#but that just proves how fucking low the bar is
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The fact that these are practically the exact same character, but one is rightfully universally hated for being an abusive megalomaniac while the other is being upheld by the fandom as some sort of.... ugh.. "hero" 🤮🤮
#to me enji stans seem completely deranged#like who would watch atla and come to the conclusion that yes it was actually zuko's fault??!!#who would watch atla and ask for ozai redemption at the end??!#literally no one#so then how do you see endeavor in mha and do that exact thing?#they're almost the exact same character it's literally uncanny how similar they are#right down to the specific types of abuse they subjected their families to#ozai married ursa because she was avatar roku's granddaughter so he thought they would produce more powerful children together#enji married rei for her ice quirk because he thought they could produce more powerful children together#ozai favored one of his kids who he considered a prodigy while ignoring/hating the other one who he thought of as weak/useless#enji favored one of his kids who he considered a prodigy while ignoring/hating the other ones who he thought of as weak/useless#ozai is responsible for one of his kids having half their face burned and permanently scarred#enji is responsible for one of his kids having half their face burned and permanently scarred#no i don't care that technically rei was the one that burned shouto enji was still the reason this happened#but ozai was tyrant and and an imperialist while enji saves people for a living#congratulations that's the only valid point to hate ozai more than endeavor#but that just proves how fucking low the bar is#plus endeavor's idea of heroism is more like#beating people up for a living and coincidentally saving some bystanders as a bonus#anyway ozai should have died#maybe not by aang but he should have died#enji should also die#i don't care who does it I'm good with anything as long as it isn't framed as a 'heroic sacrifice'#atla#atla ozai#mha#anti endeavor#anti enji todoroki#todoroki family
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☆ ryomen sukuna x f!reader ☆
cw: college au! smut! rough! degration! drabble
first thing you thought when you saw this man:
‘oh. i wanna fuck him.’
the way he acted like he absolutely hated you, always hiding a smirk when he caught you staring at him. his arms, his face, his muscles, his fucking tattoos.
“jesus. stop staring at him like that.” megumi would groan at the sight of you oogling the man. you’d blink up at him. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”
your mind went crazy at night thinking about him. picturing him relentlessly pounding into you until you’re crying. a strong hand around your little throat.
don’t get started on his voice. the way he’d casually degrade you made your legs quiver.
“what the fuck are you looking at?”
the way you’d go over to him and yuji’s shared apartment just to hear him go “why the fuck is this bitch here?”
oh you loved it. and he knew it too.
that’s why when you stayed on yuji’s couch after a night of drinking, you casually thumbed at your phone, sending drunken misspelled texts to your friends.
‘hed so ficking hot giys’
‘seroudly i bet his duck is huuuuge’
your insistent typing got interrupted by a sudden groan behind you.
“why the fuck are you here?” sukuna stood behind the couch, looking over your shoulder. you quickly shut your phone off, turning to him.
your eyes almost popped out of your head at the sight of his shirtless chest.
you hadn’t even changed out of your bar clothes yet, still in a short little skirt and a low cut top. you don’t miss the way his eyes drop to your attire.
“dressed like a slut too. are you begging to be fucked or something?” he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. your cheeks heat, looking away from him.
“no… just didn’t bring extra clothes” your thighs clench together to calm the heat from down there.
he hums, walking to the fridge for some water.
“and i’m not a slut!” you work up the courage stand, to practically yell at him, despite how weak your voice sounded. this makes him turn around.
“really? you sure look the part.” he chuckles.
“fuck you.” you spit out at him, making him smirk.
“you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he quirks his head, eyes raking over your now standing form. the way your skirt hiked up just above your thighs.
okay, you were fucked.
“fuck! s’too much.” you mewl into the cushion of the couch, sukuna’s big veiny cock pounding into your tight little cunt. his hands gripping tightly at your hips, his pelvis meeting your ass with a loud clap at every thrust.
“you wanted this, didn’t you?” he laughs at your cries, his tip kissing your cervix every time he enters you, fucking you from behind.
he leans closer to your ear, his consistent deep trusts along with your moans were the only thing that filled the silence of the living room.
“runnin’ that fucking mouth and can’t even take dick.” he growls, grabbing your wrists and pulling you back to bring your bare back against his chest. you were covered in a thin layer of sweat, panting, all while he still had his full stamina, fucking into you ruthlessly.
you were embarrassed by the sheer wetness of your cunt, how the squelching noises proved how insanely bad you wanted him.
you whine when he lets go of your wrists, bringing his free hand to your throat, pressing you against him. using his other arm to wrap around your middle to hold you in place while he pumps into you.
“s’kuna!” you cry out, tits bouncing with every thrust. it was borderline painful the pace he was fucking you, but you loved it. you craved it. you spent countless nights fucking your little fingers imagining it was him.
“your pussy’s suckin’ me in like a fuckin' slut. thought you said you weren’t one? guess you’re a liar too.” he chuckles, hand tightening around your neck, partially cutting off your airflow. your hands go to reach behind you to tug at his hair, but he stops you.
“don’t fucking touch me.” he seethes, your cunt uncontrollably squeezing around him from the degration, making him groan and roll his head back.
“fuckk, you like that don’t you? so pathetic. suckin’ me in so well, though.” he grunts out between each thrust. you were so close, and he could sense it.
“g’nna cum.” you whine, hands gripping the edge of the couch.
“no, you’re fucking not.” he lets go of you, your upper body falling back onto the cushion below. you let out an exasperated scream when he suddenly pulls out of you completely. you crane your head back as far as you could to look back at him. he just has a smug ass smirk on his face.
“want you to beg for it.”
your mouth falls agape for a moment, but immediately closes.
“p-please, wanna cum so bad!” you try grinding back into him, but he holds you steady.
“surely you can do better than that, baby” his hand comes down to place a firm smack on your ass, making your eyes squint closed for a moment. you huff, pouting up at him.
“need your cock so badly, sukuna! p-please let me cum i need it!” you pathetically plead. you could feel the way you clenched around absolutely nothing, missing the presence of him inside of you.
“that’s more like it.” he quickly presses the fat head of his cock to your entrance, slowly easing in, stretching you out all over again.
“my own personal slut" he groans, feeling you clench around him.
his pace is even more brutal than before, his dick easily finding your sweet spot and hitting it over and over until you were practically drooling on the couch. his eyes glued to where you two meet, a ring of white around his cock.
your nails dig into the cushions below you, heat pooling in your lower abdomen. you were probably tearing the poor fabric apart at this point.
his fingers grip at your hips, pushing you up and down his cock. you were sure he was holding you so tight there will be bruises the next day.
suddenly his pace gets faster and sloppier, his cock pulsing inside of you. you bite your lip to prevent yourself from screaming out, feeling blood bloom from where your teeth meet your lip.
“gonna let me cum inside? be my little fuck toy i can do anything i please with?” he pants out, groaning at the way you clench around him.
“yes! yes, please do! o-oh my god!” your vision goes hazy as you cum around him, milking his cock fully as he follows suit, pumping his cum deep inside your weeping cunt.
you were pretty sure you blacked out for a second.
you collapse on your shaky arms, trying to move away from his unending thrusts. he pulls you back with a growl.
“the fuck are you going? we’re not done.” he starts back up again.
masterlist
#sukuna x reader#sukuna smut#sukuna ryomen smut#ryomen x reader#jjk smut#x reader#reader insert#smut#jjk x reader#jjk x you#fanfic#fanfiction#jjk fanfic
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Woof woof… whimper
(Part 10… but technically a continuation of part 9)
Content:
Dub-Con/Non-Con, Knotting
It takes your cock-addled brain a second too long to process what Soap’s just said. What he’s implied. And by then he’s all ready for you to buck against him, confused and angry.
“That’s so — that’s not funny!” You shout.
But he’s got you pinned thoroughly, your chest flat against the mattress and your ass flush against his hips. His cock buried so deep you can feel the hot head of it bullying the deepest parts of you. All your struggling does is make you clench up tight around him, makes him feel that much bigger and meaner inside you. Makes him grunt low and ragged in your ear, all animal appreciation.
“I’m not laughin’,” he replies, nipping at your shoulder.
“G-get off of me, get out, get—”
His hand slides into your hair again, gets a firm hold at the roots and presses your face into the blankets, muffling your protests. Shushes you like soothing a panicked animal.
“Now, now,” he chides, “I still gotta prove I’m not compensating, don’t I?”
You suck in a breath, squeezing your eyes shut. There have to be a million explanations other than the absolutely ludicrous one he’s just presented to you. Cameras, microphones….
How did he know where you live?
How did he know where the spare key was?
How did he know where your bedroom was?
How did he find you at the bar?
Stalker, you tell yourself. He’s a creep, you’ve always known that.
Then where’s your dog?
“N-no,” you warble, bucking again. Nearly scream as his cock twitches inside you; only reason you don’t is because you can barely breathe as it is. He’s so deep inside that he’s practically in your lungs. “No way you’re my — there’s no way. You’re crazy. I’m gonna— ah!”
He draws out as you speak, gradual, and then plunges in again all at once, cutting you off. Grinds his hips in a dirty circle too, burying himself as deep as he can.
“Aww, poor thing,” he coos. “S’alright, baby, I knew this would happen. We jus’ gotta get all those big, scary feelings out first. Then I can explain it all nice and slow.”
You try to scream at him. Try to curse him out, tell him there’s no way in hell you’re listening to a word he says now; never mind letting him spend another second with his dick in you.
All that comes out is a high-pitched keen as he starts fucking you without further preamble. It aches, but you can’t tell in what way. If it hurts, if it’s the best you’ve ever had. Both? Your nerves feel haywire, brain dragged to lust-stupid depths.
“See, there we go,” he rasps, punctuating with a sharp snap of his hips on that last word. “My perfect little mate. Your cunt was made for my cock, made to be bred by me. Isn’t that right?”
You try to shake your head, but his grip keeps you from doing more than sending electricity down your spine, hair pulled taut.
“Yeah it fucking is,” he growls to his own question, canting your hips back further. His fingers grip cruelly into the flesh, sure to leave bruises. You wish you didn’t enjoy the sensation, wish it didn’t make you spasm around him helplessly.
“‘Bout time I owned you right back, don’t you think?” He continues, never stopping or even slowing. You yelp as he tugs your necklace again, arching your back at a steep angle. “Even collared yourself up for me. All it needs is my name.”
Something about that drives some awful, slutty part of your brain fucking wild. The idea of you with a tight leather choker — a collar — with his name (you don’t think about what name) hanging from your throat…
“Like that, don’t you?” He chuckles meanly. “Who’s my good little slut? Who’s my perfect, soaked little breeding whore?”
Tears spring to your eyes as you realize the “I am” is right there on the tip of your over-saturated tongue. If you had air, brain cells, any ability at all, you’d be crying it to the ceiling like the toy he’s treating you as.
He’s going to ruin you, you think. He’s going to fuck you broken. You’re crying and wailing on his cock, think you’d actually throw a tantrum if he pulled out and left you on the edge right now. Would, you realize in horror, beg for him to keep going.
And then he snakes his hand around your hip and starts rubbing your clit — fast, hard little circles. Just the way you like; the way you’d do it yourself. Relentlessly and cruel, even when you try to writhe away from how fast you can feel yourself getting to the edge. Almost frightened by it, how quickly he’s mastered your body’s pleasure.
Frightened by the extra stimulation at your entrance, too. A little extra friction at first — shocking because you’re leaving a puddle on the sheets. But then the friction becomes pressure, becomes… more.
“W-wha….?” You slur, hips wriggling.
Soap (Johnny?) snarls in your ear and that feeling at your entrance grows. Feels, you realize with alarm, like stretching.
“Gonnae take my knot so well,” he rambles, accent thick like syrup, trickling into your empty brain, filling you up with meaningless sounds. “Plug you up full of my cum, breed you right just like you need.”
Any questions or confusion are whisked away by the extra stimulation at your entrance. The sensitive nerves getting just as much brutal attention as your inner walls, your cervix, that sweet spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back.
It all becomes too much all at once and crashes through you, devastating. You clamp down around him tight and needy, lean all your weight back into his thighs. And he practically howls as he sinks into you and stays, grinding and humping without ever actually pulling out again. You feel a flood of heat that seems to go on for an absurdly long time, cock pulsing against your overstimulated walls, milked for every last drop.
You shudder as your brain tries and fails to process it all. Like trying to decipher a foreign language from white noise. It’s nothing but static to you.
You can feel a tongue against your shoulder, scraped of blunt teeth. Soap/Johnny licking the sweat from your skin and nipping bruises into the flesh. You make an annoyed noise that comes out whinier than intended, shoving at his face.
“Get off, you bastard.” Your voice is pathetic, thick with tears and fractured in a hundred places.
“Can’t, bonnie, even if I wanted to.”
You scowl, try to look at him over your shoulder. He takes that opportunity to nuzzle against your temple.
“What?” You ask. “What are you talking about?”
“Did ye hear me?” He chuckles. “Well, maybe not with the way you were screamin’. You’re all knotted up, baby. Can’t pull out — ‘less you want this pretty pussy to tear.”
You jolt, nearly yank yourself off out of pure fear, but Johnny keeps you still again, humming.
“Easy now,” he croons. “Still fussy? Need another to settle down?”
Useless as your brain may be, it recognizes what he means by “another one.” You think you might pass out.
“No,” you snap, petulant even to your own ears. “I want you to explain… explain everything.”
“Alright, hen. C’mere.”
He gently lays you out prone on the bed, then rolls you both on your sides. Hitches your leg up over his hip. You want to protest, but it helps the ache in your poor cunt.
“H-how are you still hard?” You pant, traitorous pussy twitching around him.
He growls in your ear, can feel him grinning against the lobe. “Will stay that way for a bit, lass. Don’ worry, you jus’ have to lay here all nice and still. Keep me warm while I explain things to you.”
And he does. How there are shapeshifters out there in the world, rare as they are. That he comes from a line of them. Recruited to military, as most of them are.
How he was on standard patrol when he smelled you for the first time.
“Like a wet dream, bonnie. Fertile. Spring. Smelled like mine.”
How he instantly knew you were his mate. That he just needed to make you see it. Never a good time to explain it all to you — and then there were interlopers and your silly little books and your pesky toys. How he tried to drop hints around the house, let you come to the correct conclusion on your own. But you never did.
“Honestly it’s a good thing I’m here, hen. You’re so oblivious. Lived with a man and never even knew it.”
That he tried to go about it the other way ‘round, as a man, but you’re just so stubborn. And then how it all led up to tonight. To you finally, finally realizing what you really needed: your mate.
You should be angry, furious. There’s a lot to say about… well, all of it. It’s horrifying and violating and… and…
And he hasn’t stopped bullying your clit since he started talking. Cruel, tight circles. Drawing the hood back with two fingers and stroke with a third, slow and languid and just soft enough to make your head spin. Rhythmless taps. Even pinches when you try to chew him out at one point, half turning to scowl. Instead have his tongue lapping sloppily at yours as your mouth gapes open soundlessly.
Makes you cum twice just like that without ever interrupting his own story, cock still hilted — knotted deep inside you. Honestly, you probably miss a good portion of it, some of the finger details for sure. But you get the broad strokes (among other strokes).
He licks at your overstimulated tears when he’s finished, nuzzling and kissing your cheek.
“I-I miss my dog,” you mumble finally, hands balled against your chest.
“Aww, darlin’,” he sighs, sounding genuinely apologetic. “We’re one and the same. I’m always your boy no matter what form I take.”
It would be more comforting if his dick didn’t throb calling himself your boy.
“‘Sides, I’m better than a normal mutt,” he continues, tugging you against his chest. You want to hate that is instantly makes you feel a little better. “Wolves mate for life, after all.”
#sorry this is a little shorter but uhhhhh i never know where to go after smut#anyway hope yall like it#cod#my writing#fanfiction#reader fic#thoughts™️#dark fic#woof woof johnny#woof woof au#wolf john soap mactavish#johnny soap mactavish
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My mom's going back to university to study to become a therapist and her biopsych textbook is... interesting. It straight up states that XX chromosomes=female and XY=male, no variation or exceptions, forget about the existance of monosomy or trisomy of sex chromosomes I guess let alone AIS, Swyer syndrome or de la chappelle syndrome. Oh but wait it gets worse. It later brings up intersex variations as 'exceptions that prove the rule' of bullshit binary ideas about sex and brings up some case studies, one of which is about a woman with CAIS and then proceeds to invite a debate over if she should be told the truth and that she has CAIS. Im going to fucking rip a wall apart, at least my mom has me as the context to know that that's bullshit, but what about people that just take that at face value? People that want to go on to be psychologists or therapists? They're going to fuck any intersex patients up so bad if they think it's debatable if we should be told the truth about our intersex-ness, and not only that but think its ok to surgically 'treat' us without telling us or giving any semblance of informed consent.
I'm reminded of how I read about how one intersex woman had to break into her doctor's office to steal her medical records, because she knew something was up but even as an adult they refused to tell her. And how intersex people are far more likely to have poor physical and mental health, a good chunk of that probably attributable to the fact that shit like this happens and so we're probably more likely to avoid doctors and mental health professionals and not trust them, for pretty good reason. Some of the things I went through during diagnosis and right after and some of the things they did were traumatic and violating. But at least they fucking told me I have CAIS and gave me a say in my plan for treatment/monitoring when I pushed back. The bar is so low that despite how horrible and traumatic some of that and how I was treated was, to the point where I'm still processing certain things almost 3 years later, by other standards I got incredible care. Because at least they fucking told me. That is the bare fucking minimum. No, that's lower than the minimum, or should be, but we've been mistreated by the medical system so much that telling us we're intersex at all is a step in the direction of progress.
But people, supposedly mental health professionals and doctors, want to debate if we should be granted the basic decency of knowing.
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old dogs don't change
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
summary: weeks after sleeping together, your no-strings-attached agreement goes up in flames when joel goes on a date with another woman. you make sure that never happens again. (sequel to keep it on the low)
warnings: 18+ MDNI, ex-boyfriend!joel, jackson era, tlou 2 jesse appearance, age gap, hurt, angst, smut, unprotected piv, post-breakup sex, rough sex, public sex, rough oral (m!receiving), exhibitionism, possessive behavior, jealousy, alcohol use, briefly dating other people
word count: 10.6k
You have no idea who she is, but you bet she’s a total bitch. Is that mean? Maybe. Do you give a shit? Nope.
To be fair, you’d probably say that about anyone Joel started dating after you, but that doesn’t mean it can’t still be true. Sure, you've never actually talked to her…or seen her before in your entire life, but that’s beside the point. She’s cute and bubbly, and everything you’re not, and that’s the point.
It’s honestly a little comical how different the two of you are, and you can’t help but wonder if Tommy did that on purpose. You know he was the one who set them up. Everyone in the dining hall was talking about it this morning. The latest, hottest piece of gossip, bouncing from table to table like a cruel game of telephone.
He probably thinks he’s protecting his big brother, but you think he needs to mind his own fucking business. It’s not like he knows anything about your relationship, not really. Well. It’s not your relationship anymore, is it? And Tommy, along with everyone else in this town, blames you for that.
Poor Joel, dumped by the biggest bitch in Jackson, who took advantage of his kindness and patience for years, and broke his heart when all he did was love her. Selfish, cold, and uncaring. Nothing like the pretty, perky girl sitting next to him in the booth they’re sharing at Seth’s.
If only they knew what really happened.
The bar is especially busy, even for a Saturday night, so you figure no one’ll notice you blatantly glaring at them. It’s not like you care, anyway. You’re feeling warm and loose, and maybe a little too tipsy for your own good, but tonight, you get to do whatever the fuck you want.
Because Joel’s sitting ten feet away with his arm slung around another woman, and it hurts.
It sucks way worse than him avoiding you since the last time you slept together, after all of the things you did and said on that couch. The things he said. You shoo away the thought with another swig of beer, wishing you were drinking something stronger. It's for the best.
If you get any drunker, you’ll probably end up doing something stupid, and the last thing you need is to prove everyone right that he’s better off without you. But you can’t seem to shake the anger that’s starting to simmer below the surface.
With the emotional toll this night has already taken, you kind of don’t want to. So, you surrender to it. Fuck him. He’s a piece of shit for parading his new girl around right in front of you, and for breaking off your agreement without so much as a word.
If he wanted to see other people, he should’ve opened his mouth and used his big boy words. Then again, he’s always been terrible at that, so why are you surprised?
Maybe he’ll fuck her tonight. Touch her all of the ways you like because that’s all he knows anymore. She’ll moan for him, soft and sweet, gentle in her affection, just like she’s touching him right now. But it won’t satisfy him, and when he’s panting on top of her, chasing that all-consuming release only you can give him, you know he’ll be pretending she's you.
Asshole.
You’re still watching them, shooting daggers from your spot at the bar, when your wish from earlier is granted. Two overflowing shot glasses topped with lime are placed in front of you, and you look up to see a very attractive dark-haired, brown-eyed man smirking down at you.
"Looked a little lonely over here," he says in a raspy baritone even lower than Joel's. He clinks the top of your beer bottle with the bottom of his own. "Thought you could use some company, maybe another drink."
Well, he’s right. You could use some company, and you’d love another drink. There’s no harm in having a little fun, right? If Joel’s doing it, then there’s nothing stopping you.
"So, both of these are for me, then?" you smile coyly, reaching for one. He nods, his own smile widening.
"Could be. Can I join ya?" he gestures to the empty stool next to you.
He has this cocky look on his face like he already knows you'll say yes, and in your inebriated state, you think it's kind of hot. It reminds you of Joel when you first met. How he knew exactly what he wanted and wouldn't give up until it was his. Until you were his.
You consider him for a moment. He’s young, maybe even younger than you, and obviously confident enough to make a move on you. Fleetingly, you think he might end up being that stupid thing you do tonight, but then you down one of the shots and decide you don't actually care.
What turns out to be tequila burns the entire way down, and you immediately pick up a slice of lime. You’re hyperaware of the way his eyes lock onto your mouth as you suck on the sour fruit, lingering when a droplet of juice dribbles down your chin.
It’s not a total surprise when he reaches up to thumb it away, but you are taken off guard by how strange it makes you feel. The pad of his finger is disappointingly smooth, no weathering or even a hint of a callus. You're not sure why that matters to you, but you can take a decent guess.
You chance a glance over at Joel's table and, of course, you have his full attention now. His entire body looks tense, from his hand clenched on the table to the prominent vein bulging angrily in his neck.
Good. Now he knows how it feels.
Looking back up at your mystery guy, you run your tongue along your bottom lip, catching any remaining lime before you finally give him an answer.
"Sure. Pop a squat, cowboy," you giggle. It doesn't even sound like you and feels wrong the second it passes your lips, but as long as Joel heard it, that's all that matters. "You got a name?"
He replies, but you're too busy keeping an eye on Joel in your peripheral to catch what he says. In the back of your mind, you think that’s probably a good thing. You'd rather not know, especially if you do end up taking him home.
Mystery guy laughs at your noncommittal hum and you realize you’ve been caught. But he doesn’t seem upset. It’s clear he’s amused by your obvious interest elsewhere and that piques your curiosity.
Any other guy here would’ve been pissed by your apathy, especially if they’d bothered to buy you a drink that you accepted, but apparently not this one.
He sits down on the stool next to you, pulling it close enough that his knee presses against yours. You unconsciously lean into him, your skin erupting in goosebumps despite your growing unease.
He's...baffling. A total enigma. You can’t figure out what his deal is or why he’s choosing to keep pursuing you when your eyes have been glued to another man all night.
The thought of letting this continue long enough to find out is a little thrilling. Might as well see where this goes. If it escalates, you’re more than confident in your ability to care of yourself.
But it happens sooner than you expect. His hand finds the back of your stool and, then, his lips are suddenly right next to your cheek. You can feel the warmth of them as he tilts his head to whisper in your ear.
“Look, not try'na to overstep, but…,” his eyes dart to where Joel’s sitting, unreservedly ignoring his date. The poor thing barely notices, chattering away about something not nearly as important to him as watching you. His gaze returns to you, and you can feel him smirking. “You wanna make that guy you've been staring at all night jealous?"
That’s—wow. You didn’t see that one coming. He’s got a lot of audacity to assume that’s something you’d want, let alone offer…what? His services?
But, then again, he isn’t wrong. Joel’s been the only thing on your mind since you walked into Seth’s tonight and saw him with her. He’s always on your mind if you’re being totally honest with yourself. It’s plain to see, obvious to every single person in this bar including the man himself.
You eye your mystery guy curiously for a second before nodding, your lips quirking into a small smirk. Maybe it’s time to prove to Joel and everyone else in this judgmental town that you’ve moved on, too. That you’re not the sad, bitter shrew that deserves to be alone.
"Yeah, actually, I do," you reply cautiously. But there's still one lingering question that has yet to be answered. "I just…why? I don’t get why you’re helping me. What are you getting out of this?”
He shrugs, and somehow you can just tell by the look in his eyes that there’s no hidden agenda. You’re not sure how you’re just noticing, but he has kind eyes. This whole time, he’s been nothing but patient and attentive, like Joel always was—...is?
Was.
You almost wish you could fall for someone like this man instead of pathetically clinging to your past. Maybe you’ll at least get a friend out of this crazy night, if nothing else. But then you remember one, tiny problem with that idea.
“Can you tell me your name again? I promise you have my full attention this time,” you smile sheepishly. He chuckles good-naturedly and, again, doesn’t seem to hold it against you.
“It’s Jesse,” he says with a deep, southern drawl you should probably be more attracted to. “And let’s just say I know how it feels to want someone ya can’t have.”
You nod slowly, understanding perfectly. Except—you didn't realize up until this moment that that's exactly what you want. Someone you can't ever have.
And it took seeing Joel with someone else, his body pressed up against a woman that isn't you, to realize it. Well, that fucking sucks.
You decide not to ask about Jesse's situation. It's not your business and, anyway, you're both trying to feel better about your circumstances, not worse.
There’s a silent sense of camaraderie between you that tells you to throw caution to the wind. Tossing back the second shot, you turn your stool to face his, literally and figuratively turning your back on Joel.
“It’s really nice to meet you, Jesse,” you murmur, and you genuinely mean it. He grins, leaning in slowly, still giving you time to back out if you want to, but you don't.
Eat your heart out, Joel Miller. This one's for you.
"S'nice to meet you, too," he replies softly.
Then, his lips are on yours. The kiss is wet and open-mouthed, and yet he handles you so delicately. He cradles your face in his hands as his tongue brushes against yours, and you moan softly into his mouth, letting your body get lost in the way he feels. And he feels so—
Much different than Joel.
All you can think about is how much you miss Joel's rough touch, the way he'd thread his fingers through your hair and tug you into his mouth, nearly devouring you whole. Joel kissed you like every time might be the last, right up until it actually was.
Fucking hell, why can't you just enjoy this without him ruining it for you?
You try to forget about it, about him, licking into Jesse's mouth a little more aggressively, and he groans, his body eager and responsive. It's probably more than you should be doing in public, sitting at a bar surrounded by people but, hell, you want them to see.
They can say whatever they want about you. You're done giving a shit.
And, boy, will they have a lot to talk about after tonight. Joel makes sure of that. It happens so fast, you barely register that Jesse’s lips aren’t on yours anymore like they should be.
One moment, Jesse's hands are trailing down your sides to your waist, and the next, he's being forcibly dragged off you. Between you stands a broad, imposing figure ensuring you stay separated.
Your mind goes blank, and all you can do is watch in shock and disbelief as Joel lets loose on him, his words possessive and almost nonsensical.
"The fuck you think you're doin' touchin' her like that? Y'need to learn how to keep your hands to yourself, kid, before ya get yourself in trouble," he grits out angrily.
To his credit, Jesse stays cool and collected, but it’s not enough. There’s already a few pairs of eyes on you, drawn by the physical altercation, and it won’t be long before the rest of the bar notices the impending fight.
"Respectfully, sir, s'long as the lady consents, I'll put my hands wherever she wants," Jesse replies, standing his ground. He tries to move around him to return to your side, but Joel fixes him with a look that sends a shiver down your spine.
"S'that really a good idea?" Joel sounds menacing and looks even more so the longer the conversation continues.
You’re still numb to everything unfolding in front of you and it’s not until Jesse’s next to you again, snaking an arm around your waist, that you finally come to. The reality of your situation hits you like a ton of bricks and now you’re mad. You open your mouth to retaliate, but Jesse cuts you off before you can get a word in.
“There a reason it wouldn’t be?” he turns the question back on Joel and you tense, anticipating a less-than-friendly answer. Jesse squeezes your hip in reassurance, but it does nothing to soothe your unease. He doesn’t know Joel like you do.
“Kid, do I look like I’m fuckin’ around? Take your hands off her and walk away. M'not gonna tell you again,” he all but growls, taking a threatening step forward.
Neither of you back down. Jesse’s arm stays firm around you as your nails bite into your palm. It's taking everything you've got not to make a bigger scene than you already have.
You knew it. Since the breakup, you’ve been trying to reconcile this increasingly unfamiliar man with the Joel you gave your entire heart to all those years ago. With each passing month, the differences between the two become more and more obvious.
He's angrier now and has so much less patience. It's not that he's unkind. You know that no matter what his circumstances are, Joel will continue to be a good man. But he has a hair trigger, especially when it comes to you.
And he wants. God, he always wants you. It’s not that you didn’t have an active sex life before everything fell apart. He just...fucks you differently now. Possessively and without restraint, like he needs to be sure you're satisfied enough to never need anyone else. The agreement to keep sleeping together was actually his idea. And it worked for a while—until it suddenly didn't.
Now, you're forced to come face-to-face with that reality. Sitting at this bar, you spent the entirety of the night believing he'd decided he didn't want you anymore, that he was ready to find happiness in something simpler than sneaking around with his ex.
Except, it's starting to feel like maybe that's not as true as he made it seem. Like he never should've gone on this date in the first place.
"What the fuck, Joel?" you hiss, fighting to keep your volume under control. Not that it matters. The entire bar is staring at you, their eyes ping-ponging back and forth like they're watching a tennis match. "Back the fuck off. Now. This is none of your business."
"The hell it ain't my business. Some kid's runnin' his hands all over another man's girl and y'think that ain't my business?"
His trembling hands clench into fists at his sides and, while you’re betting the rest of the bar thinks he’s preparing for a fight, that isn’t Joel. It might be you, though, if he keeps this up.
"Excuse me? And whose girl am I—yours? Because I'm pretty sure your girl is sitting over there in that booth. Or did you forget about your date?"
For a moment, he actually has the nerve to look ashamed, like he feels bad about leaving her all alone at their table and for humiliating her in front of all these people. He avoids her crestfallen gaze, likely not ready to face the hurt he’s caused.
But it only lasts for a second before his eyes darken again, focused solely on you. As if Jesse, his pretty date, and everyone else in this bar disappeared, and it's just you and him. This conversation doesn't include them anymore. It's a private matter now.
"We're leavin'," he says with finality, his tone leaving no room for argument.
He should know better. That's not how things work with you. You’re a fighter, a trait he’s always loved about you, even if your ire was directed at him. Back then, it rarely was.
"You're out of your mind if you think I'm leaving with you," you scoff bitterly. "Go back to your date, I'll go back to mine, and we can forget about this. All of it. We're done, Joel."
He shakes his head, mouth tipping down into a frown like he's thinking something over. Then, he huffs out a laugh. Like, an actual laugh, and you start to think maybe he really has lost his mind.
"Y'know, I really don't think we are, darlin'," he drawls dangerously.
He's on you in an instant, his hand wrapped tightly around your arm as he drags you out of the bar. You briefly consider resisting, but he's moving too quickly. All of those shots you downed combined with the beer you drank earlier go straight to your head, and you're suddenly overwhelmingly distracted by the feeling of his skin on yours.
Fuck, it feels like it's been so long. In reality, you know it's only been a few weeks but, god, you missed it. His hands on your body, anywhere at all on your body. You'd hate how quickly you forget about Jesse if you could think about anything else but those familiar, rough fingertips.
The way they dig into you, reminiscent of how he'd squeeze your thighs or clutch your waist when he was making love to you.
...Wait, what? No...no, fuck. Why is he making this so difficult? Why—Christ...why can't you just leave each other alone? If he never planned on letting you go, he shouldn't have broken up with you. And if he still wanted you this badly...all he had to do was ask. You would've said yes in a heartbeat.
So, you let him steal you away, out into the brisk, wintry air that does little to cool your fury or the heat beginning to coil in your belly. The door shuts noisily behind you, and you immediately wrench your arm out of his grasp before he can say a word. It's your turn to talk now.
"What is wrong with you? You can't just...fuck, you can't do shit like this!" You're seething, practically shaking in your rage, and his expression doesn't look much different.
"And you can? I dunno what the hell you were thinkin' gettin’ cozy with some goddamn kid, lettin’ him touch ya like that in front of the whole town," he reiterates harshly. He's starting to sound like a broken record. It's the only leverage he's got, and you both know it's flimsy at best.
"Some kid? Jesse's a fucking adult, clearly more mature than you," you bite back. "And it’s a bar, Joel. That's what people do at bars."
Joel scoffs, and you can tell he hates the way Jesse's name falls from your lips. Especially when those lips were on yours not even ten minutes ago.
"And who are you to decide who can and can't touch me? You broke up with me," you continue resentfully. "You don't get a say anymore."
At that, his face becomes unreadable. He didn't need the reminder, and you know that, but it needed to be said for both of your sakes. Sometimes you think maybe he actually forgets it was his choice to give you up. That he didn't realize his decision would hurt you as much as it hurt him.
"So, what? You gonna take him home then, let him fuck ya?" He leans in close, so close you can feel his soft, graying curls against your temple and the coarse drag of his beard across your cheek.
"Kiss ya here—," a finger trails delicately down the side of your neck to his spot above your collarbone, then continues down to where you've been aching for him for weeks, "—taste ya here."
You slap his hand away before he can get any further, but your reaction only spurs him on. How could you forget? He likes that.
"Y'know he can't make ya feel as good as I do. Fuck you just how y'like it, make ya cum as hard as I do," he drawls confidently, almost smugly, in your ear. "Don't ya?"
It's less a question than a statement, because you both know he's right. Joel knows your body better than anyone ever has, maybe even better than you know it yourself. Just as much as you know his. And it's sort of funny. You were thinking the exact same thing about him with his date earlier.
"Sure, Joel. Just like you were gonna take that girl home, right?" You raise an eyebrow, turning your head so your lips graze his skin. "Pretty little thing like her, I bet she likes it slow and romantic. She’ll probably even stick around for a snuggle and some pillow talk. You'd love that.”
Even as you mock him, the sneer marring your face doesn’t quite meet your eyes, and the spiteful nature of your words tastes acrid as they pass your lips. He’s so good at that. Always able to bring out the worst in you to prove his point—that he’s no good for you.
But you stand firm, your chest pressed flush against his in a show of determination. You're still in control here, unlike Joel, whose fingers are twitching noticeably at his sides like he's just itching to get his hands on you again.
"Maybe I would. Liked it with you, didn't I?" he murmurs wistfully, and that catches you completely off guard.
His words are almost too gentle to belong in this argument, and it doesn’t feel fair. What's worse, he looks like he means them. You’d prefer the fight, the aggression of the man who dragged you out of the bar. Not this. Not these traces of your Joel.
You can already feel your resolve slipping, and the rapid thrum of your heartbeat tells you to let it. When his hands finally take their rightful place on your waist, he’s in control again.
The cool evening air is suddenly stifling, and you’re starting to feel like you’re suffocating, your thoughts a jumbled, heated haze of anger and fear and want. He squeezes hard enough to pull your hips into his and you unintentionally buck, allowing his hands to travel up your shirt.
There's an intensity to his gaze, tinged with an unexpected tenderness. He almost looks...sated. Fulfilled, now that you're back in his arms. But not completely, not yet.
"You still haven't answered my question," he mutters. His hands splay across your ribcage, high enough for his thumbs to tease the undersides of your breasts.
You bite down hard on your bottom lip, sliding your hands up his chest to push him away so you can catch your breath, but your body won't cooperate. It's been well-trained to crave his touch. Exhaling sharply through your nose, you fist his shirt and instead pull him impossibly closer.
"You asked a lot of questions tonight. You're gonna have to be a little more specific,” you pant heavily.
It's getting more difficult to think, now, with the warmth of his body against you, his thumbs shifting higher to stroke your stiffening nipples. He urges your hips forward again to meet his, and you can already feel him straining in his jeans.
You whimper helplessly, unable to curb the way your body's reacting to him, and the soft sound causes something in him to snap. He suddenly backs you up against the hard brick of the bar's exterior and begins to grind languidly into your stomach.
"Y'really believe that boy can take care of a woman like you? Hm?" He interrogates you, his voice gravelly and uneven in your ear. "Tell me I'm the only one who can give you what ya need. Wanna hear ya say it."
Fuck, you can't lie to him. As much as you want to, it's just one more thing your body won't allow you to do. Not when he's working you up like this.
"You're the only one," you moan around your admission. He's still crowding you into the wall, his hands greedily roaming your soft curves.
His eyes meet yours, darting quickly to your mouth before he leans in to kiss you passionately like he’s rewarding you. It only lasts for a second, one deliciously fleeting second, before he pulls away. You’re not sure why you let him. Or why you kissed back.
"Who's the only man who can make ya scream?" he demands a little more urgently.
"You, Joel,” you murmur obediently, your lips already parted and ready for your prize.
And he acquiesces—another insistent kiss that doesn’t last nearly long enough. This time, you chase him, but he jerks his head back. He still has one last question for you. Except, this time, he looks afraid of the answer.
"Whose girl are ya?"
He whispers it so softly, you barely catch it over the whistling, nighttime breeze. As he brushes a few ruffled strands of hair behind your ear, you answer without hesitation.
"Yours, Joel."
His entire body relaxes. Now, he's complete.
"Damn right, you are—"
Then, the front door bursts open next to you, and he's abruptly cut off. Joel is quick to tug you around the corner into the alleyway before anyone can spot you, but he's not fast enough to keep you from seeing who just left the bar.
Jesse.
And there it is. A shock to the system, enough to clear some of that smoky, nostalgic haze and bring you back to the present. But as everything hurtles back for the second time tonight, this time around, you can’t be mad because he’s right.
Of course, you're not Jesse's girl. As pathetic as it sounds, you'll always be Joel's because he’s the only one who can take care of you and give you what need. The only man who can make you scream. But that goes both ways.
Even though he’s been picking fights all night, he hasn’t raised his voice once. It's not the way he wins his battles. So, maybe it's time to remind Joel Miller that there is someone who can make him scream. But he isn't allowed to unless you say so.
It all feels eerily familiar—his fingers digging into your waist and your lips crashing into his hard enough to bruise. You lead him deeper into the alley, back to where the glow of the string lights above the bar can't reach you, before you separate from him.
Neither of you wants to be the one to say it, but it needs to be heard. Here, in the dark, you can be his completely, but once you part ways and return to your empty beds, that's it. Just like last time. The reasons for your breakup are still very real, and that means your relationship can't be.
"Only here. Right, Joel?"
He stays silent for a moment, his gaze filled with deep longing and sadness. It almost makes you want to take it back. Take him back. So, when he shakes his head and cups your cheeks, kissing you like this might be his last chance, you're not surprised in the slightest.
And after this whole night—this whole confusing, fucked-up night—you let him. Right now, he needs this. Maybe you do, too.
His lips taste like whiskey and relief, and you return his kiss with all of the passion and fervor he’s pouring into you. You’re both a little frantic in the way you touch each other, but as much as you don’t want it to, it makes perfect sense.
Those few weeks without each other felt like years, and now that his hands are back on your body and his voice, deep and dulcet, is in your ear telling you how badly he wants you, you don’t want to let him go again.
You grind the heel of your hand into the front of his jeans and his responding groan pleases you more than it probably should. This. This is yours—his pleasure, his attention, him. They belong to you and you alone. Not his pretty, perky fucking date.
The sudden possessiveness stuns you for a moment, but it's not enough to stop the feeling from consuming you. This must be how it feels for Joel. It's potent and feels so, so…right. You're starting to think you've felt this way for a while.
"I needed you, and you made me wait so fucking long," you gasp against his lips, and the fingers cradling your face tense. You’re still fisting his shirt, nearly hard enough to tear, and you wrench it up from where it’s tucked into his pants.
"M'sorry, darlin', I know. I know I did,” he rasps back, following your lead and dropping his hands from your cheeks so he can unbuckle his jeans. “M'gonna make it up to ya. Tell me what you want, I’ll give it to ya.”
You want everything. Everything he has to give, you want it all. After everything you've been through, the hurt he caused you, you deserve it. And right now, what you want is for him to feel so good, he'll never go on a date with someone who isn't you ever again.
Sharp gravel bites into your bare skin as you drop to your knees in front of him. He's already so hard under all that heavy fabric and looks desperate above you. Just as desperate as you are for him to replace the flavor of Jesse's tequila and lime on your tongue with something saltier and headier, and undeniably Joel.
You hastily unbutton and unzip his jeans, not wasting any more of the precious time you have left together, before tugging them down just enough to free his cock and balls. He looks...fucking mouth-watering—flushed and red and leaking, and so goddamn thick. You wrap your hand around him and he sighs gratefully, dribbling precum onto your fingers.
"This is what I want," you finally reply, keeping your eyes locked on his as you lean forward to lick a broad line up his cock. He hisses in a breath through his teeth, his thighs already beginning to tremble, and you brace your hand on one. "But you're gonna be quiet, okay? I'm gonna suck your cock and you're not gonna make a single sound."
His expression darkens, but he agrees to your terms, nonetheless.
"Sure, darlin'. Whatever you say," he nods, gazing down at you with furrowed brows. He cradles your face in his hand and brushes his thumb along your cheekbone.
The affectionate gesture isn't lost on you, but this time you accept it. Instinctively leaning into his touch, you revel in it for a brief moment before his cock pulsing a frantic rhythm against your palm becomes an unignorable distraction. But a welcome one.
"That's my boy," you mumble against the tip. Just as a pained noise escapes his parted lips, you swallow him down as far as you can take him, purposely gagging yourself on him before you can dwell on the words that accidentally just tumbled out.
Your boy. Your boy. It echoes in your mind, ricocheting wildly and painfully like a bullet. Before you can take it back, maybe even to keep you from taking it back, he buries his fingers in your hair and holds you in place. You choke around him, trying your best to breathe through your nose, but in doing so, you take in a lungful of the heady musk at his base.
The familiarity of it all sends you reeling. He only gives you a second to adjust before he's fucking into your mouth and biting back a litany of needy sounds that rival your own wet, audible gagging. Your grip on his thigh tightens as your throat relaxes, allowing you to take him deeper, and you can feel yourself clenching around nothing every time he grazes the back of your throat.
Tears stream down your cheeks and he wipes them away with a much too tender swipe of his thumb, even as he continues to force you up and down his cock. But you're too lost in your pleasure to notice anymore. So fucking good, you feel so, so good. But you need more, and you're not willing to pull off of him just yet.
Tugging down the front of your shirt, you roll a sensitive nipple between your fingers, and, god, that helps. You imagine they're Joel's and it amplifies the sensation, though your fingertips are still too smooth and delicate. Then, they're replaced by exactly what you've been yearning for all night.
“You don’t even know how beautiful y'look like this,” he grits out, his fingers running through your hair with one hand and roughly cupping your breast with the other. His hips stutter, and you moan around him. “Fuckin’ perfect. How are ya so fuckin’ perfect?”
Beautiful. More beautiful than her? Well, you must be, because you’re the one here on your knees, choking on his cock, and she’s still sitting in the bar wondering if her date will ever come back.
He won’t.
You preen without meaning to, your eyes blearily finding his while you drool around him, dripping saliva down his balls and onto your bare breasts. It's as if the visual alone has him thrusting into your mouth faster, pushing your limits only as much as he knows you can take. You must look like a wet dream right now, his wet dream, with your watery eyes and swollen, split-slick lips wrapped tightly around him.
Yet, he's remained so, so quiet this entire time, just like you told him to. Joel likes his sex loud, regardless of where you are and who might hear, so if he’s following your rules, that means something.
It means he'll do whatever it takes to have you. The realization crashes over you like a bucket of ice water, and then you're pulling off of him.
“You’ll give me anything, right? Anything I want?” your voice cracks around the question, wrecked from the effort of taking him. His hips chase your hand as you continue to pump him, matching his previous, unforgiving pace.
“That ain’t a question, y’know I will,” he replies breathily and without hesitation.
You gaze up at him, praying your eyes convey all of the need and anguish and hope you've felt since the last time you slept together. Since the last time you were his.
“Fuck me," and you won't accept anything less than his all. Not that half-assed shit he would've given her. "Fuck me."
He understands. His heart rate kicks up, thrumming wildly against the palm of your hand, and you know he does.
The growl that rumbles through his chest is nearly soundless but powerful. An entire night's worth of tension culminating in a single exhaled breath, just before he drags you up and spins you around, bending you over against the wall.
Bracing yourself on the harsh brick, you rush to give him better access, arching your back as he tugs your pants and underwear down to your knees. A callused hand runs upward, following the notches of your spine, while his other spreads across your waist, pulling your hips back onto his so you can feel him, heavy and leaking against your bare ass.
God, he’s so close to where you need him now. His knuckles graze your skin as he grips the base, pumping himself before the blunt head of his cock nudges your entrance.
But then, for some godforsaken reason, you feel a wave of panic. Time suddenly feels like it's running out, worsening with every subtle movement he makes. The ticking clock of your and Joel's relationship, perpetually stuck at two minutes to midnight, has sprung to life and that terrifies you.
You don't want him to stop—fuck, you don't want him to stop, but you know neither of you will last long once he's inside you. The build-up was too intense and this entire night has you both wound up so tight, you could snap at any moment.
You need to savor this. The way you failed to on your couch all those weeks ago, and might not get to ever again.
“Slow,” you tell him over your shoulder, and it's equal parts a command and a plea. If this is the last time, then you want to feel it. Every thick inch of him, while he still belongs to you. “Just…go slow.”
He nods, shifting forward almost imperceptibly so he can watch your lashes flutter as you brace for the stretch.
"Don't need’ta tell me. I know how ya like it," he replies gruffly.
He does. For now, you won’t overthink it or let yourself get lost in the nostalgia of his cock nestled inside you. You’ll just enjoy it. Sex with Joel has always been mind-blowing, and here, in a dirty alleyway, pressed up against the exterior of a bar, you bet it’ll be life-changing.
It stings like it always does when he breaches your entrance, no matter how wet you are for him. Together, you hiss in a sharp breath, mutually adjusting to the overwhelming stretch that quickly ebbs into something addictive.
"Tight as all goddamn hell," he mutters to himself, rocking into you languidly. He takes his time, relishing your walls enveloping him, mesmerized by the way you suck him in until he's buried to the hilt.
"Would'ja look at that," he continues in awe, tracing where his cock is forcing you to yield to him. "Greedy fuckin' pussy, ain't she? M'not goin' anywhere, don't'chu worry. Gonna take care of ya...make ya feel so fuckin' good..."
He's starting to babble. Not good. Not good at all.
Broad hands grip your ass, pulling your cheeks apart so he can see how tightly you’re gripping him, and it's too much. His hips buck, startling a pained whine out of you as he rams into that spot. The one deep inside you he can only reach when he’s fucking you from behind. Your cunt clenches, fighting to keep him there, and he growls low in his throat, hungry and territorial like a wild animal.
"There it is," he nudges it again, purposefully this time. You barely manage to bite back a sob as you gush messily around him. "Christ, honey, y'sure ya still want it slow? 'Cus it sure don't sound like it."
He's patronizing you. He knows exactly what he's doing—that's his spot. He also knows it makes you loud as fuck. But he wouldn’t. There’s no way he’d go back on his word, not after he promised he’d be discreet.
"Joel. Don't," you warn him shakily, but you're already too far gone to be intimidating.
He pulls out until just the tip is still inside you, huffing out a distinctly calculated breath.
"Don't what? Don't make ya cum nice and loud on my cock? 'Fraid I can't do that, darlin'."
That's all the warning you get before he slams in hard. Your jaw drops, and you're positive you couldn't have stopped the wail punched out of your chest even if you'd tried.
Wrong. You’re wrong again, and you should’ve known better. It’s not the first time he’s gone back on his word, remember? Joel’s shitty lack of communication is why you’re here in the first place. Sure, he agreed to be quiet, but he never said anything about you.
He establishes a brutal pace that has you scrabbling against the wall for purchase and slapping a hand over your mouth in a futile attempt to muffle the desperate cries being forced from your body.
Please, don’t be outside. Please, please, Jesse. Don’t still be outside.
But your luck's officially run out.
Heavy mahogany crashes into solid brick, echoing down the alleyway, and a raucous group of people spills out onto the street, barely 30 feet from where your ass and tits are out for anyone to see. Then, the deep baritone of Jesse's voice cuts through the rest, and your blood immediately turns to ice.
You're fucked. You're about to get caught and expose your secret to the entire town, except...Joel isn't stopping. Fuck, he's—
Yanking your entire body up and ripping your hand away from your mouth, rutting into you like he was just waiting for an audience. He snakes a hand up your stomach to palm at your chest, squeezing firmly to anchor himself as he fucks up into you with all the force he can muster.
And it turns you on so much, you finally stop caring. Fuck it. Fuck this town. Fuck everyone in that bar who made you feel like a goddamn pariah for months, crucifying you for the unforgivable sin of getting your heart broken.
You hope his date's standing out there, too, so she can hear everything she'll never get to have. So they can all see that Joel Miller isn't the crushed, cruelly dumped old man they all thought he was.
Your moans ring out, loud and high-pitched, all but drowning out the messy slap of his hips into the drenched curve of your ass.
"That's it, darlin', let it all out," he chuckles darkly against the shell of your ear. Your next moan tapers into a drawn-out keen that he mimics, his thrusts getting shallow and sloppy. "S'for me, right? Let 'em know you're makin' all those pretty noises just for me."
Christ, you're close. And he's as close as you are, you can feel it. You turn your head, nodding jerkily into his shoulder.
"S'for you, Joel—mmph, just for you. Only for you," your words slur as he continues to bounce you on his cock.
"Tell 'em you're mine, darlin’. Not just here," he pants raggedly, desperation coating his words. "Everywhere. You're mine everywhere."
The voices are getting closer, about to pass the mouth of the alley, and the ice in your veins quickly thaws, turning to molten lava. They'll definitely be able to able to hear you, but can they see you? For the umpteenth time tonight, you decide you really don't give a shit. You've got none left. You and Joel, that's all that matters now.
His hand drops between your legs, thick fingers swirling tight, slick circles into your clit while he waits for you to confirm what he already knows. You've said it again and again—weeks ago, wrapped up in his arms, and earlier tonight, after the worst argument you've had since the breakup.
And you’ll tell him again in this alley as you cum blindingly hard around his cock. Third time's the charm.
"Y-yours, Joel. I'm always yours."
His hips completely lose their rhythm, and he barely has time to breathe out his contentment before the violent convulsing of your cunt and contrasting serenity of your words send him hurtling over the edge.
"That's my girl."
He crashes his lips into yours, swallowing every noise you make as the group finally comes into view. Their drunken chattering and roughhousing aren't enough to draw your attention away from each other, but the depraved sounds of Joel continuing to fuck you through your release captures theirs almost immediately.
A few of them stop to squint into the darkness, trying their best to pinpoint what everyone already knows is happening further down the alley. As they inch closer, they can just barely make out two connected figures, and the wind carrying muffled gasps and labored breathing with it into the street all but confirms it.
"Y'all seein' this?" they whisper amongst themselves, but in the inebriated state they're in, they might as well be yelling.
And that's what pulls you and Joel back to reality. Shit. Shit. So, this is it, then. You tense in Joel's arms, waiting to get called out as the slutty girl who seduced her ex away from his date. Hell, they're not even wrong. You can feel his cum dribbling out of you, and can't help but think maybe you'd deserve it.
From where you're standing, you recognize each and every one of their faces under the string lights, and you know damn well that none of them can keep their mouths shut. Except...wait a second. They're still glancing back and forth between you and Joel in the shadows and each other.
Oh. The fucking shadows. None of them can see shit. They have no clue who the hell they're looking at. Joel must've caught on around the same time you did, because now he's backing up, putting more distance between you and the looming crowd. Before they can get any closer, one of the younger guys cuts in front to block their path.
“C’mon, it's probably a couple’a teenagers. Just let ‘em be," he drawls, glancing back at you. Your eyes lock, and you're suddenly so grateful, you could cry. It's Jesse. He shoots you a wink before turning back to the group, shaking his head in mock admonishment. "Don't act like y'all weren't doin' the same damn thing at their age."
By some miracle, it fucking works. They all laugh in agreement, appeased by Jesse's quick thinking. One by one, they follow each other out of the alley and back onto the road to continue their original path home. Jesse lingers.
"Glad y'all figured things out," he calls out over his shoulder, giving you privacy to tug your shirt back up. He clears his throat awkwardly before continuing, "Look, I, uh...distracted as many people as I could from comin' over here, but if y'all were gonna be that loud, maybe you should'a figured things out at home."
Jesse shakes his head again, chuckling to himself as he shoves his hands into his pockets.
"Anyway, y'all have a good night, now. Get home safe."
As he jogs away to catch up with the rest of the group, you start to laugh, too. You can’t help it. It feels cathartic, relieving some of the tension of this overly eventful night.
Joel’s body begins to shake behind you, his chest rumbling with what you realize is deep-bellied laughter. It gradually increases in volume as it melds seamlessly with yours; transitory, white clouds of condensation that intertwine, then dissipate.
You feel him slip out as he starts to soften, and then he turns you to face him, carefully crowding you into the wall. He kisses you again, this time slow and deliberate like you asked him to earlier. His tongue meets yours, gasps exchanged and treasured like you have all the time in the world.
When he parts from you, it feels reluctant, but he stays close, whispering his next words against your lips.
“M’gonna get ya cleaned up, alright?” he mumbles, dropping his arm from around your waist to run his fingers up the cum leaking down your thighs. You shiver as they continue up, slipping his release back inside you. “Don’t…,” he continues, squeezing his eyes shut as his forehead drops to yours, “…just—don’t go anywhere. Please. I’ll be right back.”
Maybe he’s trying to protect himself from the response he anticipates you’ll give him, but that seems silly after everything you’ve been through tonight. You cup his cheek and thumb the coarse, trimmed hairs of his beard, willing him to open his eyes. He does, hesitantly, one then the other, and you offer him a soft smile.
“I’m not going anywhere, Joel.”
An intoxicating breath fans across your face, and the taut muscles in his neck and shoulders loosen. His lips match the soft quirk of your own and, then, brush fleetingly against your cheekbone as he backs away and disappears through a metal side door you didn't notice before. The moment it clicks shut, you slump against the wall.
Christ. Your mind is simultaneously blank and racing a mile a minute. Taking a deep breath, you let your head thunk into solid, grounding brick while you wait for even a single coherent thought to take root. What now? What happens next?
There's no coming back from tonight. You both made choices you'll have to answer for, but, for some reason, that doesn't seem so scary anymore. The clock is ticking, but there's time. Plenty of it.
You're still lost in your reverie when Joel gets back with a thick wad of damp paper towels. You snort at the idea of him suddenly appearing in Seth's kitchen and having to explain himself, but maybe the racket you kicked up right outside his door was explanation enough.
"Seth didn't give you any shit for stealing his stuff?" you ask as Joel drops to his knees and coaxes one of your legs over his shoulder.
The cold air has already started to leach the warmth from the paper towels, and they feel cool as he slides them along your soiled skin. He huffs out a laugh.
"Nah, the kitchen was empty. Think they're startin' to close up for the night."
When he finishes your first thigh, he surprises you by leaning in to press a soft kiss against your freshly cleaned skin. He nips at you teasingly before starting on the next one.
You hum in response, threading your fingers through his hair and watching fondly as he pays careful attention to his task. He continues to wipe away his drying release, trailing his lips down your thigh as he goes, until he finishes at your knee.
He gazes up at you with a charmingly crooked grin, and that’s when it finally slips out. The single coherent thought you’ve been waiting for.
“I love you, Joel,” you murmur, brushing your fingertips across his cheek.
His smile falters. Then, it drops completely and your heart shatters. You don’t understand. But that—no. No, it doesn’t make any fucking sense. After everything that’s happened, how could you have been wrong again?
Joel sighs, grimacing as he slowly gets back up. He braces himself on one knee, clearly aching more than he's letting on, but when you reach down to offer him a hand, he refuses your help.
“S’fine, I got it. Just…,” he gestures to your jeans, still hanging loosely around your knees. You pull them up, fighting not to feel humiliated as he rises to his full height.
You search his eyes for…something. Anything. Any indication of what he’s feeling right now, but they’re blank. Cold and distant, just like they were the night he left you.
No. He doesn’t get to do this to you again. Not after everything you’ve been through. Not without an explanation. Not if he doesn’t want to lose you forever.
“Tell me why you broke up with me."
For a long time, you genuinely believed you could live without knowing the truth, but somewhere along the line, it began to eat away at you. Now, you want the real reason. He owes you that, at the very least.
You wait while he either works himself up to it or tries to figure out what bullshit to tell you this time. Once his hands settle on his hips, you know with absolute certainty it's the latter.
“Darlin’…,” he starts wearily, but you shoot him a look that stops him in his tracks. He doesn't get to call you that right now, and he knows it. Pausing, he nods grimly before beginning again. "We already talked about this. I’m no good for ya. It was only a matter of time before ya woke up one day and realized it for yourself.”
There it is. That same bullshit reason. You scoff bitterly, not surprised in the slightest.
“What the fuck does that even mean, Joel? We were together for years. If that was gonna happen, don’t you think it would’ve already?" you counter angrily.
You're trying not to get emotional. This can't be a repeat of what happened last time, but it's dragging up too many painful memories. It's always the same fight. You can't do this anymore.
"You know what? Fuck you," you seethe as your self-control slips completely. "Fuck you for making that decision for me. You had no right."
At your words, his face crumples and he has the nerve to look ashamed. Maybe even a little hurt. His pained expression makes your heart ache, yet a nastier part of you believes it's only fair that he feels this way, too. He sighs, his eyes dropping wistfully to his feet.
“I did what I thought was best," he mumbles quietly as if he doesn't want to be heard. It's hard for him to say this out loud, and you realize it's because he's finally telling you the truth. "I just…I thought you’d be happier with someone else, someone who could give ya a family. Kids. I gave you up so you could have the life ya always wanted."
You eye him incredulously. The life you always wanted? Sure, you and Joel had toyed with the idea of having a family once upon a time, but that was never a dealbreaker. He should've known that. He should've brought it up before deciding to destroy your life together over an idealized fantasy.
“Oh, here we go. Joel, the fucking savior. Mr. Fix-It, swooping in to save everyone and solve every problem," you hurl back venomously. But it was a cruel thing to say, and you immediately hate yourself for it.
Rationally, you know his intentions were kind. He probably even thought he was being selfless. But he hurt you, and, through your tunnel vision, that's all you can see. You push yourself off the wall, stalking closer to where he stands, still refusing to look at you.
"So what, you thought you’d dump me and I’d immediately shack up with some other asshole? Is that really what you think of me?”
His eyes shoot up to yours and his fingers begin to tap restlessly at his sides. Now, you've pissed him off.
“Don't go puttin’ words in my mouth. That ain’t true and you fuckin’ know it," he all but growls, his body shaking with a turbulent combination of frustration and adrenaline.
You're starting to feel it, too. This conversation is overwhelming both of you, but he still hasn't told you everything. There's a piece missing, keeping all of his disjointed reasonings from adding up. He's holding back and it's time for him to stop.
“Then what is, Joel?" you plead with him to give you a definitive answer. One that finally explains why you had to lose everything. Ellie, your home. The love of your life. "What’s the truth?"
Then, everything he's kept bottled up inside and allowed to poison his happiness claws its way out as a single, unwavering statement.
“I’m too fuckin’ old for you!”
The silence that follows his admission is deafening. You watch in shock as he runs a hand through his hair in frustration. He's never yelled like that before or looked so defeated. By something as innocuous as his age.
It isn't something you'd ever considered, not before your relationship and never once during. But he did. His bottom lip starts to tremble as he turns and takes a few steps away from you.
“Every day, I’d watch ya…offerin’ to take more shifts, spendin’ time at the school with Ellie and the kids," he says softly, shaking his head as he works through his next words. "And every day, I’d feel it. My body givin’ out on me, more and more. My blood pressure’s up, my goddamn knees are creakin’. Couldn’t even fuckin’ stand up on my own just now."
When he turns back to you, his eyes are wet with unshed tears. He feels too far, but you know you can't go to him, yet. He's not finished.
"You can do better than that. You deserve better than that," his voice cracks and your whole world blurs into a wash of colors. “You’re gonna outlive me by a mile. I’m an old man, darlin’. It wasn’t fair for me to keep ya.”
For a while, you just watch each other. Tears overflow and continuously spill down his cheeks and yours, but neither of you moves to wipe them away.
None of this is fair. You're both miserable and heartbroken, perpetually yearning for a love you've told yourselves you can't have. Months ago, Joel made a choice for both of you. You won't make the same mistake he did.
"I didn't want fair, Joel. I wanted you. A life with you...," your face screws up as you fight back a sob, "...the rest of my life with you, however long that is."
Joel takes a tentative step forward, carefully reaching out to touch you, but stops himself before he can get too close. He looks afraid...of you. Scared of the consequences of allowing you back into his heart.
A sob escapes your chest, then, and you wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly bitterly cold and wanting nothing more than for Joel to hold you. To tell you for the first time since the breakup that he loves you and, regardless of time, won't ever stop.
So, you cross the alleyway and cup his wet cheeks in your hands, wiping away his sadness and, hopefully, his fears. He melts into the poignant familiarity of your touch and it makes you brave. This time, you'll be brave enough for both of you.
"Don't I deserve that?" you whisper, close enough to share his next breath. He watches your lips, hanging onto your every word. "Don't you?"
His eyes meet yours, and it finally happens. The moment Joel gives in and decides to let himself be happy. He nods slowly in your grasp, reaching up to cradle your hand on his cheek.
"Dunno what I deserve, darlin'. Not after the things I've done and the hurt I put ya through. But if I'm...if this is really what ya want...," he hesitates, his voice thick with tears and, yet, still that full-bodied, twang that sounds like home. "I'm yours. 'Til my last breath, I'm yours."
He kisses you before either of you can start crying again, and it's all there. The love he kept under lock and key to protect you, released from the prison of his own making.
His kiss feels different again. There's no hunger or rush, and the possessiveness—the need to devour everything you have to give so there's nothing left for anyone else—is gone. He's sure, now, that there's no one else you'd rather give yourself to.
His arms circle your waist and he pulls you closer, crushing you into time-worn chambray and sullied denim as you continue to explore each other like a pair of horny teenagers. Two lovers learning to give and take for the first time. Time passes slowly in this space you've carved out for yourselves, even as the moon continues to rise in the night sky and floods the corridor with light.
Then, noisily and as if right on cue, the last-call crowd stumbles from the bar and immediately catches what the previous group missed. You and Joel separate, dazed but unhurried, to find that it's them.
It has to be fucking kismet that, of everyone in Jackson, the first to witness your reconciliation would be the biggest blabbermouths in the entire town. The same women who talked shit about you every day for months and constantly vied for Joel's attention, standing there with wide eyes and slack jaws.
Their varied expressions almost make you want to laugh, and you can't help but snort unattractively into Joel's shoulder. Half of them are glaring at you, and the rest look either devastated or genuinely surprised. Guess you were better at hiding your arrangement than you thought, not that it matters anymore. It's a relationship again, and everyone's about to know all about it. Joel clears his throat, drawing their attention back to him.
"Evenin', ladies. S'there somethin' we can help ya with?" he drawls, breaking out the Southern charm that endeared every single one of them to him in the first place.
They all shake their heads, looking a little too pleased with themselves once the initial shock wears off and they realize you've just given them the gossip of the century. After a few fake, high-pitched pleasantries, they slink away as quickly as they came, already chatting to themselves about some shit you'll definitely hear tomorrow at breakfast. You watch them go, feeling oddly liberated.
"Guess the cat's outta the bag, huh?" You wrap your arms loosely around his neck, still chuckling softly to yourself. Joel huffs out a laugh, too, bending down to kiss the crown of your head before nodding in agreement.
"'Fraid so," he muses, amusement and a hint of something lighter glinting in his eyes.
You haven't seen him this relaxed in a long time. As he holds you in his arms, he leans a fraction of his weight on you to ease the night's strain on his back and knees, and it makes you feel needed. Relied on. That's new, Joel depending on you like this. Things are going to be different this time around, you can tell. They already are.
You hum, ruminating on what awaits you after your first night back in your own bed, in your own home. What everyone will think and say—to your face and behind your back—when they find out you're back together. Though, the only opinions you give a shit about are Ellie, Tommy, and Maria's, anyway.
So, yeah, you're a lot of things right now: exhausted, yet relieved and so full of hope. But you're not afraid, the cat and the bag be damned.
"I'm not," you tell him honestly as you pull away. You let your hands trail from his shoulders, down his arms, until his hands are in yours.
Tugging gently, you walk him backward out of the alley, away from the bar and plummeting winter chill, and any lingering, prying eyes. Even the moon and stars have no stake in what comes next. This moment, right here and now, belongs to you and Joel, alone.
"Take me home, Joel."
The light in his eyes burns brighter, amusement giving way to adoration and contentment. He's been waiting for this, to be given the privilege of keeping you safe and taking care of you the way he needs to—it's how he shows love.
He slots his fingers between yours and leads you down the empty streets of Jackson.
"Darlin', nothin' would make me happier."
thanks for reading!
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller smut#joel miller angst#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fanfiction#pedro pascal characters
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TOLD YOU SO — ITOSHI SAE
pairing: itoshi sae x fem! reader
content: reader wears a dress, a little possessive behavior on sae’s end, oliver aiku cameo
notes: pretty eyes = pretty guys
You love Sae, you really do. Behind that apathetic, disinterested exterior lies a heart that beats in turn with yours. You love him, you really, really do, and you have to remind yourself of that as you ignore the side-eye he’s giving you that’s tinged with a certain smugness and screams, I told you so.
Okay, so it definitely was not the smartest move to forego a coat when you knew that this fundraiser was going to be on an outdoor rooftop bar in late fall. But none of your coats went with the dress you were wearing — a long, low-backed, satin number — which was the only thing you had that was formal enough for the event. Sae had looked you up and down when you two were getting ready in your apartment and said, “You’re going to be cold.”
“I’m fine,” you insisted, “it’s not even that cold out.”
“You need to bring a coat.”
“I’m really fine, Sae. I run hot, remember?”
He glanced at your outfit again and said, “You’re going to be freezing.”
You shrugged and gave him a cheeky smile. “Then I’ll just wear your coat.”
He rolled his eyes. “No way, I’m not going to be cold because of your poor judgment.”
You hummed, “I think you will.”
“And I think you’ll be freezing.”
“Guess we’ll both have to wait and see whose right.”
You really hate when he’s absolutely and utterly correct in an argument, because at the moment, you’re trying your best to pretend that the goosebumps climbing your skin is not due to the chilly evening air. You refuse to meet Sae’s eyes, enviously peeking at his suit jacket.
You shiver as a breeze blows by and you huff to yourself, mumbling that you’re going to get a drink. Maybe indulging in the open bar will warm you up. You weave through the crowd and make it to the bar, sighing when you feel the warmth from one of the few heat lamps set up around the area. You swear that your boyfriend made the two of you purposely stand in a corner without one to prove a point.
You order a martini and sip it as you stand in the heat for a few more seconds, relishing in it. It’s not total protection from the cold but it definitely helps some.
You feel someone sidle up next to you and say, “You’re Sae’s girlfriend, right?”
You turn and face the owner of the voice, extending your free hand. “Yeah, that’s me. Oliver Aiku, right?”
“In the flesh,” he chuckles and he shakes your hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. We’ve been bugging Itoshi to introduce us since we saw you on his home screen.”
You smile involuntarily. That photo is from when you and Sae really started getting serious in your relationship, and he took you on a surprise trip to a little cottage in Mallorca. “Yeah, we’ve been trying to keep things pretty private.”
Oliver hums, “I get that, but it’s nice to finally meet the person who makes him actually crack a smile for once.”
You laugh at that and the two of you carry on a pleasant conversation. You finally get how so many people fall victim to Oliver’s charms, especially after so much press about his tendency towards womanizing; he’s easy to talk to, friendly, definitely charismatic, and undoubtedly easy on the eyes. At the end of the day, though, you wouldn’t trade your grumpy, green-eyed boyfriend for anyone in the world. Not when you get to see the softer edges of him when his walls crumble and he falls into your arms. You wouldn’t trade that for anything.
A particularly strong gust of wind makes you stiffen and set your glass down, wrapping your arms around yourself. Okay, you’ll finally admit it aloud: “It’s fucking freezing.”
Oliver raises an eyebrow and before you know it, he’s shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over your bare shoulders. “Better?”
You let out a sigh. “Much.”
“Aiku.” Sae’s voice sounds from behind you, tone sharp.
“Itoshi!” Oliver ignores the ice in your boyfriend’s tone as he motions to you. “Can’t believe you’ve been keeping this one from us! She’s certainly a charmer.”
Sae glares at him. “I know, she’s my girlfriend, which is why I don’t understand why she’s wearing your coat.”
“Oh, she said she was cold.”
Sae gives you a look, frowns, and he slides his jacket off his shoulders and holds it out to you. “Take this,” he says and you do, hiding your giddiness as you hand Oliver his jacket back. You sink into Sae’s suit jacket, letting the familiar scent of his cologne flood your senses.
Oliver pats your shoulder and says, “It was nice to meet you! Don’t be a stranger, ‘kay?” He disappears into the crowd and it’s your turn to give Sae a smug look.
“Don’t even,” he says.
You lean into him and he wraps an arm around your shoulder. “Guess we were both right in the end.”
#blue lock x reader#bllk x reader#sae itoshi x reader#itoshi sae x reader#blue lock imagines#blue lock scenarios#.𖥔 ݁ ˖ kaiijo writes
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homecoming
jenni hermoso x reader
smut! 18+
jenni returns from a trip without you, intent on reminding you of who you belong to. you are only interested in proving to her that you've forgotten who is in charge.
warnings: dom/sub undertones, cockwarming, strap on use, cunnilingus, fingering, orgasm delay/denial, light choking...
-----
Resisting the urge to throw your phone across the room, you pressed the little heart in the bottom of your screen. Jenni's tattooed, muscular body, in a very small swimsuit was staring back at you, her smirk more than taunting. It had to be the 500th photo of her from this girls trip she was on, without you. You knew what she was trying to accomplish by posting them constantly.
You were so extremely done with it. You were practically vibrating with energy, and though it was not the kind that a workout would alleviate, a plan had begun to form in your head.
You put on your tightest spandex shorts and a matching black sports bra, heading into the home gym. Very few workouts had occurred in this room in the house that you and Jenni shared that hadn't ended in a different kind of workout. The memory of Jenni all over you on the weight bench, not patient enough to drag you out of the room, was making you miss the striker even more.
You went through your usual routine, starting with a long jog on the treadmill. You recorded a quick story while running, allowing the video to capture most of your upper body as you ran. You put a song over it, forgoing a caption for now.
Then, you moved over to the weights. Once again, you set your phone up, recording yourself doing squats with the bar held over your shoulders. You paused, adding the clip to your story, grinning to yourself when you noticed that Jenni had already seen your previous story. Jenni had told you once that when she went away, she would turn on your post notifications, not wanting to miss getting a glimpse of you, even if you talked on the phone every night that she was gone.
When you were done with the workout you were sweating appropriately, and your muscles were slightly more defined. Satisfied, you posed in front of the mirror, making sure as much of you as possible was clearly visible before taking a picture, and adding that to your story too.
Not 10 seconds later, your phone was ringing with an incoming call from your girlfriend. You denied it, knowing exactly what she was looking for with this well timed call, heading off to shower. Jenni didn't like to be ignored.
You didn't feel guilty in the least, though. If there was one surefire way to get Jenni to give you what you wanted, it was to make her realize just how much she missed you.
-----
Any more low cut, and your tits would have been falling out of the dress. It was intentional; you'd had to suffer through Jenni's swimsuit-related teasing. Teasing her back, with your own revealing photos, hadn't really scratched the itch. You wanted to tease her in person, make her crazy for you. More than that, you wanted her to fuck you. In the bathroom of the restaurant, in the back of the car, you didn't care. She probably could have thrown you on the table in front of the everyone, and no complaint would have left your lips.
Jenni, however, had not taken kindly to your teasing; of course not. She was possessive, loving nothing more than to leave marks all over your body, in case anyone in the locker room wasn't aware that you very much belonged to her. Posting the cheeky sports bra and athletic shorts pictures to your story, body glistening with sweat, muscles bulging from the workout you'd just completed had, as you'd hoped, driven her crazy.
She didn't doubt that you were hers; she was too confident, too cocky for that. Jenni just disliked sharing, your body was not just hers to touch, but also hers to look at. Something you'd evidently forgotten. Her own teasing wasn't even a thought in her head; you didn't get jealous like her. Her photos made you horny, not upset. Yours had made her both.
This was how you found yourself sitting in a rather fancy restaurant, frustratingly across the table from your girlfriend, who was gazing at you with a burning look in her eyes. She'd met you there, as you'd come from a media event, so there was no opportunity to get rid of some of the tension before being in such a public location.
Jenni hadn't bothered with more than a soft kiss pressed to your cheek and a tight hug before pulling your chair out for you, and beginning to talk animatedly about her trip. Her eyes gave her away, flicking down towards your chest, her tongue moistening her lips, as she lost her train of thought.
"What was that, baby?" You asked, resting your chin on your hand and leaning forward slightly, giving Jenni the opportunity to look directly down your shirt.
She exhaled slowly, regaining her composure and looking you straight in the eye. "We had a lot of fun. It was hot, though, I could barely stand to wear more than a swimsuit."
"It was warm here, too. I did most of my morning runs in just shorts and a sports bra." Your girlfriend's jaw clenched, an eyebrow raising as if to challenge you. If there was one thing Jenni loved, it was watching you run. It was almost obscene the way she watched you, eyes glued to your chest as you jogged. It was fine when you were wearing a shirt, not much was visible, but if you were just in a sports bra? Forget it. A workout was getting done, but not the one you had planned.
Your eyes lit up when you noticed that someone was approaching and it was your waitress. An objectively attractive waitress at that.
She introduced herself, and you felt Jenni's hard gaze on you at you as sent the waitress a sparkling smile, and complimented her earrings.
You ordered for yourself, cutting Jenni off just before she was about to speak. "And my friend will have..." you picked something you knew she would like, though you were fairly sure she was about to drag you out of the restaurant before the order could reach the kitchen.
The waitress left the table, and you allowed yourself to grin, looking up at your girlfriend. Jenni had one hand clenched in a tight fist, the other raking back through her dark hair.
"Go get in the car. I will pay." She said lowly.
"Jen, we haven't eaten," you said innocently.
She scoffed. "Do not make things worse for yourself. Go get in the car." The striker warned. Deciding you'd taken it far enough, and also feeling like you probably couldn't sit through dinner at this point, you stood, trailing a finger up Jenni's arm until she was out of reach, and you were heading out the door.
-----
Jenni had parked her car in the corner of the lot outside the restaurant, and it just so happened that it was rather secluded. You'd had an idea on the way to the car, when you noticed that your panties were uncomfortably damp. You smiled to yourself. Why not get rid of them?
That is how your girlfriend found you when she opened the door to the car, and looked down at her seat to see your discarded thong. She was frozen for a second, before her eyes slowly moved up to you, where you sat, hand disappearing under your short dress.
It wasn't often that you left Jenni speechless; she always had something to say. She was completely still for a moment, her jaw dropped at the sheer audacity you had. Then, she was moving before you could even prepare yourself, sliding into the drivers seat and wrapping long, nimble fingers around your wrist and yanking it away from your core. You hadn't really been doing anything; nothing felt as good as your girlfriend touching you, and you'd been left to your own devices for too long for your own fingers to be very exciting.
Your finger pointer and middle finger were glistening, though, and Jenni looked at them critically, before letting go of your wrist, and wrapping her hand around your neck instead. She leaned in close, whispering in your ear even though there was no one else around to here.
"If I see you touching what is mine again tonight, you will wish I stayed in Ibiza."
"I missed you too much to wish for that." You said softly, trying to lean in towards her. Her hand kept you against the back of the headrest as she shook her head minutely at you, green eyes glinting dangerously.
"You will rethink that when I do not let you come for a month." She warned. With that, she let go of you, turning around to face forward. You instinctually rubbed at the skin of your neck, even though it didn't hurt. The pressure was perfect, and even now, you could still feel the ghost of her touch on your neck, skin tingling lightly.
Jenni didn't miss the movement, and her face softened slightly as she put the car back in park, before it had backed out even a little.
"Okay?" She asked, grabbing your hand and threading her fingers with yours.
"Yeah, I'm good." You assured her, matching the soft smile she sent you. For all her bravado, all her cockiness, and though Jenni loved making you blush, making you squirm, making you scream her name, she loved seeing you smile at her more than anything else.
She brought your joined hands to her lips, leaving a soft kiss on the back of yours. With that, she reversed out of the parking spot, heading towards your shared apartment. She was calm and collected, but the speed with which she drove told the truth; she was very eager to get you home.
You thought you were getting your way. It didn't occur to you that Jenni was luring you into a false sense of security. You were very pleased with yourself, sitting in the passenger seat, your girlfriend's hand in yours. Jenni maintained her poker face, giving nothing away as she reviewed her plan in her head; a plan that had been in place from the very first instagram story you posted, and one that had only grown more severe as you continued to tease Jenni. She was still planning on giving you what you wanted, in the end, until your behavior at the restaurant. Not anymore.
You remained blissfully unaware, knee bouncing excitedly as you gazed out the window, no idea what you were in for.
-----
You didn't quite remember getting from the car inside the house and up to the bedroom; it was a blur of Jenni's lips & hands all over you, guiding you up the stairs as you let her take full control.
Your eyes opened for the first time since you entered the house when Jenni leaned up off of you, pausing to look at your dress for a moment, before bringing her hands to the hem, and tearing the fabric until the dress was completely ripped.
"Jennifer!" You complained, glaring up at her. She only grinned at you in response, peeling off her own shirt and bra and discarding them, not bothering with her pants for the moment. She yanked the now ruined dress out from under you, before nudging your legs apart and settling in between them.
"You missed me, huh?" She rasped, spreading you apart with her fingers. You only exhaled loudly in response, and she withdrew her hand, looking up at you with her eyebrows raised. "No? You did not miss me?" Jenni moved as if to get off the bed, and you whined pathetically, already reduced to a very weak version of yourself underneath your girlfriend.
"I missed you, missed you so much," you promised, relaxing back into the mattress when Jenni grinned triumphantly and returned to lay between your legs. She didn't waste anymore time, leaning her face closer and dragging her tongue through you. You sighed in relief, letting your eyes fall shut. Jenni knew every inch of you, knew how to make you feel good in a way you never had before her.
Jenni was merciless with her tongue, focusing her attention on your clit and humming against it as the taste of you filled her mouth. "Tan mojada para mi," she said breathily.
She steadily worked you up, tongue flicking at your swollen clit until your legs were twitching under her. She moved down slightly, pressing her tongue into you, feeling your walls pulse around it. Jenni didn't spend long with that, moving back up to your clit and sliding a finger through your wetness before pushing it into you. Your back arched, incredibly sensitive from an entire week of needing her.
You didn't think to be suspicious, or wary, when Jenni pushed you hard, 1 finger becoming 2, then becoming 3, rapidly fucking in and out of you, her tongue lapping at you with the same rhythm.
She knew you were close before you said anything, your walls tightening until she had a hard time moving her fingers, your legs wrapping around her upper body.
"J-Jenni, I'm so close," you warned her, expecting her to pick up her pace. Instead, she eased her fingers out of you, ignoring the pitiful sound of complained you let out.
"Jenni, please baby" you groaned. Jenni leaned off of you and towards the bedside table, and you took advantage of her momentary distraction, letting your hand slip between your thighs. As if she could sense it, your girlfriend's whipped around to glare at you.
"You will wait if I want you to," she said aggressively, waiting until your head retreated before returning to the nightstand to pick out the perfect strap to ruin you with.
She took much too long, in your opinion, to choose, but finally she turned back around to face you, now completely naked except for the harness and dildo strapped around her waist. The brunette settled back against the pillow and motioned you over. Eagerly, you scrambled forward, letting her maneuver you onto her lap, back to her chest, slowly sinking down onto the strap.
"You feel so good inside of me," you whimpered, pausing as you adjusted to the size.
"Take it all, I know you can," Jenni encouraged, an arm around your stomach pressing you further down as you panted and moaned, until all of her was inside of you. "There you go, taking my whole cock like the needy slut you are,"
Her words made you feel like you were melting into her, relaxing back into her body, and waiting for her to start to thrust up into you. She didn't move though, so you tried to lift your hips, and fuck down onto her cock, but her arm tightened around your abdomen, holding you tight against her. You probably could have moved if you wanted to, but her wishes were clear, and you weren't feel as bratty anymore, you just wanted Jenni to tell you how good you were being. You remained still, even as your girlfriend reached over to grab her phone from the side of the bed, peeking at it over your shoulder and unlocking it. She went right to the camera roll, scrolling a bit before clicking on a photo, still unmoving inside of you. The novelty of the stretch was fading, quickly becoming painfully arousing.
"Jenni, what the fuck are you doing?" You complained, growing more and more frustrated with each passing minute that your girlfriend was not destroying you like you wanted.
"You did not let me finish telling you about my trip. I wanted to show you some pictures." She told you very calmly, as if she wasn't buried deep inside of you, as if she couldn't feel your legs shaking against her.
"Jenni, I swear to god," you sighed, beginning to remove yourself from her strap. She dropped her phone onto the bed, reflexes lightening quick, pressing you back down into her. At the same time, you felt her jerk her hips up into you, just a bit. It was enough for you to sink back into her, letting your head fall to rest on her shoulder. She didn't move again though, and when you opened your eyes, it was to see her holding her phone in front of you, waiting patiently for your attention.
"Are you kidding?" You laughed humorlessly.
"No. I am very serious. This is me at the beach," Jenni began, before swiping to the next picture. "This is me at the beach again. And on the boat. This is a cool bird I saw. Here is me without my top on. And me and Leila, doing flips into the water,"
Aside from the topless picture, which definitely peaked your interest, it was the most unsexy thing you'd ever endured in your entire life, despite the fact that you could feel her inside of you. You were about to tell her so, when she swiped again, and your words died in your mouth.
"This is me naked in the shower." She continued on in the same nonchalant tone as before, as if she hadn't just presented you with significantly more interesting content to look at. "Here I am fucking myself with that vibrator you like. And with my fingers. Do you want to see me come? I think I have a video."
You were floored. Jenni was confident, cocky at times, you knew that. The way she was showing you these photos, though, it was like she didn't even possess the ability to feel embarrassment. You knew that if the roles were reversed, and you were showing her these photos of yourself, you would be blushing red, hiding your face in her shoulder.
"Oh, here it is." Again, your girlfriend's voice was completely not reflective of the situation at hand, and something about how absolutely unbothered she seemed made you clench around her.
Jenni clicked play on the video, and the sound of her crying out your name filled the room, the camera positioned perfectly for you to watch her fingers pumping in and out of herself with obscenely loud, wet noises.
You'd been pretty good up until this point, not shifting much in her lap, but your strength collapsed entirely at this point. Your hips ground down against her pathetically, and you dug your nails into the arm she had wrapped around your stomach.
"No, pay attention." She said, moving the phone closer to your face.
"Jenni, jesus christ," you complained, still for only a second before you restarted the small circular motions with your hips, unable to help yourself. With how good she felt inside of you, unmoving, you knew it would 100x better if she would just fuck you.
Without warning, Jenni tossed her phone away from her, spun you around on top of her, her cock twisting deliciously inside of your pulsing cunt. She'd laid down further now, and you were in the perfect position to ride her. Her hands had an iron grip on your hips, though, and though you tried to move yourself up and down with your legs, you couldn't get anywhere. You frowned down at her, feeling so very full yet so unsatisfied at the same time.
"Did you think there would be no punishment? For those slutty stories, and the way you acted at dinner? I did not think I was gone long enough for you to forget who was in charge, mi amor."
"Jenni, I'm sorry, I didn't forget, I just missed you,"
Jenni continued on as if you hadn't spoken. "I had plans for you amor. I do not think you deserve to come as many times as I was planning anymore."
"Jenni, no no, please," you cried, eyes beginning to fill with tears. It was torturous, the way she was pressed up into you, unmoving. Every inhale jostled you slightly, and the minuscule movement only made you feel needier. You were dripping onto her lap, you knew, but Jenni didn't seem to be in a very forgiving mood this evening.
You'd messed up.
"No." She said simply.
"Jen, please," you begged, moving a hand to rest on her cheek, her stony expression remaining unchanging.
"Who is in charge here?" She asked finally, her voice a dangerous whisper. The volume didn't diminish the power behind it.
"You." Your reply was instant, and your girlfriend nodded.
"Tell me again."
"You, you're in charge, Jenni."
"You are mine, sí?"
"Yes, yours."
"And only mine?"
"Only yours, baby."
"Prove it." She said, and you nodded frantically.
"Anything, Jen, I'll do anything,"
"Get off." You paled at her words, now shaking your head, just slightly. Jenni smiled devilishly up at you, not waiting for a response before she easily lifted you up off her cock and dumped you gently onto the bed next to her. "Hands and knees."
You moved instantly, flipping onto your stomach and pressing up onto your knees, resting your elbows on the bed. Jenni shifted until she was kneeled directly behind you.
"Escúchame. I said hands and knees, not elbows and knees." Her voice was harsh, and she gripped your ponytail, pulling hard until you were resting on your hands instead of your forearms.
"Bueno. ¿Estás listo para mí?" You could only nod, breathing hard, as she dragged her cock through your folds, positioning it against your hole and pausing. "Creo que eres."
She pushed into you with one thrust, and you yelped, the movement inside of you after so long of stillness almost overwhelming. Jenni set a punishing pace, her hips smacking into yours as she filled you up, her toned thighs working hard.
"Feels good?" She asked, letting go of your hair in favor of wrapping an arm around your neck and pulling your body up flush against her. Her hips didn't stop, and you gripped onto her arm tight.
"Good, so good," you moaned. You were close already, your ruined orgasm from before combining with all the time Jenni had spent inside of you, unmoving to leave you a shaking, whimpering mess.
"I can tell you are close already, hmm? Do you want to come?"
"Yes, Jenni, my god, please," you pleaded, not concerned with how pathetic you sounded.
"You want to come?" She asked again, adjusting her angle slightly so that the tip of her cock was rubbing insistently against the spongy spot deep inside of you.
"God-yes," you managed, whole body trembling with the strength with your building orgasm.
Horrifyingly, as soon as the words left your mouth, Jenni slowed down, hand wrapping around your neck as she nibbled on your earlobe, before speaking into your ear.
"Do you think you deserve it?" She asked.
Somewhere inside of your absolutely melted brain, you knew what the right answer was.
"I- I don't know." You cried, "You're in charge, you decide, not me,"
"Muy buena bonita," she cooed into your ear, pushing you back down onto your knees, pushing your head down into the bed, and picking up her speed again. This time, she didn't slow down, reaching an arm around to rub tight circles over your clit.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, please let me come," you begged, unwilling to let yourself go until Jenni told you that you could.
She smirked, knowing she had you right back where she wanted you.
"Go ahead," she told you, admiring how your whole body shook violently, how you screamed her name, instantly falling over the edge at her words.
You thought you were going to black out for a minute, the pleasure completely taking over all of your senses as the waves of your orgasm rocked through you. It felt endless, until there was nothing left in your head. Eventually, you whimpered pathetically, trying to pull away from Jenni's slow thrusts into you, working you through it.
"That is it? You can only take one?" She mocked, pulling out even as she did so, rubbing your ass softly before easing you onto your back. You flopped down, chest still heaving as you blinked, completely dazed, up at her.
"Jen," you whispered, reaching out a shaky hand towards her. Her unbothered expression broke into a familiar dazzling grin, and you felt your cheeks flush at the pride on her face.
"My good girl, my perfect girl," she cooed, quickly taking off the strap before settling on top of you, knowing you liked to feel her body pressing down on yours. She left soft kisses where her face was pressed into your neck, and you sighed happily, even as her hair tickled your bare skin.
"Love you," you whispered, and Jenni laughed softly at how fucked out you sounded.
"I love you too, mi niña bonita."
"I missed you." You said, although you told her before, the words holding a stronger meaning now.
"I missed you, too." Jenni replied, pulling her head away from your neck to press her forehead to yours. It could have been left unsaid, considering the way she'd just made you fall apart, and the way you'd clearly been craving it, but it was nice to hear, nonetheless. Jenni never left anything unspoken, letting you know how much she loved you every second of every day. Her caring actions were a nice reminder, and you thought to yourself that you really did prefer it when she was in charge.
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i was going to have a nervous breakdown if i spent anymore time trying to figure out a better ending so you get what you get and you don't get upset.
not too sure how i feel about this honestly, i feel like i'm missing something, but i can't figure out what, so you get it before i delete and restart.
hope you enjoy, jenni girlies :)
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i know you guys want more aphrodisiac but pause for just a moment and consider the possibilities with miggy n the one he replaced
for all intents and purposes, in this case, gabriella’s miguel lived. but right now he’s gone, and 2099 miguel has smoothly taken his place. he knows it’s wrong. he knows what he’s doing is so wrong. but he’s clinging onto absolutely anything that even remotely justifies his actions. and almost every night, you are his unwitting enabler. mewling quietly into the sheets about how good it feels, forcing yourself to keep it down while he fucks into you like it’s the last thing he’ll do
at some point though, he wants a chance to really hear you. gabriel has the kiddo for the night and miguel decides to take you out. “anywhere, amor.” you settle on your usual bar, unaware of how miguel doesn’t seem to recognize it, and the bartender apparently gets too close to you for comfort. neither one of you sees the murderous intent in miguel’s crimson eyes
so of course it catches you off guard, when as soon as you’re out of sight, his hand tangles in your hair to practically drag you around to the alleyway. his lips on your skin searing, his words coming in a low growl. “no entiendes que eres mía?”
he intends to prove it to you, despite your little whimpers of reassurance, and before you know it, one thick arm is wrapped around your throat from behind while he drives his cock deep into your poor aching cunt over and over. you’ve lost count of how many orgasms he’s pulled from you and he hasn’t even cum yet, all you can do is cry about how good it feels, and how you can’t take it anymore, nails pressing into the corded muscle making you lightheaded. “hurts, mi- iggy please!” but you’ll wail if he shows any sign of pulling away
“ay pobrecita, le duele?” he simply angles your hips to brush that sweet spot inside you every time and his free hand drifts down from your tummy to circle your throbbing clit. you cry out, your legs give out, but it doesn’t matter when he’s holding you up to use like his own little toy. “it’s okay baby i know. i know, it’s okay, he could never fuck you like this. you’re gonna take everything i give you. me oyes? you’re mine. not his. shockin’ mine.“ and you agree, unaware he’s talking about your sweet miggy, not the old friend of yours behind the bar
he needs to feel justified. he needs reassurance. and if he has to fuck you stupid to get it, then so be it
i’ll continue in just a moment, i promise. after all, we can’t leave original miggy high and dry now can we
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Y/N watched as the man sitting beside him took a sip of his beer. "How long do you think you can keep me hidden before Clark or the others track you don't, Kal?"
Kal set his beer down and gave Y/N a small smile. "Do you think I actually give a fuck? Clark is stronger than everyone in the Justice League and I'm stronger than him. I'm not too worried, Y/N."
"So, why kidnap me? What's to stop me from walking out of here?" And to prove his point, Y/N got off his seat and tried to walk away, but Kal grabbed his arm and pulled him back until he was pinned between the bar and Kal's body.
"You really thought I'd let you just walk away from me?" Kal's voice was low and husky as he grinds their crotches together. To anyone looking at them, they'd seem like two lovers who had too much to drink and now were drunkenly rubbing on each other. Y/N groans as he felt Kal's grip tighten on his arm.
"This is your first warning, Y/N. Next time, I'll punish you." Kal winks and let's go of him.
#x male reader#male reader insert#male x male#henry cavill#henry cavill x reader#henry cavill x you#Henry Cavill x male reader#kal el#Kal el x male reader#Kal x male reader#evil clark Kent x male reader#bizarro#Bizzaro x male reader
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So idk if you’ve seen that one guy on tiktok that does those hip thrusts with different weights to prove he can fuck all different sizes of women buttttt imagine the reader is plus size and working out with the guys and Soap is doing the hip thrusts but with low weights and she makes a comment about how he must only get with smaller girls and he couldn’t handle a women her size. Soap being the cocky bastard he is asks her weight to prove her wrong which of course she isn’t gonna give him cause that’s not something a lady tells. So instead he snatches her up and sets her on his lap to prove her wrong
You and I both know once he proves he can hold her up he’s gotta prove how good he can fuck her cause he’s such a little whore 🥵🥵
This is brilliant, thank you for this!
You know he’d be doing all the thrusts with the bar whilst making heavy HEAVY eye contact, making absolutely no effort to hide what he is doing and not caring who sees him. I think he would also be vulgar enough to make some gratuitous grunts as well, just to really make it clear.
#storm cat answers#soap#soap modern warfare#call of duty soap#soap call of duty#soap cod#sergeant johnny mactavish#fat reader#chubby reader#john soap mactavish
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[Chapter 5]
word count: 4.3k
warning: smut, fingering 18+ content MDNI
an: Theo is not mentioned in this chapter and I’m so very sorry but chapter 6 is very Theo heavy so I hope that makes up for it 🫶🏻
You and Enzo had made a routine of apparating to the club together. You had been doing this for about a week before the incident with Monti, but ever since that night Enzo was very firm that you arrive together. The first few days after it happened, he carried a lot of guilt with him for letting you go to the alley by yourself. It took heavy convincing, but you were pretty sure that you were able to convey how much it wasn’t his fault, and that you were glad he was there to help protect you.
Since that night, Mattheo had barely been around the manor. You could count on one hand the amount of times you actually saw him at the manor over the last two and a half weeks. It was more like you heard him more often than you saw him, and most of the time he was yelling. All of the other boys were being yelled at regularly, but Draco seemed to be taking the brunt of it. You weren’t sure if it was because they were family, but it made you feel kind of bad for him.
It really made you upset not seeing Mattheo that long, not really interacting with him. Maybe upset was not the right word, but if you thought too long about it you felt queasy. There was something about the dynamic between you and Mattheo that made you feel one of two ways, either incredibly, seething, fire burning, hell raging mad - or - light headed and butterfly stomach and warm and yearning and pining and wanting so much of him you thought you might physically implode.
You were thinking about all these things as you were doing mindless work getting the bar ready for the night when Pansy walked into the room, mouth running a hundred miles a minute as you heard her pleading with whoever was on the other end of the cell phone pressed to her ear. When her conversation finally ceased, Pansy set the phone down on the table in front of her. Her head was hung low, like she was trying to recenter herself. You looked over at Enzo, who simply shrugged his shoulders.
In the next moment Pansy was screaming with rage as she pointed her want towards the stage nearest her, deep red exiting her wand and the stage effectively exploding in front of all of your eyes. Your mouth was agape, not expecting to ever see this side of Pansy. Enzo only shook his head in annoyance, taking out his own wand and giving it a swift flick, causing the once exploded stage pieces to slowly float back to their original position until it was like Pansy didn’t have an outburst whatsoever.
“What’s the problem, Pans?” Enzo broke the silence, clearly having dealt with this side of Pansy plenty of times before. Pansy let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “One of the main stage dancers is not coming in tonight and I have no one to replace her. You know how particular Mattheo is, he’s going to have a fucking aneurysm over this. Roxy is good, but she can’t do the whole stage by herself.” Pansy leaned her head back, closing her eyes and letting out a few more expletives.
Enzo couldn’t contain his amused smirk, “This is why I’m glad I don’t have your position, Pansy. It is far more easy being me than it is being you.” You scoffed, quickly quipping back, “Yeah until you’re basically dying and whining like a toddler when someone is trying to save your life.” Enzo gasped at you, fake hurt in his eyes. But the interaction managed to put a smile on Pansy’s face, if only for a brief moment. “Really, you guys, I’m not sure what I’m gonna do, I really don’t want to deal with an angry Mattheo tonight.”
You gnawed at your bottom lip, wondering if what you were about to say would be helpful or just start another argument. You really wanted it to be helpful, you wanted to show everyone how valuable you could be in a crisis, prove yourself of sorts. Especially after the last time you were given a task you basically caused them to all have to show their darkest sides of themselves in order to save you. You glanced over at Enzo, knowing that immediately after you spoke your thoughts he would protest.
Enzo’s eyes widened before you could even speak, shaking his head as if he already read your mind; which in fairness was highly possible. Regardless, you turned back towards Pansy, the words flowing from your mouth before Enzo could protest for real, “I could do it.” Pansy’s head snapped up at your words, you quickly reasoning as to why it was a good idea, “I wanted to be a dancer when I first came to the club anyway, I know I can do it. Not to mention I watch the stage every bloody night, I could probably do Roxy’s routine in my sleep. And Roxy and I already have a good relationship so there would be like…chemistry or whatever.”
Once again you managed to make Pansy smile. “That’s brilliant!” She exclaimed at the same time that Enzo barked out, “Like bloody fucking hell you are.” Both you and Pansy turned to Enzo glaring. “Okay, remind me to never be in the same room as the both of you when you’re upset, because this is fucking scary,” he took a step back from both of you, “but I’m serious, Angel, no way. Mattheo would fucking kill you if you went up on that stage.”
You rolled your eyes so hard you head went along with it, “Oh, please Enz, Mattheo would never hurt me, let alone kill me.” Enzo scoffed, “Right right, I forget, you guys have that special relationship.” He emphasized the last two words with air quotes. You narrowed your eyes up at the sandy haired boy, “What are you insinuating?” Enzo doubled down, not breaking eye contact with you, “I’m saying that your relationship is different with Mattheo than any of us. He lets you get away with a hell of a lot more than any other person in this family.”
“Oh, bullocks,” you spat back at him. You were irritated beyond belief, Enzo never spoke to you this way. “Fine,” Enzo held his hands up in surrender, “how bout you just go tell him about your little plan then, hmm? I know he’s here.” You looked over at Pansy who just shrugged her shoulders. Turning back to Enzo you crossed your arms stubbornly, “Fine, I’ll go ask him.” Enzo huffed, “Well fine!” You shouldered past him, “Fine!” He called back at you again, “Fine!” For good measure you threw one more over your shoulder, “Fine!” Pansy covered her face with her hands, shaking her head, “You guys are worse than having bloody children, I swear it.”
You walked with determination back towards Mattheo’s office. With each step the air felt like it was getting thicker, but you urged yourself to keep moving, to prove to Enzo (and everyone else) that while you now worked for Mattheo it didn’t mean that he controlled you. With a flick of your wand his office door swung open to reveal an irritated Malfoy and Mattheo with a satisfied smirk on his face that was less than comforting.
“Can we help you?” Draco sneered, clearly annoyed by the boldness of your intrusion. You stood just inside the doorway, arms crossed. You gave Draco an irritated look before turning to Mattheo, “Pansy said one of the main stage dancers isn’t showing up today, so I’m going to replace her. I know the routine and have a good rapport with Roxy so-”
“No.” Mattheo cut you off with a firm statement. You huffed in annoyance, “Yeah that’s not really an option here, boss, if we don’t find someone to go up there then the club will lose money and I know that you don’t really like that and it’s bad for bus-”
“I said no,” Mattheo’s voice boomed again, “I’ve told you before, Birdie, you are not a dancer. You are a bartender. You are not going to be a dancer, will never be a dancer, under any circumstance. Is that clear?” You glared at him, holding his gaze as your lips formed a thin line. You opened your mouth to protest again but Mattheo flicked his wand, mumbling a quick depulso and pushing you back through the doorway before slamming it shut.
You’re a right git, Mattheo, you said to him. No means no, Princess. Don’t play with fucking fire, Mattheo thought back. You stood outside the office trying to weigh out your options. You were about to lean towards just giving up, when you heard Draco’s voice, “C’mon, what’s the harm, really. It’s just one night, and you know she’s right fit, she’d bring in so much money. She’s right about us losing out with just Roxy up there.” You smiled at a bit at Draco actually being on your side, maybe he wasn’t such a tosser after all.
“Absolutely fucking not, she’s not doing it. I swear to fucking Salazar if she goes on that bloody stage it’s your head, Cousin.” You didn’t have to see his face to know Mattheo was seething and poor Malfoy was on the receiving end of it. The fiery anger in his tone only fueled your own further.How dare he think he can decide what you can and cannot do? You didn’t care if he was the owner of the club, he had no right to tell you what decisions you could make. You were tired of him acting like he owned you.
With a deep breath you walked away from the office door, heart pounding as you made your way back to the bar. You felt like your heart beat was in your head with every step you took, the bass of the music in the club not helping ease this. When you got back behind the bar you closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to try and center yourself. In the time you were in Mattheo’s office a large amount of clientele had appeared, the current dancers working hard to milk them for all their money as Enzo bounced back and forth behind the bar.
As you got to the bar you turned around toward the booze, grabbing the most expensive tequila the club had as you slammed four shots down in front of you.“Y’alright, Angel?” Enzo’s eyes grew wide as you picked up one glass at a time and quickly threw them each back, the alcohol burning your throat in the most calming way. Picking up the last shot Enzo’s large hand enveloped your wrist, “Slow the fuck down, what are you doing? Trying to blackout on the job?”
Your eyes pierced his, a storm of determination brewing behind your pupils, “Enzo, let go of my wrist or I’ll hex your fucking cock off.” He shook his head, stubbornness higher than ever, “No way, Mattheo will have my throat if I let you get fucking sloshed.” You groaned in frustration, rolling your eyes and stomping your foot on the ground like a toddler having a tantrum.
“Why does everyone act like Mattheo is my fucking keeper?” You leaned your head toward the shot, tipping it in to your mouth while Enzo still gripped your wrist. He rolled his eyes at your actions, finally letting go, “Why’re you doing this, Angel? Was I right about the meeting with the good ol’ boss?” You looked toward the stage as the dancer finished up her routine, crawling on her knees and swaying her hips as she picked up the large bills from the stage floor and stuffing them into her bikini top and barely there bottoms.
Enzo followed your gaze, laughing nervously, “Oh no fucking way, hell no. You’re not…no, Angel.” You turned to face him again, pulling off your tank top to reveal your rhinestone bikini top, “Who’s gonna stop me?” You shoved your tank top into Enzo’s chest, walking toward Blaise at the Dj booth to tell him what song you wanted and what stage name to announce. Enzo glanced around the club nervously, praying to Merlin that Mattheo wouldn’t notice, or that at least whatever stage name or song you played didn’t alert him to your little rendezvous.
Enzo stared at you as you walked towards the dancers changing rooms, trying to get you to change your mind, He’s gonna have your ass if you go through with this Angel, you know that don’t you? Entering where the rest of the dancers were you just shook your head, answering Enzo, Let him! You quickly found Roxy, walking up to her and telling her your plan. She gave you a questioning look, but after assuring her that Mattheo would only be upset with you and not her, she helped you get ready, hair, makeup, the works before going towards the main stage entrance.
As Mattheo left his office to find Pansy and talk solutions, Blaise began introducing the next entertainers to come on. Being none the wiser to your plan, he did everything you asked. Flicking a few switches on his sound board the main stage began to illuminate, catching the attention from most of the patrons and earning some whoops and hollers from those that were excited for the main event.
Blaise held his wand to his throat in the booth, doing his introductions, “Please welcome to the main stage your favorite girl R-R-R-R-Rooooxxxxyy,” he drawled out. “And accompanying her tonight is someone new to the stage,” at this Mattheo stopped dead in his tracks. He looked over towards the bar only to find Enzo looking towards the ceiling and avoiding his eye contact. He looked across the club at Pansy, who was holding her hands up in surrender. Blaise’s voice continued, “Let’s give a very warm and wallet generous welcome to…” Blaise paused for dramatic effect, lowering the lights around the stage and putting a small spotlight at where you were about to walk out, “Cherrí.”
The amount of whistles and cheers that occurred when you stepped out into the light was almost deafening. You tried to give your most sultry smirk as you walked toward the pole opposite Roxy. You grabbed hold of the cool steel as you began walking in a slow circle, Blaise putting on the song you requested; Cherry Pie.
You grabbed hold as high at your height would allow as the lyrics began, following Roxy’s typical routine and pulling the bottom half of your body up the pole, hooking your knee around the bar and leaning backwards as it spun, now hanging upside down while you grabbed the pole above you
She's my cherry pie
Cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise
Tastes so good, makes a grown man cry
Sweet cherry pie, yeah
Maneuvering your body around the pole proved to be a lot easier than you anticipated. Following Roxy’s lead you would stay on the pole while she walked and danced around the stage, shedding a layer of clothing here and there and crawling seductively towards the bills that were being thrown on stage. When she walked back toward the other pole, you took a deep breath, knowing it was your turn to do what she called crowd work. You took one last spin on the pole, the whistles from the men directly in front of you fueling your adrenaline along with the song you chose.
Swingin' to the drums
Swingin' to guitar
Swingin' with the bass
In the back of my car
Ain't got money
And I got no gas
But we'll get where we're goin'
If we swing real fast
I scream, you scream
We all scream for her
Well, don't even try 'cause
You can't ignore her
You slowly slid the skirt you wore down your thighs, the man in front of you’s eyes roaming your body like you were his last meal. You shimmied your hips, pulling your skirt down teasingly slow and bending over in front of the men to give them a full view of your arse. Bills flew to the stage as you finally stepped out of your skirt, sinking to your knees and spreading them wide to sit back on your heels. You let your hands roam up your body, over your breasts causing the hanging rhinestones to shake and glimmer in the light, then dragged your hands up and into your hair, throwing your head back as you bounced slightly on your knees.
Crawling on your hands and knees across the stage you were sure to arch your back, swinging your hair back and forth in time with the song, throwing winks at men that looked like they wanted to tear you apart like an animal but instead threw money on the stage. Walking back over to you, Roxy held out her hand, helping you up slowly so your body’s slowly dragged against each other as you stood up, giving the whole audience a show.
The song ended and Blaise turned on an interlude as you and Roxy maneuvered around the stage to grab the bills that were left. As you were picking up some bills while still trying to look sexy and sultry on your hands and knees a man held out a large bill in front of your face. You reached out your hand, but he quickly grabbed your wrist. You were about to protest or even hex whoever it was. But as soon as you saw the tattoos on the fingers that held you all your nerve endings tingled.
Slowly, you looked up. Taking in the sharp black suit jacket, crisp black dress shirt, all to go along with the onyx eyes that belong to Mattheo Riddle. To any average onlooker it would seem like there was a glint of playfulness in his eyes. But you’d seen that look before, many times during your lessons. If this look told you anything, it was that you were going to regret your last few decisions.
His voice was low when he spoke, you almost had to lean closer to even hear him as he grit his words through his teeth, “Office. Now.” It was a command and not one you were going to ignore. You sat on your bum, swinging your legs over the edge of the stage. Despite his rage Mattheo still assisted you. Grabbing your hips, albeit harshly, and lifting you off the stage and setting you down on your feet.
Once standing he gripped your wrist again, leading you to his office like a child about to be scolded. You looked toward the bar, Enzo meeting your gaze and miming locking his lips as if to assure you he didn’t tell the boss on you. Once in his office Mattheo released his hold on you, “Sit.” You walked toward the chair in front of his desk before his voice cut through the silence once more, “Not there. On the desk. Facing my chair.”
You gulped, trying your best to keep your face stoic despite the rising heartbeat in your chest. You walked slowly around his desk, slowly lifting and perching yourself atop. The wood was cool against your bare thighs, Mattheo not even giving you a chance to put more clothes on before dragging you through the club. So there you sat, clad in only your bikini top and thin panties. You tried your best to control your breathing as Mattheo came to stand in front of you.
He gripped each one of your thighs just above the knee, his touch setting your skin aflame. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his hands splayed across your legs, squeezing the flesh as he spoke to you, “Are you proud of yourself?” You tore your eyes from his hands and looked up at him, confusion clearly written on your face. “Oh, don’t play innocent now, Princess. Not after that fantastic performance you gave,” he wore a shit eating grin as your face fell. Mattheo’s grip on your thighs tightened slightly as he spread your legs wide enough to step between them.
“I was just-” Mattheo gripped your throat, effectively silencing you before you could begin. “Ah, ah. It’s my turn to talk, you just get to sit there and listen.” A shiver ran up your spine as his hand that was still on your thigh slid up higher. “You really pissed me off just now, Birdie. Blatantly defying me after I told you no. I told you from the beginning, no dancing, and yet what did you fucking do?” He hung his head, letting out a light chuckle as his thumb kneaded the inside of your thigh, “Do you know why I won’t let you dance, Princess?”
You shook your head the best you could with the grip he had on you. His smirk grew in to a devilish grin as he leaned in close, whispering in your ear, “Because if you’re going to be a slut for anyone, it’s going to be me, and only me, do you understand, Princess?” You nodded, squirming on the desk at his words. Mattheo met your gaze, taking in your current state of desperation, “Do you like that, Princess? The idea that you only get to be the perfect little slut for me?” He slid his hand between your thighs, dragging two fingers along your folds over your panties. He smirked at the dark wet spot that was already forming, pressing his thumb lightly against your clit. You jolted at the contant, a pathetic whimper leaving your throat.
“All this for me, Princess? Or is some of this for all those men throwing dirty bills at you being a whore?” You groaned at the degrading words, shaking your head, “N-no, it’s all for you, Teo. I swear, just for you.” Mattheo growled at the nickname, eyes darting down quickly to your parted lips before meeting your gaze again, “Good, because it’s about time for everyone to know who you fucking belong to.” With the grip he had on your throat he finally brought your lips to his. The kiss was anything but gentle, lips harshly pressed against one another as his thumb started circling your clit again. You whimpered at the action, Mattheo taking the opportunity to allow his tongue to explore your mouth.
As his lips trailed lower, along your jaw and to your neck, his fingers gripped the top of your panties before tugging harshly and ripping the thin material off your body. You gasped and could feel Mattheo smirk against your skin. When he found a particular spot to suck and bite near your collarbone he ran his finger up your folds, coating them in your slick before circling two fingers over your clit. “Fuck…” you moaned out, trying your best to take in all the pleasure you were receiving.
Mattheo’s lips found yours again as he circled his fingers around your hole teasingly, swallowing the whimpers as they left your lips. Without warning he slipped a finger deep inside your cunt, your back arching and bringing your chest flush to his. “Fuck, Princess, you’re so fucking tight, don’t know how you’re ever gonna take my cock when you can barely take a finger,” Mattheo groaned against your lips. You mewled against him, hands gripping the edge of the desk like a vice, unsure if you were able to touch him or not, but too lost in the pleasure you were feeling to try.
He added a second finger, thumb finding purchase on your swollen clit, slowly finger fucking you on his desk. He broke his lips from yours to watch your cunt swallow his fingers over and over as he pumped them into you. “Fuck, Princess, you’re taking my fingers so well. Those other men would die to be in my position right now, but that’s not who you want, is it, pretty girl?” You shook your head vigorously, chest heaving. “Words, gorgeous, let me hear them. Let me hear what I’m doing to you.”
You tried to keep your eyes from rolling in the back of your head and answer him, “N-no, fucking hell-” Mattheo curled his two fingers now with every outward thrust, pushing against your g-spot in the most delicious way no one else every had. The blissful stretch created an overwhelming feeling of pleasure, “Don’t want them, j-just want you.”
You could feel the pressure building inside you, the waves of pleasure clouding your vision. He quickened his pace, his long fingers hitting places you have never been able to reach and sending jolts of electricity through your entire body. His thumb made tight circles over your clit and you clenched around his fingers. “I can feel you clenching around me, Princess. Come on, be a good girl and let go f’me.” It was like his permission was all your body was waiting for as you fell over the edge into your orgasm.
Your vision blurred as you let out a pornagraphic moan, Mattheo continuing to finger you through your high, your legs shaking with pleasure. As your breathing calmed Mattheo slowly slid his fingers from your cunt. He stuck out his tongue, bringing the glistening digits to his mouth before lewdly sucking them clean causing you to clench around nothing.
“I swear to Salazar I can’t wait to fucking devour that cunt of yours,” he grabbed hold of your thighs, gripping them tightly as he captured your lips in another searing kiss. You couldn’t help but moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue. Mattheo rested his forehead on yours, his own chest rising and falling along with yours to catch your breath. “Never forget that you’re mine, Princess.” He leaned back slightly, grabbing hold of your chin. His eyes held an intensity to them as they locked with yours, your breath hitching in your throat as he spoke three final words.
“I own you.”
#protego series#mafia!slytherin boys#mafia!blaise zabini#mafia!enzo berkshire#mafia!mattheo riddle#mafia!draco malfoy#mafia!pansy parkinson#mafia!theo nott
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━◦○◦ⓢⓞ◦○◦ⓘⓣ◦○◦ⓖⓞⓔⓢ◦○◦━ .t.w.o.
NFL QB Jake 'Hangman' Seresin AU x Popstar F!Reader
Summary: NFL Quarterback Jacob Seresin is in hot water from a streak of bad decisions, just as you go through the worst public breakup of your life. With people slandering both of your reputations, your publicists hatch a plan to bring both of you back into favor and keep the heat off until spring - that is if you can keep up the facade.
Word Count: 2,999 words
Author Note: :)) I know it's shorter than the first part but I am trying here y'all - I really am. but!!! more Celeste and Jake for your trying monday night xD
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There are only so many ways to avoid conversation, which is why Jake’s fiddling with the radio. It makes you nervous, seeing how he man-handles the wheel with one hand, the touch pad in the car with the other. Who was the genius to put touch screens in vehicles anyway? That seemed like a stupidly dangerous decision. But you weren’t an engineer so that meant it wasn’t for you to worry about. Or maybe it was since Jake was fucking around with it while operating a motor vehicle.
“Shit, there is literally nothing good on.” His voice is low before he asks the AI assistant again to play a specific song. You turn your face to the glass of the passenger door, trying to hide the growing smile on your face as the country song plays. “What?”
“I didn’t say anything!” You defend, looking at him while actively battling the grin.
“The thing on your face - you’re smiling, why are you smiling-”
“I can’t just smile?”
“Not out of the goddamn blue like Jeffery Dahmer, you can’t!” It’s now that you realize that there’s a subtle twinge in his voice. He’d relayed plenty of stories to you at the bar but not once did he mention where he was from. And the slight drawl on his lips helps you narrow it down slightly. Well that made sense now. The pop country track wasn’t out of the blue when you pieced it together.
That isn’t why you’re giggling though. Instead of answering his question, you lean into the door, watching the landscape whizz by.
“Gonna answer my question?” He prompts once more.
“I’m just smiling!” You try, looking at him with a laugh. The look on his face is one that makes him look like he’s almost about to explode under the stress you’ve seemingly put him under. Finally, you relent. “I- well I wrote this. That’s all.”
Brows furrow as he turns down a road. “I’m calling bullshit.” Now your lips part in amused shock.
“Are you joking? I wrote this!” You give an astonished laugh as you slowly approach a modern looking gate overlooking the driveway to a residence.
“No. Prove it.” Off the top of your head, you begin to list the chord progressions, C. F7. G7. F7. C. As he parks the car, he’s still being stubborn. “That proves nothing other than you can play the song.” Scoffing with a roll of your eyes as he pulls his phone out, tapping something on the screen. The large gate slowly begins to recede into the bushes next to it.
“Here.” You hand him your own phone, Google provides not only the lyrics, but the song writing credits at the very bottom. Jake squints and points to the name, reading it out loud to you. “Yes!”
“That doesn’t say ‘Celeste’.” Now he’s smirking, leaving your head falling forward. You quickly move to your purse, grabbing your wallet and then your ID, throwing it at him, causing both of you to laugh when it hits his face. He scrambles to pick it back up, looking at the plastic. Then, not unlike a bouncer at a bar, he cross references the name on the card to the one on the screen. Jake then has the audacity to bend it for authenticity.
“Oh give me that.” You snatch both of your belongings out of his hands and he holds up his hands in defeat.
“Fine, fine.” The gate is open now, a rolling road of pavement that opens up to a mammoth of a house. You pull into the garage, finally moving into the conversation again, somewhat bluntly.
“Is it so hard to believe I wrote a song about sex?” Jake doesn’t answer. Instead, he gets out of the vehicle, shutting the door behind him. Before you can utter a word, he’s come to the other side and opened the door.
“No. Though, you writing a country song is.” His head disappears from the door frame and he leads you into the house. “It’s not a bad song. You did the whole thing?”
You are slowly following him in, your head craned as you take in the massive building. For its size, it’s very ordinarily decorated. There aren’t massive and astonishingly expensive art pieces on the walls or marble staircases - it was… dare you say: cozy? It was familiar and welcoming in the way a home should be, not sterile and rigid like most homes in the neighborhood were. Of course, you only knew this because of Restoration Hardware and the likes.
Jake is easily leading you to the kitchen, which is less ‘normal’ than the rest of the house. Recent appliances and modern finishes adorn the kitchen, from intricate coffee machines and luxurious wine fridges. He’s stuck his nose into one as you gape at the rest of the house.
It finally dawns on you that maybe you should answer his question.
“I did. It was one of my favorites but.. The entire thing just felt too… out of place for my style- you own this place?” Jake nods. You’re not sure if it’s in response to your question or to your response.
“Sounds about right. I can’t imagine you singing country music.” He’s moved around the kitchen toward the fridge. “And no, I don’t.”
You freeze for a minute. If he didn’t own this place…
“Then whose house-“
“It’s my mom’s.” Well that wasn’t listed in any of the answers you’d predicted he’d give you. Still, he’s pulling a bottle of wine from the wine fridge, reading the label and then sitting it on the counter.
“Your mom owns a place… in LA?” He starts digging into drawers, looking for what you can only presume to be a wine bottle opener. You help him in his pursuits, pulling random drawers open.
“Well… it’s- okay so I bought it for her. She really loves the drive to Big Sur on Highway 1 and so she’s got this place to stay at and then there’s my place in San Diego. My place isn’t big enough to house my whole family, so they crash here when they’re in town for football games, they just take a quick flight up to SD. Or make the drive if they have the time.” You’ve found the wine opener by now and are unintentionally holding it hostage. He’d bought his mom a house so she didn’t have to stay in a hotel in San Diego? And he just flew her home whenever she wanted?
“So.. you crash here because no one can tell when it's your mom or you here?”
He shrugs. “Sort of. It’s as close to home as I can get without boarding a four hour flight.” Jake pushes the bottle in front of you, and you distract yourself by opening the bottle as he putzes around with his phone. It begins to ring as you screw metal into the cork. You preoccupy yourself with your task as he disappears to the other side of the room. The blonde paces the room as he settles on the phone. An unfortunate look crosses his features and it certainly doesn’t inspire anything confident in you. While he hangs up, you are still struggling with the damned cork in the bottle. “Well, that was my lead security guy.” Jake speaks, leaving your attention on him as you hopelessly tug on the bottle and the jammed instrument in the glass neck.
“And what does Mr. Security have to say-” your question is punctured by the pop of the stubborn cork. As well as the splash of decade old fermented grape juice all over Jake’s mom’s nice granite counters. And your very new, very white tank top. Defeatedly, your hands let the bottle gently come to the surface, staring down at the mess. For some reason, you don’t immediately respond to the mess. You just… stare.
It isn’t until Jake comes along with paper towels, bumping your hip with his own to nudge you out of the way. “Don’t worry about it.” The wine is cleaned in no time, and you hazily fill two waiting glasses.
“What a waste of good wine.” You complain, before nearly gulping your first sip down. Jake simply laughs.
“Happens. Anyways, Wells, he said they can’t get to your room.” Setting your glass down you’re about to explain how reception desks work. The quarterback beats you to it. “Now listen, smartass. I know what you’re about to say, cause I would’ve said the same thing-” he laughs. You tandemly giggle along with him, “the hotel literally can’t get into your room. The key card reader is malfunctioning. The guy who fixes them won’t be in until tomorrow.” The groan off your lips is paired with your footsteps as you move to his living room.
“Great. Well,” you take another sip, pausing in the middle of the room, “guess you made a smart move of bringing me here then. We have an out if we get caught. ‘My room was malfunctioning so like the gracious gentleman you are, you let me stay at your place.”
“My mom’s place.” He corrects, slowly following you into the room with massively vaulted ceilings. There are beams across it, dark in color. If the sun was still up, the entire thing would be flooded with daylight from the skylights in the ceiling.
“Right. Your moms.” You spend time staring up at them, admiring how he was a whole ass homeowner as you count his skylights. Eight skylights. When your attention comes back to the horizontal plane, Jake looks over at you as he tosses his phone to his couch. When he does, you realize your own voice is softly playing over the built in speakers.
“Are you quizzing me? Is that what’s happening here?” You squint at him teasingly as he sets his glass down.
“No, I’m putting it on so I can learn it. If I consistently listen to things on a loop my brain seems to soak it up - almost like a sponge.” The blonde disappears from behind the couch, down a hallway, leaving you to admire the stone fireplace that crawled to the ceiling, basking in the notes and chord progressions you’d strung together.
“Oh, so I’m not studying, you are.” You call out to him, letting it echo down the hall. He mimics your call.
“Yeah. My coach will have me benched if this doesn’t go well. So, I’m gonna be damn sure I know everything about my girl.”
You know what he meant. The word wasn’t meant to be possessive, or affectionate. Except, coming off of his lips - so naturally like that… it was easy to mistake it for genuinity.
“That tracks. What are you even doing over there?” As you call out, your feet are slowly making their practiced patterns from choreographed rehearsals timed with the song playing over you.
The realization makes you giggle. You haven’t performed this in over four years. So it was silly you still knew it. But it also was just plain silly. Dancing around to your own music, tipsy in a multi-million dollar house in the Hollywood hills, with a stranger who let you spill wine on his quartz counters. The whole thing is something from a novel.
“You ruined your shirt, and your stuff is locked in a hotel almost thirty minutes away, so-” Jake has looped around the couch by now, watching as you step in time with your music. One hand grips to a pile of clothing, his other hand pointing your direction. “If you plan on me learning this then you can forget it.” The clothes drop to the leather of the couch as you continue to step with the words, shimmying for emphasis.
“Oh come on, it’s so easy.” Moving to the coffee table, you set your glass down, grabbing his now empty hands and pulling him further into the room. “Ready? Just follow my steps.”
And he does, doing as best as he can as you emphasize the words, using them as the tempo with your steps. You know that’s not how your dancers did it, but that’s how you’d done it. Using the words were like landmarks, signifying when you needed to do specific motions. Jake seems to pick it up, somewhat effortlessly, with an uncanny ease.
“Oh you totally dance.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. Don’t even try to deny it.” You tease him further as the song ends and transitions into the next one. This one has a heavier tone to it, but it doesn’t stop you from following the steps. Your mind floods with the dance moves and the arena tour. The catwalk into the crowd, the sultry steps you took alongside the music. The outfit you’d had on. God, you had felt so hot in that outfit. It was one of your favorite tour costumes. You’d wanted it back from wardrobe when the tour was over - but the Music Hall of Fame had wanted it for a display not even three months ago. Otherwise you would’ve worn it to New Years Eve. It was your favorite.
It was Jonah’s favorite.
Jake has stopped dancing at this point. His attention has moved to each of the coordinated moves you made until you got halfway through the song, grabbing your glass and sitting next to him where he was perched on the arm of the chair.
“Your turn.” You tease, only to sip from your glass. Surprisingly, Jake downs his glass and stands up.
His dance moves are horrible. Downright awful. But you laugh all the same as he tries to sing along, getting the words wrong. You shake your head and continue to grin as you begin to sing along to the words.
“I’d walk through the fire if you were the flame, couldn’t care less if they call me insane, I don’t need the fortune and I don’t need the fame, I just need for you..” The note drags out as the song picks up, your hand slapping against the couch with the drum as Jake continues his terrible rendition. Finally you finish the line, “to say my name. Say my name! I’d take it all on, face all of the pain, say my name!”
The instrumental approaches the bridge, an overlapping conversation in the background of the audio, ‘Celeste’ over and over in low sounds. But Jake’s voice catches you off guard. He’s stopped dancing by now, but you look at him all the same. Your name falls off his lips again. When you look like you’re about to question him, he just laughs.
“You said to say your name.” Rolling your eyes, you finish your wine, moving back to the kitchen to grab another glass. You wouldn’t tell him, but so few people called you by it anymore. It was refreshing. You retrieve the clothes he’d dropped to the couch, before giving him a pointed gleam of a smile.
“I’m gonna go change- bathroom?” He points you in the direction of the room, and you quickly slide in. Once your shirt is off, you’re dropping it into the sink, the water running as you try to get out a stain that was on the verge of being fully dry. That was, admittedly, less than helpful. Still, your soggy shirt is the least of your problems when Jake comes knocking on the door.
“You okay?” You open the door and show him the shirt in the sink. There’s a low laugh that comes from him. “I have a laundry room- here, give me that, I’ll go put a stain remover on it and let it sit for the night.” You don’t exactly know why, but you are kind of shocked that he offers. You had imagined he would just turn and leave you to your failed attempts, but instead he’s been rather compassionate to your cause. Though, it doesn’t take him long to mock you for your misfortune. You then remind him that this was his wine that was causing the problems after all.
Jake then proceeds to ask you about each song that comes up over the speakers for the remainder of the night. He surprises you with his questions on specific words, asking what they mean and making you laugh as you play dictionary for the man. When the bottle is finally empty, the two of you have sprawled out on the couch, the ceiling having transformed into some form of entertainment for the two of you.
When you try to stifle a yawn, the blonde slowly pushes from the couch with a low grunt. It makes your stomach surge. Being in close quarters with a man like this was one thing: the sound he’d made was a completely other itinerary. One you never planned on following. The only plans you wanted to follow were the contractual ones you’d signed off on the other afternoon. The way that Jake was standing in front of you, holding out a hand to help you off the couch was making that more difficult. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed, popstar.” Drowsily, you take his assistance, but his strength pulls you up way harder than you were anticipating, leaving you flying into his chest and leaving him to subsequently catch you. When he does, you’re only in a fit of giggles as he holds on tight, feeling how his breath falters as he tries to return it to its regular rate. “You think that’s funny?” He smirks, moving the two of you now in some makeshift waddle, arms locked around you. His breath comes hot over your shoulder as you move through his house - his mom’s house - and toward a room. When the door creaks open, another damn near erotic sound leaves the athlete behind you. You know you didn’t cause that sound (even if you kind of wished you had). That was the work of one disassembled queen bed frame against the wall of the guest bedroom.
#top gun maverick#top gun#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin#jake seresin fanfiction#jake seresin fic#hangman fanfiction#hangman fanfic#hangman x reader#hangman#hangman top gun#top gun maverick hangman#hangman top gun maverick
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Melt the ice | Natasha "Phoenix" Trace
Pairing: Natasha "Phoenix" Trace x fem!Mitchell!reader (Penny and Mav's daughter. use of y/n and she has a nickname: Ice Queen)
Word count: 1.4k
Warnings: flirting, teasing, allusions to smut but nothing happens, use of pet names (pretty girl, princess), just Nat proving that she knows how to flirt better than anyone, and... implied rank kink
A/N: Listen I just... I just saw this gif and went feral, okay? that's it. enjoy this!
People called her Ice Queen.
For Nat, she was just Penny's older daughter.
Who also happened to be her boss's daughter. Mav, contrary to popular belief, wasn't a giant ogre who pushed every single possible suitor away from her. He knew that his daughter was capable of defending herself. She didn't need him to rescue her.
Not that she needed to be rescued.
Y/n worked as a waitress at the Hard Deck, and she was good at it. Always with a smile, she worked the night away, walking around the bar like it was her world and the rest of the mortals in there were just living in it. She had a routine: she worked her shift, and once it was over, she always sat on the same table, nursing a cold beer, while checking her phone and answering texts here and there.
Having a routine meant that everyone and their mother knew where to find her. Nat had seen lots of aviators trying to flirt with her, and also watched them walk away after a crash and burn. She didn't seem to be interested in aviators.
Or men, in general.
But that was only Natasha's theory.
There were only two aviators that hadn't tried their luck yet.
Hangman and Phoenix.
Hangman was a bit scared of the consequences if he ended up having a thing with Mav's daughter. He didn't want to be the object of Mav's wrath.
Phoenix didn't know if y/n was into girls, and she didn't want to put her in an uncomfortable position. But the more she watched her, the more she knew that she needed to try her luck. At least once, before she regretted it.
And tonight was the night.
"Y/n," Hangman says while sitting next to you, his voice making you lift your eyes from your phone. "You look beautiful tonight."
"I'm wearing a white shirt and jeans, I've been working all afternoon, I'm sweaty as fuck, and I reek of alcohol from that drink I spilled earlier." You rant, dropping the phone on the table. "How does any of that make me look beautiful?"
"It's your natural beauty, sweetheart," Jake smirks, winking at you.
You lean over the table, getting close to him. Jake's eyes widen a bit in surprise, as if the abrupt proximity wasn't something he was expecting. "Hangman, hell will freeze before I get involved with someone like you."
Jake sighs, scratching his eyebrow, and presses his lips into a thin line. "Message received loud and clear. Sorry to disturb you."
You chuckle to yourself, watching him walk away with his pride hurt, and his head low.
"Nothing?" Bob questions the pilot when he gets to the "Dagger table," as they call it.
"Crash and burn, buddies. That girl is an Ice Queen."
Natasha watches you, wondering how a nice girl like you doesn't get involved with any of these pilots. Well, he understands how you turned down guys like Jake. But you turned down Bob. Bob. The nicest guy to ever walk this earth. Maybe you're not into guys after all. But he has heard Mav and Penny talk about your ex and how much of a dick he was... Things aren't adding up.
But one thing is clear. Natasha Trace is not going to leave the Hard Deck tonight before trying her luck with you. She’s been waiting and waiting for you to show a sign that maybe you’re into girls, too. But she can’t wait anymore. Not even a second. And if you don’t give her the answer she’s looking for, she’s going to have to find out herself.
Grabbing Mickey’s tequila shot, Natasha chugs it down in a second and gets up from her tool.
"Woah, what was that for?" Mickey laughs, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.
"Liquid courage."
Bob frowns, and then he understands what she's meaning. "Oh my god, finally! Go get her."
Nat grabs her beer, eyeing you up and down before looking at the other Daggers. "Be right back, guys. I'm gonna melt the ice."
Jake and Rooster look at each other while Nat approaches the young Mitchell. "Fifty bucks says she doesn't get her."
Rooster smirks, and nods. "She will get her. Just wait."
"Do you know something we don't, Rooster?" Payback inquires, sitting on the stool that was previously occupied by Nat.
"Natasha is smooth, guys. She's gonna make her swoon."
"Hey, y/n," Nat says while sitting down. You look at her, smiling.
"Hi, Nat. What brings you to my lonely and cold table?" You joke, sliding your phone into your pants.
"Cold?"
You chuckle, sighing. "I hear what you all call me. Ice Queen."
Nat shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “That’s what happens to a girl when she has a bit of criteria.”
“Do you think I’m an Ice Queen, Natasha?” You ask her, twisting the beer in your hands.
“Nah. You’re just surrounded by idiots,” she says before changing the topic. “Hey, do you want to go shopping with me this weekend? I’m tired of always hanging out with the guys.”
You grin, delighted by the idea of going out with her. She’s really fun, and you haven’t had the occasion to meet her. “Yeah, sure! I don’t hang out with many girls around here either.”
“Yeah, there’s not a lot. And most of them are either married or have kids, so they don’t have that much free time.” She stops talking when she watches you yawn, covering your mouth. “I’m sorry, am I boring you?”
You shake your hand quickly, feeling bad. “No! No, of course not. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired, that’s all.”
“Oh, right,” Nat smirks, leaning back on her chair and uncrossing her legs, making herself bigger. “It must be tiring to be as pretty as you are.”
And right then and there, the Ice Queen herself melts down like a popsicle in mid July. “Oh dear, I’m not that pretty.”
“Believe me. You’re breathtaking.”
You press a hand to your cheek, afraid that she might notice how warm they feel. “Woah, Nat. Did you have too much to drink?”
She shakes her head, licking her lips slowly, her eyes never darting from your own. “No, I just like to see you all shy and cute.”
Suddenly, you feel hot. Too hot. And not only that, but the way she’s looking at you makes you feel like you're the hottest person on this planet, rivaling one of those Victoria Secret angels. And maybe that’s why you decide to follow her little game. “You got me all shy and cute; what are you going to do about it?”
She leans over the table, her fingertips brushing with yours, softly, tantalizingly, sending shivers straight down to your core. “I have a few ideas... but none of them I can put into practice here.”
You swallow, feeling your breathing accelerate every time her fingertips touch your skin. It burns in the most delicious of ways, and you find yourself thinking how those strong hands might feel in other places.
You mimic her movements, leaning over the table and being so close to her that you don’t need to raise your voice above a whisper for her to hear you. “W-why not?”
The space between you two is so small that when she speaks, her nose touches yours. “I don’t think Penny would let me enter her bar again if she saw me finger-fucking her precious little girl.”
The wanton moan you let out goes unnoticed by everyone thanks to the loud music and the talking of the other customers. “N-nat…”
“Want me to get you out of here, pretty girl?” She offers, wanting your full consent before she takes you to her home.
“Yes, Lieutenant.” You nod quickly, and Nat has to stop for a second before speaking again.
“Call me that again, and I’ll give you anything you want.” She mumbles, getting a few dollars from her pocket and leaving them on the table.
“I only want you, Lieutenant. I’ve been waiting for you all this time.” You confess, and you find in the way Nat smiles at you the promise of a night to remember.
“Oh, princess… The things I’m gonna do with you.” She grabs your hand, leading you out of the bar, ignoring the loud cheers of her friends, Hangman's annoyed expression while he pays Rooster, and how Maverick and Penny look at you, winking.
@purplevortexx
@shrimping-for-all
@pono-pura-vida
@xoxabs88xox
#top gun maverick#top gun x reader#top gun maverick x reader#natasha trace x reader#natasha phoenix trace#natasha 'phoenix' trace#natasha phoenix trace x reader#natasha x y/n#natasha x reader#natasha trace#phoenix x reader#top gun natasha#top gun phoenix#top gun phoenix x reader#top gun maverick fanfic#top gun fanfiction#top gun
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last to know | ch. 1: haunted dreams
pairing: jungkook x (f) reader / kim woosung x (f) reader
summary: you and jeongguk got together at 16 years old, married at 20, and divorced at 21. what was once love ever after turned into nothing but pain and unfulfilled dreams. you keep going despite the pain in your heart that never really went away, until one day, jungkook comes back— to seoul and in your life.
general story tags: divorce au, childhood friends, angst (who am i without it), hurt & eventual comfort, kind of a slow burn, OC is an adopted child in this fic, a lot of flashbacks later on because context is important; and the others that a lot of people seem to dislike: a love triangle and a LOT of miscommunication. look away if this isn't your thing. tags and warnings will be updated as we go along with each chapter!
warnings: nothing really; well, maybe except seokjin's intrusive thoughts about an axe k*ller— but it's tame, i promise! oh, and jeongguk gets slapped. be nice and let me know if i miss anything! there's a mini flashback in this chapter in all italics marked by a ♥!
word count: 3,900
author's note: i am very nervous about this first chapter because it's been A WHILE since i last wrote ~something~ so anyway! here you go, enjoy!
fic masterlist
New York, 2023
It was right when the DJ turned up the volume that Jeongguk felt the impact of a palm hitting him square in the jaw.
Jeongguk doesn’t know what stimuli to focus on: should it be the loud music blasting through the speakers or the sting of the slap that he probably deserved. It doesn’t take his brain too long to piece together what just happened 5 seconds ago. He knows what’s coming and he is also very much aware that he did see it coming sooner or later.
“Fuck you, Jeongguk,” Ae-cha grits through her teeth. Jeongguk swears she’s about to cry, tears threatening to spill amidst the blue glow of the lights above them. “We are dating, how can you say that—”
“We sleep together when it’s convenient for the both of us, Ae-cha.” Jeongguk downs the rest of his scotch, along with the remnants of his pride. “I never said anything about dating.”
“You are such a jerk!” Ae-cha turns a shade of red, tears in the corners of her eyes. It isn’t the first time Jeongguk has ever made a woman cry, but oddly enough, he doesn’t feel that hollow ache in his chest; the one he felt the first time he made that mistake. He should feel bad, he thinks, but then again, he also doesn’t.
Does that make him a bad person?
“I didn’t listen to my friends when they said you were trouble. I wanted to prove them wrong—” Ae-cha starts, but Jeongguk cuts her off.
“Why? Why do you have to?”
Ae-cha’s eyes grow wide as she watches Jeongguk stare at his empty glass.
“You should have listened to your friends.” Jeongguk says, matter-of-fact. Ae-cha scoffs and Jeongguk knows now is the right time to probably shut up.
But he’s a jerk, just like Ae-cha says he was.
“I told you right from the beginning… we just use each other because we’re both lonely,” Jeongguk feels his throat turn dry, “I think somewhere along the way, you misread my actions.”
Ae-cha doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. She closes her eyes for a minute and Jeongguk looks at her, waiting for her rebuttal. Or maybe a second slap. Whichever comes first.
Ae-cha speaks in a voice so low, it’s perplexing how Jeongguk is still able to pick up her words— “Your problem is that you do not care about other people’s feelings, Jeongguk. You only care about your own.”
Jeongguk tightens his jaw; now he feels his heart aching.
“You hurt people. You ruin good things. You keep your heart under tight wraps and you do not let anyone in. If you keep that up, you will end up with no one.”
Jeongguk stares at Ae-cha, wanting to say something, but failing completely. Maybe this is what he gets for sleeping with a psychologist— a rude awakening.
Before he can say anything, Ae-cha turns on her heel and walks away. Jeongguk remains at the bar for a bit more until the song changes into a slower tempo. It feels like a chore walking back to the table where his best friend Yoongi was— like walking on lead.
“That must’ve hurt—” Yoongi starts, fingers reaching out to the peanut bowl and putting some into his mouth. Jeongguk plops down on the chair with a sigh. “What a shitty night,” he quips.
Yoongi hums, “And whose fault is that?”
Jeongguk looks at his best friend in annoyance. Yoongi chuckles, putting more peanuts into his mouth. “What’d she say?”
“That I’m a jerk who hurts people and ruins good things.”
“Is it true?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t think I need to do that, kid.” Yoongi concludes, glancing at Jeongguk. He takes a swing out of his beer bottle before continuing, “You know damn well the answer to that.”
Jeongguk clicks his tongue and takes the beer from Yoongi. He takes a swig himself, letting their conversation die out by drowning it into the same old music he’s used to hearing almost every night.
Jeongguk comes home to his apartment that night, tipsy and his heart in pieces. Walking into the living room, the corner of his eyes catch the stack of luggages already packed and loaded. He didn’t feel like sitting on the couch so he opts to sit on the floor, his fingers grazing the carpet absentmindedly. A beat later, he allows his heart to bleed once more— as he always seems to do every single night for the past few years. Leaning his head back against the edge of his couch, he cries himself to sleep, wishing, praying the ache in his chest—and the words you hurt people—would go away in the morning.
Seoul, 2023
Your eyes try to take in the art in front of you— The Artist’s Garden in Giverny, Claude Monet, 1900. Usually, many emotions overwhelm your system and you cannot help but discuss any painting with the next person willing to listen.
And once upon a time, you were enthusiastic about your craft and love for the arts. It was almost always too easy, too often that you could come up with pieces to add to your gallery. But that hasn’t happened in over a year— maybe more than.
In the stillness of the room you are in, you hear light footsteps coming closer to where you are. You keep your eyes trained on Monet’s painting until your brother Seokjin sits beside you.
For a while, you and Seokjin just sit beside each other— no words, only a quiet understanding that close siblings seem to share and empathize with. Seokjin’s parents adopted you when you were eleven; a year after you and your parents met a horrible car collision. You are five months older than Seokin, yet that fact doesn't deter him at all, and more often than not, he usually ends up acting like your older brother. When he first met you at the orphanage, he grew fond of you real quick— already asking his parents when he’d be allowed to play with you. He doesn’t mind that you were once part of the system, that you are his half-sister— not really. He never treated you any differently. He loves you with his whole heart and he will always protect you.
This is why he also cannot stand stillness at times, especially when it involves you.
“Have you been waiting long?” Seokjin asks.
You have a habit of kicking your right foot into the air when you don’t really know how to respond right away. You take a sharp inhale before shaking your head. Seokjin follows your line of sight— you were still looking at the painting.
“Does it make you feel better? Looking at this, I mean…”
Seokjin’s question makes you look at him instead, like you just realized he had been sitting there this whole time and you never knew. He meets your eyes, sees the sadness in them. He will always know no matter how hard you try to hide it.
“Happy birthday, ____”
You don’t respond.
“Taehyung and the others are waiting down at the cafe. Do you still want to meet them?”
You nod once before giving Seokjin a smile, “Of course.”
Seokjin slides into the gap between the two of you and instinctively, you rest your head on his shoulder as he envelops you in a side hug. He rubs a hand up and down your arm before planting a light kiss on top of your head.
“I know it doesn’t get any easier, ____. But I just want you to know that I love you… We all love you.”
With shaky breath and tears that threaten to spill from your eyes, you whisper, “I know.”
As Seokjin gets into the driver’s seat, you hand him an envelope. Seokjin has an inkling what it is, but he asks you anyway as he squints his eyes at you.
“What is that supposed to be?”
You push the envelope towards him a bit more, just humming, “It’s the last payment.”
Seokjin rolls his eyes as he presses the ignition. He doesn’t take the envelope, “Oh come on, Seokjin, just take it.”
“And for the nth time, you shouldn’t have to pay for something I willingly helped you out for. We’re siblings, for gods sake, ____.”
You lower your hands, setting the envelope on your lap. Eyes cast down you mumble, “I know that. I was able to sell a painting again after a long time and it felt good… But I already told you this before— I’d feel better if you just please take this.”
Seokjin lets out a sigh— usually he makes that sound when he’s already defeated.
“Please don’t tell me you’re giving me all the money you worked hard for,” Seokjin starts and you shake your head as soon as you heard the word all. “No, not at all, I— I had some saved up and the rest of it will be for rent.”
You look at Seokjin who still looks suspicious. You playfully roll your eyes and Seokjin sees you smile for the first time that night.
“I promise.”
Seokjin sets his eyes on the parking lot, placing his hands on the steering wheel, “Fine—” you squeal as soon as he gives in and you place the envelope in the glove compartment. “—but this is the last time, all right?”
“Yes sir, that’s the last of the payments,” you respond a tone higher than your usual. Seokjin chuckles as he sets the gear into reverse.
“Are you sure you don’t need any help moving some of your stuff?” Seokjin asks as you fasten your seatbelt.
“Not really, I think I can manage just fine.”
You expect Seokjin to be backing up the car right now, yet he remains unmoving. You chuckle.
“I’ll be fine, Seokjin. Movers will help me move some of the heavier stuff.”
“Listen, ____, I was beyond ecstatic when you told me you were moving out of… there. I just don’t understand why you need to move in somewhere else when you can just stay with me.”
“Seokjin—”
“And it’s not like you have any problems with money or anything, I mean, you are doing okay right?”
“I am,” you answer with a smirk.
“Yah, don’t give me that look, ____. I’m serious, I really don’t understand why you have to stay somewhere else.”
“I already told you. I don’t need a big apartment, I just need a place to sleep. And isn’t it weird if we live together— people are going to think we’re co-dependent.”
Seokjin opens his mouth to argue, but you cut him off, “And I know what you’re going to ask next. Why did I choose to move in an apartment on the other side of the city? And I already told you a dozen times— I need to learn how to be on my own for real this time. And it’s much cheaper compared to all the other apartments in the city center, I mean— have you seen Seoul?”
“Don’t get cheeky with me, woman. Sure yeah, valid, but have you met your neighbors?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” you ask confidently.
“Well, they could be an ax killer or something—”
“Or they could just be an ordinary person with a normal life, Seokjin.” You laugh at your brother’s catastrophic thoughts. You completely understand where he’s coming from— he just wants to protect you.
“That’s only hypothetical,” Seokjin snarks as he stops at a stoplight. You lay your hand on top of his on the console.
“I know you’re worried about me—”
“I am, you brat.”
“And I will forever be grateful… but I need to do this,” you reply calmly, almost like you were whispering. “I hope you understand.”
“I’m trying, ____. It’s not exactly easy to do that when you’re not giving me the grace to understand exactly why you need to do this… when you can just stay with me. The house is too big. And the cafe is right next door!”
“And we will get to that someday… but not right now, hm?” Seokjin sighs in defeat. “I will call you every single night if that will make you feel better.”
“Yah, those kinds of things have to come from the heart, not because you’re forced to do it just to appease me.”
“I’m not… I actually really want to talk to my little brother every day,” you tease as Seokjin scoffs.
“Fine, you have to call me every day, okay? Promise?”
You grin wide, “I promise.”
“And I am not your little brother, we’re only 5 months apart.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m older than you.”
Seokjin grumbles under his breath but a smirk was on his lips, “And you’re always going to be my brat.”
The coffee shop you and Seokjin run together has been passed down by your parents. Ever since Seokjin could utter the word, “coffee,” everyone in the family knew he was destined to manage the coffee chains. Even though you were technically the older one, your parents were more lenient and allowed you to forge your own path. Seokjin understood that and he wouldn’t have it any other way despite your pleas to help him with all the major business work. It has been a few years since the original coffee shop in Seongsu-dong expanded into different branches across Seoul. When you flew back from New York, you immediately put up your own artist studio right beside the cafe. Seokjin even pitched in on the idea of a gallery where people can choose to paint while drinking their favorite latte. Four years later, people now come for the art displays and occasional indie music performances, at times poetry nights.
Four years later, you were also making a name for yourself as an artist. Seokjin once told you you were a jack of all trades, master of everything because you were crafty with your hands— painting, dress-making, cooking. And you brush him off every single time.
Because if anything, one of your greatest weaknesses was believing whether or not you were good enough for anything or anyone.
Seokjin opens the door for you as you both enter the coffee shop. As soon as you come in, you are greeted by your long-time friends— Taehyung, Hoseok, and Jimin. You met Taehyung and Jimin in New York because you were all fine arts students. Hoseok came into the picture as Taehyung’s lover not long after the three of you came back home to Seoul.
“There she is, our little star,” Taehyung greets you with his signature boxy smile. His arms are wide open, ready to engulf you in a tight embrace. Jimin and Hoseok follow suit, each with a kiss on the cheek.
“It’s about time you show your pretty face, ____. It’s been ages since we last saw you,” Jimin quips.
“But I text and call you guys almost every day,” you defend. Hoseok pushes a plate of strawberry cake towards you and adds, “It’s not the same as seeing you in the flesh, ____. You look amazing, as always.”
“Thank you, Hobi. That’s reassuring, considering the fact that I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in ages.”
“Too many commissions?” Jimin asks.
“More than that, the gallery show at Seojung Art is in six months, and I still haven’t started on my piece.”
“Do you already know what you’re going to create?” Taehyung asks as he takes a bite of his croissant.
“That’s the problem… inspiration isn’t coming. It’s a bother,” a frown now evident across your face. Jimin holds your hand.
“You know you’re really talented, right, ____? You’ll pull through.”
“Thanks, Jiminie,” you smile at him.
“Maybe one of the customers’ paintings here could ignite a spark?” Taehyung starts. “I mean, sometimes the best kind of inspiration hits when you least expect it.”
“You’re right. I’ll sleep on it tonight… if I do get to sleep,” you chuckle, but they all know it’s more than that.
Seokjin comes back to the table with your hot mint tea— a drink that almost always helps you fall asleep.
“What’s with the dead atmosphere, guys? It’s been a while since we all got together like this and you’re all moping,” Seokjin jokes. He has always been the life of the party contrary to his very introverted nature.
“It really is a good night, isn’t it?” Taehyung replies as he eats up the last bit of his pastry. “Hoseok and I actually enjoyed the night breeze on the way here because it was just the right amount of chilly.”
“Always the romantic, this one,” Hoseok laughs.
Jimin carefully watches you as you sip your tea in silence. “Are you all settled to move in tomorrow, ____? Do you need help?”
“I’ll be fine, Jimin. I don't have as much stuff to pack, anyway.”
“Oh yeah that’s right, tomorrow’s moving day. Are you excited?” Taehyung jumps a bit on his seat, suddenly interested in the conversation.
“Not really, I mean, it’s going to be pretty boring moving stuff around, don’t you think?”
“But it’s also the start of a new beginning.” Taehyung supplies.
You smile after taking a bite of the cake, “That is very true.”
Seokjin opens his mouth to talk, but then closes it. He changes his mind anyway, “Her neighbors don’t own axes or something, right Taehyung?”
Taehyung giggles, “I don’t know, hyung, It’s not like I went into every apartment on her floor.”
Seokjin turns pale and Taehyung laughs. Taehyung used to live on the same floor as the one you’re about to move into— before he moved in with Hoseok.
“Seokjin is so worried about the neightbors that he couldn’t stop ranting about it on the way here,” you chuckle. “But as I told him, I’ll be fine.” You placed emphasis on the word fine as you held Seokjin’s hand for reassurance under the table.
“Are you telling that to us or to yourself?” Seokjin starts. He has a way of being so upfront with you that there were moments when it became the cause of your fights and misunderstandings. Seokjin sometimes does not know when to stop, yet you know he always means well. You love and dislike him for it at the same time.
“Hyung…” Jimin readily interjects.
“It’s okay, Jimin…” you put your fork down and paused before looking at Seokjin. “I am telling all of you and myself… that I will be fine. I am honestly really thankful that you’re all here now to keep me company.”
You’ve been saying the word “fine” and “okay” a whole lot that night— you started to doubt if you really are or if Seokjin was right— that you’re just trying to convince yourself of it.
“Are you holding up okay, noona?” Hoseok asks, worried.
“Of course—” you take a sharp exhale before continuing, “It also means that time is helping me get past it. And I am okay with that.”
None of your friends respond.
“We love you always, ____. You’ll always have us.” Taehyung said.
“Happy birthday, noona,” Jimin smiles.
Your friends sing you their greetings as Hoseok brings out their surprise birthday cake and flowers. As you try not to cry at their gesture, you try to give them the most genuine smile you can muster. Yet in your heart, you know it’s not enough to convince them. Or yourself.
♥ “You do not get to tell me shit because I have done everything for you—”
“I didn’t ask for any of this, Jeongguk—”
“And yet you still came here with me. If you are really that resentful about moving here… about marrying me— then why did you stay? Why are you still here?”
“I never said I resented you.”
“Yeah? Well it feels like it. You make me feel like shit whenever I can’t help you! God I— you know what? I’m done. I can’t do this with you anymore.”
“W-what do you mean you can’t—”
“—I’m saying we should end this. I want a divorce.”
Yoongi gently shakes Jeongguk’s shoulder to wake him up. “We’re almost landing, Jeongguk-ah,” he whispers.
Jeongguk slightly jerks from his sleep. His body feels heavy, his brain foggy but at the same time trying to recover from the dream he just had.
“It’s the same dream again, isn’t it?” Yoongi asks, knuckles turning white as he holds on to the arm rests. Turbulence has always been a bitch— well, at least to Yoongi. Jeongguk doesn’t answer him; instead, he looks out the plane window, thinking the plane couldn’t land fast enough.
“You keep calling out for her, you know? When you dream, I mean. Did you know that?”
That gets Jeongguk’s attention. He bites down on his lip ring before shaking his head, “No. I didn’t know.”
From baggage claim until Jeongguk and Yoongi exit through arrivals, there has been nothing but silence. Yoongi notices how Jeongguk’s hands couldn’t keep still: he’d take them in and out of his pockets. As they walk to the car that awaits them, Yoongi asks once more— “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?
Jeongguk lets out a long breath before looking at his best friend: “I will be.”
“This is the last of the boxes, ma’am.” One of the movers holds a medium-sized box. “Where do you want me to put it?”
You get up from one of the boxes you were opening, “Oh, that’s okay, I’ll take it. Thank you.”
“I just need you to sign one more thing before we wrap up.”
“Of course,” you take the pen and sign on the dotted line.
“Have a good day,” The movers gave you a small bow before they went on their way. Looking around the room, you let out a sigh. The apartment is bigger than you initially thought but you are happy about that. There’s an extra room spacious enough to set up a painting studio.
Your eyes land on the last box that was given to you by the mover. Inside it are memories that you don’t feel ready to touch just yet. Despite everything else scattered around your room, you pick up the box and shove it into the back corner of your closet. Maybe someday you’ll have the heart to open it again, but right now, it stays out of sight.
You were about to start opening one of the other boxes when a soft, melodic voice comes up behind you— “Hey baby.”
You turn around quickly, your heart and body naturally gravitating to the owner of the voice: Kim Woosung, your boyfriend.
“Hi,” you softly respond, heart happy upon seeing your boyfriend’s smile. He sets the take-out bags down to hug you. Woosung then gives you a long kiss on your forehead, mumbling, “I missed you.”
You don’t lift your eyes to meet his right away, but your hands reach out for his as he cradles your face. When you finally look at him, he gives you that warm smile you have always loved. With Woosung, there is peace, the kind that secures your heart. As he aligns his forehead with yours, you feel all your worries melt away.
With Woosung, everything feels safe, so right.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Woosung apologizes. You shake your head gently and wrap your arms around his neck.
“You’re just in time.”
#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook scenarios#jungkook imagine#bts au#jungkook fic#bts jungkook#bts fanfiction#woosung x reader#jungkook angst#jungkook divorce au#jungkook fanfic#childhood friends#divorce au#mwillow: last to know
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Bad Day
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Pairing: Damon Salvatore x Plus size! Reader
Warnings: None
Description: You’re having a very bad day when Damon Salvatore decides to make it worse, but then maybe he also makes it much better.
It was one of those fucking days.
You know those days when everything just goes completely, spectacularly wrong?
You shouldn’t have even been surprised. Once you’d woken up and your favorite sweater had had cat puke on it, you should have given up there. But no - you just had to power through and continue your day.
You got a call right after breakfast that your car payment hadn’t gone through, and now you’d have to pay a late fee you couldn’t afford. While running errands, you’d managed to knock over your Starbucks in the middle of the aisle of Target, forcing you to have to buy another coffee. And once back home, you were greeted with a passive aggressive note from your neighboring apartment asking you to close your door “just a tad quieter”.
By the time you had to get ready for work, your ‘fucks to give’ meter was dangerously low.
You quickly tossed on your uniform shirt and broke several traffic laws driving to the Grill, because of course you were late. At a red light, you tossed your messy Y/H/C hair into a ponytail, griping at your reflection as some asshole in a sports car cut you off. Really? Who the hell drove sports cars in Mystic Falls? You’d only ever seen one person do that, and that was Damon Salvatore.
You scanned the license plate. Then you squinted to see inside the drivers seat and swore loudly. Damon fucking Salvatore. And he waggled his pale fingers at you before peeling off at top speed.
He was there at the Grill when you finally clocked in, tossing apologies at your manager and ignoring Matt’s teasing grins as you settled behind the bar and counted up your liquor. The day bartender threw you a goodbye and a sympathetic look.
Once finished your count, you sauntered over to Damon, who was enjoying a scotch on the rocks with a self righteous grin on his face.
“You cut me off.” you said, placing your hands on the bar.
He shrugged. “Did I?”
Damon had been drinking at the bar of the Grill long before you worked there, but somehow after you started you felt as if he was suddenly there all the time. You’d had an easy relationship at first, due to your infamiliarity. He was a flirt, you were determined to make good money. You flirt with Damon, he gives you a twenty on top of his tab. That was how it had always been for you, and for the other bartenders before you.
But something had changed, and you remembered the day that it did almost as well as you remembered Damon’s drink order.
It had been a slow night, with only Damon and his buddy Alaric holding down the fort. Most of the other drink orders came from tables, and those were practically empty too. You elected to pass the time with Damon and Ric, talking about nothing and everything. That quickly nosedived into a pissing contest between the two men and which one could do a handstand when you mentioned offhand that you were able to perform a fancy little trick, and that had been your downfall.
“There’s no way!” Ric was crying, his words slurring out of the side of his mouth. “You prove it right now.”
You folded your arms across your chest and shrugged, your grin too confident. Damon’s eyes were laser focused, and he took a long drag of his scotch, watching you intently.
“Don’t tease us…”he said finally.
You sighed, and cursed yourself.
Normally, you wouldn’t mind showing this particular party trick off for customers. It happened sometimes on raucous nights, when people were coming from or on their way to parties, looking to boost their mood and spend their money. It felt good to do it and see the looks of awe on their faces, sometimes even lust.
But you were feeling very self conscious at the prospect of doing it for Damon Salvatore.
You couldn’t deny he was attractive. His face, yeah, but his swagger was practically debilitating. He had the confidence of a much older man, which was funny considering you were the same age. There weren’t guys your age acting like him, of that you were sure.
It fueled your desire toward him as much as your flirtatious little routine did.
But Damon was always on the arm of the skinniest, hottest girl in the room. He’d chased after Elena Gilbert for a while, and she was less than half your size. There was no way his flirting had anything more to do with you than you wished. He liked to have fun, plain and simple.
Ric was slamming his fists on the table now, demanding you not to leave them hanging.
You mustered up all your courage - they knew what you looked like, you thought. They were asking you to do it.
So you lifted yourself up onto the bar in a much more fluid motion than you might have ever expected from yourself, and in one easy rotation you were doing a handstand.
You could feel the fabric of your shirt rising up, but you ignored it. You carefully started placing the majority of your weight on your left hand.
You could hear Ric and a few customers oohinh and aahing at you, and it spurred you on. You lifted your right hand into the air, and separated your legs a bit. And then you were doing a handstand on one hand.
You held the pose as Ric hollered and cheered, and then easily flipped backwards and onto your feet again before jumping back behind the bar, standing once more on your own two feet.
“Am I drunk or did I just witness cirque de soleil?” Ric asked.
“You’re drunk.” You told him, as you wiped off the spot on the bar where your feet had been. “But you did witness something pretty cool.”
Your eyes flitted over to Damon, curious to see if he had any kind of reaction. What you saw stopped you in your tracks.
His eyes were dark - darker than you’d ever seen them. There was something hungry in their expression, like you were dessert and he had saved plenty of room. His lips were covered by his tongue as it slowly lapped over it, before he closed his mouth and swallowed.
“Let’s do a shot.” Damon decided, reaching out and placing his hand on top of yours. “I’m buying.”
“Shots!” Ric called, and you internally groaned. He definitely did not need another one.
But you were glued into Damon’s atmosphere, and you watched as his thumb stroked along your hand. “You want me to do a shot?” you asked.
“That was hard work you did up there.” He encouraged. “You must be thirsty.”
You flushed, hoping Ric couldn’t see the effect he was having on you. When you glanced over, he was exclaiming happily as a Bruce Springsteen song came on, completely ignoring you. Your blush must have been crimson, and your cheeks felt as if they were on fire.
Damon’s thumb was still marking its path on your skin. You needed to get away fast.
“I’ll get those shots.”
“Sounds good.” Damon said.
“I’ll need my hand to pour them.”
He let out a sound of displeasure, but withdrew his hand from yours and you robotically turned away, pouring three shots of Bulleit bourbon. If your hand was shaking and you spilled one, that was between you and the security camera.
You, Ric and Damon cheersed, tapping your glasses on the bar top before throwing the alcohol back. Ric sputtered and coughed, and you giggled as he tried to compose himself.
“Well that’s me!” he said, standing up and lurching dangerously to the left. “I’m tapping out.” He went to put his card down, but as usual Damon stopped him. He started waving his card in your direction, but you made no move to grab it.
“I don’t even bother running you up a tab anymore. Damon’s always got it covered.” You admired that about Damon. A lot of people thought of him as kind of shitty, but you knew better. He was loaded, and he always spent the majority of that money on other people. Even after Elena had rejected him for good, he still came in and covered her tab from time to time. He’d done it for all of their friends. He’d even done it for Matt - despite their apparently rocky history.
Ric sighed in defeat. “Me and my teacher’s salary are very thankful.”
Once Ric had left, it was you and Damon. Alone.
Never before had you felt so nervous serving him by yourself. Whatever you’d seen in his eyes after your little show had altered the atmosphere between the two of you. It thrilled you and scared you all at once.
“How come you never told me you were so flexible?” Damon asked, as you cleaned Ric’s empty glasses. He hadn’t taken his eyes off you, and you were avoiding meeting his gaze like the plague.
You shrugged. “I didn’t realize you had any interest in my level of flexibility.”
“If it’s about you, I’m interested.”
Since when did he say things like that to you? God, and if his words didn’t just send shockwaves straight to your core. Had you stepped into an alternate reality where Damon Salvatore was horny for you? No, that couldn’t be right. He was a flirt, and he was probably still heartbroken over Elena picking his brother.
“Damon.” you said finally, meeting his eyes. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
He frowned. “And why not?”
You gave him a knowing look. “I know you.” He was looking for a rebound, and you wanted more than that.
His frown deepened, and within a few moments Damon had gone from sad to furious. There was something working beneath the surface, and he looked….hurt.
“Well, fuck you very much.”
He stalked out of the bar, and your jaw was on the floor. Never did you ever expect Damon to get mad when rejected. How many girls had said no or called him names or even slapped him while you’d watched, bemused, from your side of the bar? And every time he’d smiled or shaken his head. He’d thought it was funny. So what made you different?
The next time you’d seen him, he’d asked for a drink and didn’t say a word to you other than a hi, bye or check, please.
And then this morning he’d cut you off, as if he somehow knew you were having a shit day and wanted to make it even fucking worse, as only Damon Salvatore could do.
Which sucked, because you’d spent weeks wishing that he would man up and talk to you, and explain why he’d been so hurt that day. You’d spent weeks wanting to have Damon back, cracking jokes and flirting with you and being your best customer.
So you confronted him. It was going to be another slow night, and you more than had the time.
“You cut me off. And you did it on purpose.”
This got his attention. He looked up from his drink, his nostrils flaring.
“I cut you off because you’re not a very good driver.”
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, come on! I wasn’t even moving!”
“And yet, your inexperience was glaringly evident.” He downed the last of his scotch and shoved the glass toward you. “And I’ll take another whenever you’re ready to work.”
Oh, he had another thing coming if he thought he was going to speak to you like that! You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth and moved quickly to pour him a shot - you were on the clock after all, even though you’d much rather leave him hanging - but not the top shelf he was used to. Oh no, you were pouring him the cheap stuff.
You slammed the glass in front of him and slid it over, glaring. He gave as much as he got, giving you a wicked little smile before taking a sip.
And promptly spitting it out.
“What the fuck is that?” He asked, rising to his feet. He grabbed a handful of cocktail napkins and dabbed at what he’d spilled onto his shirt, but the damage was done.
“Oh, sorry, were you looking for something specific? Unless you specify, we typically just give customers the rail.”
You had no issue being bitchy bartender tonight. In fact, it was kind of fun to dish it out. And he deserved it for being a jerk.
“What the hell is your problem?” He yelled. “I cut you off. It happens. I’m kind of an asshole sometimes.”
You groaned in frustration. “What about the whole silent treatment for three weeks? I tell you I don’t want to sleep with you and you act like a child!”
He bristled violently at that, and then looked around for a moment. You weren’t really sure what he was doing until he grabbed Matt by the scruff of his neck and brought him around to your side of the bar.
“Y/N needs a fiver. You’ve got this covered, right?”
Matt sighed, but started cleaning pint glasses. You were about to protest when Damon began dragging you off, and Matt smiled apologetically.
“Just go with it! It’ll be a lot easier!” He tells you, and then he’s gone and you’re being dragged through the back of house and out the back door.
Once outside, Damon released his grip on your arm.
“What the hell are you doing?” You ask, incredulous. “I’ll get written up if I’m gone too long.”
“Look.” Damon says, ignoring your pleas. “You…you hurt my feelings that day, ok? You said something kind of mean, or implied it at least. But…I shouldn’t have handled it like that. I’m working on that stuff.”
“Mean?” You asked. “What did I say that was mean?”
He sighs. “Do I have to spell it out?”
You nodded. “All caps, double spaced, please.”
He laughed despite himself. “You basically implied that I am some womanizing creep that wanted to use you for your body.”
You blinked. And then blinked again.
“Ok, two things… the first: are you NOT a womanizing creep that uses women for their bodies?”
He raised his eyebrows, and his head tilted in thought. “Ok fair point.”
“And the second: that’s not what I meant at ALL.”
He brought a finger up to his mouth and placed the tip on his lower lip. “……you didn’t?”
“No. Damon, what I was trying to say was that I’m not your type, and that you probably just wanted me for a night because you were drunk. Which is great and fine, but that’s just not what I’m looking for. I want a relationship.”
There was confusion in his too-blue eyes, and he took a step toward you, entering your personal space.
“What do you mean you’re not my type?”
Oh lord, this was exactly what you didn’t want to talk about right now. You blew out a steadying breath, choosing your words carefully.
“The girls you date are usually of the same variety….both in looks and in size. So I just figured I wasn’t really your type.”
Damon’s entire face changed. Gone was the confusion and the mock anger, replaced with a quiet rage. He flexed his knuckles, and you involuntarily stepped back. He kind of looked pissed.
“You think I didn’t want to sleep with you because you’re not skinny?”
You struggled to get words out. “I mean, yes? In a way…”
“Are you fucking stupid?”
Did he really want an answer to that? Based on the dangerous look in his eyes, it was probably in your best interest to stay quiet.
He was now fully in your space, standing with you toe to toe. His arms were crossed over his chest, which was absolutely heaving. He was very, very angry and it was kind of turning you on.
“I have been throwing hints at you since the moment you started working here. I tip you double the amount I tip anyone else, I always call you pet names, I’m constantly flirting with you…and you really thought I just wanted one random night of fun because you were warm and available?”
His words were like shockwaves to your system. Now that you were faced with it, you realized that no other bartender had ever said anything good about Damon’s tips. Anytime you were switching shifts, he never called anyone else “darling” or “sweetheart”. He flirted, sure, but you were always different….
“Oh my god….” You said quietly. “Oh my god, I didn’t even realize…”
His hands were on your hips, and your senses were assaulted by him. He smelled good, clean with a hint of spice. His eyes were making you melt with the heat of his gaze. His fingers, too, worked over your skin in delicate little circles, and you knew that given the chance those fingers would drive you wild.
“I do want to sleep with you.” He says, and you sigh but he places a finger on your lips, shushing you.
“I do, and I’m not afraid to say it. I got…overwhelmed when you did that sexy little handstand, and I moved too fast. But what I really want is to take you on a date.”
You tentatively wrapped your arms around his neck, your forehead resting against his. “Yeah?” You ask.
“Yeah.” He breathes.
You don’t answer, just press your lips against his and let yourself drown in him. His lips are like brands against yours, and you can imagine steam coming off you both as your mouths battle for dominance, slotting and slanting over each other again and again until you’re breathless.
“Ok, but if you bring me here for our date there will be actual hell to p-“
He cut you off with another searing kiss. A promise.
So maybe it wasn’t such a bad day after all.
#plus size reader#plus size#plus size reader insert#Damon Salvatore#Damon Salvatore x plus size reader#bartender au#Matt Donovan#Alaric Altman#getting together#miscommunication#tvd#the vampire diaries#tvd fanfiction#fanfiction#plus size fanfiction
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For the zombie AU with Steve, maybe a night of survival in the cold? Reluctant cuddling, bonding?
YESSSS tysm for ur request i owe u my life
You pull your coat closed around your middle and shiver.
"Come here," Steve says, tucking the map under his arm.
You move to stand in front of him because he's slipped into his caretaking tone. A nice change. Usually he's just mildly annoyed.
He takes the zipper of your coat into his hand and scolds as he tries to fix it for the fiftieth time today. It's awful timing for it to break because it's cold as winter and you're on the road. A fire, as you've learned, would be a mistake. You close your eyes at the thought of such blistering warmth and listen to him cuss under his breath.
"Sorry," you say eventually. His quiet makes you nervous.
"Not your fault, just..." He gives up and steps away from you. "Bad timing."
You hide your hands in your sleeves.
"Maybe we should stop anyways. We're not exactly moving fast," he says bitterly.
You like the sound of that.
There's a tarp at the bottom of your backpack for occasions like this. You shed your bag and dig for it as Steve drops his own. It's not great, your having to carry blankets with you — they're heavy and take up a lot of space — but it's worse to freeze to death outdoors.
The sun creeps down low in the horizon lazily. You think it's as reluctant to go as you are for it to dissapear, its rays the only thing keeping the tip of your nose from freezing and falling off, no doubt.
You search for a stick. It's harder than it sounds.
Steve doesn't like walking along the road and you don't blame him, often there's cars or bikes weaving through the carcasses of cars picked clean, so you hide in the tree bank. A road block or something similar to the south must've broken recently, and the sound of engines revving at night gets more frequent. Better to stay hidden, even if finding somewhere to camp at night proves difficult.
The stick is necessary to build a makeshift tent, but the trees here are all spindly and thin-branched.
You return triumphant with something just long enough to keep the tarp from your bodies to find Steve's already found a better, chunkier stick and established a camp.
"Don't tell me, or anything. Just let me look for sticks for an hour."
"Your perception of time is getting worse."
"Some of us don't wear watches, 'cos we aren't rich, privileged babies."
He actually manages to laugh at that one, which is odd. It's one of the weakest insults you've ever thrown at him.
"That was bad," he says.
Oh. He's laughing at you.
"Jerk."
"What do you want? I have tinned peaches or a chocolate granola bar-"
"Obviously the granola-"
"With laxatative properties," he finishes, holding it between his fingers like a guy from the commercials. He shakes it at you enticingly.
"I'm not that hungry."
"Too bad."
You both sit near the makeshift tent in your heavy clothes. Steve stretches the blanket over your legs with a warning, "If you get peach juice on this I'm not gonna talk to you till Michigan."
You take the open can of peaches and pretend to tip it toward the blanket. "Don't tempt me, Harrington."
You have to keep talking because if you don't you'll cry. Really cry. Eating dinner like this from a can in a bed of leaf litter makes you want to cry. Every mouthful is sweet and sticky and your eyes get heavy with tears.
Steve understands what you're like by now. "I really fucking hate peaches," he says grandly. "I know you're surprised."
"That doesn't surprise me."
"No?"
"Do guys eat fruit?"
It's a talent.
"'Do guys eat fruit?'" he quotes seriously, pensive, like the answer escapes him.
He leans back against his rucksack and crosses his arms behind his head. He could be shooting the breeze, that's how relaxed Steve Harrington looks.
You laugh reluctantly into the can of peaches as you take a little sip of the juice and almost choke.
"I gotta eat that too, you know? Don't spit in it."
"Sorry," you say genuinely, wiping your sticky face with the back of your hand.
"You should be. Gross." He doesn't sound very bothered.
Steve eats his own peach slices with a shiver and tosses the can overhead. It goes really far, hitting the base of a tree across the way. You can imagine him in his gym clothes rather than what he wears now. Prim yellow shorts. Clean gym t-shirt with his name written in pen across the front.
"You can sleep first," he says.
You don't argue, sliding under the tarp with your blanket.
It's easier like this. The sun hasn't quite set but there's really nothing else to do. You'll sleep, Steve will wake you up in a couple of hours and then you'll swap. You'll wake Steve up when the sun rises, and another day on the road will begin.
The floor is very, very cold.
You try your best to stop from shivering and bring the blanket up to cover your face. The sun goes down and the last of its heat goes with it.
You stick it out. Complaining won't make it warmer. Steve doesn't even have a blanket.
"Y/N?" he whispers.
Leaves shift.
"Are you awake?"
You lift your head to see him where he sits at the opening of the 'tent'. It's difficult to make out his features now.
"I can hear your teeth," he says, eyes impassive as they scour your face.
"S-s-sorry," you shudder.
He stares at you for a while before stretching out his legs and shuffling across the dirt toward you. His hands are like ice as he works them under your shoulders and arms, dragging you into his lap.
You're tired and cold. "Steve," you grumble miserably, "what are you doing?"
"Body heat."
He doesn't stop until you're settled, slouching down so you can lean comfortably against his chest. He pulls the ends of your coats together tightly, readjusts your blanket, and covers your hands with both of his.
He yanks the tarp down and covers you with that, too, the both of your engulfed in plastic.
"What if it rains?" you ask.
"On our frozen corpses, you mean?"
You cringe and turn in his arms to hide your face in his scratchy jacket. His head drops toward his chest, chin gracing the top of your head. It's like a hug. It is a hug. You wrap your arms around his waist and try not to think about it.
It's not the most comfortable position in the world. Your back doesn't quite want to turn right, and his thigh probably hurts from your left elbow. Honestly, it's a pretty pathetic excuse for a hug.
"Why don't you just lie down with me?" you say into his coat.
"And get eaten?"
"There's no geeks around here."
"You say that," he murmurs, hands beginning a slow journey down the length of your back, "and then I'll wake up missing one of my legs."
Using the tarp as a blanket was a good idea. Already you feel warmer. Your face defrost where it's hidden in his front.
"Anymore stupid questions tonight?" Steve asks, voice low and amicable.
"Har-har," you mumble.
He rubs your back. Your eyes well up and you bite your lip to stop from crying. It's really, stupidly nice to be close to someone, to him. You miss comfort and music and eating enough, but you miss hugs most of all. You miss hugs from the people who loved you.
"Do you like me?" you whisper.
As soon as you've asked, you wish you hadn't. He doesn't answer, and you think Good, he didn't hear me.
"No more stupid questions," he says finally, tightening his grips on you. "Go to sleep."
-
more steve zombie!au
#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington#steve harrington x you#stranger things x reader#stranger things fic#stranger things#steve harrington x fem!reader#fem!reader#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#zombie!au#steve zombie!au
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