, as your half-sobs grow louder.

“S’it, baby, tell ‘em,” he coos, nipping and sucking the skin on the side of your throat. “Gonna tell the whole street how you take it like a good lil’ slut.”

His fingers fall to your clit, enticing you right over the edge. You vision blurs and your legs shake, but Joel talks you through your orgasm, sweet nothings starting with, “S’right — show me — yes, fuck — good girl…”

And then —

He stops.

You whine, stars dancing before your eyes as the mean, mean man inside you refuses to fuck you through your climax.

“Joel,” you plead, grinding back against him in a pathetic show of need, “Come with me.”

He does the opposite, sliding himself out of your sore opening. You turn to face him, restoring your balance with hands against his chest, gazing up at him in desire-stricken reproach.

“Use your mouth,” he says, voice gruff at your ruined sight and from his own hand on his cock, keeping his arousal level, “Not gettin’ any more help from me.”

It’s unclear whether ‘help’ means pills or his cock, but you assume both to be safe.

You try to argue (having spent the last few weeks dreaming of Joel dripping down your legs) but he just won’t budge.

Then, his voice softens.

“You know your dad’d kill me, angel.”

And it’s really the sweetness of his tone that does it.

Sinking to your knees, it’s déjà vu when you open wide for him, steadying your shaking knees with both hands on his half clothed, half naked hips. Gravel and debris dig painfully into your bare knees, but you ignore the sting, smiling instead at the taste of yourself on Joel’s cock, lips sliding adoringly down the thick length of it.

He groans his approval, tangling his fingers in your hair to help guide your movements.

As you take him in again and again and again, pleasing every inch of him, he chokes out a laugh.

“Never seen you so quiet,” he muses (mostly to himself), caressing your cheekbone with his free hand —

“Gagged by an old man’s cock.”

You pull off, pumping him with both hands, asking breathlessly, “Are you all so big?”

He smiles, eyes darkening at the dirty compliment. “Give you a few numbers n’ you can tell me.”

God, he’s beautiful from down here.

You hold his attention and lick a slow stripe down the underside of his cock, half-grinning up at his lust-filled expression.

“I only want yours, Joel Miller.”

An uneasy inhale as you take him back in, his brows furrowing and his cock growing impossibly harder. Your words please him, he returns by groaning orders and praises like: “S’all yours, baby — take it all — take aaall that dick — good fuckin’ girl.”

He’s so close and you know it, moaning in submission at his hand’s pressure against the back of your head. With your nose crunched into his abdomen, you hold your throat open for him to use it however he pleases — reduced to nothing more than the man’s plaything.

There’s a low “ah, fuck,” from above, and then you finally know what Joel Miller tastes like.

It’s better than the Plan B.

You hear nothing beyond his recovering breaths, feel nothing past pride, lust, and exhaustion.

Eventually, he loosens his grip. You pull off of him delicately, drawing a groan from between his gritted teeth when you make sure to suck every last drop of his seed into your mouth.

Sitting back on your ankles, you roll your head up to face him.

He swipes a thumb under your lips, clearing the saliva connecting you to his softening cock.

“Still mad at me?” He asks.

You’d be crazy to say yes.

“Only for pulling out.”

You note the twitch at the corner of his mustache.

Joel helps you back on your feet, using one hand to pull you up by your arm and another to arrange himself back to decency.

You adjust your shirt; Joel fixes your skirt. It’s a strange kind of silence settling inside this pocket at the side of a random, ruined building.

Then, your company clears his throat, that mask of seriousness falling over his expression once again.

“You gonna be smart?”

What ever could he mean?

Stay away from him? Stay away from men? Practice abstinence? Use protection?

Either way, you’re not one to make promises you know you can’t keep.

You cross your arms.

“No.”

He sighs.

Well, looks like things are already back to normal.

His face softens and he shakes his head, already regretting his next words. “Just — just come find me, then. I won’t do… this again, but — but I’ll help.”

You frown.

“What do you mean, ‘this’?”

He stares down into your accusatory eyes with a look you’d received many times from him, one screaming, “get real.”

“Fine,” you mutter, breaking eye-contact, “Thank you.”

With a stoic nod, he walks around you, heading back into the night. You try, in vain, to watch him go in silence — god knows you had some thinking to get to — and find that, instead of getting it out of your system, the entanglement had only left you wanting for more.

And more and more.

“Is this what you meant?” and you hear his footsteps halt, “When you told me you’d do worse than kill me? When I tried to hit you?”

It comes out before you can help it, and you twist around to face his still, broad shoulders.

You can hear the smile teasing his lips as he utters the words.

“Why are you askin’ me that?”

Still facing his back, you break into a smile of your own. “So I’ll know what I have to do to get you to do it again.”

You watch him shake his head, grey-streaked ripples in the low light.

“Try your best not to find out, angel.”

With that, he disappears into the darkness, leaving you in the flickering doorway. Thighs aching, heart racing, you take a deep breath, trying to memorize the feeling of what it felt to have them taken from you by Joel Miller.

A feeling you’d chase.

—

Put your red boots on

Baby, giddy up

Baby wants a dance

Baby gets her way

Dreamy nights

Talk to me with that whiskey breath

Twirl me twice

I'll treat you like a holiday

And don't say you're over me

When we both know that you ain't

Don't say you're over me

Baby, it's already too late

Just do what you do best with me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like a ballerina, super high

Dance me all around the moon

Light me up like the 4th of July

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When we both know that you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

When you lie down right next to me

Get your jacket on

Be a gentleman

Get into your truck

And pick me up at eight

'Cause we were built for

The long haul freight train

Burnt by fire

Without trial like a stowaway

And don't say you're over me

When they all know that you ain't

If you lay down right next to me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like ballerina super high

Dance me all around the moon

Like six times 'til I'm sick and I cry

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When they all know that you're lying

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

When you lie down right next to me

—

TAGLIST (cont’d in reblogs): @millllenniawrites @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @supernaturaldean67 @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @fruitcupsworld @mads-grace4 @killerrxger @niallsbunny @snowyarcher @grnherbs @mswarriorbabe80 @tercabed @sweettea-and-honeybutter @bbyanarchist @thisgirl-knm @pedrit0-pascalit0 @redhotkitchen @isitselfishifwetalkaboutmeagain @pseudonymist @goldengrapejuice @soullumii @kamcrazy123 @wclverine

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alyakthedorklord · 9 months

Text

Part 3 of Batman the Playboy, in which I change my mind about the reveal in part 2:

Batman: “So you didn’t notice?”

-justice league record scratches-

GL, horrified: “No. there’s no way, there’s absolutely no way…”

Batman’s grin would fit better on a supervillain, before he suddenly, miraculously, transforms. He leans back, tilts his head, the smirk isn’t evil but instead inviting and amused: “Really, Mr. Jordan, your job is just so fascinating… tell me more about planes…”

GL: 😨

Batman, turning on the rest of the league, one by one, changing his body language ever so slightly for each person: “Mr. Allen, I do hope you’ll entertain me again if I’m ever back in central, I had a grand time. Dinah darling, I stand by what I said, Ollie was SO much nicer to kiss when we were in college. Princess, the boys and I are in your debt. Mr. Jones…”

Batman’s mind goes no thoughts, head empty. Martian Manhunter is both impressed and embarrassed, nodding in understanding as Batman turns to the final hero, smiling sweetly, brain still empty as a blank sheet of paper: “And, Mr. Kent…”

Batman steps closer, hand on Superman’s chest, hip cocked, Brucie Wayne smile in full effect: “Our conversation got… cut off, the other night, because I wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with me going further, which is a damn shame. Call on me, won’t you?”

Superman, realizing why a very eager Brucie Wayne stopped their makeout session short: “…huh? OH- um.. uh huh.”

Green Arrow, short circuiting: “No fucking- BRUCIE? How? How is that possible?”

Batman, backing away from a shutdown superman, the physical mask on his face hardly the most effective one in his arsenal: “Because I’m Batman.”

Bonus for @help-i-need-a-cool-username: Hal Jordan STILL doesn’t know who bruce wayne is.

a few months later:

GL: “So this big old money billionaire guy in gotham is connected to this, i think he’s called Wayne or smth.”

Justice league: “…”

Flash, had a FULL DAY of Brucie and was VERY aware of who he was with: “Uh… Hal?”

Green Lantern, who heard Bruce’s name in passing, while distracted, under loud club music + has tried to erase that night from his memory: “what?”

Batman, under his breath: “We can find your secret identity so easily, batman, you’re not that good, Batman, we’re just being polite, Batman.” Sure you fucking can, Jordan. You know, it’s polite to remember the names of people who you’ve fondled.”

#batman the playboy #dc prompt #bruce wayne #justice league #justice league shennanigans #autistic batman

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leejihoonownsmyheart · 9 months

Text

Tattoo (M)

Happy Cheol day- I’m still not actually here 🫡

Summary:

Your ridiculously hot coworker gets a new tattoo

Please god have mercy and do not let any of my coworkers find out I wrote this because it is based in reality but I swear to god I am not actually attracted to Devon he just has the coolest fucking tattoo and I don’t care if Seungcheol isn’t a weeb I needed him to be for two seconds

I’m not joking I should be fired for writing this. Not only because I literally based it off of my coworker but also because I fucking spelled out our rule system and abused the punishment system. If my coworkers read this? Got to the points part. Jesus christ I really would be fired.

Tags: Inked!Cheol, coworkers au, y/n refers to Cheol a lot as a loser but is he?, 7.9k

Warnings: Dubious consent, impact play, omg dacryphilia?? Did I finally join the ranks?, y/n is a brat (can’t relate), lots of swearing like all y/n does is swear, kinda dom!Cheol, hint of jealousy, no protection, creampie, blowjob, cunnilingus, fingering

The first thing that you noticed about Choi Seungcheol Thursday at work was his fucking tattoo.

Jesus christ, you had been so strong when it came to him. Fighting every single day not to be into the fucking man.

If you were honest, really fucking honest, you would be able to say that you had been into Seungcheol since day one. Since he had walked up to you a little bit more comfortably than everyone else. Since you two had been introduced on the day of his orientation because Riley thought you two would get along.

She was right, how had she been right? How could she have possibly known simply from his interview that you two would get along? Because she had. You remembered her walking up to you after his interview, as one of the most attractive men you had ever seen was walking out the door, and she said, “You are going to love Choi Seungcheol if he starts working here.”

But regardless of that. Despite the fact that your fate had been drawn out for you like the pages of a coloring book you had remained in denial. Fighting not to find him attractive, because his silly little anime interest had left your coworker Jordan reminding you that you weren’t exactly his type one day when he had spent a straight hour with you giving you advice on working out and literally inviting you to the gym with him.

A Thursday was not the day that you should come into work and see the hints of a freshly drawn tattoo peeking out from underneath your coworker's shirt. And at 3:00pm stuck on register with said coworker you shouldn’t be taking sneaky glances at his arms, trying to see the tattoo better. And for goodness sake the first thirty minutes of your shift when you had wandered close enough to him that you could see the Aquaphor shining on his bicep was too fucking early to have these fucking feelings.

Being turned on at work was a literal fucking sin but that tattoo was the coolest fucking thing you had ever seen in your life.

“Have you noticed anything different about me?” Seungcheol asked, his eyebrows raising excitedly as the guest near him wandered away from the counter. You willed yourself to remain casual as a small smile crossed your lips.

“You got a new tattoo,” you said softly, playing right into his hands. He smiled, that characteristic one you were so used to seeing on his face when he was so excited about something that he just couldn’t keep it to himself. You loved the way he seemed to literally buzz with energy about things like this. Lived for the fact that he was so unashamed to love something so much.

“So, you did notice,” he said pleasantly. He turned his body a little to show you his arm, but most of the tattoo was hidden under the sleeve of his shirt. You could only see the edge of lightning bolts, but you suspected that the tattoo went further up his arm. Maybe onto his shoulder.

Fuck, you so desperately needed to see where that tattoo led.

You had seen Seungcheol shirtless before, and if you were completely honest? He literally looked like he was sculpted by a god. You knew that it was because he put a lot of work into his time at the gym, and that his dedication was unmatched but despite that it had still confused all of your coworkers.

Seungcheol looked so scrawny in his work uniform! Everyone had been surprised when Nicki hissed: “Have you seen the pictures of Seungcheol on his instagram?” And then you had seen the images of him and he looked like a literal adonis.

“Do you want to know how much it cost?” Seungcheol asked you and for once that smile was doing way too fucking much for you. You really, really needed to look away from him. You instead, squinted at the lines on his arm.

“Hmm.”

“Oh, you should guess,” Seungcheol said, running off of your curiosity. You pressed your lips together, mind going to the tattoo your friend had gotten on her arm. A star, some words, 75$.

“Uh...” Your mind was trying to gauge how long the tattoo was. It wasn’t very thick, the lines were admittedly detailed but couldn’t have been that much more expensive...

But then again it was long. All around the expanse of his arm.

“200,” you murmured. Seungcheol’s lips flitted up.

“Higher.”

Your eyebrows furrowed.

“300?”

“Higher.”

“No way,” you said with a laugh. “400?”

He only smiled harder. You sucked in a gasp, shaking your head.

“There’s no way it’s more than 400,” you insisted. He laughed too.

“500.”

“500,” you gasped. “That’s crazy.”

“It’s not my most expensive.” You felt like your eyes bulged at his words, and you didn’t even have to express your surprise. “One of mine was only 250, but the other one was 1000... That one I was overcharged for.”

Your mind was racing to account for this new information. 1000 dollars for a tattoo? You had forgotten just how expensive tattoos were.

Your attention strayed back to Seungcheol’s tattoo and you swallowed hard, still itching to see where it reached. You shook the thoughts out of your head when a: “Hi welcome in.” rang through the store signaling that a guest had walked in.

You tried to shake thoughts of Seungcheol and his tattoo out of your head by busying yourself with your work. Luckily for you, today Seungcheol was working basically in a completely different area than you so there wasn’t much to be distracted by.

Regardless, of that, when you went to the office to get a drink and Seungcheol was standing just outside of it cleaning something your attention caught Seungcheol’s tattoo again.

You noticed that there was a thicker part of the tattoo that you hadn’t noticed yet. Your eyes narrowed.

“Hey... What’s that?”

Seungcheol instantly knew what you were talking about. He hummed glancing at his arm as if he could see it himself, even though you knew it was out of his eyesight.

“That’s one of my other tattoo’s,” he replied. “It’s an anime tattoo. Can you guess what anime?”

Your mind ran through shows that you knew.

“Is it a mainstream one?” You asked him. “Old?”

Seungcheol hummed and nodded, his smile growing over his lips again.

“Is it Naruto?” You asked. You didn’t know why you thought that you could see the rest of the tattoo in your mind when you had never actually seen it, but you couldn’t help but think it was a signa.

“No,” he replied his voice riddled in amusement.

“Uhm, One Piece?”

Another shake of his head and you felt your face starting to warm as you tried to picture his tattoo in your mind. You ducked into the office, your mind still racing. You picked up your cup and when you turned down Seungcheol was standing just outside of the office so that you could see him. Your escape plan completely evaporating with only a few steps from him.

“Is it My Hero?”

“No,” Seungcheol said. “I’ll give you a hint. The person’s powers have to do with lightning.”

You thought for sure that had to be My Hero, but you also knew that Seungcheol had no reason to lie to you over that. You stared at Seungcheol, letting your confusion show on your face.

“You don’t know?” He asked, and to be fair he did sound genuinely surprised. You shook your head, pulling your cup closer to your chest. Honestly feeling a bit embarrassed (shy?) that you didn’t know the anime he was talking about.

“It’s Hunter x Hunter,” he explained.

You honestly did feel stupid. Hunter x Hunter had flicked in and out of your mind so fast it hadn’t really been a consideration.

“Oh,” you breathed.

“You’ve never seen Hunter x Hunter?”

A smile was painted over your lips and you shook your head quietly. You turned your body away from Seungcheol slightly so that you could drink your drink without feeling too self-conscious. But Seungcheol was persistent, he peaked around your body a little.

“I’m surprised. It’s after one of the characters. He has lightning powers.”

You gave Seungcheol another pressed smile, giving up on drinking your drink without him looking at you.

“It really is such a cool tattoo,” you said softly. You put your cup down and shot him one last smile before rushing back up to the front.

You were lucky that day really. He left early that day, and without his presence you were able to mostly move past thoughts of Seungcheol and his tattoo... Stupid attractive Seungcheol with his stupid perfect face and his biceps that you had never thought of before but now were the only thing on your mind-

Cold shower. You couldn’t bring yourself to touch yourself to thoughts of Seungcheol. Not your coworker Choi Seungcheol. Not your friend. Not the dorky guy from work that everyone loved. No, instead you opted for a very, very cold shower and an abnormally early bedtime.

You were naïve, really. Thinking that a ten o’clock bedtime would be enough to get you over your sudden infatuation with Seungcheol... (And that tattoo. That damned tattoo that made you see him as more than just some guy you worked with).

“Your total is 10.69...”

You weren’t an idiot. The man at the counter in front of you had been taking sneaky glances towards you the entire time that you two had been interacting. You knew that he was flirting with you... And to be completely honest you were very aware of the fact that you were flirting back.

You had no regrets really. He was attractive. Ridiculously so, and you couldn’t help but preen under the attention of someone so pretty.

“You’ve got to tell me what you’re doing after this,” the boy drawled. “The weather is supposed to be perfect.”

You hummed, eyes flickering up from his card as the machine beeped at him to pull it out.

“I don’t have any plans,” you replied, your voice light. Playing to the fact that you knew he liked you. Playing to the fact that you knew he wanted you to flirt back. If not for the purpose of actually asking you out at least for the purpose of the thrill.

“Someone as pretty as you?” He asked, and he leaned forward, body slightly bent over the counter. “All alone for the weekend? And I’m supposed to just let that slide?”

You could feel someone staring at you and you honestly just thought that it was a coworker who had just walked in for their shift. You ignored it.

“What would someone like you do?” You asked, eyebrow quirking up ever-so-slightly. “Surely, you have plans for the weekend.”

The gaze on your neck didn’t disappear, so you took a quick glance behind you.

Your eyes caught Seungcheol’s.

Your gaze widened a bit and you quickly turned your attention back to the person in front of you. You tried your best to regain your composure, but suddenly you felt guilty. Like you shouldn’t be talking to the person in front of you like this.

“Maybe I do,” he said. “Maybe you could too.”

You could feel Seungcheol’s presence over your shoulder, and you suddenly felt the urge to turn away from the guy in front of you.

“I...” You weren’t holey sure how to get out of this situation. “I hope you have a good day.”

That teasing smile was still on the strangers lips, he was clearly liking the act you were putting on. He nodded slightly.

“You too.”

The minute the man was out of earshot, you tried to busy yourself stocking something but you felt Seungcheol’s chest brush your elbow. You turned back over your shoulder to look at him, a shy smile flickering across your lips.

“Hey,” you mumbled softly. Your fingers pressed into the counter, and while Seungcheol had a smile on his face you could see something else hidden beneath his eyes.

“You know that guy?” His tone was a little bit more constricted than you were used to.

“I was just being friendly.”

Not entirely true, and you both knew it. Seungcheol hummed, and nodded his eyes darting to the other end of the room.

Suddenly, you remembered the little piece of art that Seungcheol had recently bestowed upon himself. Your own gaze flickered down to Seungcheol’s bicep, the trails of ink make your mouth run dry.

Fuck, yesterday’s shift hadn’t been a wild wet dream about your innocent coworker after all.

Working with Seungcheol had never been quiet really. You two, as aforementioned, had been bonded in a way since the day that you two first met. It wasn’t really anything serious. You weren’t his closest friend at work. You really hung out outside of work but at work he was always talking to you.

He would ask to be put on positions next to you so that he could tell you about his interests and ask you about yours. He was so silly in that way. Always went out of his way to say hi to you. Always treated you like you were besties, with his sometimes lingering gaze and that look in his eyes as if he constantly wanted to say more.

And now? You were the one who was pushing the boundaries of your friendship. You were the one staring too long. The one who was letting your interactions drag a little bit longer than maybe they should.

“Have you seen Seungcheol’s tattoo?” You asked on break as if it hadn’t been the topic of everyone ever since he got it. Your coworker broke out into a small smile.

“It’s amazing,” she mumbled, leaning forward on the table. “Have you seen the whole thing?”

Your eyes were wide.

“Have you?” You asked. She laughed slightly, shaking her head.

“No, but what I wouldn’t give...”

“How far do you think it reaches?” You asked, and your fingers traced subcnociously over where you thought that tattoo might stretch over his body. “Over his shoulder blade? Onto his clavicle?”

“Do you want to see?”

Your eyes grew wide at the sound of Seungcheol’s oh so distinct voice. You pressed your lips tightly together, and glanced over at the man who was suddenly in the break room. You gave him a thin smile as if you hadn’t been caught rather openly fascinating (was it enough to be lusting?) over the tattoo that you knew wasn’t supposed to be leaving you soaked.

“You’ll show?” Your coworker asked. Seungcheol glanced at you and then joined you at the table. He pulled out his phone, seeming to take his time as he scrolled through it trying to find what you only assumed was photographic evidence of the ink on his arm.

After a few seconds that felt like hours Seungcheol turned his phone to your coworker, the screen out of your view.

“Oh my god.” You didn’t want to seem too interested. You fought the urge to crain your neck and look. “Oh my god. You’re hiding all of that under your shirt?”

Seungcheol’s laugh only made you want to see it more. He was so cocky, thriving under the attention she was giving. She leaned forward, the tips of her fingers brushing the bottom of his phone as if to see the photo better.

“That was money well spent Seungie.”

Seungie.

You had known that she was closer to Seungcheol than you. You had always known that. The two of them practically hung out every week.

So... Why did that stupid nicknmae make you bite down on your tongue?

Seungie. It wasn’t even a good nickname. It was reminiscent of that of first year high schoolers thinking their week long fling was something that would turn into a lifelong marriage.

You forced a larger smile on your lips to hide the tight feeling of something you could only truly identify as jealousy down into the pit of your stomach. You were being stupid. You hoped to god that neither of them could sense the energy change from you.

The two continued to talk, and Seungcheol kept that photo just out of your line of sight. You were too stubborn to lean forward and look at it. Too stubborn to just admit how badly you wanted to see this stupid boy without a shirt on.

You just wanted to see that tattoo. Really, just the tattoo.

“You should come over,” Seungcheol suggested as he tucked his phone away, your coworker disappearing out of the break room door. You let your eyebrows raise at the question.

“Why?”

“I’ve been wanting you to watch something with me,” Seungcheol replied. “And I think you want something from me too.”

You really ought to fake it better. You both had the same little smile across your lips. The ones that you always used with one another.

It was such a simple invite. Innocent. But then again it was always innocent between you and Seungcheol, wasn’t it? You two held the sort of banter that you always loved to have with people. Pure chemistry. The ability to easily fire back at one another, never a dull moment in the conversation, always harboring interest for whatever you two were talking about.

You nodded because, of course you did.

Seungcheol’s apartment was different than you had imagined.

He was a geek, wasn’t he? Always bragging about his room and how amazing it was. His you should come see someday’s had always felt like empty invitations. But now you were here. It was different. Good different.

Seungcheol turned on a show that he had spoken to you about many times before. A show you had always assured him you would watch. A show you never actually did turn on.

The characters began to dance across the screen, and you let your gaze focus on it. You two were silent for a little. He was wandering around his room and you were pretending like you didn’t desperately need him to take his shirt off.

“You really haven’t seen this show,” Seungcheol said, and you let your attention turn to him. He was leaning against his dresser, watching you intently. You pretended like you two hadn’t had this conversation a million times before.

“I haven’t,” you agreed.

“So hard to believe,” he breathed. He shook his head slightly, his hair brushing the tips of his ears. You turned your attention back to the television. Seungcheol rummaged around for a little longer before finally he took a seat next to you on his bed.

He kept a distance between you two.

You risked a glance at him, your eyes going to his arm, to that stupid tattoo that was still hidden beneath his stupid shirt.

“Come here,” Seungcheol mumbled softly. You scooted closer to him, your eyes focused on his tattoo. “You want to see it?”

You nodded, still not looking at him.

“If that’s okay.”

He breathed a laugh.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

You glanced at Seungcheol, eyebrows furrowing.

“I don’t have any tattoos.”

He just hummed his response, and with one hand dragged his shirt off over his head.

Finally.

To your delight, the tattoo was equally just as amazing as you had imagined, and more amazing than you had imagined. The black bolts of lightning inched up his bicep, up onto his shoulder. One of the bolts spreading across his clavicle. You felt your mouth gape stupidly as you looked at him, show completely forgotten in the background.

“You can touch it if you want.”

You didn’t need prompting more. You reached forward, fingers lightly running across the lightning streaks. As you did, Seungcheol leaned forward, his hand placed directly between your thighs. You didn’t pay too much attention, but his hot breath on your neck was sending heat right through your core.

“I would have thought you would be disinterested in my tattoo by now,” Seungcheol whispered, as his spoke his fingers inched forward, his thumb begginning to rub small circles into your thigh.

You swallowed hard, eyes flickering to Seungcheol.

“Nu-uh,” you murmured. “I hadn’t gotten to see it yet.”

You felt yourself inching closer to Seungcheol, silently urging his hand forward. Seungcheol got the idea and pressed his thumb over your clit through your panties. You bit down on your lip to prevent a whine from leaving your lips, and instead focused back on his tattoo, running your fingers up the length of it to where it spread over his clavicle.

His fingers pushed against your underwear, so that it was just slightly pressed inside of you, and then he began to rub up and down between your folds.

“You’ve been driving me crazy,” he mumbled. “It really took me getting a tattoo to get your attention, huh? 500 dollars later and you were finally looking at me the way I wanted you to.”

The confession caught you off guard but as you went to question him his fingers were dipping beneath your underwear. “So wet,” he breathed, so quietly that you knew it wasn’t for you.

He pressed two of his fingers into you and this time you couldn’t hold back the whimper that left your lips. Seungcheol’s response was immediate, a quiet shushing that just made you need his touch anymore.

“It’s okay, y/n,” he said softly. “Are you going to be good for me?”

A whine bubbled up in your throat and you nodded sharply. He practically purred in your ear.

“Then just hold on, won’t you?” He asked softly. You nodded again, your fingers tightening a little around Seungcheol’s bicep. Normally, you weren’t one so quick to silence... Or obedience for that matter, but your skin was burning. You couldn’t imagine doing anything but listen to him in this moment.

Seungcheol’s fingers dipped deep inside of you, his fingers curling once he was buried to his knuckles. You couldn’t help the way that your head fell forward, your nose brushing the nape of his neck.

“You sound so pretty for me,” Seungcheol mumbled, making you only just then realize that this whole time you had been letting the tiniest whimpers leave your lips. You pressed your lips closed tightly, tilting your head so that your lips brushed his neck. “No, no.”

Seungcheol’s head tilted down, his lips brushing your forehead.

“You don’t get to hide your little moans from me,” he mumbled. He set a slow, lazy pace really, of fucking his fingers in and out of you. His thumb brushed your clit, and you bit down hard on your tongue, determined to not humiliate yourself even more.

You had come here to watch a show with him... To see his tattoo and now you were being fingered on his bed and to be completely honest the embarrassment was dulled by the pleasure running through your body.

No matter how deep Seungcheol drove his fingers into you, it didn’t feel like nearly enough. Seungcheol’s fingers stilled deep inside of you, and you ignored it, thinking that it was just a passing tease. Seconds passed. A minute.

“S-Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol hummed, his lips fluttering across your forehead. You tried not to look at him. You fought it in yourself not to wriggle your hips in desperation.

“Seungcheol,” you pressed, your tone bordering upon begging. A small laugh vibrated through Seungcheol’s body. He pulled his fingers out of you and then pushed them back in. Surprisingly fast, surprisingly deep. You mewled, your head falling back a little.

Seungcheol’s head dipped down, and his lips brushed yours.

“How far are you going to let this go?” He asked you. “You gonna cum around my fingers?”

You pressed forward, chasing Seungcheol’s lips but he pulled away. Stupid smile spread on his lips. Stupid lips pressed to your cheek.

“I’m n-not gonna-” Your words faltered. Your body burning. You tilted your head up so that Seungcheol’s lips trailed down your cheek, across your jawline, and down to your neck. His lips pressed into a small kiss.

“You want a third?” Had his voice always been so hypnotic? You nodded, too eagerly. His lips brushed up and down your neck as you moved. “I need to hear your words. You’re so quiet when I’ve got my fingers fucking you open.”

“Fuck,” you whined, but you refused to give in.

“That’s not a very good word,” Seungcheol chastised. “What would they say if we were at work right now, hm?”

You were silent, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip.

“Now, now,” his voice came, and his fingers stopped. “I asked you a question yeah? Aren’t you my superior? Why don’t you remind me of the rules.”

Oh god, that shouldn’t be so hot.

“It’s a point,” you whispered back. Seungcheol hummed again.

“And how many points before our first punishment?”

A shiver ran through your body.

“Six.”

“Let’s hope you don’t get to that point.”

Seungcheol pushed a third finger into you, and it sent a slight burn through your body. Seungcheol groaned as he pushed his fingers into you, no doubt feeling how tight you were squeezing him.

“Baby-” Oh god. “If you’re squeezing my fingers like that... I don’t really know that I’ll be able to fit.”

You swallowed and lifted your head, your gaze meeting Seungcheol’s. Your mouth was still closed tight. You were still trying so hard to be quiet. But your eyes were wide, your curiosity at his words were undeniable.

“Which do you want more?” He asked you softly. You refused to answer. “You really need to learn to use your words. Your pretty little cunt is sobbing for attention, but those eyes are begging me to take my clothes off.”

Your fingers splayed over Seungcheol’s bicep, your eyes going back to the dark lines etched over him.

“Clothes off,” you breathed.

“Good choice,” he purred.

He pulled his fingers from you and got to his feet so smoothly that it wasn’t like he was moving at all. You let out a vocal protest towards the loss of him, but it only made him laugh at your expense.

“There’s your voice,” he teased. You could see your wetness glistening on Seungcheol’s fingers as his fingers hooked on the waistband of his pants. He pulled them down, and then almost immediately after, his boxers were dropped to the ground.

You slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the strangled moan that left your lips.

Never in your six months of working with Choi Seungcheol had you imagined that he would be fucking hung, and yet here you were looking at his (pardon the lack of imaginative description) monster energy drink sized cock in both girth and length.

You had never been with anyone with a cock as big as his... You had never seen a cock as big as his.

You hadn’t even known that a dick his size was even real.

“I’m getting a bit self-conscious,” Seungcheol said, his voice dragging you back to reality. Your face reddened but you didn’t move your hand from your mouth. Seungcheol didn’t seem to care, not really. He walked over to you, his fingers balling in your shirt. “What do you want?”

You knew what you wanted from Seungcheol now more than you ever had before.

“I want you,” you whispered back. Seungcheol’s eyes glinted.

“I like it went you use your words,” he slurred. You let your hands fall lax at your sides, giving Seungcheol the room to pull your shirt over your head. Given the opportunity Seungcheol was fast with his hands. Your shirt and bra were tossed aside to the floor in moments, and you were helping him wiggle you out of your underwear immediately after.

You were hoping that sense of urgency would continue, but just as soon as your clothes were off to the side, Seungcheol was trapping you between his arms, staring down at you with an expression on his face that made you wiggle. His eyes flitted down your body, and as he inspected you one of his hands came between your thighs. He tapped your inner thigh.

“Let me see,” he mumbled. You obediently let your legs spread, and Seungcheol took that as an opportunity to slide down your body, the pads of his hands pressed even further at your inner thighs and his gaze fully settled between your legs.

A whine was ripped from your body, and it made Seungcheol’s eyes flutter closed for a brief second. But then, his eyes were open again.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Seungcheol said, his breath making you clamp around absolutely fucking nothing like a common whore. “Is this all for me?”

His thumb grazed between the folds of your pussy, and he spread you out so that he could see you better.

“’s fucking embarrassing,” you murmured out. Seungcheol raised an eyebrow in your direction.

“Two points.”

You let your head fall back into the pillow.

“Embarrassing,” you reasserted.

“It’s not embarrassing,” Seungcheol denied. You felt something brush between your folds and you glanced down in time to see the tip of Seungcheol’s nose raising his tongue darting over you. Another groan from him. “It’s only natural to make such a mess when someone is touching you like this. And you like it when I touch you like this don’t you?”

You nodded, and he pressed a kiss to your core.

“Words.”

“Yes,” you cried out, desperate for more. This time you felt his laugh vibrating through your core. He was messy down there, like he was in his own little world. He lapped at your pussy like it was water, literally fucking animalistic. His fingers dug into your thighs as he pressed your legs wide open for him. Pressing so hard that you felt like you were going to break.

Seungcheol didn’t care for that. He didn’t seem worried at all that he would break you. Instead, he was lost between your thighs. A glance down at him in between your little moans and you could see that his face was slick with wetness.

“You’re making such a mess,” Seungcheol mumbled into you as if it was your fault that you were like this. “Getting yourself all over my face. All over my bed...”

You wiggled under his touch.

“It’s not fair,” you whined. “You get to touch me all you want... I w-want to touch you.”

“Is that so?”

He didn’t have any right to be so cocky.

“Want to taste your dick,” you admitted, your words betraying the fact that your thoughts were just about as reliable as Nick Carraway’s words in the Great Gatsby.

He did have the right to be so cocky. At this point you didn’t think you would be able to do anything before getting his cock pressed into you. Whether in your mouth, or your pussy? You didn’t care. Just needed his cock to be somewhere inside of you.

“Seungcheol,” you pressed, annoyance vibrating through your body. Seungcheol hummed against you. Fucking bratty. You lowered your hand to his hair, tugging him off you sharply. He looked up at you, his eyes dark despite the general amusement riddled there. “Want to taste your dick.”

Seungcheol slapped your thigh, making you cry out in surprise and loosen your grip in his hair.

“Not very nice,” he chided. “You better put your money where your mouth is.”

Seungcheol pulled off of the bed, dragging you to the edge with him by a single hand on your thigh. When you got to the edge you pushed yourself off the bed, your knees hitting the ground.

You wrapped both of your hands around Seungcheol’s dick. You gave him an experimental tug, dragging your hands all the way up to the tip of his cock. You let your thumb flicker over his slit, teasing it until precum dampened it.

You pressed forward, your tongue darting to his tip, tasting the salty liquid.

Unlike you, Seungcheol wasn’t trying to stay quiet. A breathy moan escaped his lips, and he reached forward, both of his hands scooping your head in his hands. He pressed your head forward, slowly easing your mouth onto him.

You let your lips give way to girth of his dick as he pushed your head forward, your fingers tightening on his hips in anticipation.

“Your mouth is so warm,” Seungcheol mumbled softly. You let your gaze raise up to Seungcheol, and he was peering down at you from under his pretty long lashes. You gagged a little around Seungcheol’s dick and his movements came to a hault. You struggled to catch your breath, grasp tightening again but not pushing him off.

Seungcheol’s fingers stroked your head until finally you caught your breath and you pressed yourself forward without any prompting from him and he got the idea quickly. He started to guide your mouth down on his dick, not pausing again until his cock was buried completely in your mouth.

You let a whine vibrate your whole body. Seungcheol smiled down at you, one of his hands sliding down your face to brush the corner of your stretched out lips.

“You look so pretty with my cock down your pretty little throat.”

The veiled praise went right to your already soaked core, but Seungcheol was so blissed out that he didn’t even care. He began to ease himself out of you, taking his fucking time, pulling you all the way to his tip and then pressing you all the way back down until your nose was pressed to his lower abdomen.

Seungcheol started to press a faster pace. He wasn’t rough by any means, his grip on you was surprisingly gentle, and he was clearly in no rush at all. Not to cum, not to fuck you, not for anything. He was living in the moment, just grateful to have his dick down your throat.

Were you a whore for that making you so much wetter? The thought that he really was practically just using you. You were patient with him at first, but soon you weren’t able to keep that to yourself anymore. You whined and wiggled against him, patting his thigh until he released his grip on you.

“I can’t fucking wait anymore,” you bit out. Seungcheol raised an amused eyebrow.

“That’s three points,” he warned. Your eyes narrowed at him, which just made him laugh.

“Get on the bed if you need my cock that badly,” he murmured. “But I’m warning you. You’re sounding a little slutty when you talk like that.”

You didn’t care, a moan ripped from your mouth, and you scrambled up onto the bed. Seungcheol followed after you, a small push of the shoulder pressing you back onto his comforter. You wriggled underneath him, your eyes closing as you waited for him to move, to do something.

“Shit,” Seungcheol mumbled. Your eyes fluttered open, and you looked at him. He was staring at you, a pained look in his eyes and a hand stroking his cock.

“Did you bring a condom?” He asked you. Your lips pressed into a thin line, and you shook your head. Seungcheol gave you an apologetic smile. “I guess I’ll just have to make you cum a different way.”

A panicked feeling ripped through your body. You desperately didn’t want him to pull away. Not when he was so close to fucking you. You suddenly wrapped your legs around Seungcheol waist, pulling him closer to you, his tip dipping unintentionally into you.

You both let out matching moans.

“Need you to fuck me,” you mumbled, your face burning.

“Baby-” Seungcheol sounded wrecked. “I don’t have a condom.”

You were doing your best to avoid looking at Seungcheol.

“I don’t care.” Your voice was shaky, and even though you weren’t looking at him you could see the stupid cocky expression that had now appeared on his face.

“Yeah?” You were silent, but you tried to roll your hips down on Seungcheol to push him further into you. Seungcheol stilled you fast by digging his fingers into your hips- So deep that you were sure it was going to leave bruises.

“You want me to fuck you raw?”

You nodded, mouth still shut.

“I want to hear you say it,” Seungcheol pressed. You thought normally you would play against Seungcheol more. You thought maybe you would make him push you to say it more. But the tip of his cock still inside of you was making you so fucking desperate you really couldn’t hold back.

“I want you to fuck me raw.”

Seungcheol pushed fully into you without much more argument. You cried out at the thrust, wrapping your arms around Seungcheol’s neck, dragging him closer to you.

“You’re not doing very good baby,” he cooed. “Letting my pressure you into saying bad words? Begging someone to fuck you raw? So dirty... Shameless.”

He laughed against you but it was mixed in a loud moan.

“That’s another point. You’re at four.”

Before you could fight him back on it he began to slowly drag his cock out of you, pulling himself all the way out to the tip. You didn’t care about staying quiet anymore. You whined loudly

“Guess what baby?” Seungcheol whispered. Your hands slipped into his hair, fingers pulling at his strands.

“Close, fucking close,” you babbled, completely ignoring him. Seungcheol dipped his head, his lips brushing your ear.

“You hit six points.”

In seconds you were empty. Your eyes shot open and you pulled Seungcheol’s head up by his hair so that you could look him in the eyes. You must have looked fucked stupid under him. Your eyes wide and glazed over and your mouth gaping as you silently begged him to put his cock back inside of you. You two were quiet for a few seconds. Simply panting next to one another.

“Seungcheol fucking put-”

Seungcheol’s hand darted to your chin, and his fingers pressed into your cheek, forcing you to stop talking.

“What should your punishment be, hm?” He teased lightly. “Should I just get myself off and come all over you? Make you sit there covered in it?”

You tried to shake your head, but Seungcheol’s grip was tight- You were locked in one spot.

“Please,” you breathed. “Please Cheol. I need you to fuck me so badly. I need to come.”

Speaking with his fingers pressed into your cheeks was painful in a way that just spiraled down to your core, leaving you just that much more turned on and desperate for him to fuck you again.

“I could make you come,” he replied. His fingers darted down to your clit. He pressed down on you and began to rub your clit in firm circles. You threw your head back, shaking your head.

“No, no, no,” you protested. “Need to come with you inside of me.”

“But if I give you what you want then you’ll never learn,” Seungcheol teased.

“No!” You blurted, feeling pleasure coil through your body. You were fighting back against your own orgasm harder than you ever had before. “I’ll learn, I’ll learn.”

“No, you won’t,” he chided. “You had so many chances before punishment, and you didn’t learn then.”

You were co close. You didn’t even want to come at the moment and yet you were so fucking close.

Seungcheol pulled his fingers away from you and again you had your orgasm ripped away from you. Tears sprouted at the edge of your eyes and Seungcheol slapped your innerthigh.

“You’re going over my legs,” he mumbled. He pulled you to the edge of the bed, and dragged you over his legs. You whined and buried your face into the comforter.

“Fu-” Before you could get the whole word out Seungcheol’s hand came down hard on your ass. You cried out, a mixture of pleasure and pain running through your body.

“Why don’t you count for me?” He asked. You whined, shaking your head. Seungcheol hummed. “Unless, you’re not into this?”

His tone turned to a lighter one. For once he wasn’t teasing you.

Fuck.

“O-One,” you murmured. Seungcheol hummed again, and his hand came down on you again. “Two.”

Seungcheol’s hand ran over the curve of your ass, and two of his fingers dipped into your pussy. At this angle there was a slight burn despite the fact that not long ago something much bigger had been inside of you.

He pulled his fingers out again and suddenly slapped your ass.

Your whole body jolted.

“Th-three.”

“See? Isn’t it more fun when you listen?” Seungcheol asked you. “You could have come by now. Could have come around my cock just the way that you wanted to but no you had to be bad and break the same rules that you have to enforce everyday at work.”

“We’re not at work,” you protested, and Seungcheol slapped your ass again. You gritted your teeth together. “F-Four.”

“So mouthy,” Seungcheol tutted. “But you’re almost done.”

“Almost done,” you repeated, mimicking his tone in a way that you knew was in no way accurate. Your tone high and your body wiggling underneath him. His fingers slipped into your pussy again, spreading lazily.

“Isn’t this what you always complain about to the other managers at work?” Seungcheol asked. “People who can’t do something as simple as follow the rules...?” A whimper ripped from your lips. “If I didn’t know any better I would say that you enjoy getting punished. You like me being in control for once.”

You shook your body out in frustration, lightly biting down on the back of your hand and screaming into it.

“You’re wrong-” Seungcheol hit your ass again. And you bit down on your bottom lip to try and keep yourself from counting that hit. A hum of disapproval left Seungcheol’s mouth.

“If you don’t count you just get more,” he warned. As if to prove it his hand came down on you again. “And I’m not scared to turn your ass dark red. You look so fucking pretty over my knees like this.”

“F-Five and six,” you bit out suddenly, shaking your head desperately. “Please Cheol, I really, really need your cock.”

“No,” Seungcheol turned down. “You still have one more. That’s what you get for missing a count.”

More tears ran down your cheeks and you shook your head.

“I re-really need you,” you whined out. He hit you again. “Six.”

Seungcheol’s fingers threaded in your hair and he pulled you up. You dragged one of your legs over his legs. Seungcheol’s hands ran up your sides, and then he tightened his grip on your hips. He lifted you and then sunk you back down on his cock.

At this angle you literally felt like you were being split open on his cock, your whole body shook and you dropped your face into the crook of his neck.

“I-I-” You wanted to curse so badly. “Seung- Seungcheol.”

“I really hope that you don’t act out again,” Seungcheol mumbled. “Because I’m tired of waiting for you to come on my cock.”

You moaned loudly into Seungcheol’s skin. He raised you up again by your hips and slammed you back down on his cock. Your hands darted to Seungcheol’s shoulders and your fingers dug into him.

“You’re just s-so b-big,” you managed to get out. One of his hands raised to your chin and he tilted your head up.

“Ride me,” he mumbled. You nodded, your eyes darting to his lips.

“Kiss me,” you replied.

Seungcheol’s lips pressed to yours and you began to ease yourself up on Seungcheol’s cock. The stimulation of his cock and the burn on your ass from getting punished was just making you that much weaker. You couldn’t help the way that you were literally crying against his lips.

His hand raised to your cheeks, and his thumb swiped the tears across your cheeks. He broke of the kiss. “You need it badly don’t you?” He whispered. “Need me to take over again?”

You let your forehead fall against his. You didn’t really want to admit it but before you could voice that Seungcheol’s free hand pressed to your clit.

“Be good,” he warned. You nodded quickly.

“Pl-Please,” you breathed. “I need you to take over.”

Seungcheol grabbed your hips and began to raise and drop you on his cock. It didn’t really matter how long Seungcheol fucked you like that really. You were coming undone under him after only a few drops. You pressed your lips forward so that Seungcheol was kissing you again as he fucked you hard. With each drop he was forcing his hips up deeper inside of you.

Your whole body shook against Seungcheol’s and you went limp in Seungcheol’s hands. He still forced his cock in and out of you through your orgasm but even as you were blissed out you knew what you needed.

“Ch-Cheol,” you whimpered. “N-Need your cum. Inside.”

Your voice was weak but his wasn’t much better.

“Y/n-”

“Please.”

He didn’t make you beg anymore. You cried out as you felt Seungcheol’s cum spurting deep into your already sensitive pussy. Your whole body burned against Seungcheol and you shook your head against him.

“Oh fu-” You caught yourself and quickly shut your mouth. He laughed, exhaustion thrumming through his body.

“I told you that you wouldn’t learn unless you were punished.”

Seungcheol pulled you off of him, letting you roll over onto his bed. You whined, and shoved your face back into his sheets.

“Cheol your stupid tattoo is so cool,” you groaned. He laughed.

“You know, I really like it when you call me that,” he said softly. You felt him fall next to you on the bed, his fingers lightly brushing against your back.

“Yeah? More than Seungie?”

You wanted to hit yourself.

“Are you jealous?” He asked you with a laugh. You rolled over, letting your fingers twitch against his.

“I’m not jealous,” you denied. He grabbed your hand and tugged you closer to his body.

“Yes, you are,” he asserted. You grumbled, but turned into him anyways, wrapping your arms around his body and burying your face into his chest.

“No more than you are,” you retorted. “Can’t even chat with guests around you.”

Seungcheol hummed, but his lack of vocal disagreement just proved to you that you were right.

“What tattoo should I get next?” Seungcheol asked after a few minutes of silence. You looked up at him, pressing your lips together.

“Why are you asking me?” You murmured. His lips quirked up into a smile.

“So that I can drive you crazy wanting to see that one too.”

“Guess, what I heard.”

You looked up at your coworker, giving her a raised eyebrow, a bit annoyed that she was disrupting you while you were stocking but she didn’t seem to care really. She just leaned back on the counter.

“Seungcheol got another new tattoo.”

You looked back at what you were stocking, only so that she would not see the pained look on your face at the news. He had been mentioning that he really was going to get one. Every time he fucked you asking you where you thought the next one should be. Making you touch the places on his body that you wanted them to be. Teasing you with the fact that you were completely fucking obsessed with him.

“That’s...” Were you breathing easily? “Cool.”

“So cool,” she replied. “Everyone wants to see it but he’s refusing to show it to anyone yet, or even tell us what he got.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the news.

“Really?” You asked. “Why?”

“He said that his girlfriend gets to see it first.”

Girlfriend. You thought back over the last time you had seen Seungcheol. Two nights ago, his cock buried deep inside of you.

“I’m getting the new tattoo tomorrow,” he mumbled into your neck.

“I want to see it first.”

A laugh left his lips.

“Yeah? You think I’m yours or something?”

You hadn’t really meant your answer.

“Aren’t you?”

You pressed down the urge to smile, and instead rolled your eyes.

“What idiot would date stupid Choi Seungcheol?”

Your hand slipped and a bucket started to fall to the ground. Before you could do anything someone caught it and your eyes flickered up, gaze meeting Seungcheol’s. His voice dropped so quiet that you knew that no one but the two of you could hear it.

“An idiot whose ass is going to be red tonight.”

Your face blazed and excitement coiled through the pit of your stomach, but you hid it behind a coy smile.

“That’s going to be a point.”

You were just glad the next day no one asked you why you were walking funny.

#seventeen #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #svt fanfiction #seventeen smut #kpop smut

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