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teenytinyjimin · 26 days

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i miss you, i’m sorry (j. jungkook)

nothing happened in the way i wanted

every corner of this house is haunted

and i know you said that we’re not talking

but i miss you, i’m sorry.

summary: the first time seeing each other after the breakup is always the hardest. but seeing each other when you're still in love? an absolute nightmare

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2k

tags: angst, smoker!jk, brokenhearted!jk, equally as brokenhearted!reader, why did they even break up in the first place?, featuring reader’s bestfriend!jimin, also jimin is sexually ambiguous let's keep it that way please

warnings: none, alcohol/nic use but nothing too intense, kinda sad but it's a happy ending i promise

author’s note: idk why i keep making my fic names and stuff inspired by songs, i guess it just helps me beat writers block.

also i wrote this in second person, lmk if you guys prefer that over third. i personally find third person fics easier to write, but i'm sure second person is easier to read for some of you. enjoy my angels!

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

Bars weren't really your thing.

If you were going to be honest, they were miles better than nightclubs, but still not your thing. It was something about the air that just rubbed you the wrong way. Perhaps it was all the creepy old men that turned you off of them, or just the fact that there's not much to do besides sit, drink, sit some more, maybe play some pool and... sit.

Jimin, on the other hand, loved bars. He loved being able to sit there, look pretty, and watch as absolutely anyone and everyone flocked over to him to start a conversation. It admittedly fueled his ego, and he loved the feeling of being the center of attention. However, he didn't love being at bars alone. Being so drop-dead gorgeous meant that about twenty times the amount of creeps bothered him than the average bar patron. Many of them figured that a pretty boy like him was sitting there waiting to be swooped up by a sugar daddy. Let's get one thing straight – that wasn't him. He had plenty of money. He just wanted to have a little conversation, give a little kiss here and there maybe, and dip at the end of the night with his bar companion by his side.

Unfortunately for you, that bar companion was usually you. It was certainly a compliment for Jimin to want to bring you along with him instead of any of his other gazillions of friends and other social connections, but it was quite exhausting for you to be in a bar pretty much every day of every weekend. He liked the attention, but you didn't. If it were an empty room with nothing but you and a bottle of rum, you'd have a blast. But what bar in Itaewon was going to be like that?

Alas, here you were, sat at the end of a bar with your friend sitting next to you. Something about the light in the building made him look extra beautiful tonight, his skin shimmering like the most precious of diamonds and his eyes deep and full of allure. At the moment he was making small talk with a lady on the other side of him, one who was definitely at least twenty years his senior but didn't look a day past thirty. Sighing, you drop your head down to look at your drink, a half-full martini glass that held a rather disappointing cosmopolitan (you weren't a vodka fan anyway, it wasn't the bartender's fault).

You wanted to be home. That was the only place you ever wanted to be these days. At home, cuddling your darling kitty in bed, and sleeping your days away. Maybe a year ago you would have loved being out and about, but now it feels more like a burden than a fun activity. And you know that Jimin doesn't mean any harm in doing what he does, but seeing him talk with so many people over the course of the night and being so happy is almost a bit gut-wrenching for you because you can't be as happy as him.

You began to feel the blood rush to your ears and your face get warm. Something was wrong, you could sense it. Everyone has those gut instincts when something isn't quite right, and this wasn't just an instinct, it was like a neon sign. A neon sign that read DANGER. Perhaps it was just you feeling rather anxious and overwhelmed, but either way you were craving the comfort of your home.

"Hey, 'Minnie, can we-" Just as you turned to Jimin to softly ask him if you could go home or at the very least switch bars, you felt a presence behind you. It wasn't just an I'm here to order a drink presence, but rather an I'm here for you one. Realizing that Jimin wasn't even listening anyway, you froze, waiting to see what would happen. And that's when you heard a familiar voice that you thought you'd never hear again.

"Hey."

You didn't want to turn around. You tried to stay as still as a statuette for as long as possible, however the more you thought about the man behind you the more you felt the urge to turn around and take a bite of the forbidden fruit. Taking a deep breath, you slowly turned until you were face-to-face with your ex, Jungkook.

"Want to talk outside?" Not yet looking at him directly, you hesitantly nodded before quickly looking back to Jimin and then standing up. You left your purse there, figuring that your friend would grab it if he changed locations, and began trailing after the tall tattooed figure that navigated his way toward the door.

As the two of you stepped out into the cool autumn air, you crossed your arms and leaned against the building. Your heart was between your ears at this point, buzzing at what felt like 200 beats a minute. It was stupid for you to have even left Jimin's side, you thought, because now you were alone with your ex of all people and God knows what this boy has up his sleeve.

"You look good," Jungkook said gently as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and placed one between his lips. "And I know what you're going to say, you're so full of it Kook, but I mean it."

"Since when have you started smoking?" You asked, ignoring his previous two statements and gesturing toward the pack in his hand. He shrugged. "Couple weeks after I last saw you maybe? Not a big deal."

"You know that stuff's bad for you."

"I don't think sitting here third-wheeling with Jimin and his beau of the night is any better."

"You don't know Jimin, don't act like you do," You said, completely taken aback and offended by the words coming out of his mouth. "And I'm having a good time, thank you very much."

"Doesn't seem like it. Weren't you about to ask him if you guys could leave?"

"I was having- What?- Is there a reason you asked to talk to me out here?" You were struggling to form a complete sentence. This man always knew how to leave you speechless, but now it was just irritating. You watched as Jungkook leaned back onto the building with you and shook his head, giving you a toothy grin before lighting the cigarette in his mouth. "Nah. Just figured you'd have more fun out here talking to me and getting a break from it all."

"You know he's waiting for me, right? I should go back inside." You stand back up straight and begin walking back into the bar, however you feel a warm hand wrap gently around your wrist and tug you back. "Hey hey hey," Jungkook called. "He'll survive a few minutes without you. Just chill with me. I'm not asking you for anything, just a second of your time."

You turned to face your ex-lover, your eyes finally meeting his for the first time that night. Even after all this time of being apart, those beautiful doe eyes still yearned for you, and yours for him. With a shaky sigh, you brush his hand away and return to where you were standing. "Exes don't hang out like this, Jungkook."

"Woah, you're pulling out the full government name on me now?" The boy teased, puffing a cloud of smoke from his mouth. "Should I be offended?"

"I'm setting boundaries," You crossed your arms and kicked at the ground beneath you. "Nicknames are for friends or more than friends, which we aren't."

"We aren't strangers either though."

"That doesn't matter. Not friends."

"Alright, fine," Giving up, Jungkook looked down at his hand and flexed it awkwardly. "Just trying to be friendly."

"Friendly?!" You said frantically, finally having enough of his antics. "You don't need to be friendly. We broke up and that's the end of it. Exes aren't friends. They go their separate ways and when they see each other again – if they see each other – they ignore each other. I don't get why you're doing this psychological warfare bullshit on me."

"Exes can be friends," He breathed out in protest. "Can you even tell me why we broke up in the first place?"

You remained silent. The truth was that you didn't know why you broke up either. It had been almost a year since the whole ordeal went down, and you were still confused more than anything else, even more than you were hurt. All you can remember is that you guys went through some bullshit ‘mutual breakup’ that apparently neither of you wanted in the first place. The only reason you even agreed to it is because somewhere within you, you felt like perhaps you weren’t deserving of such a wonderful relationship. And the only reason Jungkook agreed to it is because he thought that it’s what you wanted.

"No, seriously. What went wrong? What did I do? I just want some closure..." His voice became increasingly softer as he kept speaking, which only meant one thing. You stared at the ground intensely, refusing to look up and see his teary eyes.

You felt his hand gently wrap around yours and tug on it as a plea for your attention. Jungkook was your weakness, the only person you'd willingly do anything for, and he really loved to take advantage of that without even realizing he was.

You peered up at him hesitantly, worried that you'd find yourself in tears the second you saw the ones pouring from his eyes. Sure enough, when the eye contact began, you were driving yourself forward into his strong arms and dampening his shirt with your tears.

Jungkook's embrace felt the same as it did the last time you felt it. It was still so warm, so inviting, so loving. Never once did you feel unsafe in his arms and this moment was not an exception. As you sobbed into his shirt you felt his hand move from around your waist to the top of your head, stroking your hair gently.

The two of you stood there for what seemed like hours, simply letting all emotion out while enjoying the company of one another. While Jungkook has been exceptionally transparent in expressing the fact that he's heartbroken about the situation between the two of you, it's safe to say that you feel equally as devastated. This man was once the love of your life and the only one you ever needed, but now everything about him except for his embrace feels foreign. This was someone you once saw yourself building a life with, but now it's shattering to think that he has a life after you.

You pulled away after a while, refusing to make eye contact as you wiped the tears from your eyes. This all felt entirely pointless. It was obvious that nothing went wrong in the relationship yet here you were, no longer in one. You couldn't begin to imagine what Jungkook had been going through since you guys broke up considering the fact that for you, your entire world turned upside down.

"I'm sorry," You managed to choke out before you felt Jungkook's hand gently guide your face up to look at his. You watched him stare at you for a moment, taking in your features, before his lips began to curl into a soft smile. "Mmm. Yeah. You're way too pretty to let slip through my fingers."

Feeling your face turn hot as a blush crept to your cheeks, you let out a soft giggle before you were cut off by a familiar pair of lips meeting yours.

"JUNGKOOK?" You heard a voice call out. The two of you pulled apart, eyes wide. Shit. You forgot about Jimin.

#teenytinyjimin #bangtan #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts fanfiction #bts fic #angst #bts jungkook #bts jk #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook angst #jk angst #jungkook x reader #jk x reader #fanfic #jk fanfic

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multifariousqueer · 4 months

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Hi! I see your looking for felix requests?

Can you do a felix who is obsessed with a reader who doesnt care for him?

Fsfs babes!!!

Warning: Felix being a stalker, Farleigh being a catty bitch, fluff, I think that's it

“Dude, stop staring," Farleigh says in a huff.

"Don't be ridiculous, Farleigh I'm not staring" Felix defended, despite his tireless efforts, his attempts at convincing others and himself that he wasn't obsessed with your being were in vain as no one believed him, not even himself.

Felix had noticed you from across the quad at Oxford on the first day of school. Your brown eyes glowed as your chest heaved with laughter at your friend's joke. He watched in envy as your full attention was placed on your friend and how he got to bask in your presence. From that moment on, Felix was obsessed with you.

It started out simple enough, Felix joined all of your classes and he would always sit a row behind you so he could watch you and what you were doing; Felix justified this as him wanting to learn more about you(and smell your hair). Whenever you would raise your hand in class, Felix would swoon over how smart you are. He took notice of how you would turn to your guy friend and high-five him whenever you got above a B on a test or quiz and Felix's brows would furrow in jealousy and envy as your guy friend absorbed your attention. Felix began to question what drew you to him so much, was it his money? Felix had plenty of money. Was it his looks? Felix considered himself more handsome than most. So what was it? He didn't know, but he was willing to learn.

Felix started to slip you anonymous gifts and letters to your dorm every week. He bought you anything and everything, from roses to tennis bracelets worth thousands. You once walked into your dorm and saw a diamond necklace and a new iPod on your bed(after ranting to your best friend about needing a new one) with a note that read:

"A very pretty necklace for a very pretty girl ;). Love, your secret admirer"

You squealed and thought that your best friend had gotten it for you. The next day in class, you thanked him profusely only for him to look confused and say:

"uhhh thanks?"

Felix's blood began to boil. He couldn't believe that this Jag was taking credit for a $5,000 necklace and a new iPod that Felix had gone out of his way to buy. It wasn't a huge expense on Felix, he bought it with some money he found in his dorm but it was the principle of the fact that irked his last nerve. From that moment on, he despised your friend and began his plan to win you over.

Felix wasn't stupid, he wanted to keep tabs on you so he had the iPod implanted with a tracker so he could have your documents on his phone. Next, he saw that you were going to the pub so he decided to make his move there and ask you out by buying you a drink. He saw your message to your friend about loving a specific scent on men and he went out and bought it the next day. Felix put on his best outfit and gathered his friends to go to the pub.

You were sitting in a black dress that was a tad bit too short and nursing a cosmopolitan. Felix saw you and his eyes immediately lit up:

"Do I hear wedding bells?" Farleigh teased, holding a cigarette and smirking

"Shut up, Farleigh" Felix said, blushing as he made his way over to you.

He walked up to the bar and asked the bartender for a cosmopolitan on him:

"I'll buy the lady's next one" he said, confidently

"Oh! Thank you but I was just about to head home" you said

"Nonsense, it's only 12 on a Friday," Felix said trying to get you to stay.

"No no, I should get home and study but it was nice speaking to you and Thank you for the drink offer" you said, attempting to excuse yourself but Felix's strong build held you in.

"Oh come now, Y/n. Have fun it's just one drink" he smiled

"How do you know my name?" you asked confused

Felix realized that he had slipped up. He was supposed to ask your name and you were supposed to introduce yourself in a story that he would tell your future children.

"Uhh we're in the same class" he stumbled

"Which class?" you asked

All of them. But Felix couldn't say that because he didn't want to scare you off so he settled with:

"Literature"

"Ohhhh. Hey don't you sit behind me? Oh! You must be Felix" you stood up, suddenly remembering where this suave stranger was from

"Yeah haha. Small world, huh?" he said, relief littering his tone.

"Yeah" you cooed.

"Well I should leave but maybe we could get drinks another time, here's my number," you said giving Felix the number to your new ipod.

"Yeah of course, darling" Felix smirked

"Darling?" you asked, tilting your head a bit smiling

"Yes?" Felix let out a cheeky smile.

#for you #foryou #felix catton #jacob elordi #jacob elordi x reader #saltburn #saltburn x reader #felix catton imagine #felix catton x american reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x reader #felix catton x you #felix catton blurb #felix catton drabble #saltburn fanfiction #jacob elordi imagine #saltburn movie #saltburn 2023

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attapullman · 3 months

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The Perfect Pink | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: While bartending for Rolling Acres Retirement's Valentine's Party, you encounter a pink-cheeked man and his cherry-loving cousins.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: all fluff with alcohol mentions

A Note From Mo: Here is my Pink Lady fic for @thedroneranger's Pick Your Poison event to go with this gorg moodboard! As a part-time mixologist and full-time Bob Floyd lover, this was such a fun concept to play around with and has inspired me to come up with more pink drinks. I've never been a Valentine's girly, but I fully believe this pink-cheeked WSO could convince me otherwise. To everyone who reads this, I love you bunches and bunches, all 365 days in the year!

It’s so pink. Horrendously. Abysmally. Pepto-bismally. PINK.

When you agreed to tend the bar in a pinch, a few bundles of carnations and candy pink paper hearts were your guess for the evening’s decorations. But when you showed up to Rolling Acres Retirement's Valentine’s Party holding a crate of soda water and a handful of shakers, your senses flatlined with the amount of pink covering every surface.

Petal pink tablecloths straightened over round tables; a small bouquet of magenta carnations attached to each folding chair and incensing the recreation hall of the retirement home. Heart-covered paper plates and folded napkins set up at each place setting, glittering confetti sprinkled around the tableware. The ceiling isn’t even a reprieve, a rainbow of fuchsia and rose and flamingo and blush balloons filling up every available inch of space.

Suzette on the front desk had complimented your dusky pink sweater - an appropriate choice for the holiday - but set against this backdrop you feel like another decoration. An oversized bauble that also makes cocktails and pours cheap wine.

And now, standing behind this makeshift card-table-turned-bar covered in bubblegum crepe paper, your brain might explode in a cloud of hot pink smoke. Counting out pours and trying not to slice yourself making garnishes is a struggle keeping up with all these orders. While the average age of the party goer may be eighty, they drink more than the 21st birthday bash you bartended last weekend. You’ve been here all of an hour and Mrs. Moscovitz has already downed three fuschia cosmopolitans.

While disappointed you don’t have more romantic Valentine’s Day plans - though, when have you ever had a date on this too pink day? - it’s fun to see who’s turned up to celebrate. White-haired couples are swaying on the makeshift dance floor, every shade of pink and red in their attire. Bridge groups and knitting circles are excitedly chatting at their respective tables, gossiping over who is in attendance and with whom. Even the staff have wide grins splitting their faces, enjoying the festivities that break up the bleak winter. It’s the least you can do to spend the holiday providing beverages for this crowd.

The best part is the families. While romantic love is thick in the air, so is platonic love. Family members of all ages have come out to spend the holiday with the residents. Mr. Gordon’s daughter and her family have driven hours to catch up over pot roast and sparkling cider while his grandson plays trucks over a pile of chocolates he snuck from Suzette.

Orders have slowed down and your eyes keep glancing over to Ms. Floyd’s table. The entire clan has showed up for dinner, dancing, and to take home a batch of her homemade snickerdoodles. Multiple relatives are taking up two entire heart-sprinkled tables. Your focus is mainly on the second table for too far from you, where the grandkids have been relegated to play cards and swap candy hearts to pass the time.

“Why don’t you go ask the pink lady for more cherries.” God, he’s cute. The only guy in this place near your age and his attention is stolen by a pair of toddler girls obsessed with the cherries in their Shirley temples.

You divert your eyes quickly when you realize he’s talking about you and your pink sweater. The girls giggle shyly, the high pitched squeals of glee as they convince him to go up instead. Fiddling with shakers, wiping down the counter, you try to stay busy as you physically feel him approach the converted bar and your trembling hands.

“Hi!” His smile is thin and nervous and his cheeks are pink, blushing from his little cousins and their antics. Also because you’re much prettier up close and he’s wearing a shirt he’d never normally be caught in if his grandma hadn’t picked it out.

He’s much cuter at this distance as well. Sandy hair combed neatly, one small strand slipping out behind his ear. Friendly cerulean eyes framed by golden wire spectacles, similar to the ones several of the ex-military men at Rolling Acres are sporting. His thin lips falter slightly as he takes in how well the pink of your sweater compliments your skin. God, he wishes he wasn’t wearing this shirt.

You spring into service mode and grab a fresh cocktail shaker. “What can I do you for?”

“I’m technically up here for some cherries.” You dutifully nod, hoping to hide the fact you’ve been watching him converse with the toddler girls in their matching baby pink dresses most of the night. You make a small dish of cherries up and push it toward him, shaking your head when he attempts to pay. “The thirty-eight cents of cherries is a small expense for a night those two will talk about for weeks. They’re on the house.”

He grabs the dish with a smile, but realizes he now has no excuse to stay by the bar. And while he loves his cousins, he’s on leave for a few more weeks and you’re really pretty. A few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt. He extends his hand with a timid smile. “I’m Bob.”

You reach out and shake his hand back as you introduce yourself, hoping the condensation coating your fingers isn’t too noticeable. He immediately commits your name to memory, happy to replace “The Pink Lady” with a name as fitting to you as yours.

He moves out of the way as a woman in a magenta scarf orders a round for her bingo group. Bob watches as you whir into action, pouring liquors and counting off ounces. The delicate way you garnish each drink so the owner feels special. Your gracious smile when a tip is stuffed into the heart-shaped velvet box provided to you for tips.

When the line at the bar dies down, he sidles back up to your makeshift station. Bob notices the way you eye the decorations warily, still adjusting to the deafening pink of it all. He drums lightly on the blushing pink tablecloth, catching your wide-eyed attention. “Everything all right?”

“Uh, this place is too…pink?” you laugh, gesturing to the overabundance of rosy hues surrounding you. For possibly the first time all night, Bob realizes that while you were the only pink thing that had his attention, it is suffocating in the recreation hall.

“Yes, yes it is,” he chuckles right back, eyes soaking in the offending decorations. There’s a comfortable air between the two of you, and he decides to push his luck for more time with The Pink Lady.

Bob clears his throat, pulse thrumming through his body. Tonight is his one and only chance to land a date with the pretty bartender.

“So, to go with the theme, what is the pinkest drink you can make me?” He wiggles his eyebrows, his best attempt at flirting. A hint of a giggle escapes as you purse your lips, contemplating his challenge.

“I can make you a pink lady.”

He narrows his eyes. “Is that a real drink, or have you named it after yourself?”

“It’s real, I promise.” You’re all smiles at his attention as you combine the gin, applejack, and grenadine with a splash of lemon juice. He really could watch you work for hours.

As you reach for the last ingredient, his eyes bug out. “Is that an egg?” He’s a Navy man, his normal bar only has cocktails with two ingredients. Since when did eggs go in cocktails?

“When you dry shake an egg white it creates this nice foam, adds to the drink.” While he wants to come across as open-minded and cultured, he’s hesitant. “If you don’t like it, I’ll make you something else.”

He’s bewitched as you pour the perfectly pink drink into a plastic coup, the creamy white foam rising to top it off. A cherry balances the rim, one that won’t be stolen by his mischievous cousins. As he looks between the freshly poured drink and you, he swears your cheeks are the same happy pink.

You push the drink toward him, excited to share something new with a customer. Always a gamble as a bartender, but worth it when you expand someone’s palate. He gives you a tentative smile, unsure if he’s going to like it, but he really wants to impress you. In return, you give him an encouraging nod, completely unsure of how this will go. He takes a sip, the frothy mixture coating his tongue.

As far as he’s concerned, the drink is named after you. Not too sweet, not too tart, a divinely balanced combination of flavors in a perfect pink concoction. Bob is convinced you would taste just as good, especially with a cherry. The thought makes his brain blank.

“Do you like it?” Your hopeful eyes are endearing. He wants to brush the strand of hair from your cheek and assure you that he likes it, that he’d like anything you made him because you made it. But you’re practically strangers so he stumbles over his words as he promises it’s delicious.

The bowl of cherries for his cousins still in his hand, Bob stands to the side of the bar and sips his tartly sweet drink, casually keeping up conversation with you as you serve other patrons. You’re glad for the company, enjoying the way he asks about your technique and mutters out the few things he knows about wine from conversations with his aunt. Despite the fact you’re working, it’s the best Valentine’s Day you’ve had in years with this bespectacled man watching you tend bar.

He’s just so cute, blushing his own special pink hue when your eyes connect while you shake up a few martinis.

“Uncle Bob!” There is no mistaking who is calling him over. Two identical heads pouting as they motion him over. His time with you is up. He gives you a sweet smile, trying to memorize every inch of your face, before motioning his hand filled with cherries in their direction. You bittersweetly grin right back, smile lingering as you start on Mr. Nickerson’s two merlots as you watch his broad shoulders walk away.

Oh, how you wish he would come back.

Because it’s a retirement home and not a frat house, by ten the party is wrapping up. You’ve exchanged shy glances with Bob a handful of times, but his family has taken up most of his attention with Navy questions and inquiring when he’s going to visit next. He barely registers the event is over before he’s rummaging through his mom’s handbag with his last attempt at salvaging the night.

You’re cleaning up your supplies when the Floyd clan walks past, all waving good night to you and the staff, thanking you all for a great Valentine’s night. The girls thank you for their cherries, a stem hanging from one’s lip.

Staggering at the end of the crowd is Bob, his cheeks flushed and palms tingling. He stands in front of your table, rocking on his heels, working up his courage. You give him a warm smile, thanking him for his company, and he completely melts. As he holds up his occupied hand, he hopes this works.

“Forgot to slip this in earlier.” His smile is tense as he jams a few dollars through the absurdly small hole in your improvised tip box. You thank him before both blurting out awkward goodbyes. As he catches up with his family, a pang rings through your chest. Disappointed he’s gone, never to be seen again.

Bob Floyd, a Valentine’s mirage you will remember fondly.

Once all your things are packed, you square things up with Suzette with your pay for the event and a promise to stop by to visit the residents later in the month. You schlep everything to the car, a mixture of emotions painting your face in the rearview mirror as you make your way back home. The weight of defeat keeping you from bringing anything inside except for that damn tip box you’re hoping will cover groceries for the week.

You pry open the velvet lid and are met with the best surprise.

There, at the bottom of your substitute tip jar, underneath all the singles the elderly stiffed you with, was a scrap of cheap rosy pink napkin. You unfurl it to see neat chicken scratch handwriting, the pen poking through the fabric in spots as he worked to write out his message with a phone number beneath.

I’m here until the 27th. Drinks on me? - Bob

Now that you think about it, maybe you do like pink.

taglist: @berryvanille @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @maryelizabeth13 @petersunderoos96 @rhettsluvr @roosterforme @seitmai @sweetwhispersofchaos @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

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virginsexgod69 · 29 days

Text

❝Jealous ❞

pairing Professor! Daryl Dixon x F! Student! Reader with a sprinkle of Professor Rick

summary After getting drunk with your friends, you wake up at Professor Dixon's place where you explore something new. Rick lets you despite the jealousy brewing inside him.

cw smut, voyeurism, unprotected p in v, jealousy but also cuckolding lowkey, teacher - student relations, power imbalance, age gap, creampie, blow jobs, mentions of underage drinking (Reader is 20, legal drinking age is 21), outdoor sex

2.7k words

series masterlist

"Ready yet?" Rosita asked.

"Gimme a sec," you replied. You were sat on the floor of your dorm room, doing your makeup in front of the floor-length mirror.

"I'm ready," Maggie said as she grabbed her purse.

Your two best friends, Maggie and Rosita, wanted to go to a bar to celebrate finishing mid terms. You were apprehensive at first, considering you weren't twenty-one quite yet, but they promised you'd still have a good time.

"Alright, let's go!"

Maggie came back to the table carrying everyone's drinks- a cosmopolitan for Rosita and a scotch and soda for her. The drink she slid in front of you was pink with cherries in it.

"Ooh, what's this?" you asked curiously.

"Shirley Temple," Maggie said, struggling to hold back a laugh. Rosita bursted into a contagious fit of giggles, Maggie joining in, but you stared at them with a flat face.

"What? S'not my fault you're not twenty-one yet," she told you once the two of them calmed down.

"Ha. Ha," you said sarcastically before taking a sip of the non-alcoholic beverage. It was delicious, which made you madder. You drank with them all the time outside of bars, but now of all times Maggie wanted to abide by the law?

"Thank god mid terms are over. We can finally rest," Maggie said, leaning back into her seat.

"Is it just me, or was Professor Grimes' midterm unnecessarily hard?" Rosita asked.

"I thought it was fine."

"Speak of the devil," Maggie said and you all turned to look where she was looking. Over at the counter stood Professor Grimes and Professor Dixon, looking delicious in casual clothing. You shrunk in your seat, willing Rick to not see you. You weren't doing anything wrong, but you didn't want him seeing you at a bar to shatter the good girl image you worked so hard to maintain. Thankfully, when the men got their beers, they sat elsewhere without noticing you. You let out a breath of relief you didn't even know you were holding.

"I'ma get me a real drink," you tell your friends as you stand up from the table.

"Told you she'd want a big girl drink," Rosita joked. Maggie laughed but you just rolled your eyes. You sauntered over to the bar and ordered yourself a long island iced tea. Miraculously, your fake ID fooled the bartender, that or she just didn't care. You made sure to keep an eye on Rick’s table, making sure neither of the men saw you.

“See, the fake ID did work!” You boasted upon returning to the table with your drink.

“I’m surprised Eugene even made that for you,” Rosita commented.

“I may have twisted the truth on why I needed it.” The three of you burst into a fit of laughter before going back to chatting about anything and everything.

“I’m gonna order us a round of shots,” Rosita said after a while.

After multiple rounds of shots- you lost count- the three of you were rather tipsy. Maggie and Rosita had to hold you up as you were too tipsy to walk straight. Neither of you were in a state to drive, so you had called a ride.

“Look, it’s Professor Grimes!” You said a little too loudly, obviously pointing at him. Your friends shushed you, covering your mouth with a hand, not wanting the attention of their professor. But it was too late, him and Professor Dixon were on their way over.

“Everything alright, ladies?” He asked. He looked so good in that black t-shirt and jeans and so did Professor Dixon. The cotton fabric could barely restrain his strong arms as they were crossed over his chest.

“Rick!” You squealed, wiggling yourself free from your friends’ arms and stumbling into his. He caught you and held a strong arm around your waist so you wouldn’t fall. The two women stared at the interaction strangely, but didn’t say anything.

“C’mon, we gotta get back to the dorms,” Maggie said, holding her hand out toward you.

“Nooo, wanna go with Rick,” you slurred, burying your face in his chest. Rick sighed.

“I got her, I’ll make sure she gets to her dorm safe,” he promised. The women gave some pushback, but between Rick’s insistence and your whining, they finally agreed to let you go with him. When they finally got picked up by the ride you called, Rick picked you up bridal style and carried you to his car with Daryl in tow.

"You fuckin' yer student?" Daryl asked before taking a drag of his cigarette. He and Rick were sat on his porch, having some beer and smoking together. You were inside, asleep on the couch in one of Daryl's t-shirts. You had fallen asleep in the car ride back to the dorms and neither man thought it’d look right to carry your sleeping form back to your room, so instead they took. You back to Daryl’s place. They couldn’t bring you back to Rick’s considering his wife and kid were there.

"Yeah. S'more than that, though. She's more than just a good fuck," he explained.

"Have her in one of my classes. She's such a tease." Although Rick laughed, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. He didn't like the idea of you going around flirting with his colleagues like you do him.

"Yeah? How so?"

"Always wearin' those goddamn low cut tops and leanin' on my desk, or wearin' them tiny skirts with no panties on," he explained. Those little things you did were how you got Rick's attention in the first place. He wondered if he was the only one, or if you did this with all of your professors. The thought left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Never gave into it?" Rick asked, shocked. This time Daryl laughed.

"Ain' riskin' my job over no damn pussy!"

“Hey!” You chimed in, offended. The men’s head snapped toward you, just now realizing you were awake.

“You’re finally awake,” Rick commented. He, surprisingly, didn’t seem too happy to see you. Daryl’s face remained expressionless as he watched the two of you.

“Where am I? What’s going on?” You asked, now way more sober than before.

“You fell asleep in the car, so we took you to Daryl’s house. Got you changed into one of his spare shirts and let you sleep on his couch,” Rick explained cooly. You looked at Daryl and he just glanced up at you with a cigarette in his mouth. You were shocked he’d do something so nice for you, considering he didn’t even look your way, despite your advances.

“Ain't you gonna thank him?”

“Th-thank you, Dar- Professor Dixon,” you said, flustered. “Welcome,” he replied with a nod of his head.

“Take a seat,” Rick ordered, patting his lap. You hesitantly sat on his lap, not really wanting to under the curious gaze of Daryl. With one hand, he roughly grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him.

“You wanna tell me what you were doin’ at that bar, drunk?”

“Uhh…drinking?” His grip tightened, squeezing your cheeks causing your lips to puff out.

“Underage drinking?”

“M-my birthday’s in a few months, Rick, it’s no big-“

“If I were still a cop, I’d’ve thrown your ass in jail.” His tone was dark, almost scary even. Your eyes watered, tears threatening to spill over. You’ve never seen him like this before.

“Rick, why’re you bein’ so m-mean?” You whimpered. Rick understood the hypocrisy of his actions. Punishing you for having eyes for his colleague when he was a married man, using you as an escape from his commitment. It was wrong, but he couldn’t help the anger, the jealousy, he felt knowing he wasn’t the only one.

“Why don’ you ask Professor Dixon?” He turned your head to face him. Shame washed over you. You didn’t want him seeing you like this, a tearful pathetic mess sitting on the lap of your superior after clinging to him like a drunk mess earlier.

“Wha’s goin’ on? I’m c-confused?” You asked, finally letting your tears fall.

Daryl noticed the change in his best friend’s demeanor as soon as he told him about your behavior in his class. Now knowing that you were Rick’s, he’d never betray him like that. No matter how tempted he was by your innocent doe eyes always paying attention to him when he taught, or the way you teased him with the little outfits you wore, or how you’d frequent his office hours, pretending to need help just so you could have one on one time with him.

“Jus’ told him ‘bout your…interestin’ behavior in my class,” he innocently explained before finishing off his beer. He know how much trouble that’d get you in, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interesting in how it’d play out.

You turned to face Rick, ready to deny Daryl’s claims and defend yourself, but the stern look he gave you caused the words to die on your tongue. He lifted you off his lap and pushed you toward the other man, causing you to stumble and clumsily fall in into his lap. He caught you, but kept you at a distance, afraid to touch you, because if he did, he doubted he’d be able to stop.

“If you wan’ him so bad, go on ahead and have him. That’s okay with you, right Daryl?” Rick grabbed another beer from the cooler and uncapped it with his teeth. You looked between the two of them, not even knowing what to think. Daryl, too, was looking at Rick apprehensively.

“Rick, wha’s goin’ on?” Daryl asked.

“Well she clearly wants you and I saw that way you’ve been lookin’ at her all night. So go on and have at each other,” he explained nonchalantly. You and Daryl exchanged a confused glance. Of course you wanted this to happen, obviously not in this way. Daryl did too. Having you in his lap in one of his shirts made his pants fit uncomfortably. You wanted to make a move, you really did, but what should've been a beautiful moment was awkward. Neither you nor Daryl knew if this was a test of some sorts to test either person's loyalty to Rick, or if he was really allowing this.

"It's okay, sweetheart, show Professor Dixon how grateful you are for him helpin' you out." He seemed less angry and held sincerity in his eyes. You relaxed a little, having Rick give you commands was comforting. You slid off Daryl's lap and kneeled in between his legs, looking up at him through your lashes. You undid he belt and unzipped his pants, pulling them down a little after he lifted his hips to let you do so. You glanced over at Rick as you pulled Daryl's hard cock from his boxers. Rick just watched with a blank face and beer bottle in hand. Daryl's warm hand cupped you cheek, earning your full attention.

"Don' look at Rick, look at me," he commanded softly. Butterflies erupted in your tummy seeing this side of the usually reserved professor.

"Yes, sir." You licked him from base to tip along the vein on the underside of his cock a few times before taking him all the way into your mouth. He wasn't as girthy as Rick, but he exceeded him in length, making it hard to take all of him in your throat, but that didn't stop you from trying. You gagged when his tip hit the back of your throat, making your eyes water.

"S'alright, girl, keep goin'," he coaxed. Warmth erupted throughout your body and you became hellbent on pleasuring the gorgeous man before you. You bobbed your head up and down on his dick, earning soft grunts from him here and there, but that wasn't enough, you wanted to have him panting and moaning. You held onto his strong thighs as you took him all the way, this time not gagging. Breathing through your nose, you increased your pace, earning some moans. His hand found the back of your head and held it down as he thrusted up into you, fucking your throat, your nose buried in his brown curls. His moans were music to your ears and made your pussy clench on nothing. You ground your clit against your heel, getting yourself off a bit as Daryl brought himself closer to his climax with your throat.

"Cum down her throat, she likes that," Rick chimed in. Daryl's pace increased until he finally flooded your mouth with his release. You swallowed every drop after he pulled out. With his thumb, he put the cum that spilled out of your mouth back in. You gladly accepted, sucking his thumb for good measure.

"Good girl," he praised. Your cheeks warmed at his praise. You wanted to hear more. You wanted to hear him praise you as he was buried deep in your cunt, pounding into you ready to fill you with his seed.

"Need you," you begged, staring up at him with pleading eyes. He glanced at his friend as if to ask for permission, but all he did was shrug dismissively, like he didn't even care. He didn't want to push the other man's boundaries, but he felt he owed it to himself for all the times he's pushed you away for fear of losing his job. And he felt himself getting hard again. He stood and pulled you up with him before turning you around.

"Bend over," he ordered and you did, holding onto the porch's railing. He lifted his t-shirt you wore, revealing the little red thong you had on. He was beating himself up internally for turning you down for so long. He was tempted to just shove his face between your thighs and lick the arousal coating them and taste every bit of you. He yanked the thong down, letting it fall to your ankles. He stroked himself a few timed before lining his cock up with your sopping pussy. You were so wet, he slid inside with ease. His mouth fell open and his eyes rolled back. You squeezed him perfectly, your warm, plush walls welcoming him home. His hands gripped your hips almost to the point of leaving a bruise, but it all felt too good. He pulled all the way out before slamming back in earning wanton moan from you. He continued thrusting into you, his composure slipping with each thrust. His hands slid up the shirt feeling your body until he got to your breasts. He groped them as he fucked you.

"You're fucking me so good, Daryl," you moaned as your felt the coil in your tummy tightening, a signal of your impending orgasm. Your legs shook as you gripped the railing even tighter.

" 'M close," he grunted, his thrusts losing rhythm as he came close to his second orgasm. Your entire body was on fire, Daryl's hands on you felt new and exciting, every touch of his made your spine tingle. Every ending of your nerves was on fire as you came around his cock, squeezing him for everything he had left.

"This pussy was made fer ma cock," he grunted. He came undone, painting your walls white with his seed. He continued to fuck you through both his and your orgasm. He pulled his now soft cock out of you, watching his cum slowly leak out of your swollen pussy and drip down your thighs. Daryl put himself back together before sitting back down and helping himself to another beer. After catching your breath, you turned to look at Rick, but be was already looking at you. You expected him to be upset that you were physically unable to resist fucking his colleague, his best friend, but instead his pupils were dilated and there was a prominent bulge in his pants. Watching his best friend fuck you definitely did something to him.

"You get that outta your system?" he asked. He was still a little snappy, but you were grateful he wasn't as angry as before.

"Yes, sir," you replied meekly.

"Good. That should hold you over while I'm punishin' you."

i have not once set foot in a bar, hopefully that wasnt obvious in my writing lmao. perhaps you noticed this wasn't proofread :p

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ernmark · 2 years

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During yet another quick research dip into Wikipedia, I stumbled across Macaroni fashion in the 1700s.

As in "Stuck a feather in his hat / and called it Macaroni"

I was aware before now that Macaroni referred to the Macaroni Club-- though I had been told that it was an actual fashionable club in Italy, whereas Wikipedia claims that it's a ribbing term for men who took a Grand Tour in Europe and became Worldly and Cosmopolitan as a consequence-- a club that's entered by doing a thing, rather than a specific group of people who know each other (the way we use the Mile High Club in the modern day). The name itself references the fact that people who'd spent time in Italy would come back with a taste for pasta.

Macaroni gentlemen were fashionable. Very fashionable. Kinda extremely so. Which leads us to caricatures like these of such people:

But what really struck me was a contemporary description of members of the Macaroni Club:

"There is indeed a kind of animal, neither male nor female, a thing of the neuter gender, lately started up among us. It is called a macaroni. It talks without meaning, it smiles without pleasantry, it eats without appetite, it rides without exercise, it wenches without passion." -- The Oxford Magazine, 1770

Now take the above caricature and compare it to this one:

Because when you look at the Fashionable Gentleman in this (yes, racially insensitive) cartoon, he's got big hair, sure, but nowhere near as big of hair as either of the Macaronis were portrayed as having. And for all his fashion sense, he's missing the Macaroni ruffles. His lady friend, however, is not.

Another quote from the Wikipedia page:

Design historian Peter McNeil links macaroni fashion to the crossdressing of the earlier molly subculture, and says "some macaronis may have utilized aspects of high fashion in order to affect new class identities, but others may have asserted what we would now label a queer identity".

And the thing that really gets me is that not too long ago, I noticed another bit of queer history from this rough time period, specifically the Italian cicisbeo-- often an openly gay man who'd act as a woman's companion at social events in place of her husband.

And I wonder how many young people went on their Grand Tour, stopped in Italy to see all these openly gay people in parties, and came back having learned a thing or two about themselves. And meanwhile the folks back home are all going "seriously, what's going on in Italy that's making all our boys turn androgynous? Is it the pasta? Must be the pasta."

#History #queer history #nonbinary

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chichimodele · 4 months

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This is MY “it girl”

#tracee ellis ross #it girl #cosmopolitan lady

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pratchettquotes · 5 months

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Casanunda picked himself up and adjusted his wig happily.

"I like a girl with spirit," he said. "How about you and me having a little tête-à-tête when this is over?"

Nanny Ogg's face went blank. Her cosmopolitan grip of language had momentarily let her down.

"Excuse me a minute," she said. She put her drink down on his head and pushed through the crowd until she found a likely looking duchess, and prodded her in the bustle regions.

"Hey, your grace, what's a tater tate?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"A tater tate? Do you do it with your clothes on or what?"

"It means an intimate meeting, my good woman."

"Is that all? Oh. Ta."

Nanny Ogg elbowed her way back to the vibrating dwarf.

"You're on," she said.

Terry Pratchett, Lords and Ladies

#nanny ogg #casanunda #lords and ladies #discworld #terry pratchett #dwarfs #dating #witches #language differences #translation #party #pickup lines #a girl with spirit #a likely looking duchess #you're on

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muzansfangs · 1 year

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Make up your mind.

Starring: Douma x f!reader ; Akaza x f!reader (love triangle).

Warnings: nsfw, modern au, cheating, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, manipulative behavior, dirty talk, language, slight bsdm, semi-public sex, morally grey reader, use of alcohol, poker, smoking, vaginal sex, remorse, dacryphilia, love triangle, dom!douma, sub!reader.

Plot: you had been dating Akaza for six months, when he decided to let you meet his friends. One of them, though, had set his eyes on you from the moment you first met. The allure of darkness, the red flags hanging from Douma’s back like a cape were a clear signal that you should have kept your distance. Despite that, he had you wrapped around his fingers. Slipping under was easy, way too easy, and before you knew it, he had half of your heart in his sinful hands. A twisted and toxic relationship blossomed. Your innocence was long forgotten and, when you kissed Akaza at the end of the day, before you went to sleep, you felt miserable.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

He had told you he was no good. He had told you to stay away from him, but you could not. Something about him, about the way he talked to you, flirted with you shamelessly and touched you, safe from your date’s eyes, had allured you to fall into his bait.

“He is Douma. My ‘friend’, you could say. He is a jerk, don’t mind his presence. Oh, and stay away from him” Akaza had said that infamous night, introducing you to the silver-haired man, eyeing you up and down from the stool he was sitting on. Ringed fingers, rainbow-colored eyes and a mischivious smirk curling his plumped lips, he was sipping a Bloody Mary absent-mindendly.

The moment you had entered the bar, his eyes were glued on you. He was a womanizer, chasing after ladies was his forte. Yet, there was something about you that he found irresistible. You were so gorgeous, tempting and you were not his. It irked him, the way you leant against Akaza’s shoulder as you slow-danced before his eyes, the sweet nothings he whispered in your ear and how you blushed when he kissed you. Dear God, it was maddeningly deplorable.

He could do better, you deserved better.

You tried not to pay attention to him that night. On the other hand, it would have been rude of you not to talk to him. You were kind, friendly, and the moment Douma noticed you walking towards him with a small, polite smile gracing your lips, he knew he had to take his chance.

“Woah, it looks like Akaza’s finally unleashed you. – he joked, pursuing his lips at you and gesturing for the barman to serve you – Order something, it’s on me” he added shortly, propping his chin on his hand and glancing at you from behind his dark, long eyelashes. He knew exactly what he was doing, he knew how to play his cards and you could sense something about him was off. Then again, you had just met him. Judging a book from its cover was something you were not used to.

You chuckled, your eyes darting on the man behind the counter briefly “A Cosmopolitan, please – you asked him, before locking eyes with Douma – As you can see there’s no collar around my neck” you declared, cocking your head to the side and tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Ah, I see! – he beamed, nibbling at the rim of the glass to hide the devious smile curling his lips – Rather foolish of him not to put his pet on the leash. Pervs are everywhere… I could put one on you now, what do you say?” he teased you. You were still naive back then, you thought his flirty, antagonistic antics were just jokes and sarcasm, but it was not. He had not even tried to hide his interest in you right from the start.

“Are you hitting on me?” you asked, quirking your eyebrows up.

Douma grinned, downing the rest of his drink hastily “I don’t know, sweetheart, am I? – he said, tucking his hand into the back-pocket of his ripped jeans to take his wallet out – Does Akaza know you are chatting with me?” he inquired, slamming some dollars on the counter to pay for your drink. His voice was soothing, despite the devilish, dark undertone.

You blushed and flashed a thin-lipped smile at the barman, sliding the cocktail in your direction “Why? Are you really that bad?” you replied, bringing your lips to the glass to take a sip of the pinkish, alcoholic substance.

His eyes clouded over, his hand reaching up to straighten his necktie as he gestured for you to follow him “Come with me. – he chimed, hopping down from his stool and glancing over his shoulder to check on Akaza – I had promised some gentlemen over there to attend a poker match. Wanna be my lucky charm for the night? I don’t bite harshly” he said, winking at you and stressing the last word way too much for your likings. He had avoided your question.

He was mysterious, magnetic, his charm overwhelming. You pondered his offer, your grip on the glass tightening even so slightly. Your eyes searched for your boyfriend, scanning the overcrowded dance-floor in hope to lock eyes with him. But you could not see him. Maybe, you should have declined Douma’s offer, the echoes of Akaza’s words were still ringing in your head, but you thought it was his goofy way to interact with his friend.

You did not want to be alone in that place. Knowing Akaza’s friend better could have not harmed you in any way, right?

“Alright, let’s go! But, if you win, we split the gains” you agreed then, complying his request. A glint of malice sparkled in his eyes, but it was too dark for you to notice, or maybe it was the way his fingertips grazed the small of your back, once you were next to him, to distract you. His touch was far from gentle, it was subtly lascivious. Walking towards the huge, green table at the corner of the bar, you could not help yourself but feel like he was leading you straight into the wolf’s den.

He was self-assured, enticing, the smug smile on his face never faded. You sighed, half-lidded eyes peeking down at the cards on the table, as he ducked his head down towards you. His breath fanned your earlobe and you faltered, accidentally spilling a few drops of your drink on the exposed skin of your thigh.

“Careful, darling – Douma murmured, his hand sneakily slithering down your leg, until his thumb reached the wet spot beading your smooth skin – It’s curious how the cards show me two kings and a queen, isn’t it?” he purred, suavely brushing his finger against your tender flesh to collect the droplets.

If you thought it was a bold move, making you flinch, hands shaking under his sinful touch, and forcing you to settle your glass on the table, not to drop it on the floor, what he did next made you question for how long he had been planning this. Mouth agape, you watched the way he brought his thumb up to his plumped lips. His tongue swirled over it, collecting the fruity, alcoholic substance, while he never broke the intense eye-contact he had made with you.

Your cheeks flushed up, your heart thrumming against your ribcage although you should have slapped him and left him there, alone. You could not move, you were paralyzed. Zoning out, you hesitantly averted your eyes from him. The voices of the men laughing, cussing at the table, the smoke flinging all around you and the music playing a soft tune through the speakers seemed so distant. You felt dizzy, ashamed, worried. Where was Akaza?

You stood up, not bothering to warn your boyfriend’s friend about your sudden decision to go out and look for him. You needed Akaza, but you also needed some fresh air. What had happened at the table? What had happened with Douma?

You stumbled down the dance floor, pushing people out of your way, until you finally reached the door. The cool summer night grazed your naked back, but the heat on your cheeks was still yet to cool down. Douma was no good. He was insanely poisonous, dangerous, deadly.

You walked down the sidewalk, hoping to finally spot Akaza, but he was not there. He was not there and your head was spinning. You leant against the wall, dazed, your hand diving into your purse in search for your phone, but just before you could tap on Akaza’s number, a tall figure loomed over you.

Your breath hitched in your throat, your back flattened against the wall behind you in a pathetic attempt to distance yourself from him, from his captivating multicolored hues. He hummed, hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers. He seemed to be about to devour you, the way he patently stared at you, the way he chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. He was definitely enjoying the view of you, a little girl, scared of him.

His aura seemed to strangle you. Nothing about him was good, nothing. His villainous intents were plastered over his handsome face, present in his sugarcoated words, in his sardonic smile.

A sadist. He was a sadist.

“What do you want from me?” you breathed out, averting your eyes from him.

Douma scoffed, feigning offence at your words “I was checking on you, love. – he cooed, cocking his head to the side – And, for the records, I was also going to tell you that I’ve won”.

“You won?” you breathed out, switching the topic of your conversation on something else. However, you regretted it, as he took a step forward. Then another. You watched his expensive shoes approaching you, you felt the cold droplets of sweat running down your back, while you realised that there was no where to run.

His silvery hair glowed under the dim moonlight and, once he was right in front of you, his hands reached out, resting flatly against the wall and caging you between the his strong arms.

“I play to win. – he whispered, his breath fanning your lips, reminding you that mere inches divided your mouths – And I always fucking win. It’s factual, love” he added, one of his hand flying down to your hip and stroking it in a way you hated to love in that very moment.

He was crawling under your skin.

“You need to stop” you hissed, through gritted teeth.

“Stop what, love?”.

“Stop calling me ‘love’, you jerk” you snapped, wrapping your hand around his wrist in a mere attempt to push him away from you. No matter how hard you tried, though. You did not even manage to make him take a step back. On the contrary, he sneered at you, his hand roughly grasping your jaw as he forced you to keep the eye-contact with him.

“Easy there, love. – he said, quirking his eyebrows up – Why does it bother you that much, huh? Oh, wait, I got it… Is this how he calls you when he fucks you? Ah, there it is. That’s the look I was—….”.

It was enough. You were done with him, with the things he said, with the way he was messing with your head in a way you did not think could be possible for a first encounter. What was that? How could he do that?

You watched the way his head snapped to the side for the harsh impact of your hand smacking his face. He grinned, leaning back and allowing you to finally sneak away. Watery eyes and heavy breaths leaving your lips, you jogged towards the entrance of the bar, only to hear him call after you.

“Bye, Y/N”.

You met him again at a dinner, a week later. He apologized, but you were one hundred percent sure he did not mean it. You saw the way he avoided to meet Akaza’s gaze, you saw how he had darted his eyes away from you two, when your boyfriend got tipsy and kissed you passionately on Muzan’s couch.

He clenched his jaw, when you melted under your boyfriend’s touch. It should have been him, he knew how to please you. He just had to be patient. Nothing lasts forever and your love for Akaza would have expired in a few.

After a while, Douma drew a cigarette from his packet and made his way upstairs, to the terrace. He did not say a word, no one seemed to care anyway, but you did. You watched him disappear from your sight, while running your fingers through Akaza’s hair. He was in the middle of a serious conversation with the raven-haired man and you were actually getting rather tired of it.

Out of curiousity, you planted a kiss on your boyfriend’s temple and told him you were going to call your mother for checking out on her. It was a lie, obviously. Then again, what could you do? The thrill of the hunt, the thrill of knowning him better was unbearable. Also, you needed answers. What did Douma want from you?

“Don’t worry, dear. Take your time” Akaza told you, squeezing your hand reassuringly, before turning his attention back at Muzan.

You shot an apologetic glance at them, before grabbing your phone and ambling towards the marble steps, leading you to the unknown, to the dark prince keeping you wide awake at night. You found him at the terrace, for some obscure reason you felt like he had been waiting for you. His cigarette hanged from his lips, his elbows resting on the railing as his back faced the city-line. The night breeze made his hair swing around his sharp visage, as he glanced at you standing on the veranda.

“Hello again” he uttered, taking the cigarette between his index and middle finger.

You nodded your head at him, discarding your phone on a nearby table “Hi” you simply said, folding your arms against your chest.

It was hard not to think about what had happened a week ago. Things should have been odd between you two, yet nothing weird or inappropriate had been said or done. At least, until now. Your shoulder brushed against his one, as you joined him at the railing, and you shivered. Oh, how badly you wished it was for your poor choice of items.

“What’s happened? Wait, let me guess, the king of hearts bored you stiff” he broke the ice, exaling through his nostrils. He resembled a dragon, his seraphic demeanor only fueling your imagination.

You narrowed your eyes at him, propping your chin on the back of your hand “And I assume you are the king of spades ready to save the night, aren’t you?” you sarcastically commented, smiling faintly, as he chuckled and put out the cigarette on the railing, before throwing it away.

“The king of hearts is overrated, rather tedious…” he trailed off, eyeing you up and down slowly. You were frustrated. Reading him was impossible. He was the most enigmatic person you had ever met.

Douma cleared his throat, circling you until he was standing right behind you. You stood there, frozen, heart skipping a beat in anticipation, when he pressed his chest against your back. His cold hands danced over your hips, his mouth hovering over your ear, as he whispered his scandalous proposal to you.

“Would the queen like the king of spades to show her what he can offer to her?” he purred, earning a gasp from you, when he roughly grasped your waist and ground his groin against your ass.

He was crossing the line. You were letting him touching you like that. It was not like the night you slapped him across his face. No. It was different. You were resilient, you were tangled into the web he had had no trouble in weaving around you.

Douma hummed, his calloused hands slipping under the skirt of you dress, palming your thighs, your ass as he slowly let his fingers travel up to the waistband of your panties. What was he doing? It was a public place. Muzan, Kokushibo and Akaza could have walked in any minute. People down the streets could have seen you and your cheeks flushed up at the thought of being exposed to the world.

“Wait, let’s go inside, they could—” you protested, only for him to clasp his hand over your mouth and leave a trail of wet kisses down your jugular.

“Let them see. I want them to see. – he whispered, dragging your panties down your legs – Also, this is the exciting part, don’t you think?” he asked you, giving your hair a yank to make you arch your back for him.

You blushed, the metallic sound of his belt when he unbuckled it making you realize what you were about to do. You had always been a loyal partner, cheating was not in your nature. Then again, what was happening in that goddamn house? Why did you feel Douma’s shaft line up to your aching entrance, why were you bent over the railing?

In a swift motion, he entered you. A moan of pleasure fell from your lips, as his length stretched you out in a way Akaza had never done. Douma was feral, harsh with you, but pasionate. He groaned in your ear as he bottomed out, his hand wrapped around your throat to keep you in a firm chokehold.

“You should see your face now. Come on, love, why don’t you tell your boyfriend about the lewd faces I have made you do, huh? Tell him how your pussy has been owned by me, do it!” he pressed, watching as a tear fell from your lashes for the total lack of foreplay before the penetration. Despite it, though, you were soaking wet and your walls squeezed him up perfectly.

He kissed your temple, pulling out of you until just the tip was buried into your core “Oh, make sure you’re ready to swallow, because I intend to ruin your pretty little mouth too” he singsonged, before thrusting back into you.

You squirmed, batting your eyes close and holding onto the railing for dear life, as he pounded into you relentlessly. The pressure in your abdomen was coiling significantly, second by second, and you tried your best not to melt under his touch. In a minute, he had been able to find your g-spot, your spongy walls spasming around his shaft as you lolled your head back onto his shoulder.

“Make up your mind, love. – he rasped, connecting your lips for a sloppy kiss – If it’s him the one you want, the one you love, why are you here, letting me fuck you?” he inquired, as you climaxed around him. You moaned his name and it was enough for him to pull out of your core, watching as you deligently dropped to your knees and waited for him to spill his seed onto your tongue.

Douma smiled, his eyes transfixed on the tears peeking at the angles of your eyes as he shoved his length into your mouth and released his seed down your welcoming throat.

You told yourself it was the first and the last time something like that happened, but you knew it was a lie. During the night you snuggled onto Akaza’s chest, searching for comfort or redemption, but you were corrupted to the core. How could you still look at him in the face and tell him that he was the only one? How could you do it, when you had been having a secret affaire with Douma for three months?

So, when Akaza kissed your cheek, you pretended to be asleep, because you could not bear the sight of him whispering “I love you” against your lips.

From that day at the bar, you started to hate cards.

Author note.

Hello there!

Ding-dong, I’m on my highway to hell lmao xD. I hope you have enjoyed this twisted Douma’s fic. I am a whore for this man, sorry not sorry! Anyway, I dedicate this one-shot to the lovely @doumadono ❤️

I hope not to have failed your expectations!

#douma x reader #akaza x reader #douma #akaza #demon slayer #demon slayer smut #kimetsu no yaiba #douma x you #douma x y/n #douma smut #douma imagine #akaza x y/n #akaza x you

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ovlxo · 4 months

Text

Affair - Modern Duff McKagan x Reader

Warnings: Minors DNI, 18+, SMUT

Disclaimer: I love Duff and Susan, this is 100% a work of fiction, fantasies are fantasies right?

POV: Your Axl Rose’s daughter, 21 year old, Y/N Rose. You’ve just got back to the hotel after a gig where Duff spent his breaks and subtle turns making eyes at you, it was something that had been brewing for a while between you both but Duffs’ wife, Susan had always been there and so neither of you had had the chance to act on this sexual tension…

“Okay, room keys; we’re all on the eighth floor, rooms are all double suites, hot-tubs in two of ‘em, fight amongst yourselves.” Your dad spoke with authority as he threw the keys on the table.

“Dibs on the hot-tub, night guys.” Slash grabbed one of the gold-tipped keys and swooped Meegan up toward the elevators with a ‘whoop!’.

“Yeah, my legs are killin’ me from my ride this morning. Am I good to take the other one?” Duff made eyes with everybody, lingering a second too long on you.

“That’s cool, Y/N, pick a key, doll. I’ll see you down here for breakfast in the morning?” Your dad smiled at you, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and kissing your hair.

“Yeah, Dad, okay, night.” You blushed at the embarrassment of your dad showing any affection in front of the whole band and picked up a key.

“Night guys, great gig tonight!.” He spoke with a genuine smile toward the group and headed upstairs.

The rest of the band trickled upstairs slowly, Duff was over by the payphone, jamming at the small metal buttons. Realising you weren’t ready to call it a night you headed over to the bar, eyes on Duff who spotted you out of the corner of his eye and watched you walk away.

“Can I have a Cosmopolitan, please?” Smiling up at the bartender as you swivelled in your seat taking in all of the names on the bottles lined up.

“Hope you’ve got some ID, little lady.” Duff’s voice melted through your body as he spun you around to face him.

“Hey, what did that pay-phone do to deserve such a beating?” You giggled, kicking his leg with your heeled boot playfully.

“Nothin’ works in hotels, man! Just means I’ll get it in the neck when I’m back home for not checking in.” Duff’s hand went to the back of his neck, as his eyes shot up and down your body, hoping you wouldn’t notice.

“Oh there’s no way I could deal with that, have a drink, talk to me…” You smiled, gently biting your lip as you looked down toward the top button of his pants.

“Okay, just one and then we’ll go to bed.” He winked and sat down on the stool next to you, ordering a whisky on the rocks.

“Promises, promises. I do like the sound of that hot-tub.” You shot back quickly, sipping on your cosmo, and feeling a wave of pleasure rush up your spine.

“I’m surprised you didn’t have one ear-marked, Daddy’s little princess.” He laughed, finding an excuse to bump your knees together and gently touch your arm.

“Fuck you! Would Daddy’s little princess be sipping drinks at the hotel bar and trying to bone his bassist?” Your stomach sank as you realised what you’d said, the cosmo helped you speak the whole truth apparently.

“I guess it’s expected when all that bassist has done for the last month is imagine her underneath him.” Duff’s hand ran from your knee to your inner-thigh, eyes not leaving your lips as you bit down in response to his gentle fingers.

“What would you say to making both of our little fantasies come true?” You placed a hand on his thigh, squeezing and making your way towards the growing bulge in his pants.

“I’d say, how about we finish these drinks in my hot-tub?” His finger brushed right up against your now sodden lace panties.

“Lead the way, McKagan.” You held out your hand and grabbed your cocktail, almost watching the scene out of body in disbelief.

Duff led you to the elevators, both of you vigilant for any late-coming roadies. The elevator seemed to take forever to arrive as you both felt the niggle to rip each other's clothes off right there.

Finally, you arrived at Duff’s suite which was nestled right in a corner away from any other doors and potential prying ears. As soon as the key turned the lock green, Duff grabbed hold of you and threw you over his shoulder, you let out a quiet shriek as the door closed and Duff carried you to the inner-balcony doors. Thankfully, the hot-tub was already bubbling away, you slid down Duff’s body and wrapped your legs around his waist, instantly consumed by his lips, your tongues entwined with each other, tasting the bitter whisky on his tongue only served to arouse you even more.

He practically ripped the silk dress from you, happily greeted by your red-lace lingerie.

“I love this…” he moaned in your ear as he greedily grabbed at your breasts, pushing his now rock-hard member up against your inner thigh.

Your hands gripped his hair as he sucked on your nipples, carrying you over to the tub, he gently placed you in the water, pulling your bra off as the bubbles caressed every inch of you. He quickly stripped, caressing himself as he slid under the jets with you. His hands were instantly on your body, grabbing your hips and pulling you toward him, squeezing your cheeks and exploring your mouth once more with his own.

“Give it to me, Duffy.” You whispered, biting down his neck, to his tattooed shoulder.

“Anythin’ you want, baby.” Duff pulled you into his lap as he sat on one of the perches, you quickly lost your panties as he replicated your actions and started nipping your neck.

Slowly sliding down on his generous length, your nails dug into his shoulders. Both of you moaning in sync at the sensation.

“Fuck yeah…” he whispered, squeezing your hips and leaving a dark purple bruise on your collarbone before throwing his head back.

You bounced gently on his lap, feeling his balls slap against your ass as he met your thrusts.

“Oh God… Duff… harder.” You gasped, taking him as deep as you could, the pain melting into pleasure as you bit down on his lower lip.

“You like it rough, darlin’?” He smiled, pulling you down and increasing his thrusts to a bruising pace.

“Holy… Fuck… Yes! Duff!” You cried, pulling him closer and feeling your release bubbling over. Water splashing around as Duff took full control and bounced you harder against him.

“Shit… I’m gonna cum… Ohhh… Y/N” Duff’s hand digging right into your hips, as he spilled inside, his hot seed filling you to the brim as you lost complete control, mumbling his name as your vision became spotty, his thrusts never ceasing as he rode you through your high. Fireworks burst in your head, you felt your whole body tighten around Duff, his warmth only relighting the fire inside you.

Your head fell down against his shoulder as his rested on yours. His cock still firmly inside you as you both came down from your high.

“You’re somethin’ else, baby.” Duff smiled against your skin, stroking your thighs as sweat dripped down from his hair.

“Now how about we finish those drinks?” You giggled against him, feeling his body completely relax into yours.

#duff mckagan #duff mckagan x reader #gnr smut #guns n roses smut #duff mckagan smut #duff mckagan imagine #duff mckagan imagines #guns n roses #duff mckagan rough #gnrsmut #smut

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cuubism · 1 year

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Okay but AFTER Dream dramatically storms into Desire's realm yelling "WTF did you do to Hob" I can't imagine Desire just...ignored that. They 100% had to go check out this human and see what is so interesting that Dream is all twisted up in knots over him. Can very much picture Desire swanning into the New Inn in their craziest Lady Gaga outfit already drinking a cosmopolitan and introducing themselves to Hob. Because Desire realises that rather than plotting Dream's downfall they can fuck with Dream INFINITELY more by bothering his immortal crush. It's the sibling instinct.

oh. they DEFINITELY will. and like. eventually dream explains his whole thought process, and the fact that desire has fucked with him in the past (hob: dear god why is your family so fucked up), and dream is basically like: DO NOT. ENGAGE WITH DESIRE. IF THEY TRY TO TALK TO YOU. just call me (he still does not have a phone so unclear how this will work) and i'll kick their ass.

critical point: dream did not in any way tell hob how to IDENTIFY DESIRE.

---

The person who struts -- it's really the only word Hob can think of -- over to the bar at the New Inn makes him uneasy, though he can't say why. Hob is not made uncomfortable easily, he's lived too long and been in too many scrapes to feel intimidated in his own pub, of all places.

But something about them makes his hackles rise. The eyes, maybe. They're too cunning.

But he's not in the habit of throwing people out on looks so he just offers a tight smile and says, "Get you something?"

He's tending bar himself, today. Gives him something to do between terms. And he finds himself strangely grateful to have the bar between him and his strange customer as they slide onto one of the bar stools.

"Cosmo, please," they say, voice like sugar halfway to caramelizing, a bit of pop and smoke in the smooth glide.

This is a bit of an odd drink selection for eleven in the morning, but Hob has, at various points in his life though thankfully no longer, done lines of cocaine before even having breakfast, so he really has no pedestal from which to judge.

"Coming right up."

The bar at the New Inn is well-stocked nowadays. Used to be, they served mainly beer and wine, nothing fancy. Then Hob made the horrible mistake of promising his students an end of term cocktail-making class if they came to all the exam review sessions -- because he does actually know how to make drinks, he's been alive for six centuries, thanks very much -- and now it's become a thing and he's stuck doing it forever.

Then Dream took to his drinks, and alcohol is no substitute for food but getting Dream to eat or drink anything is a bloody miracle, so if that anything is the bougiest mixture of alcohols Hob can come up with, well--

Actually. Actually that might be worse than nothing at all.

Makes Dream happy though, so what is Hob to do? Keep ordering luxardo cherries and elderflower liqueur until he outlives them, that's what.

He finishes shaking the drink under the heavy gaze of his guest and pours, sliding it across the table to them.

Hob feels like he's being sized up by a predator as they take a long, delicate sip. The color of the drink matches the pink of their blazer. Hob is struggling to recall if said blazer was actually pink when they arrived.

"Ah. You mix a good drink, Hob Gadling," they say, propping their head on their hand, looking a him from under their lashes, and, ah, so that's what this is.

Hob leans on the bar. "What sort of... entity are you, then?"

Their whole face brightens in what Hob thinks is delight. "Oh! So you are a perceptive one. Get a lot of entities in here, do you, Robert?"

"'Bout as many as can be expected. That's not an answer."

They pout. "Neither is yours. And can't a being just pop by the local speakeasy for a drink without being interrogated?"

"Seems a little unfair that you know my name, and I don't know yours," Hob points out. "Names have power, and so on, isn't that the thing?"

His guest studies him. "You are both far more normal and far less normal than I'd been expecting. Fascinating."

Um.

Before Hob is forced to respond to that, the door swings open to reveal Dream, shrouded in darkness and nighttime and vibrating with electrical fury. Shadows crawl up the windows. All the lights in the inn flicker out.

Oh boy.

"I," Dream says, each word a thunderclap, shining gaze fixed on Hob's guest at the bar, "Explicitly. Forbade. You. From. Interfering."

"What are you going to do, hit me?" taunts the other entity, leaning back on their stool, drink balanced in one hand.

Hob looks back and forth between them, wondering if he should fetch a weapon. He keeps a cricket bat here somewhere, surely...

"Dream, love," he says, once he's decided it's better to try to deescalate the situation rather than introducing further weaponry, "your usual?"

Dream nods, stalking over to the bar. His gaze flits briefly to Hob, softening, before snapping right back to the other being.

"I see you remain incapable of heeding a warning," he says, all ice.

"It's not really part of my nature," they say. "I see it, I like it... well, you get it."

Oh. Oh no.

Cautiously, Hob slides his drink over to Dream. Without breaking eye contact with... Desire? it must be, and thanks, Dream, for the complete lack of description, Dream picks up his drink and downs the whole thing in one long swallow.

Ooooooh boy.

"Desire," Hob says, and they perk up at his realization of their name, looking over at him, "might be better if you were going now."

Desire lets out a frustrated huff. "Ugh, of course. I certainly don't want to upset 'ole Nightmare here."

"You certainly don't want my fist in your jaw," Hob says, more audible threat in it than he intends -- but he remembers Dream's halting confession, about how often love had turned out to be manipulation, and he thinks he should be congratulated on his restraint, actually.

Desire just laughs, and-- ah, Hob is starting to see that there's no winning with this one. Even and especially when you haven't agreed to the game.

"I suppose I'll be going then, before the fists start flying." They slide out of their seat and glide towards the door, waving. "Nice meeting you, Robert! I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again, soon."

I don't doubt it, Hob thinks.

They take their drink with them. Hob's not feeling particularly inclined to chase down that glass.

Dream still hasn't moved. He stares after Desire, empty glass about to crack in his grip.

"Dream?"

"I said that you should call for me," Dream says, the ghost of words.

With what means, exactly? Hob thinks. Damned enigmatic shadow of a man. "You didn't tell me who to look out for."

"Oh." Dream finally snaps out of his daze. "Yes. I apologize."

"Come sit down."

Hob fetches a glass of water and drags Dream over to their usual booth, pushing the water into his hands. "Drink that."

Dream stares down at it. "Why?"

"Because you just chugged a drink you usually sip for hours. Drink."

"I will not get drunk unless I choose to," Dream says.

"Have you tested that?" Hob asks.

Dream's brows furrow. "...No."

"Then let's not do that now. Drink. Come on."

Dream sips at the water. "I am sorry," he says, slowly, "about Desire."

"And I'm sorry I didn't actually punch them," Hob says, making Dream look up at him in surprise. "Well. Sort of. Wouldn't want to make it worse."

A smile tugs at Dream's lips. "You would... defend my honor?"

"Always," Hob vows. "I'd defend you. Don't care if the devil himself has it out for you."

"That may well happen," Dream says.

Hob stares at Dream. Dream stares back.

"Oh," Hob says, or maybe just hopes, "you're making a joke."

"No," says Dream. "Lucifer and I are on poor terms at the moment. She may seek revenge."

Hob keeps staring at him. Dream meets his gaze evenly.

Hob scrubs his hands through his hair. "Lucifer and you..."

Why was it always like this?

When he looks up again, Dream is smirking at him. "You're a menace," Hob tells him. "One day, you're going to give me the full rundown of everyone who has beef with you so I can be prepared."

"That will be a long list," Dream says.

"Of course it is," Hob sighs.

Dream takes his hand as if he can comfort Hob through all of the insane interactions he's sure to have with strange beings in the near future. The worst thing is, it works. Hob squeezes his hand and immediately remembers why he's willing to do anything for him.

"I'd go to Hell for you," he says. "I'd prefer not to, though, if it's all the same."

"That is my preference as well," says Dream.

There's a lot Hob would do for Dream. It's probably unhealthy. But what's the point of living six hundred years if you're going to spend it all being healthy, anyway.

"Why do so many people have problems with you, anyway?" Hob asks.

Hob knows. Hob fucking knows why.

Dream pouts. "Matthew tells me my social skills are 'less than adequate.'"

That's one way to phrase 'you act like an arrogant dick 85% of the time.' Matthew should receive a medal for his tact.

Hob loves that arrogant dick, though, God fucking damn him.

"All the more reason to get me that list, then," Hob says. "Maybe we can prevent you from creating an interdimensional incident."

"Will you accomplish this by threatening to punch them in the face?" Dream asks, completely neutral.

"Okay, you know what? Fair," Hob admits, and Dream chuckles. "Perhaps neither of us is cut out for diplomacy. The point, though, is: of course I'd defend you. I love you."

Dream kisses the back of his hand. As if he's only just now realized what he's done to Hob's pub, the lights all flicker back on.

"Thank Christ, I thought I was going to have to replace all those bulbs."

"Do you think I would do that to you?" Dream says with a tiny smile, Hob's hand still pressed to his lips.

You've done worse than that to me, Hob thinks. Better, too. So much better.

"No, love," he says, "I know you wouldn't."

#hob just feeding dream fancy cocktails with one hand while he fights off lucifer with a bat with the other #'it's rotten work' 'YEAH IT SURE FUCKING IS'#this got so meandering this has no structure at all #in my head dream is the type of person who will only drink like. elevated stuff. like he is not just casually drinking pints at the pub #u feel me. and he never gets drunk. u will only catch him with an elaborate expensive cocktail or a fine red wine #or a glass of truly ancient scotch #dream's drink of choice at the new inn is a vieux carre not that it matters in the slightest #dreamling #dreamling fic #dream of the endless #hob gadling #desire of the endless #the sandman #my writing #ask #merytsetesh

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