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multi-kpop-fanfics · 9 months

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Hotel Voluptas: Check(ed) In (You)

voluptas (latin; noun): pleasure, satisfaction, delight

pairing: idol!Mingyu x fem!reader

genre: smut, strangers to lovers!AU (sorta) - minors dni.

warnings: hotel sex, oral (both receiving) protected sex, mean dom!mingyu, degradation, mild jealousy (reader is a carat and her bias ain't gyu lmao), spanking, rough sex, multiple orgasms and positions, fingering, squirting, pussy slapping, dirty talk, use of petnames, mentions of threesome, mentions of panic attack (it's not actually happening dw)

word count: 4k

summary: you're just a regular tourist in Seoul who visits a regular hotel to spend your nights. except the hotel isn't your regular one - let alone its patrons and needs.

Author's note: this is an altered version of a mingyu dream i had a few nights ago msdnfsmnfs thank you to @playmetheclassics for coming up with the title and @idyllic-ghost for beta-reading this fic 💕

nsfw taglist: @rosecult @bibinnieposts @ovai @littlemisssarcastic21 @tinkerbell460 @romromthedeer @y00nzin0 @llsiriusminorisll @booyouwhore17 @lovelyhan @luvv4svt @novalpha @wonderfulshinee @foxinnie8 @sstarrysshit @threedalla @enhacolor @seuomo @spk93 @snoozeagustd @strawberryya

unable to tag: @kkakkameori @patisseriam @0717luv @coachukaishairband

©multi-kpop-fanfics, 2023. No reposting allowed. No translations allowed without permission.

“Good evening, sir Lee. The usual?”

“You know me, Hyun,” the man clad in total black clothing whips out his credit card to slide over the machine, the familiar sound of the accepted payment ringing like music to his ears.

“We’re all good! Here’s your key, sir.” The receptionist hands over the key to the unknown man and the latter heads off with a slight nod. A couple of bills is all he leaves behind for the receptionist - a thank you gift for his continuous discretion.

Lee Saejin. That was the registered name for the room reservation.

But it’s obviously a fake name - besides, nobody would really care if a random guy was staying over in a hotel surrounded by oddly well-kept rumors.

But the idol Kim Mingyu spending his nights off in this hotel, sleeping in the arms of a different person every time he visits? Press scandal worthy, to say the least.

So he settles with a silly fake name and escapes through the danger exit doors - not that he minds, when he gets much needed sexual relief after hellish weeks of tight-packed schedules.

All of the stressful thoughts are discarded once he steps into the room and he’s met with a gorgeous lady, sipping on what seems to be expensive champagne.

“Hey there,” Mingyu greets the woman as he discards his coat and takes the hem of his shirt to remove it.

“Let me do the dirty work, mister,” she gets up and holds his wrists, gently peeling them off the fabric so she can take it off herself, “Can’t have you doing more work than you already do, right?”

“As if you haven’t been working your pretty ass off, sweetheart,” he smirks and pulls her flush to his body, his hands kneading her ass over the silky dress.

“I think we should do less talking-”

“And more fucking?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Ugh, why is it so hard to find a decent hotel at a decent price?!”

You want to slam your laptop on the table and crush it into tiny pieces. You have one chance to go to South Korea and the only thing that’s stopping you is finding a damn hotel to stay in.

It’s either an over-the-top super expensive hotel that you need to sell both of your kidneys to afford a couple of nights or it’s a very dingy motel in a suspicious neighborhood.

“No….Not this one….Definitely not this one….Not this one either….”

Suddenly your eyes fall on a neat-looking hotel, with a very good score in reviews.

“Oh? Perhaps?” You scroll through the pictures of the site, the hotel rooms looking exactly like what you’ve been looking for - it almost feels like it’s too good to be true.

You check out the reviews and a few giggles escape from your lips while reading them.

“You will not regret staying in this hotel ;)”

“10/10 would go visit again, spent the best nights of my LIFE”

“you’ll literally spot celebrities in there I’M NOT FUCKING KIDDING”

“Celebrities? Wow, people have a lot of humor,” you chuckle, “But it’s a pretty good hotel - Got nothing to lose, right?”

You don’t hesitate to book a room with a double bed (a girl just wants to lay like a starfish) and pay with your credit card, the booking confirmation arriving in your mail inbox shortly after. You proceed to book your flight tickets with a beaming smile on your face, excitement coursing through your entire body in the forms of jitters.

I’m gonna have so much fun.

You feel like you were put in the blender and got splattered on the floor.

Maybe it’s because you haven’t traveled by plane in a long time, maybe it was the duration of the flight, or a combination of the two - either way, you just wanted to faceplant in the mattress of the hotel bed.

You feel very grateful to the taxi driver who offered to carry your suitcase until the entrance of the hotel. You thank him for the ride and hand over the corresponding amount of money, bidding him farewell.

You walk through the glass doors of the hotel and you suddenly feel very much awake.

The whole place feels so luxurious yet not intimidating, as if it’s calling you to explore its deepest parts. You look around you and see people waiting at the lobby, the majority of them wearing face masks and you feel conscious for not wearing one.

You timidly approach the reception counter, dragging your suitcase behind you. You ring the bell on the marble counter and wait for someone to appear.

“Good evening, miss. What can I do for you?” The receptionist appears and you’re blown away from how dashing he looks.

“Um, hello, I’ve booked a room under the name Y/N L/N? I-It’s one with a-”

“A double bed, yes, I am aware,” the man chuckles, “It’s not like we have single beds in this hotel.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said that the rooms in our hotel do not have single beds.”

You blink twice. Is he serious right now?

“Um,” you scratch your cheek, “May I ask why?”

“Miss Y/N, are you aware of the services we provide here?”

“What is that supposed to mean? Isn’t this just a regular hotel where people spend a few nights to rest after visiting Seoul?”

He takes a quick glance left and right and moves his fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion and you inch closer, purely out of curiosity.

“Do you see all those people waiting here?”

You nod in agreement.

“They wear facial masks because they don’t want to be recognized in public.”

Your eyes go wide and your brain recalls all of the reviews you read online - they were fucking true.

“Are you saying that they come here to fuck?!”

“Shhh! Don’t be so loud!” he shushes you in a panic, “But yeah, that’s what they’re here for - that’s what this hotel is for, technically.”

Just your fucking luck.

“There was none of that crap on the website!” You whisper in a state of panic.

“What did you expect, miss? To write ‘hello we have rooms for you to fuck your brains out with other people’?” He deadpans with a straight face.

“Okay fine, you have a point,” you huff in annoyance, “But isn’t that, like….Illegal?”

“Illegal? Oh no no, there are no sex workers here, only people of high social profile who want to have a good time,” he clarifies, “We’re just the confidential party who run this hotel.”

“So, um..” you trail off, “Does that mean I’m obligated to share a room with someone here?”

“Of course not! You did book a room for one person, after all.”

“Okay….” you answer and think for a while, but your thoughts are as clear as a cobweb.

“You can call me Hyunjin, by the way.” The receptionist introduces himself after a long time.

You give him a quick smile and go back to the ordeal of putting your thoughts in a coherent order.

“Hey, Hyunjin?”

“Yes?”

“Do idols come here too?”

The man licks his lips before smirking.

“I am not allowed to disclose such information, my dear.”

“So they do,” you narrow your eyes at him.

“Again, I am not allowed to disclose such information.”

“Fine, I’ll find out for myself, then.” You muster up your confidence.

“Excellent,” Hyunjin smiles and pulls out a piece of paper and a tablet, “Want me to hand you over a pen?”

“Yes please,” you answer without lifting your head from the papers you’re reading, quickly realizing it is indeed, a NDA. Of course they would have those.

You carefully check all of the pages (including the footnotes) and you sign the NDA without a fuss, Hyunjin’s signature following right after.

“What’s that for?” You look at the bright screen, filled with a list of names and X marks.

“This is where we store the information of our regular clients and the rooms they usually stay in,” he explains, “The X marks next to the names you see indicate that these people are already with someone…If you get what I mean. Also, there are the gender symbols to indicate...well, their gender.”

A notification comes up in your phone and you slide it out of your pocket, mumbling a quick sorry to Hyunjin, so you can text your friend back that you made it safely to Seoul. The man takes a quick glance at your phone case, pursing his lips tight.

“Okay, where were we? The clients, right?”

“Yes. That is, if you want to try meeting one of them - You can always keep your reservation as it is and quietly spend your nights here on your double bed.”

“Well,” you bite your bottom lip, “I’m a single girl in Seoul to have fun, might as well get laid with someone hot, right?” You tilt your head in a cheeky way.

“As you wish, miss - Have you decided on who you’re gonna pick?”

“Hmm, let’s see…”

You carefully check the list with all the unmatched names and your eyes fixate on the name Lee Saejin.

“This one.”

Now it’s Hyunjin’s turn to be surprised, but he’s only allowed to nod and do the reservations.

“You just had a really weird expression on your face.”

“Who, me? Nope, definitely not!” He defends himself while trying to put down the necessary information to complete the process.

“What’s wrong with the name I picked?”

“Nothing at all,” he bites back a smile, “On the contrary, you picked a really good one.”

“Okay….” you side eye him, “Can I go now?”

“You’re too eager for someone who looked like splattered jam on the floor not too long ago.” He hands you over the card key for the room.

“You’re one peculiar receptionist,” you take the key and drag your suitcase on the smooth floor.

“Hope you enjoy your stay in Hotel Voluptas, miss!” Hyunjin yells before you disappear behind the elevator doors, which earns him a few irritated glares from other guests. He clears his throat and absentmindedly smooths over his hair and clothes, going back to his business

“Hoo boy, she’s in for a real treat.”

You feel like a lunatic.

If anyone else was in your shoes, they would have run the fuck out of this place and take the first flight back home.

But you feel excited. Almost ecstatic.

You never thought the reviews/rumors you had heard about Hotel Voluptas were actually true but now that you’re one step away from finding out who Lee Saejin truly is.

You take a deep breath before opening the door and check underneath your shirt to make sure you’re wearing a pretty lingerie set - just in case, you know.

You slide the card key over the electronic lock and the door opens. You enter the room and you quickly realize there’s nobody inside.

“Huh? That’s weird,” you close the door behind you and set your suitcase next to the wardrobe. You take a look around the room, noticing how neat and pristine it looks. You sit on the bed and touch the sheets, your palm gliding over the silk.

“Damn, that’s real luxury right here.” You let out a low whistle.

“You should see the jacuzzi, that’s peak luxury.”

The unknown voice scares you so much you end up falling down on the carpeted floor with a thud.

“Ouch…”

“Shit, I’m sorry! Are you okay?” The stranger bends down to help you stand on your feet, your ass slightly stinging from the sudden impact.

“Yeah, I think so-” you raise your head and look at his face, any coherent sentence dying down in your throat and any rational thought disappearing from your brain.

The man standing in front of you - the half naked man - is Kim Mingyu.

Kim fucking Mingyu of Seventeen.

You cover your mouth in shock, sitting on the bed to realize what the fuck is going on.

“You must be Y/N, right?” Mingyu speaks.

“No, I’m not.”

“What? But I’m sure Hyunjin sent me the correct info…”

“Wait, my info?!”

“Um, yeah. For the NDA, y’know?”

“Oh. Right.”

You don’t know if you want to jump out of the window or jump his bones right this instant.

“I know this is sudden, but that’s how things work in here,” he flashes his signature smile, his perfectly white canines shining brighter than your future.

“Is this even real?”

“You can always touch me, y’know?”

“NO!”

“No?”

“Wait, I mean yeah- Shit, I-”

“Do you need some time alone? I’m kind of worried right now,” Mingyu admits with a nervous look, “I don’t want you to panic right now.”

“I just- Hyunjin did tell me that celebrities come here, but I didn’t expect to see YOU of all people!” You admit with a wheeze.

“I mean, I am a guy with sexual needs as well.” He lets out a chuckle.

“But you were supposed to be at your dorms and resting!”

“Says who?”

“The news channel live…..You left the airport with the members in the cars….So I assumed you….” You trail off, your voice getting quieter.

“So you’re a fan, huh,” he smirks, “That makes it even better.”

“Y-Yeah, hence the shock….”

“You’re really cute, you know that?”

“Oh, so now you’re gonna pull the shit you do at fansigns, huh?” Your demeanor changes as you sit up on the bed.

“Is it working?” He towers over you, adjusting the towel around his waist, your eyes zoning on the water droplets cascading from his beefy chest all the way down to his v-line.

“Maybe.” You admit and you feel your cheeks flaring up as he climbs on the bed, his body frame hovering above yours.

“Good, that means my game is still going strong.”

“Or your fans are way too whipped for you.”

“You’re not a gyuldaengie?”

Fuck, wrong move.

“Who is it, darling?”

“Not telling you.” You challenge him.

“No need to tell me, I already know either way.” He grins like an imp as he stretches his arm to pick up your phone from the floor.

“Wonwoo hyung, huh?”

“Hey, give that back!” You try to take the phone back, but he pins your wrists above your head with his hand.

“You wish he was here instead of me?”

“And what about it?”

“Too bad he’s a fucking loser who does gaming lives for his fans.”

“Shut up, I love those!”

“Of course you do - It’s just that fucking pretty girls like you is way more fun, don’t you think?”

You let out a shaky breath at his words - Kim Mingyu just called you pretty and it has you melting on the spot.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks you with a whisper.

“Please.”

It’s all Mingyu needs to put his lips on yours, his hands now perched on your clothed body, fingers dancing dangerously around the hem of your shirt.

“Just take it off already!” You squirm underneath him.

“So demanding, tsk…” He takes off your shirt and unbuttons your jeans, leaving you only in your lingerie.

“Demanding yet dressed for the occasion, I see.”

“It was coincidental!” You defend yourself, “I just like wearing pretty underwear, is that bad?”

“Not at all, darling,” he licks his bottom lip, “I always appreciate pretty things on pretty people.”

He presses a chaste kiss on the column on your neck, and another one on your collarbone, and a lot more scattered over your chest and abdomen, paying extra attention to your lower stomach, just above the hem of your thong.

“G-Gyu-”

“Oh so we’re on a nickname basis now?” Mingyu hooks his fingers on the thin elastic band and slides it down your legs, letting out a whistle when he spreads your thighs all the way to your hip bones.

“Not that I mind you calling me Gyu, obviously.”

“You’re so insufferable, oh my God, just lic- AH!”

You moan out loud when he parts your lower lips with his thumbs and starts sucking on your clit.

You thread your hands in his silky black hair, pulling it each time he presses his tongue a bit harder on the spots that make you squirm beneath him.

You always knew Mingyu had very attractive lips, but feeling them making out with your pussy in such a sloppy manner makes your head spin.

You let out a particularly loud moan when you feel his thumb stretch your hole, all while he spits on your clit just to lick it even harder than before, followed by a particularly harsh suck.

“Fuck!” Your thighs squirm and almost close around his head, but he keeps them open with his arms, his chocolate eyes staring at you.

“You’re really squirmish, aren’t you?”

“It’s not my fault-”

“That I’m eating your pussy so good you don’t want me to stop?”

God, you really want to slap him. But he’s right.

“Aren’t you going to say anything, darling?”

“You stopped eating my pussy.”

Mingyu clicks his tongue in annoyance and flips you around, lifts your ass and goes back to eat you out like a starved animal.

“Oh my- Fuck, it feels so fucking good, Gyu!”

“Oh yeah? Would Wonwoo hyung eat you like this?” He smacks your ass.

“Mmmfh-”

“Answer me, pretty girl.” He smacks your ass again, a bit harder this time.

“I won’t fucking tell you!”

“Bratty little bitch,” he clicks his tongue in annoyance and gets up from his place, circling the bed to stand in front of you, finally dropping his towel.

Big would be too little of a word to describe what hangs between his legs.

You gulp audibly, mouth salivating at the sight of his deliciously thick cock, your insides jolting at the thought of his length splitting you in half.

“What, you see a nice dick and turn all dumb and drooly?” He pumps his cock with his fist right in front of your face.

You crawl a bit closer to him and slap his hand away to wrap your lips around the fat tip, pushing his cock deeper in your mouth.

“You’re so much more eager than I thought, sweetheart,” Mingyu groans and puts his hand deep in your hair, “Would you suck Wonwoo’s cock like that too, darling?”

“I’d suck it harder,” you take out his cock and stroke it with your hand, a shit-eating grin on your face, “Does that answer your question?”

He pokes his cheek with his tongue and slaps your cheek with his cock twice before he’s pushing you on your back again.

“Well too bad he’s not here now.” He opens one of the nightstand drawers and pulls out a condom, ripping the packaging with his teeth to roll the latex over his cock.

He climbs on the bed again and throws your legs on his shoulders, tapping his dick on your slicked cunt a few times.

“I’ll just fuck you to oblivion instead.”

“Now I know why everyone calls you an overgrown puppy,” you giggle, “You’re all bark and no bite, Gyu.”

Your lips morph into an ‘O’ shape when Mingyu slams his dick inside you, knocking the breath out of your lungs.

“I’ve had enough of you running your mouth all evening,” he grits his teeth and tugs your bra down, letting your breasts out of the lace, “For someone who was so shocked to find out that people fuck in this place, you’re awfully bratty.”

“Then fuck the attitude out of me, big guy,” you taunt him, “Just like you’ve been boasting all evening.”

“With pleasure.”

Mingyu folds you in half and starts drilling his cock in your pussy with a newfound hunger, all the exhaustion he had accumulated from the flight gone in the blink of an eye.

“Your pussy is so fucking good, taking my cock like a fucking champ.” He moans and gropes your tits, his big hands squeezing the soft flesh.

“Your cock fucks me so good, Gyu, you’re so good to me, fuck!” You grip the sheets, nails digging into the silk.

“Oh yeah? Dick so good you’re not thinking about that bias of yours anymore?”

Your pussy clenches around his shaft, Mingyu’s eyes turning hooded.

"You greedy little slut," he juts his hips a bit more forcefully, "You would love to fuck Wonwoo, wouldn't you?"

Yes, you definitely would - you can't even bring yourself to count the times you've thirsted over the cat-like man in glasses for the most dumb reasons.

"Of course a pretty slut like you cannot be satisfied with one dick," he speeds up his thrusts, "Need something to fill your bratty mouth with, right?"

"F-Fuck, yes!" You cry out, thighs starting to tense on his shoulders.

"Maybe I should take a picture of you sucking my dick like a lolly and send it to hyung," he taunts you, "Show him what his fans are actually doing in their free time."

"Shit, Gyu!" You scream Mingyu's name and your back arches off the mattress as you cum around his cock, giving him the green light to fuck you through your orgasm, while he chases his own.

It doesn't take him long to tip off the edge and reach his own climax, filling up the condom with his cum. He quickly discards the soiled latex in the trash bin under the nightstand and lays right next to you, a wicked smile playing on his face.

"Why are you smiling like th- Oof!" You gasp when he pulls you flush to his chest and throws your leg over his hip, burying two fingers knuckle deep in your cunt.

He rapidly fucks his digits in your spent hole as he grinds his palm on your clit, trying to force one more orgasm out of your body.

And he does.

He watches your body shake harder than before and you squirt all over his hand and thighs, eyes nearly rolling at the back of your skull from the intensity of your orgasm.

He pulls out his fingers and licks them clean with his mouth, letting them go with a lewd sound.

"W-What….was that for?" You pant.

"For good measure." He grins.

"....Manwhore." You curse under your breath and Mingyu lands a smack on your pussy, making you yelp from the impact.

"Says the girl who wants to fuck two idols of the same group."

"And what about it?! A girl can always

dream!" You protest.

"Some dreams can become a reality," he says, "That is, if you ask the right people."

"You're not actually thinking of sending him a post-sex image, are you?!"

"Are you crazy? Of course not, that NDA has my signature too, missy," he deadpans, "I just said that to rile you up."

"Of course you did." You roll your eyes at him.

"So….how long are you staying in Seoul?"

"A week," you reply, "Why do you ask?"

"I was thinking…." Mingyu trails one finger on your collarbone.

"Yes?"

"If I convince that loser of a hyung I have as my roommate to get out of his gaming chair, maybe you'll get to live your dirty little fantasy."

"Are you- Is this a joke? Because if you're fucking with me, you better drop it."

"I'm 100% serious, love," he dips his finger on the valley of your breasts, "As long as everyone consents to it, I'm down to share. If you behave as well, of course."

You don't hesitate to nod affirmatively and climb on top of him, giving him a passionate kiss as a thank you.

"There's something you need to know though."

"What is it, darling?"

"I have an IUD and I'm clean, got checked last month."

Mingyu blinks twice and purses his lips in a thin line.

"You better prepare yourself for next time, sweetheart," he grips your ass, "And don't worry about our little playdate getting out of here." He presses a kiss on your neck.

"What happens in Hotel Voluptas, stays in Hotel Voluptas."

#svthub #mingyu smut #svt mingyu #svt smut #seventeen smut #seventeen #tw alcohol

2K notes · View notes

kiwisbell · 6 months

Text

Las Mañanas || Chapter 1 [javier peña]

She’s a waitress in a little café. He’s a DEA agent who likes the coffee. Just the coffee. That’s all. Or, slices of life (and sometimes pie) shared between Javi and his wife, including his tireless journey to making her his wife.

series masterlist | my masterlist

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags/warnings: coffee shop AU if you squint really hard, reader has a shitty husband, domestic violence, mentions of sex work, soft and sweet!javi, protective!javi, grumpy!javi, simp!javi tbh, alcohol, smoking, javier pines like a mf, FLIRTING, referenced PIV (protection implied), food as sexual tension, angst, so much fluff, some light touching, steve being a little shit, nobody fucks with javi's girl, overuse of spanish pet names, poorly-translated spanish, "she" pronoun used throughout

word count: ~ 8.8k

a/n: HOORAY! it begins! since this is my oldest fic, it lacks some polish, but neverthless!! i'll be posting new chapters every couple days so your dashboards don't get clogged up, but i sincerely hope you enjoy this series!! to my lovely friends who have already read this series and given it so much love, words cannot express how much i appreciate you. to my newcomers, i am kissing you through my screen rn for giving this fic a chance. i hope you like!! xoxo

chapter one: for all the coffee beans in colombia

The café, Las Mañanas, makes stellar coffee. Javier Peña knows this; everyone in Bogotá knows this. That’s why he comes in at seven o’clock every morning and pays 30 pesos for a cup. Black. Then he sits at a table and sips it while he watches her move. He leaves at seven-thirty and clocks in at the Embassy ten minutes later. He does it again the next morning.

Two months ago, he would come in twice a week. Two weeks later, three times. Now, it’s daily. He thinks he might have an addiction, but so does every other bastard in the city. It’s not his fault the coffee wakes him up just right, striking his tired bones like hammers and making him sit upright all day, alert as a rearing cobra.

She’s got eyes like that: bright, sharp. They cut incisions into early-morning brain fog and part the haziness like curtains. Then she sutures the edges with that smile and turns every man in the café complacent, cheery, harmless. Javier goes for the coffee, but it’s nice to look at her. It’s not his fault she’s so nice to look at.

She doesn’t own the place. Her boss is a family friend and doesn’t share her last name; he knew her father, who died. The records don’t say how, and Javier had to sneak out before he could find out more. Technically, he wasn’t allowed to be snooping around in records that didn’t have explicit relevance to his job, but he was just being safe.

He knows this because he likes to know things. He’s proactive. It reassures him to know that his thorough background checks on each employee and regular produced nothing of concern, that she’s around safe, innocent people all day. When she brings his coffee to him, she smiles at him, and her eyes shine. He knows that when he leaves for work, she’s safe. It’s real fucking hard to be safe in Bogotá these days.

Javier drinks. The coffee goes down hot, always the same temperature, always strong. He lifts a cigarette to his lips, watches her, lights it. He keeps it in his mouth when she raises her eyes from her notepad at the counter and smiles. From this corner of the café, he has a perfect view of her. She’s relaxing to watch. She walks with a sway to her hips; she bags pastries so delicately it’s like they’re strapped with C4; she writes little notes on her customers’ receipts and her handwriting is impeccable. He keeps his receipts.

She puts her lip between her teeth and worries it, like she’s debating something in her head, pen pausing over paper. Javier narrows his eyes playfully at her, and then she moves. She ties her apron tighter around her waist, tucks her hair behind her ear with the pen, and grabs something from behind the counter before she’s moving. Toward him.

Javier panics for a moment, but he feels stupid when he does. He forces himself to adjust minimally, sitting up straighter and tucking his cigarette to the corner of his mouth. She’s carrying a pastry bag. “Here,” she says, “for when you leave.”

Her honeyed voice seeps bone-deep. They speak in English, but he’s heard her use the local colour with her patrons. “What’s the occasion?” he asks her.

“I want to see how long the poison takes to activate inside a human body.” She thrusts the bag out farther. “It’s a thank-you. Empanadas. New recipe.”

Javier takes it, looks inside. “You poison all your customers, or am I special?” he says, inhaling the fresh burst of warmth. “These smell incredible.”

“I hope you’re not a vegetarian.”

“God, no.”

“More coffee?”

He glances at his watch. 7:23. “I can’t,” he says, and it gives him pause when his voice carries a faint whine. “Work.”

She bites her lip again. Instinct tugs his eyes down to it. “You’re certainly the most mysterious customer I’ve ever had.”

He stands up so he can look down at her, puffing at his cigarette. She puckers her lips and blows the smoke away from her face with a teasing glare. “And the only one special enough to try the new recipe for free,” he says lowly. “Isn’t that right?”

She shoves the bag into his chest and rolls her eyes, beckoning him back toward the counter. “Who said it was free?” she says, looking back at him over her shoulder. It stops him, stunned, in his tracks.

He comes back the next day. He makes sure to learn her name this time.

At some point in the seven months since he first entered the café, Javier makes a friend.

He does not remember how it happened. His life is not conducive to friendship. But this half-hour routine inside the café doesn’t give a shit about his life. She’s begun to call his name when he steps through the door.

“Javier!” She shimmied around her coworker as she hurriedly untied her apron. He barely had time to open his mouth before she continued, “I took my break early. Now come on, I made churros.”

“Fuck, cariño, I think I’ve gained ten pounds since I met you.”

She just grinned at him and shooed him toward his usual table while she grabbed a plate with two sweet-smelling churros on it. “My father would say that’s a good thing. Go, go!”

He obeyed her without further complaint and put out his cigarette so he could sip at the coffee that was already steaming on his table. She slid into the chair across from him. He knew churros for breakfast were a terrible decision for his digestive system, but he physically could not refuse her. Her leg bounced excitedly when he picked one up and took a bite. He closed his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re fucking magic. Where did you learn to bake like this?”

She grinned and took a bite of her own churro. He noticed she liked to hold her free hand underneath her chin to catch any residue that would make a mess of her apron; preventative measures. She was careful, meticulous. “My father lived in Spain most of his life; he taught my sister and I to cook from the second we were able to walk.” Her head tilted as she watched him eat, her smart eyes travelling in latitudes across his face like she was memorising a script, line by line. “I’m lucky to see other people fall in love with my food the same way I loved his.” She smiled suddenly, warm. “You’ve got churro dust in your moustache, viejo.”

He raised a brow. “You learn enough Spanish for that, huh, smartass?”

The bell above the door chimes when he walks through. She’s tending to a customer at the back of the room, but she looks over her shoulder. Smiles and waves. Gestures with her eyes to his usual table.

His table, which now has a very new, very handmade sign on top of it: RESERVED.

Javier sits down and touches the black ink. It smudges on his finger.

“I almost had to rugby-tackle Jorge for sitting there during his break,” she says when she arrives.

“All this for me?” He clicks his tongue. “Bad for business.”

“You’re a paying customer, viejo,” she says teasingly. “You are business.”

Javier slides his sunglasses off his nose and stares her down, dropping his voice all low and mean. “You better knock that nickname habit quick, baby. Could get you in trouble.”

“More trouble than the man who comes in every morning with a gun in his pants?” She bites her lip when she grins. “I think I’ll be okay. Oh, and here’s your coffee.”

She places a mug in front of him, snatches the RESERVED sign from his hand, and carries it with her to the counter.

“What is it you do at your big, scary, gun-totin’ job, anyway?” she asks as his coffee pours. He’s at the counter, waiting this time, knowing no one’s going to take his table. Not if they know what’s good for them, what with the leopard behind the counter.

Javier lights his cigarette. “Don’t wanna have to kill you.”

She cocks her head. “Can’t kill me, viejo. Who’d make your coffee?” She leans in real close and whispers, “Jorge can’t treat you like I can.”

He does not focus on the way her breath knocks against each knob of his spine.

“Janitorial services,” he blurts out, not so much suavely, “at the Embassy.”

“Hmm. Didn’t know they let janitors carry guns nowadays, but I guess there’s always something new to learn.”

“Tell me something about you,” he says.

“My doctor says I’ll never be able to get the smell of coffee out of my nose.”

Javier laughs, plucking the dish rag from her hands so she stops cleaning the counter and looks him in the eye instead. “Gonna need more than that. Tell me something I don’t know, cielito.”

She flushes. “You have to pay extra for that.”

“Then pour one on me,” he says, sliding the coffee pot toward her.

A wicked smile overcomes her face, one she tries to tame by chewing on the inside of her cheek. She spots a customer waving her down, so she turns quickly to Javier and says, “Give me two minutes. Pour it for me.”

He fills the cup she’s just cleaned until it’s almost overflowing.

The first day something goes wrong, Javier is unprepared.

She’s all smiles and flowy skirts when he walks in the door, but he feels out of sorts when he spots the men she’s pouring coffee for—mostly because he recognises them, and they’ve never been in here before.

His heart swoops down into his gut when he remembers where he’s seen their three faces before.

It stings to watch her smile falter when he ignores her familiar greeting for him, pretending like he doesn’t know her. He heads straight for the counter, sits down, waits twenty seconds, and then accidentally knocks a mug to the floor.

A few people idly turn, but it’s her excusing herself to clean up the mess that matters. He lowers himself to the ground with her when she grabs the broom and dustpan. “Keep smiling at me,” he says under his breath. “Don’t let your face change.”

“Javier…” His name is an exhale from her mouth. “What’s going on?”

“Those men are involved in some bad shit, and I don’t want you in it.”

To her credit, she does not look at the three men at the table, nor do her eyes widen, her mouth drop. He knows her mind is chewing on this, working it through, judging whether or not she can trust him. At last, still cleaning up the ceramic shards, she asks, “What do I do, Javi?”

That’s his girl. “I need you to take your break until they’re gone. Can you do that for me?”

She breaths out a yes and looks up at him for one brief moment. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she whispers. “Paying customer, remember?”

“Always and forever, baby. Now go on. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She stands up with the dustpan and thanks him loudly, that bright smile still on her face. She takes the broken mug into the back room, and she does not reappear.

Javier has backup waiting when the three narcos leave, filled with his waitress’s coffee and pastries. Javier stays inside, sipping his own coffee. They won’t know he called for backup. They’ve never seen his face. But they’ll be ambushed once they’re a safe distance from the café, and they’ll go away in handcuffs for the couple kilos of cocaine inside the trunks of their taxis.

Javier comes in the next day and expects her to cuss him out. She’s had every opportunity to call the police, to report him for being somehow involved with bad men, to ban him from her little safe haven. Instead, she just sets down the coffee at his table and shakes her head.

“Janitor, my ass.”

He wishes he could shut his mouth every now and then, but he finds himself telling her the truth about his job before he can think to stop.

He rationalises.

He owes her this much. The strange men may not have harmed her, but in a line of work like Javier’s, people have to learn to be cautious. In his case, he may have been uber-cautious, but his senses become a whirlpool when it comes to her.

She takes it all in stride, same as yesterday. She’s a rapt listener, tuning out the world as he stumbles through the truth, and when he’s done, when he thinks he’s laid out all she needs to know for now, she nods. She understands.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says, unusually sombre, brushing a knuckle under his chin the way he does her.

“Can’t stand the thought of you mad at me, cielito.” It’s the truth—he thinks he would forsake all his manliness and beg on his knees for forgiveness.

But he doesn’t need to do that with her. “It was scary, Javi,” she says earnestly, “but it would’ve been a lot scarier if you weren’t there, talking me through it.”

He grins up at her where she stands on the other side of the counter. “Any chance that means free churros for life?”

She hums like she’s pondering the thought. “For you, viejo? That’s only two more years at your tender age.”

Javier leans in close to her and glares. “Keep it up, honey.”

She drums her fingers on the side of his mug and smirks. “Plan to. More coffee, Agent Peña?”

She’s talking to another man when Javier walks into the café. He’s average height and muscled, around her age or a bit older, wearing a black leather jacket that matches the beard and hair on his head (the stuff that’s not greying), and he’s speaking rapidly, tautly. She keeps shaking her head, her lips pressed tightly together, furiously wiping down the counter and nudging his elbows away when he tries to set them down. Javier tries to eavesdrop, but they’re speaking too quietly, interrupting one another, so he settles into his chair at the back with his sunglasses still on his nose. And he watches carefully.

He's never seen this man before. He isn’t a customer, and his scowling face was not one Javier had combed through during his dubiously ethical background checks. It unsettles him enough to lean forward in his seat when the man abruptly tears the rag from her hand. Javier instinctively reaches for the gun in his waistband, but he will not fire here. He bites down on his cigarette when she aggressively wipes under her eyes and storms into the back room. Moments later, she emerges with her purse, fishes out a wad of cash, and throws it square at the man’s chest. He leaves once the money is tucked inside his pockets.

Javier approaches the counter with his coffee. She is visibly shaking, but she smiles at him like he’s a relief to see. “Javi,” she says in one long exhale. “Good morning.”

“Thought you might like some company,” he says, setting down his mug.

He doesn’t press her to tell him about what he’s seen, even though he knows she saw him walk in. Her shoulders loosen. “I… I didn’t have time to make you something, Javi.”

Her eyes are watering, and her irises undulate like they’re caught in a swell. Not for the first time in seven months, Javier reaches out and touches her. Lays a hand atop hers and squeezes her fingers. “You’re gonna make me fat, cielito,” he says softly.

She doesn’t let the tears fall. She just laughs and rolls her eyes, her cheeks warm.

It’s another month before Javier sees the man again.

Javier has been very good at keeping his life behind a wall, and while it’s obvious she notices, she doesn’t press him. He is profoundly stupid to give her the information he does; he’s told her about his father (she smiles like she’s remembering an old friend), bitched about Murphy (constantly), and told her about his hobbies. He told her that he reads in his spare time, even though nobody expects him to and fucking backwoods-hillbilly Murphy gives him constant shit for it. She knows he likes Tolkien, that he’s a fan of Lewis and Fleming. She gives him shit for reading so many “manly” books, but she laughs while she does it, and the corners of her eyes crinkle.

He knows he is older than her. She’s never read Tolkien. He finds himself promising things. He’s going to lend her his copies. He wants to share his interests with her, to watch her face light up with excitement when she tells him how much she loves Marilyn Monroe and Gloria Estefan and Selena.

She moved to Colombia two years ago, but he doesn’t know why. There is the switch. He’s found it: the moment of closure, when her spine stiffens and her smile trembles in an effort to hold on. Everyone has their switches. Javier understands.

But for the first time since he came to Bogotá, he wants to know someone. He wants to get attached. He wants a friend. Why the fuck shouldn’t he have that?

“Javi.”

He looks at her over the rim of his mug. “Hmm.”

She bites down on her smile. “It’s seven-thirty.”

Shit. He says as much, downs the rest of his coffee (she watches him with a raised brow), and begins to haul his jacket over his arm. He’ll have to put it on on the move; he’ll be late if he doesn’t leave now.

The bell above the door chimes.

He’s dressed the same as last time, but Javier knows his clothes are expensive. When he doesn’t see her at the counter, he peers through the employees’ door, then scans the café until he spots her, sitting across from Javier.

He stalks over and goes off immediately. “Whoring around, guapa? Haven’t you learned your lesson?”

He doesn’t even spare a glance toward Javier.

She looks more angry than embarrassed. “Nicolás, you need to leave.”

Javier settles back into his seat. No way in fucking hell he’s leaving her alone with him.

His dark eyes blaze at the woman, and he crowds her space, frowning. “I’m not signing.”

“We’ve talked about this,” she says calmly, though her skin is stretched over her knuckles as her hands clasp each other.

“You don’t just get to leave me.” The man’s scowl deepens, and when he grabs her by the wrist, she yelps, slapping a free hand over her mouth so nobody notices.

Well, Javier sure as fuck notices.

Last time, he stayed back, let the situation diffuse. He didn’t want to make a scene, didn’t want her to be uncomfortable. This time, he doesn’t give a shit.

This time, Javier sees red.

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

He stands up and clasps his own hand around the man’s wrist.

“I don’t see you letting her go,” he says gruffly. “Let’s try again.”

“You fucking son of a bitch, trying to tell me what to do with my wife,” grunts the man, letting go of her wrist with a jolt. She stands up and pushes him squarely in the chest.

“I am not. Your. Wife,” she says, spitting a large glob of saliva in his face. “Sign the papers, Nicolás. I don’t love you. I don’t even give a shit about you.”

Nicolás moves like he plans to smack her across the face, but Javier is quick—and itching to knock him unconscious.

The punch cracks his jaw. He howls while the owner emerges from the back room and another customer helps drag Nicolás out the door. They throw him on the street and cuss him out. Javier shrugs on his jacket and sniffs, feeling accomplished.

“Cielito,” he mutters, offering his hand. Trembling (more with rage than fear, he suspects), she holds out her wrist and he gently prods around the area, feeling for disturbances. She winces, but it will only bruise. Still—

“I should have been faster.”

“Javier,” she whispers. “Don’t start.”

He lets out one frustrated sigh through his nose and nods. “Is it a judgment against your character if I say you married a complete fucking asshole?”

She laughs softly, like sad little bells. “Wasn’t my choice in the first place.”

He frowns down at her. “Cielito—”

“You’re already late for work, Javi. They’re gonna chew you out.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, brushing a knuckle over her chin. “I’ll lay on my charm.”

She hums. “Maybe you’re the asshole, Javier Peña.”

It’s been a year since he met his waitress. Tonight, for the first time, he pictures her face to make himself come.

He’s in the shower when it happens. Standing under the stream of hot water, he's unable to quell the image that bubbles up in his hindbrain. He imagines her lips around him as he hardens, and when he takes himself in his hand and juts out his hips roughly, he grunts, pretending he’s pushing past the seal of her pretty lips. Her face—so beautiful, so smiling and kind—sweaty and ruined, more radiant than ever. Her body: its curves and its delectable softness, its taste like coffee beans and flowers, if he can imagine it. The tempting, unknowable skin under that waitress’s uniform. He wants to make her feel good. He wants to lick every inch of her, savour every drop of her wetness when he gets her ready to take him. Tangy sweetness, twilight and the calm of the water at dusk. Flashes of teeth, lips, skin.

That's it, baby. You can take me. I’ll make you feel good.

Javier… A rush of breath, the distant cry of a swan over the water. Please.

He doesn’t think until he’s spilling over his hand and the wall, harder than he’s come in a long time, of how wrong this is. How wrong of him to imagine a claim on her body, her life. Underneath the steaming hot water, his mind sharpens. He wants her, and he feels so filthy for it.

He turns up the heat some more and lets himself scald.

Seeing her in the little café after fucking himself to the thought of her naked is a surreal experience. He’s never even seen the more intimate areas of her; she wears an apron and a dress, and he can only ever see her knees, her arms, her collarbones. But now he wants to trace them with his fingers, watch them hollow out when she inhales, watch the curve in her throat as she swallows and sighs. He wants to get on his knees and lift up her dress so he can make her fall apart on his tongue. He’s fucked everything up.

Him and his stupid goddamn dick.

“I’ve figured it out,” she says triumphantly, sitting down at his table across from him. There’s a cup of coffee for both of them; he figures she’s taken her break. Which means she likes to spend this half-hour with him. Which means she likes him.

“What have you figured out?” he asks, pushing his sunglasses further down his nose to peer at her.

“That DEA disguise might work for you, but I see all.” She reaches for his glasses and puts them on her own face, pantomime-lighting a cigarette. “You’re a spy, Agent Peña,” she says mischievously.

He really, truly, desperately wants to kiss her.

The sunglasses slip down her face, so he pushes them onto the top of her head. Stares her in the eyes. “You got me, honey. What are you gonna do, huh? Lock me up?”

“How much money can I get for a spy?” she muses. ��Guess it depends how good you are.” Her eyes narrow when a grin slithers up the corner of his mouth. “Javier, do not—”

“Oh, I’m very good,” he says, toasting his cup of coffee.

With a roll of her eyes, she lifts her own cup in toast, and takes a sip. The sight of her lips on the rim while she meet his eyes is enough to make Javier wish he owned looser jeans.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

Her eyes ask the same question, but she phrases it sweetly, the way she always does. She’s a fucking tonic to his bones and the reason he’s so goddamn tense. “Blinking is very important, you know.”

He does just that, clearing his vision and letting her come back into sharp focus. The morning sunlight adorns her skin like jewellery. She’s a vision. Even someone with a single sense out of the five could tell how beautiful she is, but it doesn’t make his life any easier. It doesn’t lower his heart rate, doesn’t cool him down, and it definitely doesn’t help the tightness in his pants.

He fucks his hand in a bathroom at the Embassy, and then he brings an informant home and fucks her, too. He makes sure she enjoys it when she’s on her hands and knees, because all he’s doing is picturing his waitress. He hates himself for the way it makes him grasp her a bit tighter, pump her a bit harder: imagining her syrupy whines, her flushed chest, her smooth skin all for him. He tunes out the noises she makes and pretends it's her. When he makes her come, he pictures her brows scrunching up, her eyes squeezing shut when she can't take the pleasure he gives her. He’d make his girl real happy, make her satisfied and dazed and fucking drooling.

Javier completes the transaction and cleans up in the bathroom. He stares at himself in the mirror for a long while, at his dishevelled hair and his tired eyes. Sex didn’t help.

She’s still in his blood. She’s in his system for good.

He doesn’t want a quick fuck. He wants her: his friend, his secret. His girl, whether she knows it or not.

The next day, she’s working on the books when he comes up to the counter, a pair of glasses perched on her nose, so engrossed she doesn’t even notice he’s arrived until he sits down.

She’s so fucking cute, he thinks, with her glasses and her thinking face, brows pinched together. But she smiles up at him like always. “Good morning, Javier.”

His mind is really a bastard, feeding him flashbacks of last night's wet dream. On her knees, taking him so well, so perfect, on her back while he left marks that would let everyone know she'd been fucked and who’d done it, on top of him, writhing and gasping and collapsing next to him. In his dream, he kissed the top of her head, laced their fingers together, and mumbled how well she’d done until they both fell asleep.

“Morning,” he says. “Don’t you have people for that?”

She huffs. “We’re short-staffed. Which means there’s me, one other cook, and Jorge. So I’m stuck making sure we won’t get audited.”

Javier whistles lowly. “Jorge’s got a real soldier working for him.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear. He likes making her nervous. “Maybe if you say that to his face, he’ll give me a raise.”

“You need money?”

Fucking moron, he thinks. Way to scare her off. Her eyes widen, but then she’s saying, “Oh, Javi, no. I’m doing all right. I promise. Just some… marital strain.”

His jaw may snap off if he clenches it any tighter. He can’t meet her eyes when he asks, “He been bothering you?”

It doesn’t piss him off that she’s married. She hates the guy, never wants to see him again. She’s been trying to get him to sign the divorce papers for over a year. What pisses him off is that any mention of her husband sucks her cheer away like blood from a wound. Javier has a real problem with someone making her frown.

She rests her cheek in her palm. “Every time I try to pay him off, he comes back saying it wasn’t enough, that he can’t afford a lawyer. Which is bullshit, by the way. He makes a hell of a lot more than me.”

“What does he do?”

She shutters off again, looks back down at her books. “It’s not a moral sort of work.”

Javier would know all about that.

“Oh!” she says suddenly, whirling around, the glimmer in her eye back again. “I forgot—I made you something.”

His chest feels tight. “ Bonita—”

She slides the books aside and places down a piece of blueberry pie. “You can’t say no,” she says, producing two forks, “because I’m helping you eat it.”

He’ll prod about her shitty husband later. For now, Javier enjoys the half-hour he has with her. They finish the pie in minutes.

Steve Murphy is a dick.

Javier knows it was a mistake to bring her up to him, because now Murphy has forgotten all his paperwork for the night, and he’s got his eyes set on making his partner’s life hell.

“Does she know you got those narcos arrested a few weeks ago?”

“She’s not stupid, Steve.”

“Do you know her last name?”

“Yes.”

“Is that because you told her, or because you stole her personal file?”

“Murphy, if you don’t shut up—”

“You’re not fucking her, are you?”

For some reason, that pisses him off the most. Javier grits his teeth. “Knock it off.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. Jesus, Javi.” When he leans back in his chair, he’s still watching Javier with a smile spreading slowly across his face. “You really aren't.”

Javier puffs his cigarette and tries not to fly across his desk at his partner. “And how do you know that?”

“’Cause if you didn’t respect her so damn much, you wouldn’t get all defensive.” Murphy whistles lowly. “You’re so fucked, Peña.”

Javier doesn’t look up from his typewriter. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, man. You don’t wanna fuck any random girl.” Murphy hides his mocking laugh with his hand. “You want to fuck your friend.”

Javier flicks his cigarette and it smacks Murphy in the cheek. “Pendejo.”

Murphy’s still laughing when Javier grumbles about going somewhere. He doesn’t even know where he’s planning to go, but it’s his lunch break and he needs fresh air. He definitely doesn’t want to linger on the reality that Murphy is right.

There’s a market across the street and down a block from the Embassy, which itself is a block away from the café. It’s not strange that she’s there, tediously browsing apples like choosing the wrong one will poison her customers, but Javier’s heart still kicks up, watching her as he waits for the traffic to clear.

She’s real fucking pretty in the daylight. Her hair is down, no longer in its clean ponytail, and the breeze picks it up like it’s watching her, too. She smiles at the vendors she passes; some call out to her, trying to sell or flirt. Javier crosses the street and gets giddy at the thought of seeing her outside.

He strolls up behind her and watches her inspect an apple. “If you stare any harder, it’ll wither.”

A little gasp leaves her mouth. “Javi!” she says brightly, eyeing him without a modicum of shame, her hand over her brows to shield herself from the sunlight. “So this is how you look in the light.”

She’s dressed in a flowy skirt that forms around her thighs when a breeze rolls by, and her shirt shows more of her cleavage than he’s ever seen before. He knows she notices his gaze lingering, but he doesn’t particularly care to look away. Watching her roll her eyes above his sunglasses delights Javier to no end. “You’ll get arrested walking around like this, cariño,” he says, leaning in real close and feeling her shiver when his breath reaches her ear.

She steps backward and holds onto the lapel of his jacket. “If you’re going to flirt with me, Javier, do it while you help me shop. I don’t have all the time in the world like you and your fellow superheroes.”

It only spurs him on. He lifts the canvas tote off her shoulder. “Fine by me,” he says. “What are the apples for?”

“Pie,” she says, picking two more apples from the cart. “You ever bake?”

“I cherish my place too much; don’t wanna see it burn down.” He steps in front of her when she reaches into her pocket to pay the vendor, slapping his own pesos into the man’s hand. She slowly lowers her hand and smiles at him in thanks. He lets her put the apples in the bag. “You want to teach me?”

Her face glows at the thought. “You’d really want to learn?”

It feels so good to make her happy that Javier doesn’t give a shit if Murphy finds out he offered to bake with this girl. “Will you put your hands over mine to show me how to knead the dough?”

Her hand trails across his stomach when she passes him. “Anything you want, honey,” she says.

Javier feels like he’s in high school again. He shuts his eyes for a moment to reset his brain, since the imprint of her hand on him shut it off. When his eyes are open again, she’s three vendors away. Javier scrambles to catch up with her. “So,” he says, “come here often?”

“Don’t you have a job to get back to?” she says. “You and your big, scary bloodhounds.”

“They only allow one bloodhound for a partner, and he’s pissing me off. Besides, how could I just let you walk around by yourself out here? It’s dangerous.”

She pokes him in the stomach. “You’re the dangerous one, Peña.”

She stops between two vendors’ carts and stares up at him with her hands on her hips. For a moment, Javier worries he’s in trouble, and he’s about to open his mouth to apologise, when she asks, “Are you free tonight?”

It is frankly humiliating how fast he blurts out a yes.

“Good,” she says plainly. “I’ll teach you how to bake.”

Javier is practically salivating when he arrives at her door for dinner. There are two reasons for it.

One: whatever she’s cooking smells incredible. It’s a lot fucking nicer than the shit he eats at home—on the rare nights he remembers to eat after all the long nights at work.

Two: she’s dressed in loungewear. It’s a pair of shorts and a too-large sweatshirt. It should not make him half-hard. But she’s adjusting the bun on top of her head when she opens the door and beams at him and Christ, he’s going to be lucky if he lasts the night without excusing himself to his car to relieve his situation like a horny teenage boy.

A grin splits her face, and she leans on the door. “You brought flowers.”

He did. He thrusts them out in front of him and grimaces, his face warm. “You like lilies.”

“Yeah,” she says softly, squeezing the hand that holds the bouquet of white flowers, “I do. Come in, Javi.”

He thinks of himself as a gentleman where it counts, so he bites his tongue when he takes in the state of her apartment. She isn’t messy—she’s clearly done her best to keep up appearances, despite the fact there are leaks bleeding down the walls and peeling wallpaper and her bed is mere feet from the puny bathroom. Javier feels suddenly embarrassed by his own swanky place, set up for him by the DEA. He’s hit with a burst of cold air when he enters the room, and she crosses the room, flowers in hand, to fiddle with the thermostat.

“I’m sorry it’s so chilly,” she says sheepishly. “This thing needs fixing. Unless the problem is behind the wheel.” She tries to dial the heat up by two degrees, but the dial falls off and lands next to her feet. She just sighs. “You ever go undercover as a handyman, by any chance?”

He chuckles, closing the door behind him. The broken chain lock worries him; there’s nothing but the lock on the door to stop someone from breaking in, and picking this sort of lock is too simple. “I don’t go undercover,” he tells her, “but I can smack your landlord around.”

She hums. “They’ll trace it back to me. Gotta be careful about those things, Peña. There should be a vase in that cupboard behind you.”

He finds it, fills it with water (which sputters for a while before it runs), and places it on the dining table (barely big enough for two). She places the flowers inside and smiles fondly. “You have an eye for décor.”

“Wrong,” says Javier, “I have an ear, and it listens to what the woman likes.”

She swats him gently in the chest. “Flattery doesn’t excuse you from helping the woman in the kitchen. Get an apron on those hips.”

Javier decides he hates baking. But she makes it tolerable.

His job is full of tedium. He likes to leave that behind in his personal life. She’s so easy to be around, to talk to. He likes leaving the Embassy, leaving behind the narcos, and knowing she’ll be the first person he talks to the next morning. There’s no politics, no bureaucracy, no bullshit with her. He trusts her.

Baking is tedious as shit. It’s precise, all about waiting, timing, and the end result is only good if you’ve worked like hell for it. It’s too much like work.

She has flour on her nose, and he lifts his thumb to wipe it away. The look she gives him makes him forget why he hates baking.

Javier tried to knead the dough for the pie crust but ended up treating it like an interrogation suspect, so she did as promised and placed her hands over his. He remembers her cheek resting against his arm as she leaned around him, felt her breasts on his back, her impossibly soft hands, her warmth.

“Be nice to it,” she whispered. “We don’t want our food to bite back.”

“It’s delicious, Javi,” she says, finishing her last bite of the apple pie. They made it, together. Javier is proud of that no matter how much sweat he wasted slaving over that oven. “Worth all the pain and swearing?”

“Fucking malparido,” he hissed. She whipped around, eyes wide. He rubbed his elbow. “Burned myself.”

“Oh, honey,” she said, wetting a cloth with cool water and wrapping it around his arm. She was always quick to react, quick to soothe. “¿Mejor? (Better?)”

He liked the way Spanish rolled off her tongue. It was sweet and smooth, not quite fluent but proficient enough to fake it. He grinned down at her. “Eres demasiado buena para mi, bebita (You’re too good to me, baby).”

She looked away and he pretended not to notice her smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Worth it.”

It is a damn good pie.

He’s still in her apartment four hours later, and she hasn’t given him a hint she wants him gone. It’s the longest he’s spent at a woman’s home without getting into bed with her. Sure, he wants to, but Javier’s content here, on her small sofa, sharing a bottle of wine.

“So. Want to tell me how you ended up working in a café in Bogotá, married as far down as someone can possibly go?”

She shoves him lightly. “Don’t rub it in, Javier.”

“Just can’t get my head around a guy like that marrying a woman so far out of his league. You’re you, cariño. He’s—”

“A moron?”

“You said it, honey.”

She traces her finger around the rim of her wine glass. “Javi, I trust you. I honest-to-God trust you more than I’ve let myself trust anyone in a long time.”

He lifts a brow and ducks his head to meet her eyes. “That’s a good start.”

She lets out a shaky sigh. “I came to Colombia to help take care of my sister. She was sick. Nicolás approached me one night while I was out for her medication. He offered me work, told me it would pay more than anywhere could. I was desperate and stupid enough to buy it.”

Javier doesn’t like where this is going. Still, he places a hand atop her knee and lets her continue. “He turned me into a whore, Javi. I don’t care about that, not really. It paid, it gave me work. But the things he would make me do…” She breathes in harshly, like the memory pains her. “He made me believe he loved me. I married him, and my sister died anyway.

“My brother-in-law is a lawyer. When I served the papers, Nicolás took all the money and ran off. He only started coming back a few months ago, trying to make me believe he’s broke.”

Javier brushes a knuckle across her chin. His rage, horror, and sadness are a cocktail in his aching head. Her husband was her pimp. He forced her into sex with men and then put her money in his pocket. Javier wants to act—he needs to help her, to pull strings with folks outside the DEA and get the asshole to sign the papers. If not, a restraining order could work. But there are tears falling down her cheeks, and Javier’s plan of action retreats to the back of his mind. He smooths back her hair and places a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for telling me,” he whispers, nearly chokes out, voice strained. “Thank you.”

She sniffles. “I can see your wheels turning, Javi. What are you thinking?”

“I know how it feels to be trapped in a marriage,” he tells her. She frowns.

“You were married?”

“Nearly,” he amends. “The kid wasn’t mine.”

“Ah.” She nods in understanding, like that’s all the explanation she needs. “We’ve both been truly fucked over, huh?”

He lifts his glass in toast. “That we have.”

She clinks their glasses together. “To making bad decisions.”

He chuckles. “I can toast to that.”

“Like… none?” Steve peers at him from across their desks. It’s times like these Javier hates being forced to sit right in the bullpen with Murphy. “None at all? How long?”

“You wanna play this game, Murphy? Really?” Javier glares. “When’s the last time you got fucked by your wife, huh?”

Murphy throws a pen at him, but Javier catches it. “Don’t talk about my wife, Peña. And since you’re curious, last night.”

Well, fucking good for Steve Murphy. Javier hasn’t cared to get in bed with a woman for weeks; even in the weeks before that, the sex was nothing inspiring, nothing good enough to make him forget about how badly he wants his waitress’s sweet body beneath him.

“Fuck your hand later, man,” says Murphy, “we got doors to knock on.”

Javier rubs his hand over his jaw. “I’m sitting this one out. Got another lead to look at.”

Murphy grunts. “Sure. Make sure you pay her well.”

“Fuck you.”

Javier waits outside the unassuming house, drumming his fingers beneath the driver’s side window with his sunglasses pushed down to the tip of his nose. He has triple-checked the address, memorised the routine of the man he’s watching, but it still unnerves him when he finds himself waiting for a long damn time for him to emerge.

When he does, Javier steps out of his car and walks right up to him. “Nicolás.”

The man curses when he sees Javier, surging forward. “You want to assault a DEA agent?” Javier challenges, choosing Spanish. “I just want to talk.”

“You assaulted me, you son of a bitch,” says Nicolás. “She send you?”

“No. But you’re going to sign the papers.”

Nicolás scoffs. “Just because you’re fucking my wife—”

Javier itches to pull his gun and press it to the asshole’s forehead until he shits himself in fear. “I’m not fucking your wife,” he says, “but it doesn’t seem like you are, either.”

Nicolás snarls. “I’m not signing the papers.”

Javier feels dirty when he reaches inside his vehicle and pulls out the divorce papers he stole from her bedside table. Nicolás’s brows come down in a furious line. “This is coercion,” he says.

“It’s a warning.” Javier’s patience is waning. “She’s not going to be nice forever, and neither am I. I won’t lose sleep if you go to jail.”

“Let me tell you something,” says Nicolás. “I own her. I have owned her from the moment she signed her contract and I will own her even if she’s not my wife. I have shit on her that will destroy any chance she has at a life, a career. You’ll have to do a lot better than fucking divorce papers.”

Javier’s jaw ticks, but he’s already tucked away the information he needs. He’s going to get her out.

That night, she shows up at his home.

Javier opens the door when a soft knock sounds. He’s not expecting anyone, which is why his gun is tucked into his waistband.

Her face is puffy with tears, and Javier is on red alert. His hairs stand on end and he steps into the hallway, crowding her gently so he can place his hands on her shoulders. Her lower lip trembles when he touches her. “Oh, cielito,” he murmurs. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She shivers. It’s raining outside, and she’s soaked to the bone, her pretty skirt clinging to her thighs and her knit cardigan a blanket of sopping fabric. He knows she doesn’t have a car, that she walks everywhere, but he feels like an asshole for not tracking her down and picking her up anyway. “Went to the Embassy,” she says, teeth chattering. “I found your friend Steve; he gave me your address.”

“Oh, shit, honey.” He grimaces. “I’m sorry. He’s an asshole.”

She tries to laugh, but tears are still rolling down her cheeks. “I—I’m sorry, Javier. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Javier ushers her inside and she stands timidly on the mat while he closes the door behind them. “C’mon, take your shoes off. Can I…?” She nods, and he helps her shrug off the heavy wet cardigan while she slips off her tennis shoes, still hesitant about stepping onto his hardwood floors. “A little water never hurt me, honey. I don’t pay for this place. C’mere, I’ll get you some clothes.”

She holds herself reserved and taut as she follows him, but does not step beyond the threshold into his bedroom. He roots through his closet and refuses to look at the bed. Javier does not let himself imagine her lying there, both of them rolling around in hazy desire, morning laziness, and close talks while squinting against the morning sunlight. He finds a pair of sweatpants and an old, shitty sweatshirt emblazoned with Texas A&M spirit. She smiles down at it and says in a wrecked voice, “It’s gathering cobwebs, viejo.”

He wants to fire something back about her smart mouth, but he doesn’t have the heart. Not when she’s crying. “You can change in here,” he says. “I’ll make you some coffee. That okay?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’ll make some for myself, too. How about that?”

Finally, she nods. “Okay.”

He leaves her just as she’s beginning to pull off her shirt, and he warns his heartbeat to settle before working on the coffee pot. Javier doesn’t let himself think much when he’s working. He tries to get the job done, accomplish what’s necessary. If he thinks… Well, if he thinks, he’ll think about why she’s crying. He’ll wonder what happened to her that was so bad she didn’t have anywhere else to go. He’ll want to track whoever did this to her down and the things he’ll do to them will be horrific enough to land him in jail, let alone fired. No. He’ll make coffee. He will assure that she’s comfortable. He will not—

Fuck.

Javier’s brain goes blank, like he’s wiped all the chalk off the board, when she emerges wearing his clothes. Her feet are bare, the sweatshirt too big, her arms hugging herself as she pads over to him. It’s almost domestic; it’s his fucking dream, seeing her in his home like this, and he can’t enjoy it because she’s in trouble.

He hands her a mug and waits for his brain to restart. They sit together on his sofa and she watches him for a while, scanning his face.

He doesn’t realise until a minute passes that he’s fucked up. Royally.

Her gaze is soft. “I don’t blame you, Javi. Please don’t blame yourself.”

Javier pinches the bridge of his nose and curses at himself in Spanish. “I… Fuck, I just wanted to help. I promise you.”

She reaches out and grasps his hand. “I know,” she says. “He didn’t hurt me.”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice raspy, “he did.”

She shuffles closer, and he can feel her fresh warmth, smell her dewy hair, watch her irises shimmer in the dim light. He clenches her hand tighter. “I’m okay,” she says, reassuring him even though he’s the one who brought the wrath of her husband down upon her. “Just had to see you.”

“Tell me what he did to you.”

“Knocked on my door and told me off for getting involved with a hijo de puta like you.” She smiles wryly, looking down at their joined hands. “His words. Then he told me you showed up at his house, threatened him.”

He tries a joke and feels even more rotten inside for it. “Couldn’t help it. He’s easily threatened.”

Now, as the initial panic subsides, Javier begins to think.

There isn’t a noise inside his home besides the sound of their breathing. He’s wearing jeans, a button-up, and he still feels like he’s on fire. She’s on his fucking couch. Her legs are tucked underneath her and she’s sipping his coffee, and she’s so close to him her arm brushes against him whenever she shifts. Her face is a foot away from his; there are little specks in her eyes, tear tracks on her face; she parts her lips to say something, and his ears begin to ring. He needs her. He needs her close.

Javier cups her face in his hand and brushes his thumb along her chin. She leans into his touch like it’s the most natural thing he could do, like they aren’t crossing a hundred lines. Both of the mugs are set down on the coffee table. She turns her body to face him, looking up at him with doe’s eyes, and his entire body hums for her.

“He knows, Javier.” Her voice is a whisper. “He knows what you mean to me. He said if I don’t start working for him again, he’ll kill you.” She licks her lips, curling her fingers around his forearm. Her eyes are welling up again. “I can’t…”

“Shh, cielito.” He wants her out of her head, wants his girl back. He drops his voice, too, and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Gonna get you out of this.”

She’s butter beneath him, soft and sighing. “Javi, I—”

“I know.” His other hand slips around her hip, fingers teasing the skin beneath the hem of his sweatshirt. She’s so soft.

He drinks in her little gasp. “We can’t—”

“I know.” He brings his hand forward, pressing gently into the small of her back and enjoying the way her warm body curves to him. He slides his hand back around the curve of her waist, memorising, relishing, making a map of the places he wants to explore.

She whimpers when his hand leaves her skin, only to rest between her hip and thigh. “He’ll use it against me.”

“I know, baby.” She’s close enough now that he can brush his lips to her temple in the mere suggestion of a kiss. “We’re gonna do this right,” he says, trailing his hand back up her side so he can grab her other hand and squeeze. “Hey? You and me.”

She nods fervently. “You and me.”

“That’s my girl,” he says into her ear.

“What do I do?”

“It’s already done. I just need you to do the final step for me.”

She traces her fingers along his jawline and he feels the tremor through his spine. He’s at home, here, melting under her touch. He nudges the pads of her fingers with his nose, and she smiles at him like he saved her life. “Anything,” she whispers.

#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #javier peña smut #javier peña fic #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña #javier peña x reader #narcos #narcos fic #narcos fanfiction

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yxngbxkkie · 11 months

Text

mornings with minho ✨️

the final part of my mornings with mini series! i really hope you guys like this one 🥰💓 enjoy!

The feeling of fur startles you, jerking your head back slightly. "Hm?" You grumble to nobody in particular, slowly opening your eyes to see Dori standing right in front of you. "Oh, hi, baby."

He rubs his head against your face, causing you to chuckle. You scratch the top of Dori's head as he lays down beside you, curling into himself.

You close your eyes again, hoping to fall back to sleep quickly. "Dori," the sound of your husband's voice keeps you from sleeping, and you lift your head up.

"He's right here," you mumble while lifting the blanket, revealing the tiger cat.

"Did he wake you?" Minho whispers, climbing onto the king-sized bed.

You nod your head, laughing lightly. "Yeah, but it's okay. He just wanted some cuddles," you mumble, gliding your fingers along the cat's spine.

"He's just like his father," Minho jokes with a smirk, moving some of your hair out of your eyes.

"Are you going to start rubbing your head against my face too?" You ask, giggling. Minho hums before leaning down, rubbing his forehead with yours. More giggles erupt from your lips, and you playfully push him away. "I hate you."

The brunette laughs before placing a kiss on your lips. "No, you don't," he says with a grin. "If you didn't, you wouldn't have married me."

You suck in a breath, agreeing with him before pulling him into another kiss. "You're right," you whisper against his plump lips, grinning slightly. "I'm so in love with you."

"Me too, honey," Minho kisses you a third time, hooking a finger beneath your jaw.

He moves the covers and slides back into bed. He ducks under the blanket, feeling the back of his hands against your side. You can hear him mumble quietly, knowing that he's trying to persuade Dori to move.

It doesn't take long for Dori to leave your side, watching the cat jump off your shared bed. Minho wraps his arms around your waist, pressing himself against you.

"You made him move just so you can cuddle me?" You laugh, moving the blankets to see him.

"I didn't make him move," he mentions, lifting his head to meet your eyes.

"Sure, bunny," you shake your head, bringing your hand to his hair. Minho nuzzles his face into your tummy as you comb your fingers through his hair.

His hands dip under his shirt you're wearing, and a shiver runs down your spine at the ticklish feeling. You glance towards your phone as Minho traces shapes on your lower back, checking the time.

"Do you have to work today?" You ask him in a whisper, noticing it was almost seven am.

He shakes his head, scooting up the bed a bit so he's face to face with you. "No, the big boss man gave us a few days off," he informs you.

"Oh! A few days, you say??" You joke, bringing one of your hands to his face. "What are you going to do with yourself?"

Minho gives you a look before dipping his head into the crook of your neck. "Spend time with you, honey," he sighs, placing light kisses on your skin.

"You're so cute, bunny," you whisper, tilting your head back. Minho trails his lips up your jawline before kissing your lips softly.

"I love you."

You kiss him a couple of more times, bringing both of your hands to his cheeks. "Hey, bunny?" You whisper, suddenly feeling a bit nervous.

Your husband pulls back from you, his dark eyes meeting yours. You can see the love he has for you in them and it makes you less nervous. "Yeah, honey?" He whispers back, leaning into your touch.

"You know how we talked about starting a family?" You ask, stroking his cheeks. Minho nods his head in response, seeing the confusion settling on his face. "Well, I'm pregnant."

tagging: @thewxntersoldier @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @moon0fthenight @foxinnie8

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thecuriousquest · 5 months

Text

Learning Opportunity

Yandere!Shouta Aizawa x Fem!Reader x Yandere!Hitoshi Shinso

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @chickennugnugnug

Warnings: Yandere themes, NSFW, non con touching, non con references, non con sex, brief non con fingering, pseudoincest/stepcest, abusive behavior, sexually abusive behavior, creepy step dad, creepy step brother, non consensual spanking, punishment spanking

Master List

—————————————————————————

It’s been at least three months since your mother passed away, leaving you with your deranged step father and somewhat creepy step brother. You do your best to avoid them, only coming out of your room when necessary, but it’s so difficult living with the two of them.

Your step dad usually comes into your room at night, sitting on your bed. You stiffen under the covers as he slides his hand along your back, smoothing calloused fingers over your soft flesh. He guides his hand along your lower back, dipping further and further until his fingers ghost the doughy hill of your ass.

You cry, a soft whimper escaping wet and parted lips.

He usually leaves once you start sobbing uncontrollably. Usually. Sometimes, he likes listening to you cry, likes listening to the hitched whine in your voice as his hand travels deeper and deeper between your legs.

These are the days where he wakes up next to you, naked, but you didn’t sleep the entire night. Not after what your step dad did to you.

More often than not after school, Hitoshi will make snacks for the two of you, and he tries to feed them to you. He will…intimidate you into opening your mouth. He stands over you, tall and unmoving like a mountain, holding that fucking dumpling in his hand. He whispers into your ear for you to be a good girl and obey Toshi-nii.

You take a shaky breath, closing your eyes to block out the sting prickling in your orbs and the burn in your nose as you open your mouth for him. He sticks his meaty fingers in your mouth, brushing your tongue as he feeds you your afternoon snack. Hitoshi leaves his fingers lingering on your lips as he smiles while watching you chew your food.

You can’t help but sniffle as he places you on his lap, turning the tv on so you two can watch a movie or a show together. Of course there’s an entire plate of snacks for the two of you to munch on. The only rule is you can’t feed yourself. No. Toshi-nii swats your hand away with a light smack whenever you try it. If you want more to eat, you’d better ask him, and don’t even think about complaining when he feeds you.

——

You thought you could get some peace showering, but you were wrong. Aizawa placed a new rule where you have to tell him when you’re about to shower. He’s never left in the dark with your nude secrets. He checks over your goosebump flesh, making sure nobody scratched or bruised his little girl. He undresses you slowly, letting you quiver and tremble slightly harder with every passing item of clothing that he drops on the floor. Soon, he’s pressing you up against the wall of the shower, your bare tits against the tile as he fucks into you, his scratchy pubes and balls smacking against your skin in such a rough manner it makes you scream into your palm.

Due to being unable to lock your door or even shut it, you feel eyes on you through the small crack, and you know it’s your brother watching you. You stand there frozen, unable to dress in your room. Now, you have to hide inside of your closet to get dressed.

You try your best to shower at school from now on.

——

Recently, you’ve become a defiant little thing. You don’t abide by your curfew, not wanting to come home and have dinner with the two of them. So, you stay out as late as you can, ignoring both of their texts.

Your step dad’s messages convey his anger towards you while your step brother shows concern.

Aizawa: Where the hell are you? You better get your ass home right now if you know what’s good for you.

Hitoshi: Hey, sis, you okay? It’s getting kind of late. You should probably come home. I’m worried about you.

You roll your eyes and stay in the library, doing your homework until it closes. You grab dinner next from a convenience store, and then you decide to make your way home. Walking in with your backpack slung on one shoulder, you shut the door behind you.

Your step dad appears in only seconds, rounding the hallway from the kitchen.

“And where the hell have you been, young lady?”

Sighing, you shrug your backpack onto the floor, taking your shoes off as well. “None of your business. I’m going to bed.” You just want to get away from him.

Hitoshi walks down the steps. He stops when he sees you. “Hey, sis, where have you been? It’s kind of late. You missed dinner.”

“Can the both of you get off of my fucking back?” You don’t like this, don’t like how they have trapped you. One is in front of you, the other blocking your path to your room.

No, you really don’t like this at all.

A quick hand reaches out for your hair, the other popping your mouth. Aizawa drags you close to him, chest to chest.

“You don’t really have the room to be talking like that, you know?”

He drags you into the living room, plopping down on the couch, forcing you to stand between his parted knees. His hand is still tight in your locks, forcing you to bend at an odd angle.

You press your hands against his chest to steady yourself, to fight the inevitable

“You’ve been a really bad girl lately. I’m not going to let you continue with this behavior. As your father-”

“You’re not my fucking father, you asshole! Fathers don’t rape their daughters! You’re just a fucking pervert, a monster!” you shout in his face, flecks of spit landing on his cheeks and nose.

Shouta wipes the saliva off with the sleeve of his shirt with a grunt before draping you over his sturdy thigh. He looks at his son who is standing idly by in the doorway of the living room.

“Shinso, come here.”

His son strides over lazily with hands in his pockets. “Yeah, Dad?”

“Have you ever given anyone a spanking before?”

You wriggle with mortification, not wanting to endure this any longer. “Please, don’t-”

“Hush,” Aizawa scolds as he delivers a swat to your upturned bottom.

You yip and hang your head in absolute shame.

“So, have you, Shinso?”

“No, Dad, I haven’t.” A grin appears on the teenager’s face, knowing what direction this is going in.

“Well then, I think this will be a great learning opportunity for you.”

With that, he raises his hand for a flurry of skin blazing smacks. You rear your head again, writhing across the older man’s lap as your legs scissor.

“I’m starting over her skirt because I want to build up the sting in layers. It doesn’t hurt as much now, but it will once we take away some of her protection.”

Doesn’t hurt as much now? Is he fucking shitting you? It hurts like fucking hell!

“You really want to focus on the lower half of her bottom and the upper half of her thighs. You don’t want to end up hitting her tailbone or anything on the lower back. That can cause unnecessary damage,” he explains to his son.

“Oh, I see. That makes sense,” Hitoshi responds. “She sure is kicking a lot.”

“Yeah, if it gets annoying, you can always just pin them down like this-” Aizawa puts a leg over both of yours, effectively trapping them.

“This isn’t fair! You’re humiliating me!” you scream into the couch cushions.

“If she starts being a little too mouthy, you can always take away a layer of clothing,” your step dad informs Hitoshi as he hikes up your skirt around your waist. “See, she’s already a nice shade of pink.” He pats the swell of your bottom, and it causes you to wince.

“Can I touch it?” Shinso asks tentatively.

“Sure, kid.” Amusement laces your step father’s tone, and you groan out of mortification as you feel Hitoshi’s fingers graze over your spanked flesh.

You hiss sharply as he pokes it.

“Fucking get off of me!” You try to kick your pinned legs as you push on Shouta’s thigh.

“That’s enough out of you, young lady.”

The spanking resumes as he pushes down on your back. A sob climbs up your throat, past a knot that you wish you could swallow. Shaking your head, you shoot an arm back to try and protect your backside from his onslaught.

“No, I hate you! I hate you both so much! Stop it!”

You feel his hand come down even harder but at a slower pace. It’s agonizing, leaving you breathy with tears all over your face.

“Now, Hitoshi, this is usually when I like to take down her underwear. You want to do the honors, kid?”

You look up at your step brother. He has the same expression akin to whenever he wants to feed you something. He slowly, ever so painfully slowly, drags your cotton panties down to your knees.

Lacking any protection, your punishment starts again. You catch a glimpse of Hitoshi’s hard cock as he palms himself through his pants.

It makes you want to vomit.

How could someone who is supposed to be your dad do this to you? How could someone who’s supposed to be your big brother treat you like this? How could your fucking mother die and leave you with these two creeps?

You hold onto a pillow on the couch, crying into it as you’re forced to lie over your step father’s knee and take whatever he plans to give you.

“And when she’s all sweet and compliant, that’s when you know she doesn’t have any fight left in her. You’re free to do whatever you want with her after that.”

Shouta makes an example out of you by hefting you up onto his lap, holding you closely.

He whispers in your ear, “There’s my good girl. You be good for Daddy now, okay? Be a good girl for me.” You feel his fingers slide beneath your skirt and into the folds of your slit.

Your chest heaves as you sob even harder against his shoulder. He’s right, though. You’re too tired to fight back. All the energy has left your body from fighting him during your spanking, and you simply sit there on your step dad’s lap and sob.

You don’t want to be spanked again after all.

Hitoshi lowers the zipper on his pants, pulling his cock free as he strokes himself.

“So, we can do anything with her now?” your step brother inquires.

“Anything you want. It’s not like she has room to disagree.”

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sprout-fics · 9 months

Text

Adjustment

(Price x F! Reader)

Call of Duty Masterlist

Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 4k Tags: Dom/Sub, Dom Price, Sub Reader, BDSM, Non-sexual dominance, Impact play, Spanking, Masochism, Pain kink, Safe Sane Consensual, Crying during play, Aftercare, Cuddling, Soft Price Warnings: Please mind the tags A/N: The Price Spanking Fic nobody asked for

When Price calls you to his office this evening, you know exactly why.

It’s been a week since your last mission, the one you were in charge of, the one that went wrong. Faulty intel, no one’s fault except your informant, one who’s reward for his neglect had been a bullet to his face. It was nothing less than a bloody fucking miracle you and your team had gotten out alive, though not unscathed. Two of your squad were still in medical a week later, in good spirits but still injured. On your watch.

The mission rattled you more than you expected it to. It’s not your first time leading a team into less than perfect circumstances, but it is the first time it went this rotten. Your nerves are frayed, pent up, unable to uncoil from the stress of the whole situation. Thankfully you’d not been raked over the coals by your CO, but you almost wish you had been, as if the reprimands and stern lashing would provide some sort of needed outlet to your strained, taut emotions.

As it stands, you hadn’t gotten that much, had instead been trying to find ways to deal despite that. The result had you chewing the heads off recruits, snapping at your teammates, tackling the obstacles course, pacing the perimeter of base in a desperate attempt to cool off. Even so, it wasn’t working, and you know that, know you need to find a better method of taming the roiling sensation of uneasiness inside you. Yet your chosen method, the thing that helped, felt simultaneously desperately needed and horrifically indulgent, a guilty pleasure that was more guilt than anything else.

So you buckled down, brushed people off when they checked on you, gritted your teeth with murmurs of “I’m fine.” and didn’t stay around to listen to them object.

It had only been when Soap had gently approached you in the mess hall, in that soft but stubborn way of his when he knew something was wrong that you snapped. The hurt that had flashed across the sergeant’s face when you practically snarled at him was evident, angered and pained. Yet Soap limped away with his tail between his legs, likely knowing there wasn’t much he could help with, and very likely went straight to Price’s office to report on your viperous demeanor.

It had taken less than an hour for you to get the message from Price.

My office. 9pm.

Which is where you stood now, at 8:59, looking at the seconds on your watch tick down until your fated arrival, just to be spiteful.

You knock less than sixty seconds later, and the voice on the other side almost immediately beckons you inside.

He’s sitting at his desk, idly glancing over paperwork, a glass of whiskey half drained on his desk. Condensation collects on it, drips down onto the coaster he’s meticulously placed so it doesn’t stain the wood. Your eyes fall on it, standing at a lazy parade rest, avoiding the stare he levels at you from under the brim of his hat.

“Lock the door.”

The tenor of his voice is less gruff and more commanding, demanding deference, offering a vague warning should you not obey.

Ah. So it’s going to be one of those evenings. You think to yourself, reaching behind you and clicking the lock shut with a noise that speaks of imminent consequences. There’s a low, apprehensive murmur of excitement tracing under your skin, one that trails up your spine in a shiver you swallow down, don’t allow him to see.

It’s infrequent, this thing you have with the captain. A relationship, a still blossoming one, yes- but also something darker, a little more depraved, something to indulge in your mutual urges with each other. It’s always a little present, some days more than others. Around the rest of your comrades he’s no different to you, but when their backs are turned it’s his hand on your nape, giving the smallest amount of delicious pressure that speaks of dominance, possession.

“Come here.”

You pad over, feeling a familiar, low stirring sensation in your gut at the tone of your captain. Firm, unquestionable, a touch severe but only in a way that was meant to be listened.

You come to rest just short of his knees, as he shifts in his chair to face you. Your hands still rest behind you, held in a taut grip he can’t see. When he speaks, you struggle to meet his eyes, struggle to keep your face placid, unreadable.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

“No.” You respond almost instantly, a rapid response that you internally wince at because you know he can see straight through it.

“Hm.” He offers in return, and you only grimace harder.

“Have I done anything to deserve that?” Price asks, temperate, even, and the utter control in it sometimes scares you only because you know exactly what lies beneath.

“No, Sir.”

That, at least, is the truth. You have been avoiding him, and Price can see that plain as day. Yet the reason lies not with him but with yourself, your stubbornness to soldier on, to refuse help, to buckle down in the worst of ways until the issue naturally works its way out of your system. Unfortunately for you, Price’s keen eyes pick upon even the smallest subtleties in you. It’s an insight he’s developed from years of service, one you haven’t yet found yourself, often leaving the man before you a series of mysteries. You’ll unravel them with time, you think, trust him to deliver the unknowns piece by piece until there’s either nothing left.

“Care to explain what happened with Soap earlier?” He goes on, and you stiffen noticeably, shoulders rising and back straightening, a little ashamed but also guilty at what transpired earlier. The words of it clog your throat, try and force their way upwards.

You could tell him, confess to him why you’re acting the way you are, ask him for what you need. Yet there’s a little poisonous spite bubbling inside you, one that wants him to force it out of you, wants to push against him rebelliously if only to reap the consequences.

You look him in the eyes, stubbornly refusing to break your gaze.

“No Sir.”

It’s more than a little perfunctory, a little biting, but it feels good to see the way Price’s eyes narrow at your tone. There’s a hunger behind them, pupils dark and focused, like he’s staring at something he wants to take apart.

“I think someone needs an adjustment.” Price declares, voice a low growl that’s still within the realm of warning, not yet dipping to the point of no return. It’s just enough, scratches something in your hindbrain that asks for more. More.

You watch as the captain scoots his chair back from where he sits, legs spread wide. For a moment you think he wants you between them, until one large, calloused palm pats against his thigh.

“Over my knee, darling.”

This is familiar to you, and you’ve spent more than one evening, more than one afternoon in the same place that he instructs you. Now, however, you hesitate, stubbornness crossing your expression, biting down on an objection that you’re fine. You don’t need this. Yet you know Price would see right through that too, and you’re not about to safeword out of a release if you can get one. Not if it’s him.

“Don’t make me ask twice.” He warns, eyes unblinking, and even though you still want to object you at last gingerly drape yourself across his knees, ass upwards.

Price is quick to scoot down your pants, revealing the tender skin of your bottom to his gaze. You jolt at his hand that smoothes across the flesh appreciatively.

“You’re not going to count.” He tells you softly, firmly. “You can use your colors if you need them, but otherwise we’ll be done when I say we’re done. Understood?”

You don’t answer, biting your lip, still fighting it. Price’s hand stills, and then grips against your ass, voice now a clear warning, frustration growing at your clear lack of communication.

“Understood, Sergeant?” He prompts again, and this time you nod, focus down on the floor with a small and breathy “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.”

With that, Price’s hand comes down. Hard.

Pain blooms against your skin and you yelp, quick to cover your mouth lest the surrounding offices hear you. It’s late, most of the base is in bed, and the chances of someone finding you are slim. Even so, you know better than to risk it.

Price soothes a hand against the skin, offering no murmurs or hums to ease the pain. Instead, you feel his hand pull away, and you suck in a breath, ready for the next slap.

It’s only once you’ve released, dared to glance at him that Price’s hand comes down on the opposite cheek. You jolt forward, a little cry of surprise escaping you once more.

Price is slow, methodical. There’s a precision to him that’s fine tuned with experience, an unrelenting focus to his task at hand that has your gut clenching with a distant flicker of need. Each impact of his hand leaves a stinging, needed deliverance that gives a more than welcome distraction to the festering frustration inside of you.

Price gives you a few breaths between each slap, just enough to collect yourself before his palm comes down in a devastating collision. It doesn’t take long for your ass to warm under his touch, a little raw, making you bite back a hiss as he takes moments to idly stroke it with a tender touch that’s an unnerving contrast to the impacts he offers.

You lay rigid, balancing tightly, muscles coiled and resistant. You’re still fighting it, can’t let go just yet, doggedly refusing to allow yourself to release the tension in your form. It presses down on the small of your back with the bracing touch of Price’s arm, lays thick in your shoulders as you teeth your lip bloody and try not to make any noise.

It’s not enough. You’re still wound far too tight, shoulders scrunched, body rigid, and as Price’s hand comes down once more in a smack that feels thunderous, you can’t help but flinch.

“Mm. That’s not good enough, love.” He rumbles after the next few impacts, with you stubbornly biting your lip to prevent any sounds from escaping. A hand kneads the stinging flesh of your ass and you groan a little at the pain, but don’t raise your voice, don’t move from your position over his lap.

You feel Price pause, adjust, and soon one of your wrists is hauled behind your back, then the other, as you’re forced to sag your entire weight against him. It releases some of the tension in your form, but it only manifests itself in a squirming resistance that has Price huff a little displeased sound down at you.

Price’s hand settles on your nape as you squirm, and the simple act of scruffing you has goosebumps rising across your flesh, body seizing with a sharp intake of air. You tremble, skin electrifying under his touch. Every synapse feels too bright, too hot, and when his thumb presses against the underside of your jaw you give him a full body shudder that vibrates into his hand. Yet all Price offers you in return is a single, growling demand that pulls at something deep, primal inside your ribcage.

“Settle.”

Just like that, you feel yourself loosen abruptly, going completely still, muscles sagging as if Price just snapped the strings holding you aloft. Your body goes lax, limp, head dropping forward in surrender, and Price hums a rumbling, approving noise that makes you keen.

“Very good.”

With that, he resumes.

The spanks come quicker now, with devastating accuracy, rapid fire and heavy. It takes a few impacts for you to stop holding your breath, let your eyes open and unfocus on the floor in front of you. There’s a warm, velvety haze beginning to fog over your senses now. It cottons your thoughts, muffles the world around you, allows that previous resistance inside you to slowly begin to ease.

The pain feels good.

Little moans start spilling past your lips, and you slowly stop trying to silence them. The sting of Price’s hand settles low in your belly, licks a tender flame into your core. A murmur of arousal resides there, fueled by the profound act of surrender. The utter, encompassing trust that resides between you and him in this regard is a tonic unlike any other. It lets you fall completely into yourself, submitting to where he wants to lead you, knowing he’ll ground you, keep you safe, give you not exactly what you want, but what you need.

Price can sense the way you’re unwinding, can feel the noises from you now, a little louder, more breathless, lips parting with shuddering gasps. He pauses after a particularly harsh smack, allowing the knuckles of his hand to rest against the top of your ass. Not moving, just resting. Not finished yet.

“You wanted this but didn’t know how to ask, isn’t that right, love?” He asks, and it takes you a moment, but you nod. Hell, you’re not sure why you didn’t ask for this sooner. You know he’d give it if you asked while you’re wound up like this, would find a way to unravel you at the seams and let the cotton, soft, sinking feeling envelop you and offer you a much needed respite.

“Color?” He prods gently, and you’re already so warmly out of it for a moment that you have to remember how to answer him.

“Green.”

Price grunts, satisfied, and his knuckles trace over the raw, swollen skin of your flesh before his hand turns over again.

He doesn’t ask if you’re ready, and this time you don’t bother to tense before his hand comes down. It’s less this time, the impacts not enough to shatter you the way they did before, but the pain is still enough to make you droop forward, release an exhale that loosens your shoulders all the way down. You’re already feeling it, can already feel the stress being sapped away along with your resistance, but you know Price won’t be satisfied until the thing that was holding it in the first place snaps inside you, makes you surrender completely.

“Doing well. Just a little more.” He urges, and you whimper.

You don’t know if you can take more. You’re already kind of floaty, it already scratches that needed itch under your skin, but you know there’s so much more you can offer him.

At last it comes loose, a sob startles from your throat at it being so much, and it seems to open the floodgates. You inhale a long, shuddering breath as Price pauses, and when it releases it’s as an unsteady, whimpering sigh that dissolves into another sob. Price kneads your ass and the pain forces another cry from your throat until you shudder with it, and begin to cry in earnest.

“That’s it. Very good. Let it go.” He urges, voice soothing, tender, firm in the way you need him to be so he can hold up the sagging, collapsed form of you.

The crying is cathartic, a week of pent up emotion and stress at last simmering to the surface and leaking down your face in hot, wet tears. It’s not at the sting of pain, not at any type of unwillingness or shame. Instead it’s like unplugging a drain, allowing the tepid surface of stress inside you to circle downwards, allowing the utter vulnerability of being like this to sink away the thing that had been holding you back from your own emancipation. Every single remaining ounce of tension in your body sags away, and you droop over Price’s lap with your head tucked forward, chest rattling with thick, sobbing cries.

Fuck, it feels good.

The complete and utter release of the tension in your form has your breath collapse from your lungs, sends hot, fat tears rolling down your face in an all too needed exoneration of the troubled tightness that was held in your form. Even as your chest shutters there’s a strange, serene calm that washes over you at the act of finally, finally letting go.

It isn’t over, because Price delivers several more harsh, stinging slaps, as if to shake the rest of it loose from you, until he at last relents. He braces an arm over the small of your back, murmuring a small “Steady.” as you shudder. Face tipped forward, the trails of tears on your face drip down from your chin onto the floor. A hand gently strokes the stinging, swollen flesh of your ass, and despite the smarting it’s grounding, keeping you leveled from the tempting descent of rumination that lies in the back of your mind.

“You did well.” Price tells you at last, when your cries have begun to ease, and it stutters a little whine from you, the praise a balm to your slightly overwhelmed senses. He waits until you settle a bit more before shifting, and soon you find yourself tucked in his lap, head braced against his chest. You stay there, sniffling, moving to rub at your face, but Price keeps your hand on your lap where it is, a thumb grazing over your knuckles. His voice is low as he offers soft little hushes and murmurs into you, words of praise and reassurance that allow the tears to ebb and make your eyes flutter shut.

You sink, allow yourself to go limp in his arms, with him balancing you and supporting your weight so you can stay in the moment of letting go. One arm braces you, the other holding you fast against his chest where you drink in his musky, heavy scent. Tobacco, gun powder, just a hint of cologne he tries to use to cover the scent of his cigars. It clouds over your senses, sends you down into that blissful state of fuzzy, ambiguous relaxation you’ve craved so desperately since the mission. It’s complete bliss, being able to just be here, in his arms, fresh off a much needed bout of crying and feeling the world fade away so it’s just you, him, and the offerings of smoky praise he breathes into your ear. You float, entirely and blessedly unaware, trusting him to keep you in his arms, to keep you safe, to allow you space for this much needed reprieve.

You don’t know how long you stay down like that. Eventually your hiccups fade into stuttering little breaths, and soon you synchronize your inhales and exhales with the long, steady rise and fall of the captain’s chest. Fatigue wears down on your form, and soon your cottoned, muffled senses give way to a sleepy, comfy kind of softness that has you exhale a long, final sigh against him.

“Back with me?” He asks at last, and you aren’t sure if it’s been mere minutes or hours, too droopy and exhausted to tell. You nod, still a little too hazy to find words, giving him a non-committal, lethargic grumble that has a huff of laughter blowing against your skin.

“Take your time, darling.” He tells you, and you nod once more, let your eyes flutter shut and head loll against his chest just a little longer.

Eventually you feel the world begin to seep back into your senses, and you shift on his lap, hissing at the scrape of your bare ass against his cargo pants.

“Easy.” He tells you, voice dipping with a hint of that sternness again, and you force yourself to still from your wriggling.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Price’s voice finally inquires, and you hesitate, afraid it will all come rushing back the moment you say it all aloud. Yet you remind yourself that you’re safe here, in his arms, that even if you did feel tension and panic rise up again in your chest that Price will ease you back down again.

So it comes spilling loose with an unsteady sigh. The frantic realizations of the mission when it turned sour, the terror as you watched your team members come under fire, hauling them to safety and narrowly avoiding injury yourself. Needing to be strong for them, keeping your mounting horror clamped down as you frantically radioed for ex-fil. Waiting for the chopper as you felt warm blood gush over your palms, rasped reassurances to them, held their hands with red-stained gloves as they were hauled out of the battlefield. Getting back to base and asking yourself what you did, what happened, how you didn’t anticipate this, trying desperately to tell yourself that at least you made it all back alive.

The tears don’t come back. You’re far too spent for that, instead imbuing yourself in the sensation of Price stroking your arm steadily as you ramble, emptying your chest of worries. You don’t know how long it takes, but Price remains silent, steady, a lighthouse in the fog as you surrender to him. Eventually the heavy pauses between your words grow longer, until there’s only silence that remains between you both.

“None of that was your fault, love.” He reminds you at last.

“I know.” You provide after a moment. “I just…” A clinging thickness lingers in your throat, and you swallow it, unfocused eyes lazily resting on the broad planes on his chest.

“I was scared.”

Price sighs, and it isn’t unkind or pitying. It feels more like a release of himself too, allowing you to nuzzle into the emptiness the air leaves behind in his chest. “I know love. But you did well, got your team out, got those lads home alive.”

You nod, and if he had said that an hour earlier you think you would have fought him on it. Now, the words feel like pure, cathartic relief that soothes cooly through your veins.

Silence once again falls over you both as Price allows you to come back to yourself. It’s only once you shift, look up at him that his face turns down towards you, eyebrows raised.

“Solid?”

You nod, a little firmer now, but relaxed, open. “Solid.” You confirm, and oh. You missed that too, the rare, tender smile he gives you. It’s different than the usual wry, amused nature of him, reserved only for moments like this, where the world of gunshots and explosions, of broken bones and helicopters fades into the quiet solitude of just you both.

You relish it as long as you can before it fades, and Price tilts his head down at you to stare under his brows with a stern, admonishing, unblinking stare.

“You’ll come to me before you decide to start biting other people’s heads off. Understood?” He professes rather than inquires, and you wither a little, remorseful, knowing better than to break eye contact with him as you nod, adding an obligatory “Yes, Sir.” for good measure.

“Good girl.” He rumbles, and it has you shiver a little, never immune to the way those words send your blood coursing a little higher in your veins. “Took it well. Always do.”

“Thank you Sir.” You breathe, happy and content, pleased at the act of pleasing him.

“Do you need to…?” You turn to ask, shifting a little on his lap to feel the half-hard bulge in his trousers. Price only chuckles, shakes his head.

“We can worry about that later, love.” He promises, and that makes your eyes widen, sit a little straighter where you sit on him, eager and interested in the offer. Price notices instantly, levels you with a knowing amusement that has his lips curl. “That is, if you want to.” and you duck your head a little, a little abashed at being so very easy to read, but nod.

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” You ask quietly.

“Manners.” Price reprimands fondly

“Please?”

He grumbles, feigning begrudging exasperation at the request, and it only has you grin at him, the first smile in what feels like a very, very long time.

“Of course darling.”

#Price x reader #price x you #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x you #reader insert #x reader #oneshot #cod mw2 #cod mw2022 #mw2 #mwii #call of duty #my writing #my fic #Tossing this out onto tumblr before I regret it #two fics in one day way to go sproutie #jk they were on ao3 first I'm just now cross posting them here

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dizscreams · 1 year

Text

Gotcha! — Ethan Landry ★

Pairing: Ethan Landry x fem!carpenter!reader

Summary: Reader is a Carpenter sister! She’s in a secret relationship with Ethan and has Ethan over not knowing that Sam’s home

Warnings: Y/N and baby is used, it’s kinda suggestive but mostly fun fluff

A/N: I AM SORRY! I know i have random thoughts that i always just need to right down and I end up not doing the things I should. BUT IM WORKING ON THE JACK FIC DONT WORRYY! The Ethan tag was just dry today so I’m trying to help 🫶

“Shh! I need to make sure nobody’s home.”

Your voice echoed through the halls as Ethan reluctantly pulled away from your lips and followed behind you. “You said nobody was going to be home,” he said looking at you slightly confused. You opened the door and double checked around the apartment. Sam and Quinn’s keys were gone from the rack by the door so you took it as a sign nobody was there.

“I know but I just needed to double check.” You smiled and kissed him again, he quickly followed your movements and smiled into the kiss. Without breaking the contact you stepped inside and went to your room, making sure to shut the door behind you.

Ethan signaled for you to jump so you did and wrapped your legs around his waist while he carried you to your bed. Once he laid you down on the bed and got on top of you, you broke the kiss to kiss his neck. You slightly tugged his curls causing a small whine to escape his lips while yours held a smirk. “Tease,” he mumbled before nipping at the skin of your neck as payback.

You could have sworn you heard a door creak at that moment which caused you to slightly push him back. “Did you hear that?” You asked looking at the door and he followed your eyes. You both listened for a minute before he broke the silence, “Baby, there’s nobody home, remember? I’m sure it’s nothing.” You looked at him slightly worried but figured he was probably right.

You nodded in agreement and muttered a quiet “Okay.” With that he started to kiss your neck, with one hand holding his balance above you while the other was lifting up your shirt. Ethan slowly rubbed his hand up and down your side. “Can I take this off?” He murmured against your skin and you eagerly nodded and lifted up. He quickly took the fabric off of you and threw it somewhere across the room before taking off his own shirt.

While slightly smirking, he went back to kiss you before softly kissing up and down your stomach, trying his best to ease you since he could tell you were on high alert.

It wasn’t that you were ashamed of your relationship with him it’s just you knew your sisters. Ever since Woodsboro they were beyond paranoid, Sam more than Tara, and it was understandable. You all went through a lot so of course, it was easy to have trust issues. And you trusted Ethan, you really did, but you knew Tara and Sam would be sketch and you didn’t want to bother with it.

They’d meet him eventually but for now you liked having him to yourself. The thrill of having a secret relationship was fun anyways and he’s told you repeatedly he doesn’t mind. You were glad to have a boyfriend as understanding as him.

Right as Ethan was about to take off your bra you heard something again.

“Okay, you had to have heard that.” He raised his head up, he did hear it, he just didn’t want to say anything cause he didn’t want you to worry. And he was hard

“Maybe it’s just the apartment next door?” He suggested but you gave him an unconvinced look that shut him up. You sat up, “I’m going to check it out.” but Ethan pushed you back down, “No, don’t. Just stay with me, please? I can protect you.” He told you while kissing your collarbones.

You rolled your eyes, “What if it’s Sam or Tara?”

He huffed out a breath, “Here, what if I go check it out?”

You looked at him curiously with a playful smile, “What, cause I’m a woman you don’t think I can handle whatever it is?” You teased. He turned red at that, “What- no that’s not what I meant-“ you cut him off with a kiss and chuckled at his fanatics. “I know,” you softly said calming him down, “You can go look just be quick, please?”

He nodded and got up, not bothering to put his shirt back on. You sat up against the headboard and played with your fingers while biting your lip in thought. What if it was one of your sisters? Or what if it was Ghostface? It couldn’t be, right? You’d definitely rather deal with Sam or Tara than a serial killer, but Richie and Amber were dead. There wasn’t anything to worry about anymore.

God what was taking him so long?

Your thoughts got cut off by Ethan’s voice, “Um, Y/N, can you come in here please?” He sounded like he was in the living room. But more importantly he sounded worried. You wasted no time in putting on a shirt and heading towards the living room. “Yeah? What’s-“

Oh shit

You were met with your older sister, a smirk on her face and her arms crossed and your very embarrassed boyfriend, scratching the back of his neck. “Sam it isn’t-“

“Isn’t what it looks like?” She finished your sentence with a snicker. Then she pointed to Ethan eyeing him, “When did this happen?” She asked cocking her head to the side. You were speechless. Ethan cleared his throat, “I’m gonna- let you guys talk.. and I’m going to put a shirt on.” He mentally cringed at himself for stuttering and quickly went back to your room and shut the door.

You could barely make eye contact with Sam knowing that she found this amusing and was 100% going to tease you about this for a very long time. “How long have you been here?” Your voice sounded smaller than you wanted it to, but you held your head up anyways.

She laughed a little, “Oh you know- just the whole time.” Your eyes went wide and looked right at her. “The whole time!?”

This caused her to laugh even harder, “Yeah, the only reason my keys weren’t here was because Dan- a friend took me home. Tara has my car.”

You squinted at her not forgetting to bring up whoever this “friend” she mentioned was later. Just as you were about to say something smart to her Ethan walked back in still shirtless.

“Hi-“ he did his awkward wave, “Sorry to interrupt but you have my shirt, y/n.” You looked down at what you were wearing and your mouth made an ‘O’ shape. Oops. “Just go back in my room and I’ll be there in a minute.” You told him and he did what you asked with no hesitation. You smirked at that but turned back around to focus on your sister.

She was now sitting on the small chair you had by the front door. “Did you guys have fun?”

“Were you listening to us?! You’re so creepy!”

“I had to make sure he wasn’t going to murder you!”

“Oh my god, you’re the worst.”

“I love you too, sis,” Sam got up and walked to the kitchen, opening up the fridge, “I would’ve said anything before you two.. did anything. Speaking of which! You do know how a condom works, right?”

“Oh my god, Sam! You’re so embarrassing.”You said throwing a couch cushion at her. “Hey! I just need to know you’re being safe.” She said giggling and you couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your face. “Whatever, I’m going back in my room. I’ll make sure we keep it PG for you. Love you!”

She shook her head with a smile as you walked off. Once she made sure you were out of sight she called Tara, “You wont believe what just happened-“

lol this was fun to write hope you enjoyed :)

TAGLIST: @beary-rambles @wekiamo @dizzyscreams i forgot abt it sorry!

#scream 6 #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #jack champion #jack champion x reader #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry thoughts #sam carpenter #samantha carpenter #tara carpenter #dizzy writes?! 😵‍💫

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joelsgreys · 1 year

Text

a safe haven | two

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist | previous chapter l next chapter

summary: While helping set up the barn for the summer party, a friend tells you that Tommy wants to set her up with Joel and feelings of jealousy come into play; you ask your niece Dina for a huge favor; you share a memorable moment with Joel and Ellie on the dance floor.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. commune throws party, Esther makes an appearance, reader gets jealous, mentions of reader’s husband, husband name reveal, hints at their strained marriage, Dina and Ellie interaction, Joel dances, cute moments between Ellie, Joel, and reader. mention of food, consumption of alcohol.

word count: 6.6k

You glance around the barn, both hands planted firmly on your hips.

It’s late in the afternoon, around three or four if you had to guess since you’d accidentally left your watch in your satchel bag back at the stables.

After spending the morning making your usual rounds and tending to all of the horses that needed some attention, you’d offered to pitch in and help prepare for the night’s upcoming festivities. In one corner of the barn, Seth’s setting up the small bar where he and his sons would be bartending and serving up beverages. Over in another corner, Tommy Miller is helping set up the large, flat top grill and his wife, Maria, stands right beside him, keeping everything organized as she directs several members of the commune and assigns them with a number of tasks that still need to be taken care of before the social event could begin. The food had also started to arrive—quite a few people had kindly volunteered to bring in their homemade dishes to share, all sorts of delicious little pickings from a variety of savory sides to go with the bison steaks that Tommy would be grilling later on in the evening, to an array of sweet, baked desserts meant to be enjoyed afterwards. Maria graciously thanks everyone for their contributions, then points them over towards the long, rectangular shaped table that would serve as something of a buffet.

“Do you think we brought out enough chairs for tonight?” you ask, curiously cocking your head to the side slightly as you silently start to do another count of the mismatched chairs around all of the tables that surrounded the perimeter of the makeshift dance floor. The barn itself was incredibly spacious, and the group who’d been assigned the task of cleaning it up earlier that morning had completely cleared the inside, leaving more than plenty of room. Still, you try to be mindful about making sure the improvised venue isn’t too crowded with tables and chairs. “Or do you think we should bring out a few more?”

Esther scoffs in response. She had been sitting at one of the tables, digging through a woven basket filled to the brim with freshly picked wildflowers for the center pieces she had promised Maria that she’d make. She improvised with a different variety of glasses, plastic cups, and even old, empty food cans, using them as vases for her arrangements. In a tiny effort to spruce them up, Esther had tied a long string of twine into a bow around each one. “Listen, nobody is going to be sitting on their ass tonight, at least not for very long,” she remarks, brushing her long, golden blonde bangs out of her eyes with the back of her hand. She then gestures towards the stage where a couple of guys are bringing out instruments and setting them up. She shimmies her shoulders playfully. “Everyone is going to be way too busy dancing and shaking their tail feathers. Now quit worrying about chairs and help me with these damn things, will you?”

You giggle at her antics and lightly shake your head as you sit down in the wooden chair directly across from her plastic one. You grab an old, empty Campbell’s chicken noodle soup can and peel off the label, carefully checking the inside to make sure it’d been washed out thoroughly before grabbing a handful of flowers from the basket. Esther made a good point. The much anticipated and long awaited first day of summer had officially arrived in Jackson, and the entire town was buzzing with pure excitement over the gathering—an incredibly rare time to unwind and let loose, you knew everybody was more than ready to put on their best and dance the night away.

Sure, throwing a party while living in a world like this one seemed like nothing but a complete waste of time—not to mention, a complete waste of valuable and precious resources. But the good people of Jackson worked themselves down to the bone in efforts to keep the community going, to keep it growing and flourishing now that it was well over forty families strong. Taking just one night out of the year to have some carefree fun did a lot more good than it did harm. It provided a much needed sense of normalcy for everyone, but most importantly, for the children and members of the younger crowd who had been born after the outbreak. It was a small taste of what life used to be like before every single day became nothing but a fight for survival, before the worries of infection, clickers, and murderous raiders became god awful nightmares that had come to life. While Jackson was certainly a safe haven, it wasn’t completely immune to those very real threats, and that scared people. Seeing the way the summer party lifted spirits and boosted morale, Maria had made it an official annual tradition, something to look forward to when the tough got going. Anyone who thought it was a stupid idea was more than welcome to spend the entire night on wall duty instead.

“I wonder if he’s coming tonight.” Esther’s voice breaks into your train of thought after a minute or two.

You glance up at her, confused. “Who are you talking about?”

“Tommy’s older brother,” she replies, placing some daisies into a tall, slightly chipped glass. She bites her lip and says his name shyly. “Joel.”

Without thinking anything much of it, you nod and find yourself assuring her, “He said he would come.”

Esther’s hands fumble, clumsily knocking the glass over in surprise, her flowers spilling out. She manages to catch it just before it falls off the side of the table and grips it in her hand. “Wait a minute, you’ve met Joel?” She gasps lightly, her eyes going wide with curiosity. “You mean, you’ve actually talked to him? Are you fucking serious? When did that happen?” She sputters out each question, one after the other.

You bite back a grin as you recall your encounter with Joel Miller. Even now, a full day later, the feeling of his hand holding yours still lingers. His skin had been rough and calloused against your own, but you’d enjoyed the way it had felt. You shouldn’t have. But there’s no denying how much you had liked it, how much you wished for another chance to hold his hand in yours again.

Still waiting for answers, Esther nudges your leg with her foot under the table. “Well?”

You shrug your shoulders in the most calm, nonchalant manner that you can muster, as if the mere thought of the man isn’t making your insides flutter wildly. “Well, I actually just met him for the first time yesterday afternoon.” Seeing the genuinely stunned expression on Esther’s face, you begin to elaborate a little further as you start arranging a bouquet of flowers into the empty soup can in front of you. “Ellie, the girl he’s here with, well she spends a lot of time with me at the stables. Joel came looking for her after lunch hour and we got to talking for a bit. Before he left, I ended up inviting him and Ellie to come to the party.”

“Wait, what? Ellie spends a lot of time with you? Really?” Esther lets out a scoff of pure and utter disbelief. “I can hardly even believe it! That girl avoids everyone around here like we’re the damn infected. It’s really rude, don’t you think so?” She doesn’t even give you the chance to respond before adding, “She’s got quite the mouth on her from what I’ve heard, too. Cusses up a storm left and right, and she lacks the most basic manners. Poor Joel, I wonder how he ended up getting stuck with someone like her. Whoever her parents were, they clearly failed in disciplining her.”

Frowning, you glare at her across the table, not too fond over the remarks she’d just made about Ellie. “She’s actually a really good kid, Esther,” you all but snap at her, a seething edge to your tone. “You know something, I really wish people wouldn’t be so damn quick to judge before getting to know someone, especially when they have no idea about what they’ve been through. Maria has taught all of us better than that over the last few years.”

Your friend holds up her hands in defense. “Well in all fairness, it’s kind of hard to try and get to know someone who purposely chooses to keep to themselves all the time, you know. She isn’t even giving anyone the chance to get to know her. Except for you now, apparently.” She pauses for a moment, realizing she had just landed herself in a bit of hot water with you. She tries to deviate the conversation slightly into a less sensitive territory and asks, “Are they both coming tonight?”

“Joel said he’d be by with Ellie,” you confirm, still feeling a bit irate. You know Esther doesn’t really mean any harm, but her comments, and the way she’d said them, had definitely struck a nerve. “He might have his work cut out for him trying to talk her into coming with him, but I’m sure that he’ll manage to convince her somehow.”

“Well, at the very least, I sure hope that Joel sticks true to his word and comes out to join us,” she smirks, propping her elbows up on the table as she leans towards you and makes a confession that you’d really wished she hadn’t. “He’s certainly someone that I would like to get to know.”

You manage to keep a straight face, uttering a small, “Oh really?”

“Of course! He’s so damn handsome,” Esther gushes with a twinkle in her sky blue eyes. “Joel is exactly my type of man, you know. Tall. Rugged. Big, strong hands that I bet would feel incredible all over me,” she swoons back into her chair in a dramatic fashion at the thought of it. “And he has this mysteriousness about him that I really like too.” She stops, looking around to make sure nobody was within earshot before leaning over towards you once more. She lowers her voice just in case anyone happens to pass by the table. “Tommy stopped by my place after dinnertime yesterday. He told me he was thinking of setting Joel up with somebody and he asked me if I would be interested.”

Your heart sinks. “He did?”

It’s difficult to ignore the feeling of envy that’s prickling at your nerve endings. It’s incredibly stupid to feel this way, to feel disappointed, especially knowing that you didn’t have the slightest chance in hell with Joel Miller.

Esther’s a single woman up for grabs—and you’re not.

You’re married.

Still, the thought of Joel with Esther, it bothers you.

After talking to him in the horse stables the day before, you’d found yourself thinking about him a lot more than a married woman should probably be thinking about another man who wasn’t her husband. It was wrong, it was dangerous, and it wasn’t like you at all. But there was just something about him that had caught your attention, long before he’d even spoken a single word to you.

Now that you’d become acquainted with him, you were screwed.

So frustratingly and devastatingly screwed.

“You know what, I’m going to try and talk to him tonight,” Esther concludes, nodding her head as if she’d just convinced herself into doing it. “I might need a strong drink or two in me to give me a little bit of liquid courage, but I think I can do it. After all, Tommy thinks that Joel would really like me. He told me so last night.”

You lightly clear your throat and somehow manage to give her your best, encouraging smile. “I’m sure you’ll make a great first impression on him, Esther.”

“I think so too,” she agrees, giving the flower in her hand a gentle sniff. “By the way, I forgot to ask you—is Luke coming by tonight?”

The mere mention of your husband’s name makes you feel nauseous.

Averting your gaze, you shake your head. “No, he isn’t. He’s been so tired from work lately and he’s really not in the mood for it.” You hope she can’t detect the hint of relief in your voice as you explain that your husband wouldn’t be joining in on the night’s festivities. “He’s going to stay home and catch up on some rest.”

“What a shame,” Esther tsks with a frown. “That man works way too damn hard, you know. He needs a break. You should really try and get him to come to the party. He could use a night out.”

“I’ll try and talk him into it,” you lie straight through your teeth knowing damn well that you would do no such thing. The truth of the matter was, the less you were around Luke, the better. Him being at the party with you would only make it unenjoyable for you—if he came, you wouldn’t be able to be yourself, not unless you wanted to end the night with another explosive argument because you’d been too this or too that. Too chatty, too annoying, too embarrassing, too much.

Knowing Luke, he would expect you to be glued to his side all night long and play the role of his quiet, obedient little wife, and when that didn’t happen, it would cause all hell to break loose once you two were back in the privacy of your home. It was the one place where the image of the perfect, loving marriage that you and Luke had created over the last few years came crumbling down into pieces.

From your periphery, you catch a young girl with long, raven black hair walking by with a burlap sack of green apples in her arms. “Excuse me for a minute.” You stand up from the table and catch up to the teenager, calling out her name. “Dina!”

She stops in her tracks and turns around. As soon as she sees that it was you who’d called her name, she smiles warmly. “Hi there, auntie.”

You wrap an arm around her in a hug. “Are you ready for tonight?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Dina shrugs, setting down the heavy sack at her feet as she smiles at you once again. Since you’d met her, she had always been a quiet kid, friendly but very shy. As she transitioned from childhood into adolescence, she had slowly but surely started coming out of her shell. “I’m excited for all the good food, that’s for sure. What about you?”

“I’m really looking forward to the live music,” you reply, nodding towards the stage where a young man is tuning up his bass guitar. You peer curiously at her for a moment, hesitating slightly before finally saying, “Listen, I’m glad that I caught you. I was wondering if you could do me a really big favor tonight?”

Eagerly, she nods. “Of course! Anything for you, auntie. What do you need?”

“You know that new girl, right? Ellie?”

Dina’s face falls instantly. “You mean the one who doesn’t talk to anybody?”

“Yeah. Her. I was thinking that maybe we should do something to change that,” you suggest to her. “I’d really appreciate it if you would try and talk to her tonight during the party. Maybe try and get to know her a bit.” You immediately notice the look of disdain that crosses her features. “I honestly think that you two would get along great. She reminds me a lot of you, you know. Minus all the cursing, of course,” you quickly add as an afterthought.

“You’ve talked to her?”

“She’s actually been hanging out with me these last couple of weeks.” You almost laugh at the shocked look on Dina’s face. “I wouldn’t ask you to befriend someone who I know you wouldn’t like. But I mean it, Dina. I really think you’d like Ellie. Something tells me that you two could wind up being good friends.”

“But she yelled at me on her first day here,” Dina recalls, anxiously biting her bottom lip as she shuffles from foot to foot.

“Okay, so maybe you two might have gotten off on the wrong foot,” you state, remembering that winter afternoon a few months ago when Dina had told you about how Ellie had barked at her for staring at her in the mess hall. “But that doesn’t mean that you two can’t start over, you know. Clean slate?” You grin and tuck a lock of her long hair behind her ear, grazing her cheek softly as you did so. “It would really mean a lot to me if you at least tried to talk to her. Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

Dina thinks it over for a minute, then sighs in defeat. “Fine. I suppose I can give it a shot.”

You take her face in the palm of your hand, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “That’s my girl.”

Dina quickly pulls away from you and wrinkles her nose. “Auntie?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re going home to shower before the party tonight, right?”

“Yeah, of course I am.” You furrow an eyebrow at her. “Why do you ask?”

“Because.” She wrinkles her nose in disgust. “You smell like a dirty horse.”

You chuckle, giving her another squeeze.

Oh, Ellie and Dina were going to get along just fine.

Joel stands in front of the bathroom mirror and frowns at his own reflection as he runs his thick fingers through his graying, dark brown curls for what had to be the thousandth time. Whether it was with his hands or with a comb, he couldn’t tame his locks to save his fucking life. He breathes out a long, irritated sigh and decides to give up on his hair altogether before walking back out into his bedroom in nothing but the dark blue bath towel wrapped around his waist. He pads over towards the foot of his bed where he’d set out his pile of clothes.

He quickly tugs on a pair of boxer briefs and his clean, dark wash blue jeans before reaching for one of the shirts Tommy had dropped off for him earlier that afternoon. His brother had given him a number of options to choose from and Joel had chosen the one he’d felt was the nicest—black with a gray paisley print and long sleeves. He shrugs into the shirt and buttons it up, rolling the sleeves up to the middle of his forearms. He glances over at his pistol on the black oak nightstand beside his bed. Though he’s fairly positive he wouldn’t be needing it, he picks it up and tucks it into the waistband of his jeans, purely out of habit.

After slipping on his cleanest pair of black leather boots, he leaves his bedroom and makes his way down the long hallway towards Ellie’s door. He gives it a light knock and calls, “Ellie, s’time. You all ready to go?”

It takes her a minute, but Ellie finally opens the door.

“Y’didn’t wanna dress up for tonight?” Joel questions, observing how she’s chosen to wear her usual long sleeved shirt, faded blue jeans, and tattered red low top sneakers.

She narrows her eyes at him and huffs, “Fucking really, Joel?”

He holds up his hands, shaking his head. “Right. That was a stupid question,” he realizes out loud. “Alright. C’mon, kiddo. Let’s get goin’ before it gets late.”

“Do we really have to go to this stupid thing?” Ellie whines with a small groan as she follows him down the stairs and out the front door. “It’s the end of the fucking world, man. Who in their right mind throws a fucking party? I mean, what are we even celebrating, anyway? The fact that we’re all fucked for the rest of our lives?”

“Y’know, a little change in attitude would be kinda nice,” Joel remarks as the two of them make their way across the commune, following another group of people who also appear to be heading towards the barn. “This could be real good for you, Ellie. Hell, it could be good for me too. It could end up bein’ a real good time for the both of us.” He doesn’t quite fully believe that, and the truth is, Joel really doesn’t want to go as much as Ellie doesn’t want to go. Still, he hopes that by exposing Ellie to people at the social event, she’ll have an easier time adjusting, and perhaps she could even finally find her niche. Or at least make a friend. Seeing you also happens to be a perk of going. “This could be fun.”

“Since when are you into parties, Joel?”

Joel shrugs his shoulders. “I ain’t into parties.”

“Oh, wait a minute. The only reason that you even want to go to this fucking thing in the first place is because you know who is going to be there. Isn’t that right, Romeo?” Ellie smirks and wiggles her eyebrows at him in a suggestive manner. Noticing the perplexed expression on his face, she scoffs, “Don’t look at me like you don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. I heard the way you were chatting her up at the stables yesterday.”

“First of all, she was the one who was chattin’ me up, thank you very much,” Joel mutters to her gruffly. “And second, what the hell were you doin’ hangin’ around and listenin’ to us? I thought I’d told you to go get lunch, not stick around and eavesdrop.”

“I didn’t wanna miss anything good,” Ellie replies, peering up at him. “You know that she’s married, don’t you?”

“Ellie,” he says her name warningly and looks around, hoping no one had been overhearing their conversation.

“Just making sure you knew that, Joel.”

“Yeah, I know she’s married,” he says, hoping that the teenager couldn’t pick up on the sour edge to his tone. He glances at Ellie, and wonders what all exactly she knew about you. Though he knows better than to ask her, he stupidly does so anyway. “You meet the guy yet?”

Ellie bites back another wide smirk, taking note of the way Joel had so easily let his curiosity get the better of him. “Nope. I’ve noticed that she doesn’t really talk about him much, either.” She shrugs, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “And from what I know, they don’t have any kids together.”

Joel raises an eyebrow at her. “Didn’t ask you if they had kids.”

“No, but I know you were wondering if they did,” Ellie states in a matter of fact tone. “Whether or not she’s happily married, I can find that out for you too, if you want me to. Just call me Sherlock fucking Holmes and I’ll crack the case.”

His mouth falls open slightly at what she’d been implying.

As if he would actually go after a married woman.

Joel finally speaks, his voice rigid. “Ellie, that ain’t funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny, believe it or not.” She notices the way his jaw clenches and shrugs her shoulders once again. “What?” she bats her eyes innocently, as if she had seen nothing wrong with the statement she had just made. “Oh come on, Joel. You can’t tell me you’re not the slightest bit curious about her marriage.”

“I ain’t,” he lies straight through his teeth. “It ain’t none of my business, and it sure as hell ain’t none of yours either, so don’t you go pokin’ your nose where it doesn’t belong, you understand me? Don’t need you goin’ around and causin’ trouble.”

“Alright, alright. Sheesh. Don’t get so worked up, man. Can’t be good for your blood pressure.”

“Little shit,” he mutters.

Joel and Ellie make it to their destination just after sunset and by that time, the party had started and was already in full swing. The commune’s barn had been completely transformed, cleaned up and cleared out—a dozen tables or so surrounded a decent sized dance floor and bright lights had been strung from the rafters as well as all along the outside of the structure, bringing the place to life. There’s a live band playing music on a small, makeshift stage and the scent of delicious barbecue wafts through the air, causing Ellie’s stomach to grumble.

Joel glances around, hoping it isn’t obvious to the kid as to who he’s looking for, but she’s far too busy processing everything to even notice.

“Whoa. This is so weird,” Ellie mumbles under her breath as she takes in her surroundings. Though she had seemed to be thoroughly confused by it all, he detects the glimmer of curious fascination in her wide brown eyes.

“Joel! Ellie!”

Grinning, you wave your hand as you weave your way through the crowd towards them.

Joel’s throat bobs and goes sandpaper dry at the sight of you. It feels like someone had just driven their fist into his gut and knocked all the wind out of his lungs.

The pale yellow frock you’re donning is strapless with a subtle sweetheart neckline, short with a flowing skirt that falls to the middle of your thighs. You’ve dressed it down, pairing it with tan brown cowboy boots that look like they’ve seen better days, and a cropped denim vest. Your hair is loose around your shoulders and there’s a delicate white daisy tucked behind your ear. Simple, but it’s enough to take his breath away. “Hey!” you greet them, excitedly. “You guys made it!”

“Whoa, nice dress, princess,” Ellie nudges you, offering a playful grin in return. She’d been so used to seeing you in your flannel and jeans at the stables—though she’s teasing, there’s a twinkle of admiration in her eyes as she looks at you. It’s a world of a difference to see you when you’re not dirty, sweaty, and wearing boots covered in horse shit.

You nudge her right back and then turn to Joel. “You look very nice,” you compliment, subtly admiring the way that his shirt fits the broad planes of his chest and his shoulders.

“He showered for once. Doesn’t he look pretty?” Ellie jeers, causing him to roughly smack her shoulder. She rubs the spot where he’d hit her, making a face at him. “Relax man, it was a fucking joke. Jesus.”

Ignoring her, Joel shifts his attention back to you. “You look real nice too.”

“Thank you, Joel.” There’s a hint of shyness in your smile.

He couldn’t be too sure if it was his mind playing tricks on him, but he could have sworn he’d just seen you give his form another once over.

“I’m really glad you two decided to join us.” Gesturing around with your hands, you ask, “What do you guys think?”

“It’s some shindig, that’s for sure,” Joel remarks, taking another glimpse around. He aches to take another look at you, let his eyes glaze over every last inch of you, but he knows better, especially with his loud mouth kid standing right there in the middle.

“It’s like I told you yesterday, Joel. People still know how to get down and party,” you wink at him and his heart skips a nervous beat. “Come with me, I’ll get you guys a couple of drinks.”

“Drinks?” Ellie’s face is hopeful. “What kind of drinks?”

“Nonalcoholic for you, missy.” You flick her shoulder, causing Joel to chuckle. “The drinking age in Jackson is eighteen, although some kids can have a drink or two at sixteen on special occasions as long as their parents are around to supervise them.”

“Well, I’m fifteen. That’s close enough to sixteen. And I’ve got my supervisor right here.” She jabs her thumb over her shoulder at Joel. “I can have a real drink tonight, right Joel?”

He snorted. “Not a fuckin’ chance in hell, kiddo.”

She scowls. “Fucking party pooper.”

You lead them over to one of several coolers that are strategically placed around the barn and pull out a bottle of fresh squeezed lemonade for Ellie and a bottle of beer for Joel. Twisting off the cap, he takes his first sip of the homemade brew and makes a face, coughing and sputtering at the taste. “Jesus Christ, that’s fuckin’ awful.”

“Sorry, I should have warned you that Seth is still trying to perfect his beer recipe,” you giggle into the palm of your hand. “His whiskey is a whole lot better, but it’s really strong. I wanted to start you off light.”

In the distance, you see Esther watching Joel with hungry eyes from across the barn. She’s turning heads in the skintight, cherry red dress she’s wearing underneath her denim jacket—the material hugs every single curve tightly, accentuating her perfect figure. She’s nursing a glass of something or other, probably still working up the courage to introduce herself to Joel. You’d hoped that by the time she was finally ready to make her move, you’d find it in yourself to accept it with grace.

Or be somewhat drunk enough not to care.

The band on stage finishes up their rendition of Life is a Highway and everyone in the barn breaks into whistling cheers and thunderous applause.

Impressed with their talent, even Ellie finds herself clapping her free hand against her thigh with genuine enthusiasm.

The band moves onto their next song and the familiar tune of one of your favorite songs, Dancing in The Moonlight, instantly takes your mind off of Esther and lifts your spirits.

“Oh, I love this song!” you exclaim. “Ellie, dance with me!”

“Wait, what in the fuck—” Ellie gasps as you grab her hand and started tugging her along behind you. She immediately glances at Joel for help. He simply chuckles as he plucks her lemonade from her hand and lets you drag her a few feet away to a spot on the dance floor.

Smiling, you spin her around a couple of times and then take both her hands in yours as you start leading her in the dance. It takes Ellie a minute or two, but she eventually stops resisting and gives in, moving along with you.

“Yeah, there you go!” you beam, encouraging her. “That’s it!”

“Oh, I’m so gonna fucking kill you for this!” Ellie threatens, however, her eyes are sparkling and she’s laughing. Her fingers squeeze yours. “Hey, this song’s pretty fucking cool! I like it!”

Taking a swig of his beer, Joel watches as you and Ellie dance together.

He feels a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as his eyes drink in the sight of his girl smiling brightly—she looks happy, so ridiculously happy, and he wishes there was a way for him to bottle up this memory just like a scent, one that never faded or grew stale. He would give just about anything to have it stashed away, available for him to open up whenever he wanted so he could relive the moment all over again, for as many times as he needed.

“Everybody here is out of sight, they don’t bark and they don’t bite,” you sing the lyrics to her as you twirl her around once more. “They keep things loose, they keep ‘em tight, everybody was dancing in the moonlight—”

“This is so fucking weird,” Ellie laughs again, mustering the courage to finally take a turn and spin you around. She grasps your hand tightly in hers and her opposite hand flies to your waist. She eventually finds the constant beat to the song and connects rhythmically with you, her moves falling in sync with yours, though she would still take a clumsy step here and there.

As the band moves into the next verse of the song, your gaze meets Joel’s from the dance floor and you lean forward, whispering something to Ellie.

She eagerly nods her head, shouting, “Fuck yeah! Do it!”

Ellie drops her hands away from you and you leave her alone on the dance floor for a moment. Rushing up to Joel, you take his bottle of beer and set it down on the table beside him before reaching for his hand.

The contented smile on his face vanishes. “Darlin’ what are you—?”

“Come on! Come and dance with us!” you chirp, dragging him over towards where Ellie’s waiting, an amused smirk plastered onto her face as soon as she sees the flabbergasted look on his.

“I—I don’t dance.” Joel quickly tries to tell you. He makes an attempt to stop you from pulling him any further, but you’re a lot fucking stronger than you look and he doesn’t stand a chance. “I can’t dance!”

“Don’t be silly!” You dismiss him over your shoulder, shaking your head. “Everybody can dance!”

“Come on, Joel!” Ellie shouts, taking his other hand in hers. “Let’s see you shake what you got!”

In his peripheral vision, Joel notices a few people gawking, watching in bewilderment as the two standoffish newcomers dance with you, the town’s resident sweetheart.

“Joel, relax,” you call out over the music, shaking his hand. “Don’t be so uptight! Loosen up a little!”

He tries his hardest to do just that. Though he’s too embarrassed to fully comply with your request, at some point, he does find himself moving a little less like the tinman.

The three of you sway to the upbeat music together in your own little corner of the dance floor.

Holding your hand in one of his and Ellie’s in the other, Joel finally decides to let go and allows himself to enjoy the moment, regardless of how terrible of a dancer he is. He moves with the two of you along to the music, a deep belly laugh escaping him as Ellie tries to spin him around—their significant height difference makes it impossible, and all she does is mess up his hair as her arm brushes right over his head.

You try spinning him too, but you’re not all that much taller than Ellie. Joel bends his knees slightly and ignores their protest long enough for you to give him a twirl.

When the song ends, the three of you move off of the dance floor and back over towards the table where their drinks are waiting for them.

“Gotta give you credit. You’ve got some moves, old man,” Ellie states, taking a sip of her lemonade. Beads of sweat drip down the side of her face and she wipes them away with the sleeve of her shirt. “Little on the stiff side, but not bad for being fifty six with creaking knees.”

You muffle your snort of laughter with your hand.

Joel glowers, but truth be told, he can’t even be mad at her for the jab. He’d finally caught a glimpse of Ellie being truly, genuinely happy, the way she deserves to be—and it was all thanks to you.

“Hello!”

Glancing over your shoulder, you smile as Dina comes up to the three of you. She seems nervous—you can tell by the way that she’s already pulling at her sunflower printed dress.

“Hey, sweetheart.” You kiss her cheek and then introduce her. “Joel, Ellie, this is my niece, Dina. Dina, this is Joel and Ellie.”

Ellie flushes a deep shade of red as she recognizes her from her first day in Jackson.

“What about her manners?” She remembered snapping when she’d noticed the dark haired girl hiding behind a wooden pillar in the mess hall, staring at Ellie as if she were some kind of freakshow.

“Ellie,” Joel mutters her name, jabbing his elbow into her shoulder. “Say hello.”

“Oh—um, hey,” she greets her awkwardly with a wave of her hand.

“Would you like to go grab something to eat with me?” Dina offers shyly as she gestures over towards the grill.

Ellie nervously glances up at Joel, as if she were silently asking him for guidance on what to do.

“Go on,” he encourages her. “Just stay out of trouble, alright?”

She hesitates, but then turns back to Dina and nods her head. “Okay.”

Reluctantly, she follows Dina over to the other side of the barn. The girls each grab a plate, get in line, and make their way up to Tommy, who not only seems pleasantly surprised to see Ellie, but to see her with someone other than his brother.

“Niece, huh?” Joel questions, taking another sip of his beer.

You’re not surprised.

Dina doesn’t look all that much like you, he’s probably thinking.

“Technically, she is. My husband is her uncle,” you explain, briefly. “After her parents passed away, he and his other niece, her older sister, Talia, they both raised Dina together. We were all living together under one roof until Maria decided Talia was old enough to be assigned a place of her own a couple of years ago.”

“Speakin’ of your husband.” Joel anxiously shoves his free hand into his pocket. He wasn’t sure how he’s only just now noticing the thin, gold wedding band around your ring finger. Seeing it causes an odd feeling to begin boiling in the pits of his stomach—the ring only confirms what he wished wasn’t true. “I haven’t had the chance to meet him yet. He, uh—he around here somewhere?”

“No, he isn’t. He decided to stay home tonight. Luke isn’t a big fan of these kind of things—besides, he’s always tired from working.”

Joel observes the way you uncomfortably shuffle from foot to foot and he wonders if maybe it’s because you’re missing him. The thought only makes the foreign feeling in his stomach intensify. “He’s the doctor around here, ain’t he?”

You nod. “He is.”

Before you have the chance to change the subject, you catch a glimpse of Esther making her way over towards you and Joel.

Your heart sinks deeply in your chest, similarly to the way it had earlier when she’d told you about Tommy wanting to set them up together. Again, you’re forced to remind yourself that you don’t have any right to feel this way.

She slinks up to the both of you—it’s clear she’s already tossed a number of drinks back and had quite the buzz going on. “Hi there,” she practically purrs at Joel. She glances at you, as if she’s waiting for you to introduce them to one another. Of course she would assume that you’d be her wingwoman. Hell, what reason would she have not to think that you would be willing to lend a hand and help set her up with him?

She’s not the one with a husband waiting at home.

“Joel, this is my friend, Esther,” you finally speak, hoping your voice doesn’t sound as shaky to either of them as it does to you. “Esther, this is Joel Miller. He’s Tommy’s older brother.”

“Nice to meet you.” Joel takes her hand, giving it a brief shake before quickly dropping it.

“Now, I know you didn’t give him Seth’s shitty ass beer to drink. We all know his whiskey is way, way better,” Esther comments, shaking her head as she offers him her best, flirty smile. “Come with me, cowboy. Let’s go and get you a real drink over at the bar.”

“Oh no, that’s alright. M’perfectly fine—” Before Joel can finish protesting, Esther takes his bottle, hands it over to you, and then grabs his hand, dragging him off towards the bar.

Frowning, he looks over his shoulder at you and you have no choice but to make an encouraging gesture with your hand as if to tell him to go and have a good time.

Once Joel and Esther are out of your sight, you lift the bottle to your lips, draining every last drop of his beer in one swallow. You pivot on the heel of your boot and start towards a group of friendly, familiar faces in hopes that some mindless chatter would be enough to get your mind off of things and tame the jealousy that’s clawing furiously at your insides.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller series #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x oc #joel miller hbo #joel miller imagine #fic: a safe haven #fic: ash

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baby-bearie · 1 year

Text

the incident - ajax petropolus x reader

requested by anon: omg 🙊 ajax x reader where he accidentally stones her and he gets self conscious and avoids reader but it ends with fluff???

pairing: ajax petropolus x fem!reader (referred to as girl/girlfriend)

warnings: swearing, implications of smut, but obvi not actual smut, mentions of a cut/blood

genre: angst with fluff (nobody is shocked), 1.1k words

tags: @sunflowermotel @maraseavey @tinylatina01 @obx-direction-sos @stfukie @voguesir @morgansmoreid @yunhosleftpinky @adoreyou976

The “incident” is not to be invoked. Not by word, not by glance, not by touch.

It seems that is what Ajax decided a week ago after the “incident” occurred. Not a word, not a glance, not a touch has been thrown your way since his beanie slipped off his head when you were sleeping in his dorm, and he woke up next to a statue.

It almost feels as if he never noticed you turned back into flesh. As if everytime he sees you, all he sees is that statue, and not the girl he fell asleep next to that night. As if he can’t talk to a statue.

You try to catch him on several occasions. Leaving class, out in the quad, walking in the hallways. He makes eye contact with you, makes a face like a deer in headlights and immediately turns the other way.

But deer can be trapped. And you have a plan. All it takes is a well-placed fencing saber and a well-timed hiss.

You drop the saber in mock surprise, gripping your hand to cover the palm. You force your face to crumple up as if in pain and take some shaky breaths to deliver the final blow. And then you freeze and wait for the inevitable.

Here it comes. The drop of a book bag and the running footsteps.

“You’re hurt? What happened? Let m’see, let m’see.” Ajax rushes out. He avoids your eyes but pulls at your hands, trying to glimpse at your palm.

“Come with me. Let me clean it. C’mon.” He turns and stalks off towards the botany room nearby. You follow him into it, turning and clicking the lock shut behind you. The deer falls for the bait every time.

Ajax turns on a faucet and, with his back to you, mutters, “C’mere, you should rinse it off.”

“Jax,” You start.

“Just rinse it off, Y/n.”

“Jax.” Your voice is stronger this time and for the first time in a whole week, Ajax turns and deliberately looks at you.

You grin sheepishly and uncurl your hands, revealing a clean, very much intact palm. Ajax frowns. “What? I thought you cut yourself.”

“No. Perfectly fine, Jax.” You shrug, slowly creeping closer to him.

“You’re alright?”

You breathe out. “Not entirely.”

He stands up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

“You.”

He slumps back down, covering his face in his hands. “Y/n, don’t do that. I thought you were hurt. I have to go, we have class.” He tries to move around you, but you catch him.

“Doors locked. I have the key. You’re not going anywhere.” You push him back towards the counter and he leans into it. “Talk.”

He huffs and stares at the ground. He says nothing.

“It was not your fault,” You start when he remains silent. “It was temporary. I am fine, Ajax.” He looks up at the use of his full name. Your glare is intense.

“It sort of was my fault though. It wouldn’t have happened if you were dating a guy who didn’t, you know, have reptiles on his head.”

“I love the reptiles on your head! You know that! I don’t want to date someone who’s not you, Ajax.” You shake your head.

“But you should. It’s safer. And it’s not fair that you’re in danger every time I want to see you.” He folds his hands over his torso, putting a barrier between you.

“I’ve never felt like I was in danger around you.” “Okay, then you have no fight or flight and should get that checked out.” “Stop it.”

“Why have you been ignoring me?” You throw it in his face. The reason you are having this conversation in the first place.

“I woke up in the infirmary, Ajax. I was scared. I didn’t know what happened. Fucking Xavier came when I woke up. I asked for you. He told me you didn’t want to see me.”

“I was busy.” He shrugs. “Bullshit,” You call. “That is bullshit. Why didn’t you come and see me?”

“I had just fucking stoned you, Y/n. I thought you wouldn’t want to see me!” “No! I tried to talk to you so many times this week, and you shut me out every time! Why?” Your voice raises.

“Because I was scared, too!” He snaps. “Is that what you want to hear? I was terrified. I wake up in the morning and my girlfriend is basically a fucking statue next to me and it’s my fault. It’s my fault that I can’t sleep next to my own girlfriend because I can’t control my own snakes. And you were stone, Y/n. You might’ve been scared in the infirmary but I woke up next to you. You didn’t see it. It was the worst moment of my life, and I won’t put you through it again. It’s not fair. It’s not safe. I won’t do it.”

His breath is heavy, chest rising and falling.

“No. You’re wrong. You can’t just decide it’s not safe for me. I understand, you were scared. It was a horrible experience. But it was temporary, Ajax. I am perfectly fine now. And I understand that it might happen again, but I am ready to accept that. It’s my consequence. Not yours.”

You manage to get within a few feet of him, and he stares at your arm instead of your face. He tentatively reaches out for your shoulder. And when his hand finds warm skin and not frigid stone like that morning, he collapses into you. Arms wrapping around your torso, head rested on your shoulder, practically whimpering into your shirt.

“I was so scared.” He whispers. “I thought you would hate me. I thought I hurt you.”

“I’d never hate you. I know you wouldn’t hurt a fly. It’s okay. We’re okay.” You run a hand over his back and he nods into your shoulder. “You’re okay,” He repeats.

He lifts his head off your shoulder but keeps his arms around your back loosely. “You don’t make a half-bad statue, by the way.” He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and gives you a quick kiss.

You grin. “Yeah?”

He nods. “You’re a work of art, pretty girl,” He runs a piece of your hair between his fingers.

“Why are you being so nice?” You narrow your eyes at him.

He smiles. “Well, I haven’t seen you in a week, and we’re here now. In a room. Door is locked. You look really beautiful. And I’ve missed you.”

You push your palms onto his chest, pushing yourself off of him. “Absolutely not, perv. We have class.”

“Oh, so now we have class?” “You know, you were so much more tolerable when you were not talking to me.”

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viennakarma · 8 months

Text

Soft launch

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: After dating on the low for three years, you and Lewis decide to soft launch your relationship public for the first time

Word count: 4.1k

Tags: Smut, female reader, +18, sex (p in v), unprotected sex, established relationship, soft dom!Lewis, little breath play (choking), spanking, face slap (softly), a bit of dirty talking, quickie in the car, public (semi public), not beta read

Note: hi there, this one was sitting in my drafts for a while. but it’s been a few years since I last posted anything here (so please bear any mistake)

Find me on Twitter!

You take a quick spin in the mirror, checking out your outfit from every possible angle. The outfit isn't too extravagant, just a denim skirt for the hot weather, comfortable heeled boots, and the most important piece, one of Lewis' favorite shirts, the Ayrton Senna T-shirt. For accessories, just a combination of thin rings and a leather choker.

“Are you sure you want to announce it today?” Lewis asks, coming out of the bathroom with his Mercedes cap in hand. You rub your hands on the thigh of your denim skirt to wipe away the sweat forming in your palms.

You were dating for 3 years, but in secret and in the most discreet way possible. You two don't hang out publicly, you don't post pictures. At least not visible photos. Lewis often posts mysterious pictures with you, like a closeup of a hug, your holding hands, birthday or anniversary presents, etc. The world knows Lewis has a girlfriend, they just don't know who the lucky lady is. Yet. Aside from your families and a few close friends, nobody knows.

Although it's not your first time watching his races, it's the first time you'll be seen together, probably photographed, filmed and commented on. You had a long talk with Lewis' PR team, they had helped you hide the relationship, and now they are helping you to bring it out into the open. “Soft Launch” was what they called it, you would arrive with Lewis, you would be seen in the VIP area of the paddock accompanying his father and you would be seen wearing Lewis' favorite outfit, and after that, people and media would put 1+1 together to assume who you are in his life. So, it's a lot of pressure, especially for the anonymous girlfriend of one of Formula 1's biggest stars.

“It's about time,” You say with a smile.

Lewis walks over, stopping right behind you at the mirror, his palm on your waist to check your complete outfit. He smiles, kissing your shoulder and cheek.

“I like it when you wear my clothes,” he murmurs, stepping out from behind you and positioning himself in front of you. “Perfect” he adds as he takes your hand, making you spin around.

“Ready?” you finally grab your purse and your work bag, checking to confirm you have everything you need.

“Let's go” Lewis takes your hand as you leave the hotel room.

“I've asked them to isolate a private little room in the VIP just for you but my driver’s room is also available at all times, in case you feel suffocated with all the people in the common areas,” Lewis says as you head to the elevator.

Once inside, you stare at yourself in the mirror again. Lewis presses the ground floor button and turns to you. He must see something in your face because his smile fades a little and he says,

“It doesn't have to be today if you're not comfortable yet.”

You know this is just him being overly concerned about you, ever since the time you two were spotted at a party and you had an anxiety attack. Fortunately, at the time, the amateur photos they took of the two of you were over zoomed and lacking in resolution, so they couldn't figure out your identity.

You give a smile that you hope is confident, and wrap your index finger around Lewis' waistband, the way you know he likes it, and pull him down to press his body into yours. He smiles surprised at the movement, and you peck his lips, not moving too far away from him.

“It's time they know you are mine,” you whisper, and Lewis chuckles in surprise, he absolutely loves whenever you get a little possessive, it turns him on. His hand comes up to your jaw and he kisses you harder, and you part your lips to take him deeper, letting out a soft moan when you feel his tongue on yours, and the way his body presses you to the wall of the elevator.

When you hear the elevator ding, you give Lewis a light push to put distance between the two of you, just in time for the door of the elevator to open.

“Well, well, what do we have here…” you look up and find George, Lewis' teammate. George opens his arms and hugs you, and then you hug Carmen, his girlfriend, just as he adds, “Ready to reveal the big secret?”

“As ready as I can be,” you reply with a smile. George is one of the few people on Lewis’ team who knows about you, and he - as well as the others, - had kept the secret from the rest of the world. His girlfriend and you met at Lewis' private birthday party the year before.

“We can keep each other company in the paddock so you won't be too nervous,” Carmen suggested, beside you.

“Thanks, Carmen. You’re an angel” you thank her.

When you get in the van and the driver starts to drive towards the track, Lewis pulls your hand into his lap, holding it tight between both of his, and you realize that he's probably more nervous than you are about this whole situation. And you know it's more out of concern for you than anything else.

“Hey, relax,” You approach him tenderly, “We're ready for this, aren't we?” you say with a gentle kiss on his shoulder.

“Yes, we are. Sorry, I just worry about you” He says with a shy little smile and you put your hand on his chest, over his heart.

“I know. But I promise I'll be fine” you assure you one more time, and a weight seems to visibly lift off his shoulders as he sighs in relief.

You lean further over him and slide your hand down his chest to his waist, adding “Do you want a little kiss to help you relax?”

You cup his chin and kiss his lips softly. Lewis' hands slide down your sides until he pulls you hard onto his lap. You gasp against his lips at the sudden movement, and he takes advantage of your parted mouth to deepen the kiss with his tongue. You grip the back of the seat behind his head to feel some modicum of control over the situation. He puts both hands on your ass and pushes you against his lap, and you start to feel his body react to yours.

“Baby…” He whispers in the middle of the kiss and reason returns to you. Breaking the kiss, you pull away from his face just enough for him to look you in the eyes with hazy, lust-filled eyes.

“Lewis-” you call with a serious voice and he finally stops, panting but with his eyes focused entirely on you now. “We can’t. You can’t arrive at the GP with a hard-on.”

“By the time we get there, I won't have this hard-on anymore” He presses the button that makes the partition between the back seats and the driver seat go up. Your eyes widen because you didn't know a van had this kind of thing, you thought it was limited to limousines.

“Toto will kill us, Lewis!” you say, but your resolve dissolves when he traces your panties from your ass all the way down, feeling the wet fabric on your pussy, “You know he smells trouble from two miles away!”

“If you're still talking about another man, then I'm probably doing my job poorly” he murmurs, kissing your chin, he traces your panties with the knuckle of his finger, pressing gently on your clit, and you feel yourself melt in his arms, with the feeling of the fabric rubbing your most sensitive part, “Relax, no one will know.”

“How much time do we have before we arrive?” you ask, and you feel Lewis' fingers fiddling with the front button of your skirt as his lips greedily seek your neck, “Lewis-” you grab his wrists holding back a laugh “How much time?”

“I don't know, forty minutes or so.” He says, and you mumble an agreement. Finally, you sigh in relief knowing you still have enough time to give in to lust.

He puts both hands on your thigh, fingers climbing under the denim of the skirt and squeezing your ass hard, the direct contact forcing a moan out of you. Lewis chuckles at your reaction and you feel like slapping him to remove the smug smirk from his face, but instead you just grab the back of his neck and pull his face until our lips clash again. Lewis threads his fingers through your hair at the back of your neck, but you break the kiss, gripping his wrists moving his hands away from you again, stopping him from messing your hair.

“No way you're going to make me arrive at the GP all disheveled!” you struggle and he laughs again, as you try to keep a straight face but it's impossible with him looking at you like you’re a goddess on earth. “It's my first appearance!”

“You've been to a number of grands prix before, and we've done this several times before.”

“In the hotel room! Never in the car on the way there. And nobody knew that I was your girlfriend.”

“Why do you think I suggested you wear a skirt? I won't ruin your outfit, I promise” He guarantees, this time with a serious look to reassure you.

“Then fine. Alright” you say, with a roll of your hips into his pelvis to show how much you want him and he bites back a groan, “But how are we making sure the guy over there won’t say a word?” you whisper, pointing in the driver's direction.

“He'll get a pretty generous tip, okay?” Lewis reassures you once more and his hand travels up your torso to your neck. He faintly squeezes, which makes you shiver. “If you prefer, I can cover your mouth.”

“You know what?” you hold his wrist up to lift his hand and nip at his index finger, pulling away to say, “You make a pretty convincing boyfriend.”

“Do I?” He mumbles going back to unzipping the rest of your skirt, just enough to loosen the fabric so he could ride it up around your waist.

You bend down to nibble on his neck as he just holds your hip. You undo the buttons on his shirt, gaining access to his chest and kissing your way down. You only open the top four buttons of his shirt so you don't mess up his clothes. Finally, your hands reach into the waistband of his pants, hurriedly undoing his fly and he lifts his hips only to pull his pants down to his knees.

“Slow down, love” he says, grabbing your hand before you can pull his cock out of his boxers. You sigh as he pulls you fully onto his lap, pressing your torso flush against his. His finger traces your cheek affectionately, until he reaches down and squeezes your breast through your shirt.

You move closer to him and bite his bottom lip, wiggling around in his lap now that there's less clothes separating the two of you, just his underwear and your panties. You yelp in place when he smacks your ass, and the sting of the slap makes you hiss, but you barely have time to recover when he smacks your buttock again, now the other side.

You spread your legs wide and just move your panties to the side, because if you were to take them off, you'd have to get off his lap, and with the way he's squeezing your ass, it's going to be impossible. Trembling, you stroke your own pussy for some relief, but Lewis grabs your wrist before you can really get going. You stare at him, not really understanding the interruption.

“Not when I’m right here,” is all he says before lifting your hand and sucking on your middle finger, the one you used to touch yourself. Then he guides your hand to press his throbbing cock under his underwear.

You sigh in pleasure as he strokes your pussy himself, gently, spreading your indecent wetness up and down, pressing your entrance until your hips shake at the intrusion, but never going fully in, just teasing your entrance.

“Enough, Lewis!” you complain, trying to move your hips into his fingers “We don't have time for your teasing.”

“Just tell me what you want, pretty baby,” he says, smirking and very well aware of his power over you.

You push his hand away and pull down his boxers, freeing his cock from the confines of the fabric, you meet his eyes as you move your hand, pumping up and down. He moans softly, gripping your waist.

“Hold me, love.” you ask as you stand up still on your knees straddling him and his hands move down steadily to your hips, offering balance as you position his cock at your entrance and slowly lower until he is fully inside you. “Lewis, oh my God-”

You stand still, gripping Lewis' shoulders as you both pant and you wait for your body to accommodate him. You test the movement, rolling in a circle with your hips and you both shudder in place, your body so receptive to his that it feels like the perfect fit. You reach back with both hands and brace them on Lewis' knees, which gives you enough leverage for you to move your hips without falling. The movement sends an electric current of pleasure through your entire body, and you begin to move your hips up and down with his help. Lewis squeezes your breasts one more time through your clothes and you know he's putting a colossal effort in not taking all your clothes off. Then he takes hold of your choker, pulling it just enough to choke you lightly. Your head falls back with pleasure and you can't keep your voice down.

“Shhh…” Lewis says, now also thrusting his hips up to help you move. You can't turn down the sounds coming out of your mouth and your pussy is throbbing when you feel a light slap from Lewis across your face. He groans when he feels the tightness around his cock and he thrusts once more, feeling the same clenching of your pussy, “behave, my little slut.”

"Lewis, Lewis... I need..." you try to say between moans but you can't so you just grab the hand that was slapping you and put it over your mouth to muffle your sounds. Lewis seizes the opportunity and shoves his middle and ring fingers into your mouth, and you suck on his fingers to keep from making any noise.

You feel the building up at the base of your stomach and you grip the seat behind Lewis again and speed up the movements, both your hips moving in sync and Lewis's cock buried so deep inside you, you know you're close. The slapping sound of his cock meeting your wetness is even more obscene than the moans you’re trying to muffle.

You keep riding and you know that anytime soon, your legs will start to feel tired. But before you can make up your mind on moving to a different position, Lewis takes his hand away from your mouth and uses his spit-wet fingers to press down on your clit.

You reach the climax less than a few seconds after he starts rubbing on your clit. Your hips shake as you come, kissing Lewis like your life depends on it, lest you cause even more lewd sounds inside the van.

Lewis wraps his arms around your waist, and as your body is limp from the orgasm, he himself moves your hips a little more until he reaches his own peak. When he comes, his head falls back onto the headrest and you press your forehead into his shoulder, trying to catch your breath again.

“Lewis, that was… Wow!” you manage to sigh, slowly regaining movement in your legs.

“I know, my love” He kisses you on the forehead and you pull away, getting off of him.

Lewis pulls a tissue from one of the car holders, and helps you clean between your legs, soon pulling your panties back into place, with a smirk knowing that you will need to spend the next few hours with his cum inside of you. It's something he's been quite vocal about, all the times you get laid anywhere you shouldn't.

While you adjust your skirt, and redo the front buttons, Lewis fixes his underwear, then his pants and you help him redo the buttons of the shirt he is wearing. The satisfied smirk never leaves Lewis's face, and you realize you're smiling too, any trace of nervousness hidden in the past.

“Thanks for helping me relax” you say, cupping his chin to place a peck on his lips.

“I love you” he says, putting his arm around you and making you relax against his chest “And we still have fifteen minutes left.” Lewis checks his rolex. You laugh, and open your purse, pulling out your tiny mirror to touch up your lipstick.

You two continue to embrace the rest of the way to the GP, and when you get out of the van at the entrance, Lewis goes to the driver's window and, in a discreet handshake, slides a few hundreds’ bills to the driver who just nods positively. you adjust your skirt, and turn to Lewis.

“How do I look?” you give an excited little smile and Lewis smiles.

“Like you were fucked good by your boyfriend,” he winks, and then giggles as you playfully slap his shoulder.

“Lew, I’m serious!”

He takes a cap from his carry-on bag, and then puts it on your head, one of his white ones, that has the Mercedes logo and his number, 44, on the flap. Then he puts your “all access” badge around your neck.

“Perfect”

You decided not to go inside hand in hand to live up to the soft in “Soft Launch” as your team had planned. But as soon as you approach the entrance, paparazzi flashes start popping in Lewis' direction. You walk beside him, without even touching him, and you immediately start to hear the questions directed at him about who you are, and if you are friends, or dating, but you just ignore it and head to the Mercedes motorhome.

It's completely unlike any other time you've been to a GP where you've been completely ignored, arriving alone and slipping in discreetly through the paying entrance, staying in the stands and silently cheering your boyfriend on.

Lewis only puts his hand on you when you get into the motorhome and go up to the second floor. He takes your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“See? It wasn't even that bad,” Lewis gives you a welcoming smile.

“I don't know how you manage to deal with paparazzi all the time” you almost grunt the words as you enter the admin floor.

As soon as you walk in, Toto is coming out of what looks like his office, and he smiles in our direction. Toto had known you officially for almost a year, and he was aware that today you would make your first official public appearance. He hugs Lewis and offers you a handshake.

“You're officially welcome” Toto greets you and you thank him, “I'm going to need to borrow Lewis in five minutes.”

“He's all yours” you chuckle.

Lewis guides you to one of the armchairs with a table in the administrative sector, where you open your laptop, he shows you around quickly, the direction of the bathrooms, the way to his driver’s room, the cafeteria, the buffet, and assuring you that he will still see you before going down to the pit lane.

You spend the next couple of hours working on your laptop, focused on finishing a project that would free you up for the next three or four days if you could get it done before the deadline.

When Lewis returns, he is already dressed in his second skin, and the fireproof overalls already take up the lower half of his body. you stand up and hug him tight, and then get a good look at his body in the white jumpsuit, and Lewis catches your eye.

“Do you like it?” He bites his bottom lip discreetly, but you just push his shoulder trying hard not to blush.

“You know I do. Are you going down yet to the pit lane?” you ask and Lewis smiles in agreement. You cup his face affectionately, and he immediately becomes serious. “Get in there and be the best. Good luck, my love!”

“Thank you, honey,” he murmurs. You kiss his lips again, and he deepens the kiss for a few seconds before someone from the team calls out to him.

Lewis leaves you with a confident smile and you know he's ready for the race. He always does his best races when he's in a good mood. Before he goes downstairs you call again.

“Lewis!” He looks at you from the stairs "See you when you are up there on the podium.”

The fact that you said it out loud makes some people around you laugh in agreement, but your eyes focus on Lewis and the big smile he gives just for you. Being confident is never a bad thing for Lewis Hamilton, because he knows he’s a badass.

As you're putting away your work stuff, you get a link from Lewis's PR team. When you open it, it's a tweet, with pictures of our arrival, speculating about your identity, talking about you being with Lewis and wearing his favorite shirt. It looks like “Soft Launch” has been successfully achieved.

You go up to the VIP way calmer now that the whole thing of your relationship is out in the world, and there you find Anthony, Lewis' father, who welcomes you with a hug and you immediately feel calmer for having someone familiar around.

You both watch the race with apprehension and nervousness, well, you watch with apprehension and Anthony watches with confidence. Lewis starts in P4, and spends most of the laps oscillating between P3 and P2 with some stability. For a while, Lewis seems determined to stick to P2 to cross the finish line. Everything changes after a minor crash that requires a safety car, then Lewis goes to a pit stop to change tires and the last 12 laps is when Lewis reaches a speed that until then he had not achieved in the entire race. It is with sheer shock that you realize he was sparing his car all throughout the opening laps, just keeping pace and creating distance between his position and the previous ones.

The last few laps are the tightest in the race for P1, and in a particularly difficult corner, Lewis forces a gap and moves forward, taking the lead. With trembling fingers, you grip the base of the rail stiffly as Lewis passes you for the first time being P1. The difference between it and the P2 is minuscule, just milliseconds.

During the last lap, at least three times, P2 almost manages to take the lead from Lewis, but he stays firm and holds the position unyielding until he crosses the finish line. You only breathe again when you see the checkered flag in the air.

Anthony and you celebrate with jumps and hugs, and a few minutes later you are guided to watch the podium. You can't take your eyes off Lewis, how he's smiling, beaming really, and how he celebrates with champagne and all that goes with it.

When he leaves the podium, his dad walks over to hug him and you hang back, watching the two of them. Lewis finally faces you, smiling as he walks towards you. Your eyes widen, gesturing to the dozens of cameras focused on him, but Lewis doesn't seem to mind when he hugs you tight. Standing on tiptoes, you return the tight hug, not caring that he's sweaty and wet from the champagne.

“I said I'd see you on the podium, didn't I?” you whisper to him, he kisses your cheek and hugs you again. “Congratulations for the victory. You were so good it was unreal!”

“I wanted to show off to my girlfriend” he says and pulls away to wink at you.

“Go there and celebrate your moment!” you pull away from him, taking a step back, but he still holds firmly onto your hand “I love you, my champion.”

“I love you too” He says and kisses your hand.

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #mercedes amg f1 #f1 imagine #team lh44 #lh44 #44 #lewis hamilton +18 #+18

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