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stsgluver · 6 months

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𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐓.𝟐 — gojo satoru

synopsis. another installment of the first years going through old videos of their teacher and his friends

wc. 4.1k

tags. gojo x reader, reader in the same class as gojo, ft. nanami and haibara

an. do I have any idea where im taking this? no. still think its cute though (let’s hope the next part doesn’t take me another couple of months 🤭)

previous part / next part / series masterlist

“good evening boys,” nobara burst into megumi and yuuji’s room. the former who was shocked awake from his nap and the latter who had two big bags of popcorn in either arm. he’d been waiting for an hour for the orange-haired girl, a bright grin on his face.

“you can’t just come into our room,” megumi grumbled, pulling his pillow over his head and rolling over in his bed. nobara and yuuji ignored his complaint, dragging both chairs in their room in front of yuuji’s desk. nobara set up the laptop whilst yuuji ran to nobara’s room to grab a third chair. after five minutes of rustling, their movie night was read.

“come sit all, it’s movie time!” the orange-haired girl said excitedly, pulling megumi’s comforter off of him. he sported his usual frown but sleepily complied nonetheless, dragging the blanket around his body as he sat next to yuuji (who then forced the dark-haired teen to share some of the blanket with him).

“we’re in detention.” the screen opened up with you – hair pulled back into a ponytail as you wore your usual uniform. the three students could recognise the wall behind you as one of their own classes.

“not our fault,” shoko added, fixing gojo’s glasses on the top of her head. the two of you spoke in hushed whispers, glancing towards the door where, presumably, yaga was on the other side. you had shoved your desk closer to shoko’s so it was basically one big desk and the camera was balanced in the middle.

“never is,” you pinched the bridge of your nose, shooting the person next to you a glare.

shoko lightly shifted the camera so that geto could come into frame. he raised his hands up in surrender, “it’s not mine either.”

“satoru is getting yelled at by sensei right now,” you whisper shouted, pointing towards the door. if yuuji turned the volume up any louder, they’d be able to hear yaga yet again scolding gojo for another mistake he’d made on a mission – an order he’d probably disobeyed the more confident he grew in his own ability.

shoko frowned, throwing her hands up in exasperation, “he literally knows it was that idiot. why are we being punished?”

“maybe yaga thinks if we get annoyed at satoru he’ll stop,” geto reasoned with a sigh, as if though he wasn’t gojo’s partner in crime and equally as complicit when he entertained his antics.

“no he won’t. he thinks by punishing us, satoru will have some epiphany about his actions impacting other people. like he thinks far enough ahead to come to that realisation,” you dropped your head down onto your desk. geto laughed quietly, giving you a ‘comforting’ pat on your shoulder.

shoko leant close to the camera, a sharp pencil in hand that she lightly jutted forward, “count your days, gojo satoru.”

the classroom door slid open and the camera was abruptly dropped as yaga walked in, a head of white hair only seconds behind. “is that a came–?” his voice was muffled and cut off quickly as the clip ended.

“bagsy my turn,” yuuji practically jumped from his seat, almost spilling the popcorn everywhere as his half off the blanket dropped from his lap.

megumi grumbled at him as he grabbed the blanket and bag of popcorn from his excitable classmate. “oh no i was in such a rush,” he sarcastically quipped and nobara lightly nudged his shoulder.

gojo behaved as a god now, untouchable to all as he alone was the strongest. even though their teacher had never been anything but overtly childish, his cursed energy wasn’t something that could be ignored. seventeen year old gojo was as human as they come, lovesick and reckless and happy. the balance of the world was yet to be forced upon him.

yuuji grinned as he sat back properly, having only taken a fraction of the time to find a video he wanted in comparison to their previous snooping session. taking back his bag of popcorn, he settled himself back under the blanket. “want some?” he offered megumi, who shook his head in response. “your loss.”

as per usual, it was shoko’s face up close and personal with the camera as she adjusted the lens and made sure that it was on and focused. once she was satisfied, she spun the camera so that it was facing nanami – yuuji could hardly contain himself at seeing his beloved teacher look so… not muscular and scary. small giggles filling the dorm room.

the two were in one of the tokyo classrooms, and sat on desks on opposing sides of the room. nanami had his head deep in a book that would probably kill any of his classmates from sheer boredom alone.

“who do you think the first of us to die will be?” shoko asked indifferently as nanami’s eyebrows furrowed and he slowly looked to his left with an unimpressed expression. even as a sixteen year old, he was set in his rigid mannerisms and beliefs and often saw his four seniors as pains in the ass. whilst you and shoko were definitely ranked higher in his list of people he could tolerate than gojo and geto, questions like this made him contemplate his future in jujutsu sorcery if this was who he was going to be working alongside.

“why are you asking me that?”

“answer,” shoko demanded, zooming in the camera on nanami’s face. his blonde hair was held neatly in his side parting and he looked like anyone but the nanami the students were familiar with.

it looked like he was contemplating telling shoko she was odd, or completely blanking her and opting to finish his book, but the thoughtful silence was interrupted by a sudden thud outside of the classroom. their heads darted up to look at the door and peer through the open doorway into the hallway only to hear gojo’s faint ‘i’m okay!’.

nanami let out a drawn out sigh, shaking his head. “him.”

“none of us!” haibara’s voice called out as he peered out of the classroom’s cupboard that he’d been reorganising (it had been gojo and geto’s job but they’d left it worse than when they’d arrived and he really didn’t want to get told off again by yaga).

shoko eyed the camera in disbelief, not even trying to entertain the young teen’s impossible ideology. “you know the mortality rate of a sorcerer right?” she called back to haibara who didn’t falter in his cheeriness as he affirmed his point.

“and? geto and gojo are almost special grades already! you’ve got to have some faith in us,” he grinned, slipping his jacket back on as he finished up his tidying. his footsteps held a skip that the older students had lost – an innocence that was rarely allowed to exist in the jujutsu world.

yuuji had stopped giggling at the younger appearances of the sorcerers he now knew because he didn’t know him. it was a reminder to the three that no matter how positive they remained against the hardships that would come, it wouldn’t matter. it was kill or be killed and one tiny little mistake, one movement a fraction of a second too late, was the difference between getting paid and coming home in a body bag.

“lame,” shoko rolled her eyes. she tapped her twin twice as she pondered her own question before pointing at the blond opposite her, “my guess is nanami.” despite his disinterest in the question itself, he shot a look of offence to shoko who raised her free hand in surrender. “imagine this: you’re put on a mission with gojo. you’d ask the curse to kill you.”

“i’m getting killed by a curse?” the special grade in question peered into the classroom, glasses pushed up onto his head and revealing his renowned dazzling blue eyes. there was a small scratch on his cheek – presumably from whatever he’d hit into a few minutes prior.

“no, nanami is to avoid you.”

gojo gasped, one hand on the door frame and the other over his heart as he cried out that ‘that couldn’t be true’ and nanami was his ‘bestest bestie for life’. he only halted his dramatics when you and geto forced him out of the doorway so you could join the rest of your classmates.

you sat in your usual seat next to shoko and geto sat on top of your desk. gojo, on the other hand, remained at the door, jaw practically on the floor as he aggressively pointed at the annoyed blond. “guys, nanami is going to die so he doesn’t have to be friends with me, defend me!”

“at least one of us is brave enough to end our suffering,” geto teased, pinching the bridge of his nose with a grin as you lightly hit his arm, scolding him for entertaining gojo’s behaviour.

instead of giving the white haired sorcerer’s antics any more attention, shoko turned the camera so that it was only a couple of inches from your face. “who do you think will die first?”

“satoru,” you said in unison with geto, eliciting another gasp as gojo dropped onto the floor, faking death.

when he didn’t get the sympathetic reaction he wanted, he abruptly sat up, pointing a finger directly at you and geto, “did we all just forget five minutes ago when i kicked your asses in training?”

“i’m literally a grade two sorcerer, what sort of flex is that mr i’m-practically-special-grade-please-worship-the-ground-i-walk-on?” you scoffed. the video ended a few moments later, cutting off laughter and satoru bickering with you.

there was a brief moment of silence – mixed feelings towards what the three had just witnessed. of course it was fun to watch their teacher and his friends but death was a sobering event.

“megumi?” nobara gestured for him to take his turn on choosing their next video but he shook his head, cradling what remained of the bag of popcorn (he’d stolen it back after yuuji nearly spilled once he saw nanami).

“no thanks, you can take my go,” he offered and nobara grinned, worries set aside as she leant forward to find the next video. it was like watching a tv show but it was real life and she knew the characters.

yuuji tried to argue it should be his go – megumi did steal his popcorn after all – but megumi didn’t care enough to aid his argument and there was no way yuuji could overpower the orange-haired sorcerer without his support. nobara was a force to be reckoned with and yuuji was scared to make her mad.

“is that the teacher from kyoto?” nobara asked after several moments of silently scrolling.

yuuji leaned forward to look at the thumbnail of the video she held the cursor over and in between two tall cherry blossom trees was utahime iori. “it is!” he said excitedly; he’d never seen her without the scar before.

the video opened with utahime running towards the camera from the pink trees. they were fully bloomed and in the background there were tourists taking photos.

“did you get a good picture? does my hair look okay?” utahime asked whoever was behind the camera. the questions were so mundane – the questions of teenage girls worried more about their social media than if they’d survive their next mission.

“yeah don’t worry it always does,” shoko’s voice was heard speaking. her hand appeared in the frame a moment later as she handed utahime back her phone. “here’s your phone.”

“you never say that to me,” you grumbled.

“take the hint,” shoko threw a handful of cherry blossom leaves at you and there was the sound of rustling as you tried to shake what you could out of your hair.

“shoko ieiri!” you whined, followed by some incoherent threat and a complaint that you’d just had your hair done after some curse had ruined it the other week.

utahime picked up the camera, lifting it high up to show off the trees and bustling streets of tourists and commuters. “i thought we specifically didn’t bring gojo and geto to avoid childless arguments.”

“yn’s fault,” shoko countered, jumping away into the frame of the camera as you tried to hit her arm. she giggled, half behind utahime, “do you at least have gojo’s card?”

“you mean this gorgeous thing?” you appeared on the other side of utahime, sleek black card between your fingertips that you showed to the camera. “today is on him ladies.”

“you truly are taking one for the team being with him, i retract all earlier insults.” shoko held her hand out for a truce, bowing her head as you took her hand.

“i appreciate it, it’s not an easy task,” you dramatically wiped a fake tear away from the corner of your eyes. gojo had given you the card before you’d embarked on your monthly trip to the city, telling you that as long as you brought back a bag of sweets and kikufuku from that one cafe, he didn’t care what you spent.

you froze a moment later, a look of deep thought crossing your features, “can you guys hear that?”

“no,” utahime frowned, a look of concern as she glanced around at the crowd. if your day was about to be ruined by a curse, or worse yet, curse users–

“sounds like the card is saying we need to buy overpriced starbucks.” the three of you broke out into grins at the potential that the black card had given you.

“oh my god, you’re so right and wait,” shoko grabbed your wrist and brought the card close to her ear, “it needs cigarettes to be bought too.”

“shoko! you said you were quitting,” utahime nudged her and shoko blew her an apologetic kiss. the nicotine patches she’d bought to try and quit were still sealed and in a draw she hadn’t opened since she put them in there several weeks ago. quitting was nothing more than a fantasy considered once every blue moon.

“she’s a liar–”

“–and proud,” shoko finished your sentence with a nonchalant shrug.

“i wish sensei would give me his card for a day,” nobara said wistfully as the video ended, twisting a strand of her orange hair around her finger as she mentally plotted the order in which she’d go to all of the shops in tokyo. all she’d need was a full day – 9 to 5 – and she’d never have to shop another day in her life.

“you’d max it out within an hour,” yuuji scoffed, scooping a handful of the popcorn into his mouth. nobara scrunched her nose up at him as he messily chewed down.

“actually it’s a lot harder than it would seem,” megumi noted.

nobara raised a brow at him – megumi and shopping? “you’ve tried?”

“we tried multiple times,” megumi spoke without much of a second thought. his jaw clenched slightly as he realised his mistake and the consequential curious eyes . pointing to the dark screen, he lightly elbowed the boy next to him’s side, “yuuji take your go quick before i kick kugisaki out so i can sleep.”

“welcome to yn’s kitchen- don’t touch that,” you whacked geto’s hand with a wooden spoon, stopping him from dipping his finger into the bowl of chocolate icing. the dark haired sorcerer cradled his ‘injured’ hand though it was comical to believe you’d actually done any damage – he was at least an entire six inches taller than you.

“today we made a cake,” you held your arms out in a jazz hands manner to show something that… resembled a cake? if the students squinted maybe they’d agree.

“for satoru’s birthday,” geto added, pulling out the big ‘18’ candles that would eventually be used.

it was pretty obvious that neither of you had any real baking experience, but the thought was definitely there. the shape somewhat was cylindrical, only a small clump had chosen to stay in the pan and had to be ‘surgically’ glued back to the rest of the shape with a large scoop of nutella. you were hoping that the icing would disguise the bitterness of the burnt edges.

“taste it,” you smiled at the camera, shifting the plate towards geto like you were on some cooking show and that pile of sponge was something to be proud of.

geto pushed the plate back without any hesitation, “i don’t want to.”

“do it.”

“you do it.”

your smile dropped and you flashed geto a glare before composing yourself by clearing your throat. taking a deep breath, you broke off a tiny piece of the top layer of the cake, “so i’m now going to trial this small bit for research purposes.”

you barely had chewed twice before your mouth was scrunching up in disgust and you were disappearing off camera to find a bin to spit it out into.

geto, unfazed and unsurprised by your joint failure, picked up the spatula and began dolloping it onto the top of the cake.

“that’s horrendous-” you came back in view with a glass of water in hand. “what are you doing?”

“hiding that with icing,” he stated obviously.

“we’re still giving that to him?”

geto grinned, directly at the camera as he hoped gojo would find this video after he too ate this. “obviously we’re still giving it to him.”

“it’s weird,” yuuji hummed once the video ended, “those two were sensei’s closest friends and yet he doesn’t speak about either.”

“can you blame him? have you ever spoken to maki about the attack geto led against the school last year?” nobara pointed out and yuuji’s eyes widened as he’d nodded. maki was a woman of few words but when it came to yuta? she’d spend all day ranting about how much she disliked geto and that he’d gotten what was coming to him.

“my turn,” megumi placed the now empty bag of popcorn onto the floor as he scrolled and clicked on the first video that he could find. you weren’t a conversation he was ready to have yet – he could bearly speak to gojo about it, let alone the two loudest mouths in the school.

the video opened to the loud sound of the subway. shoko and geto were sat on one side whilst you and gojo on the other – with you holding up the camera as your beloved boyfriend stood up in the middle of the subway carriage.

“fit check!” gojo did a little spin, showing off his basic hoodie and baggy jeans that he wore almost every time the four snuck out of the high school – or in fact, did anything together for that matter. for someone so rich he really did not use his wealth to its full capacity.

after his little twirl and bow, he dropped back down next to you, looking over the camera into your eyes as he seeked your validation. “i look hot right?”

“you always look hot,” you flipped the camera to face yourself as you not-so-subtly-whispered, “his mum paid me to say that.” the students knew their teacher well enough to know that the dramatic gasp they heard was almost definitely followed by an overexaggerated display of anguish. your giggles and geto’s laughter only confirmed the conclusion.

“i think i need a kiss to recover. or i’ll spend the rest of my days as a ghost, heart broken and never able to leave this subway as i haunt it and all the other coup–” the lens view was obstructed by their teacher’s hoodie as you gave into his demands, cutting off his pathetic rant.

a loud groan was heard from shoko as she snatched back the camera and held it up to her unimpressed face and geto gagging. “i prefer it when they’re broken up,” she grumbled.

before megumi could interject and tell nobara to get out now (he didn’t care if yuuji teased him for his ‘need for beauty sleep’), the video ended and automatically opened onto the next one. his words were caught in his throat at the oh-so-familiar apartment.

“get that out of my face.” you were older now, only be a few years but there was a scar on your neck that hadn’t been there in any of the other videos. gojo’s laugh could be heard as he ignored your request and instead held it up high enough to capture you both in the frame.

“you don’t remember this old thing?” he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss to your forehead, securing you before you could duck away from him.

“we’re twenty one stop acting like we’re ancient,” you crossed your arms in front of yourself as you accepted that maybe just possibly you didn’t quite the match the strength of jujutsu’s strongest sorcerer.

“we may as well be. we’ve got two kids.”

your eyes widened and you shook your head, “we do not–”

“yn!” a small megumi appeared in the corner of the frame and you quickly shut up as gojo gave you an i-told-you-so look. “gojo said he’d help me with my maths homework. an hour ago.”

the smugness almost instantly vanished from the sorcerers face as you glared at him for once again avoiding his responsibilities. because apparently there was more to looking after children than feeding them and taking them out for the day as a reward when they beat up bullies in school.

“i’m a busy man megumi, saving lives, helping–” gojo winced as you elbowed him in the side, allowing you to slip from his grasp.

“ignore him megs, let’s go into the living room,” you said, ushering the small boy out of the room. two years of this and you were surprised that megumi even still bothered to give gojo a chance to act his age.

“don’t take my sweets!”

you halted megumi purposefully, “do you want gojo’s sweets?” the camera although kind of forgotten now, still had the young boy in view and picked up his smirk in full as he nodded.

“i’d love them.” gojo winced again, pretending like tears were about to start falling. as if though he couldn’t easily afford to replace anything they did eat by the thousands.

“perfect,” you exaggerated in a condescending tone. as the amazing parent that you were, you made sure not to forget about the other child that was staying with you. “tsu! do you want a treat?”

“yeah!”

“even better,” you clapped your hands together and gestured for megumi to continue on into the living room again. “have fun with your camera love. i’m very busy adulting here.”

“this isn’t over,” the white haired sorcerer shook his head, betrayal clear on his features.

you mouthed the words ‘i love you’, blowing him a little kiss as you disappeared around the corner. gojo gave you a fake grin, narrowing his eyes at the camera.

“jokes on them, i pay the bills. no more electricity for them.”

“you were so cute!” yuuji practically squealed as he and nobara jumped up

“your hair was so spiky!” nobara reached out to poke at his less bold spikes that he sported nowadays. they had earnt him his nickname of ‘sea urchin’ but still couldn’t beat his younger hairdo.

“can we meet her?” yuuji asked, the poor boy having been oblivious to any of the social cues that nobara already had. nobara coughed at his request, eyes flicking between the two boys.

megumi shook his head. “i think that’s enough for tonight. please, kugisaki,” he nodded his head towards the door. the girl gave him a quick salute, completing her secret handshake with yuuji before she grabbed the laptop and disappeared from their dorm back to her own.

the dark haired student ignored yuuji’s complaints as he dropped himself back onto his bunk bed, reaching for his phone. upon opening his messages, he scrolled to a contact and pressed on the chat.

all of the messages displayed on the screen were sent from him to the unknown contact. there was never a response, or even a read message. just ‘delivered’. he knew that if he scrolled up it would be much the same. the last message he’d ever received was one on his 14th birthday; a simple ‘happy birthday. i love you. i’m sorry’.

hi. we miss you. i hope you’re doing okay.

taglist. @thefictionalcharacterssimp @hana-patata @mor-pheus @leathairs @sh0ek0 @maliakealoha @levisteeacup @g-kleran @stevenknightmarc @n1kimura @darliingyu @saturn-alone @splxtscreen @leah-rose03 @rinshoe @laurenzitaa @patricia142lilian @sabo-has-my-heart @wooasecret @dahliawarner @kysrion @dreamerdeity @mwah-chia @geromiegerald @arminsarlerts

#snapshot !#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo imagine #gojo drabble #gojo fluff #gojo angst #geto x reader #shoko x reader #utahime x reader #jjk #jjk x reader

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hier--soir · 8 months

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a lover's pinch | four

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: after a conference in new york, you and j miller phd take things a step further. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, i think i describe reader as having sweaty palms about 1500 times so it deserves a warning, alcohol consumption, the plight of being a woman in academia, oral [f receiving], unprotected piv sex [IN A BED ??? GASP] for you filthy animals, prone bone, a little roughness and then not much at all, uhhh pet names during sex.... uhhmm intimacy errrrrr.... soft!joel... feelings... okay bye word count: 9.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: hey folks, thank you so much for all your patience as i took my sweet sweet time writing this. we get to know our prof a little better in this one so a fair amount of dialogue for you but yeah anyways i hope you enjoy it, and i'd love to hear what you think! [and if i Fell Off because of the depression, don't tell me lol] A WORD ABOUT THE TAG LIST: i will continue the taglist for this part and for part five, and after that i will rely solely on my notifications account @hier--soirupdates so pls follow that and turn on notifs to be told when i post writing x this is part four of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three.

Saturday.

The conference centre is vast.

A large space that protects you from the threatening clouds that loom over New York City, and exposes you to countless dense conversations.

An NYU teacher’s assistant is glued to your hip, parading you through the centre with a wayward index finger that points out the bar, the room where the keynote speech will be given [large, with an imposing stage], and the room where you will give your presentation [less large, with a far less imposing stage].

Your presentation.

You fight the urge to pull up the email for the thousandth time while she explains how there will be fifteen minutes to set up beforehand, and advises on when the doors will open for guests, and reminds you that you have a strict allotted time of 20-minutes, do you understand?

But the email is branded on the inside of your eyelids after this morning’s flight was spent reading and rereading and rereading the words. So you nod and smile and placate her on the tour of the centre, as you run through it in your mind.

We look forward to welcoming you to NYU’s Annual Classics and Ancient History Conference. Our team was intrigued by the presentation devised around your translation study in Athens…

“Did you hear me?”

You wish she wasn’t dressed so casually.

Loose balls of lint are collected on the back of her cardigan like trinkets, weighty and threatening to fall off in a sort of bread crumb trail behind her every movement. It makes your dress feel all the more serious, all the more formal. Navy blue and a little tight, with sleeves that slant across the middle of your bicep and a hem that cuts modestly across your lower thigh. Professional, smart, sexy, but not too sexy. You and Nora spent two hours at the mall picking it out last weekend. And you can see people in suits, in blazers, in dresses, everywhere you turn, but your eyes keep returning to the TA’s cardigan. Little pills, sad morsels of broken fabric.

She says your name sharply.

“Yes,” you snap to attention, and clock her poor attempt not to roll her eyes. “You were saying?”

“It’s an open bar,” she continues from a few steps ahead, slowly back away while raising her voice to be heard over the countless others sprouting across the room. “And food is served after the Keynote.”

Finally free of her and her cardigan, you scale the edge of the hall, curious eyes glancing across faces familiar and not. You notice some other postgrads from UNE, and some professors from your alma mater. But it isn’t until three hours into the conference that you notice him.

You’re in a painfully long conversation with Professor Carmichael, an ancient history department head from Boston, when you notice them.

“Well you see,” he’s saying, slowly. “The First Roman Triumvirate was very unique. Surely you agree with me there, my dear?”

“Of course,” you nod amiably. A waiter floats past you holding a tray of glasses. You grasp one with a grateful smile, and turn back to face him with a sip of cold white wine moving down your throat. “The Big Three, it’s all very interesting. Although I must say, I am personally more interested in the second triumvirat—”

“Oh they all say that,” he waves his hand. “Everyone is so taken by Antony and Octavian that they forget about Crassus! So tragic.”

“A very tragic death,” you offer an exaggerated frown. “I agree.”

Carmichael hums, eyes narrowing as if you’ve said something wrong. Sipping your wine, your eyes float over his shoulder, determinedly trying to spot any sign of food, gaze spilling across countless faces and tables and waiters and professors until one set of people makes you pause. Wild dark hair atop a floral dress floats in your vision, her pale hand hovering over the sleeve of a tall man in a suit. You watch the backs of their heads; the way the woman tilts her chin upward to speak to the man and laughs at what he says in return. That laugh. You frown, and feel yourself take a step forward, a step in their direction.

“Is something the matter?” Carmichael asks and you halt, flash him a sweet smile and shake your head.

“No,” you rush, practically tasting the opportunity to escape the conversation. “I’m sorry, Professor, I thought I saw someone waving me over. If you don’t min—”

“Always so many people to talk to at these things,” he says in a sing-song tone of voice, smiling obliviously. “All in due course, dear. You’ll find them later I’m sure.”

It’s not until fifteen minutes later that the tap comes on your shoulder. You turn and feel relief wash over you as you come face to face with Rachel, with her tangle of curls and bright orange dress. But then a jolt shudders through your frame, for you spot the man accompanying her; the man you watched her traipse around the room with, the man in the sleek black suit—Joel, hovering a step behind her.

“Rachel,” you blink. “Joel. Hi—”

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Rachel says. Her eyes are wide, lips pulled back into a crooked grin that immediately sets you at ease. Joel, on the other hand, looks uncomfortable to say the least. You watch him tuck his hands in his pockets and then take them out again quickly, lips pursed together in a tight line as he glances between you and Professor Carmichael.

“Joel,” she grips the sleeve of his blazer and tugs him forward to stand beside her. You watch where her hand grazes him - the ease with which she jostles him around. “Did you know?”

“No.” He stares for a moment, lips parted and eyes darting across your face, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t know.”

“I’m giving a presentation,” you explain quickly, eyes darting between the two of them, fingers tightening around your glass every time your eyes settle on him. He trimmed his beard again; the hairs are shorter, neater—almost too short and too neat for your liking. His shirt is pressed and crisp, shock white beneath the midnight black of his jacket. He’s wearing different glasses. Tortoise shell glasses. Someone clears their throat to your right, snapping you out of your reverie. You apologise quickly, “This is Professor Carmichael.”

“Of course,” Joel nods, stepping forward to grip the older man’s hand. “Good to see you again, Professor.”

“And you, Professor Miller,” Carmichael chuckles, patting a shaky hand against Joel’s shoulder. “When was the last time we crossed paths? A year ago?”

“Must’ve been a year,” Joel smiles easily. His eyes slip to look at you every few seconds. “The conference in Ottawa.”

“The conference in Ottawa!” Carmichael cheers, nodding away. A weight sinks in your stomach like a cinder block as you watch the Professor gear up to wrangle Joel and Rachel into another conversation about Crassus’ untimely demise. But then Rachel slips away, called out to by someone across the room. And before Carmichael can open his mouth, Joel is speaking again, that honeyed drawl like music to your ears.

“Excuse me, Professor Carmichael,” he smiles again. Two of his fingers grip your elbow, tugging you a step backward. “Do you mind if I steal my star student for a few moments?”

Joel tilts your body to the left, and then the two of you are veering off into the crowd, wandering through throngs of people, his warm fingers pressed against the soft flesh above your elbow.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” you say under your breath, glancing around warily, trying to spy any curious eyes that might notice the two of you.

“Could say the same thing,” he murmurs, dragging you to a stop at the edge of the hall with his eyebrows raised. “When’s your talk?”

“At one. Overlaps with the Keynote, which I’m a little relieved about,” you smile, a pinched, tense thing. “Hopefully everyone will go to that, and I’ll have a smaller crowd.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise. You think you notice his shoulders stiffen. “S’that right?”

A persistent pang of hunger stabs through your stomach, you rub a hand over the front of your dress and nod. Curious brown eyes follow the movement.

“Here,” Joel reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. His fingers graze your skin as he tucks the shiny rectangle of foil into your palm. “They don’t put out any food until after the Keynote.”

It’s a granola bar. Peanut butter and banana. You stare at it for a moment, almost dumbfounded by the kindness of the gesture. By how attentive he is; how much he notices without you even having to speak.

“Thanks,” you say. Nestle it into your purse and give him an appreciative smile.

“Sure,” he nods jerkily. Adjusts the glasses on his nose. “I’m disappointed to miss it.”

“Oh?” you blink. Your eyes focus then, flitting downward to focus on the badge hanging from his lanyard.

Joel Miller, Ph.D.

University of New England.

Keynote Speaker.

“Oh, shit.”

“Mhm,” Joel squints at you. “Sorry if I don’t share the sentiment that everyone comes to watch me instead of you.”

“Why didn’t you…” you gape. “You didn’t say you were giving a talk?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“The Keynote speech is a big deal,” you say, as if he wouldn’t know.

“I was their third choice,” he shrugs you off with practiced ease. “First two weren’t interested.”

“Third time lucky then,” you smile, and he chuckles. Someone calls Joel’s name then, and you both spin to see Rachel across the room with a group of people, all eagerly waving him over. Something nasty curls in your chest – something bitter and unwarranted and cruel. You smother it with a mouthful of wine and a soft smile of farewell to him as he turns and walks in her direction.

A hand clasps down on your shoulder and you flinch, turning to see Professor Carmichael beaming.

“Where were we then, my dear?”

You eat Joel’s granola bar at the back of the hall five minutes before your talk and walk onstage with the taste of peanut and banana on your lips, brushing crumbs of dried oats off your fingers.

Fifteen people attend, spotted miscellaneously across the amassed rows of chairs. The slide clicker is damp in your palm, and your thumb hovers trembling over the button, awaiting each moment you need to press down.

“Working alongside some fantastic translators,” you tell them. “We focused on studying the disparities between how Greek texts are translated by men and women. Particularly, we aimed to delve into the way emotive language has been downgraded or elevated depending on the lens through which a text is being viewed.”

Professor Carmichael sits in the front row, those sun-spot covered hands clasped in his lap, offering an encouraging smile as you shift upon the stage. Rachel is a few rows back, and she nods intently whenever you glance in her direction.

“One of our main points of focus,” you continue. “Was to understand points of difficulty in translating while accounting for cultural nuances, and how the context of differing authors can impact upon this. In my next slide—”

It’s as you turn to glance at the display that you notice them for the first time. Three rows from the front, where a group of men sit. Two of them young, maybe around your age. You change your slide and watch them whisper in each other’s ears. One of them points at you. Or not you, rather—your legs.

And you yearn for it to be meaningless. A meaningless gesture between colleagues. Meaningless legs, meaningless dress, meaningless curves and slopes and dips and spins. But as you continue, you know it can’t be. The way they talk through your presentation, as if they aren’t bothered to be heard. The way they leer at you over Carmichael’s shoulder, grinning to each other. Your words in one ear and out the other—simply a talking point for them, a blue dress, something to stare at. Your dress feels hot, tight, and your chest feels hotter, tighter under the lights as those eyes glaze over you. You glance back towards Rachel. She gives you a thumbs up that doesn’t serve to cool your nerves.

“When translating word for word in our field, it’s uncommon,” you stutter to a stop, eyes flashing warily. “Sorry, it is not uncommon to find that narratological creativity dwindles.”

You hear a chuckle to your right and swallow down the urge to shoot daggers in the direction of the sound. “Translators struggle to maintain the in-depth imaginative expression that the original Greek text inspires. But through my discussions with Professor Samaras, we found that…”

It’s in the final minutes that you notice him. Tucked away in a back row of the room, arms folded across his chest. You pause for a moment, words caught in your throat. But Joel merely gives you a short nod. The faintest hint of a smile, of the corner of his eyes slanting upward, and it’s as if a cool breeze washes over you. Hands steady, knees lock, and you push through. You don’t look at any of their faces until it’s over.

And when it is, and scattered applause decorates the air, you can’t help but cast a smile in Joel’s direction. A smile that slips and wavers when you spot the broad expanse of his back, that sharp black blazer, as he slips out the doors without wasting a second.

The rest of your audience follows suit, a slim line that wanders out the doors without a second glance—spare Carmichael, who tells you he was quite taken with how you presented yourself, my dear.

You hear your own name and turn to see Rachel approaching, a burst of floral frock and swinging earrings. Her smile is wide and crooked, and you can’t help but smile back.

“That was wonderful,” she cheers, squeezing your shoulder. “I was so taken by how you spoke about the importance of linguistic quality assurance when translating emotive texts. Brilliant!”

Your face warms. “Thank you,” you shake your head quickly. “It was… thank you. That’s very kind.”

You glance over her shoulder, wondering if he’ll reappear – perhaps share her sentiments, maybe shower you with praise. He doesn’t.

She catches you looking. “Joel was in a rush,” she offers easily. “Lots of people wanting to talk to the man of the evening.”

“Of course,” you swallow thickly. Another smile.

Rachel stares at you curiously. “He’s very impressed by you, you know.” Her voice is warm, gentle—soft spoken like a mother who can sense the slightest flash of insecurity. You cringe immediately, feel your arms cross protectively across your chest. Don’t give the game away now. “Honestly, I think he read your comparative paper on the katabasis three times. Practically raved about it when I asked what it was.”

“Oh,” you blink, shifting uneasily under her gaze. “That’s… wow, I’m flattered.”

“He sees a lot of potential in you,” she says.

“Right,” you nod. “Well, he’s a grea—you’re both great teachers. I’m very lucky to be learning from the two of you.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment, and you fear your face grows warmer in the silence. Can feel the slick on your palms returning, the flash of heat in your chest, the longer you sit in it. You make a quick and tumbling excuse to flee the scene, spitting a mess of thank you so much and just need some fresh air, before you’re stumbling out of the hall and wandering outside on newborn deer legs. You snag a flute of something bubbly off the bar on your way, and find yourself on a secluded bench in the breezeway behind the conference centre.

You sit there alone and watch the grass, the way the light from inside shines out across the green. Feel the chill of the wind slip past you, rustling your hair and raising goosebumps on your bare legs. Sip dry Cava and contemplate how many more of these things you can feasibly imagine attending in your career. There’s a single text from Nora on your phone, asking how the presentation went. You tuck it into your purse, leaving the message unanswered.

By the time you hear the door hinges creak, the glass is near empty. You spy a shadowy form snaking its way down the path, headed in your direction.

“Mr Keynote Speaker,” you hum. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Funny,” Joel mutters dryly, knees cracking as he falls onto the bench beside you. A heavy sigh slips from between his lips, fingers lacing together in his lap as he gazes across the breezeway. You down the last of your drink and place it on the concrete by your feet. “Needed some god damn peace and quiet. All that chit chat drives me insane.”

You murmur in agreement and stare at the side of his face – the neatened beard, the thick frame of his glasses. Purposeful or not, the side of his body is pressed against yours. Thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder – he’s sat directly in the centre of the bench. Heat radiates off his body and it’s almost too warm, and yet you find yourself relaxing against him.

“First time at one of these?” Joel asks gruffly. He’s still not looking at you, his eyes trained on a pigeon pecking at a discarded foil wrapper on the grass.

“Is it that obvious?” you grimace.

“Only because I’ve been to twenty of the damn things,” he says. “Y’learn how to smell the nervous energy comin’ off the first timers.”

“Twenty?” you mutter. Feel your stomach curl and twist at the idea of doing this day nineteen more times.

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Went to a lot during my second degree. Had to get good at talkin’, fast.”

“Ahh,” you say. “So, you weren’t always such a sweet talker then?”

He lets out a low chuckle, as if amused by the thought. “Sweet talker, huh? That what I am?”

You shrug, suddenly emboldened by him following you outside, by how close he is, by how open he seems.

“I suppose,” you say slowly.

“And what gave you that idea?”

“You here alone?” you offer a poor imitation of him, voice low and breathy with your awful take on a Southern twang. “Meet me in the bathroom.” You wink, quietly delighted by the way his lips have tightened into a flat line.

“Funny,” he says again, entirely unamused now.

Something warm shifts in your lower stomach. Something wet—a vivid memory of him on the ground behind you in the bathroom of a bar, of hands spreading you open, of his tongue pressing inside you, of The Eagles playing faintly in the background.

“You do that kind of thing often?” you ask.

“Do what?”

“Approach young women at bars,” you wiggle your eyebrows, smirking. “Rob them of their virtue in the bathroom and then hope you never see them again.”

“You? Virtuous?” Joel rolls his eyes. You can see the corner of his lip curling upward. “Must be gettin’ yourself confused with somebody else.”

“Maybe,” you smile.

“Sometimes,” he casts you a look, after a moment. “Not… often. And not young.”

“Younger,” you counter quickly.

“I didn’t expect you to be…” he trails off and shakes his head. “It’s not a thing I do, alright?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s not.”

“You don’t date then?”

He tilts his head at you curiously, eyes planted firmly on your face now. “Not for a long time.”

“Why not?”

“Been busy,” he grunts, clearly growing impatient by the line of questioning. “Spent a lot of time studying. Working.”

“Where did you study?” you press.

“This twenty fuckin’ questions?” he snaps, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Came out here for—”

“You came out here,” you interrupt. “Because I came out here.”

He glowers at you, but doesn’t try to deny it.

“Night classes at Texas A&M for my undergrad,” he grits out. You smile sickly sweet, pleased. “Did my postgrads part time at UT Austin,” Joel says.

Your eyebrows kick up again, the teasing pretence all but forgotten. “Sounds… unconventional?” you offer softly.

“That’s one word for it,” he agrees vaguely. “Spent the better half of a decade at school just to end up teaching at one. Ain’t that somethin’.”

“And before that?” you press.

“Before that,” he continues with a wry grin, one full of distaste and frustration and resentment. “Was a contractor for a long time. Houses, buildings.” He rests a hand against his shoulder, fingers pressing against the muscle there, as if working out a decade old knot.

And for a moment you can see it. Can almost taste it. Collared shirts and glasses replaced with hard hats and hammers and dirt in the lines of his palms. Joel carrying a plank of wood on his shoulder, wearing a toolbelt. Joel on his knees, sweat shining on his forehead while he wields an electric drill.

Your dress feels too tight suddenly. Too warm.

“A contractor,” you say distractedly, and hope he doesn’t notice how your thighs press together.

“Mhm,” Joel nods. “With my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

He ignores that. “Where did you study?”

“San Diego State,” you flash him a grin. “Go Aztecs.”

“Good school,” he hums. “You’re a long way from California.”

Only a little further than Texas, you think.

“You did good up there,” Joel adds.

Your smile dips and wanes into a scowl, uninterested in the change of subject.

“What?”

“It was…” you shake your head slowly, face warming as you glance down to your lap.

“What?”

“It just wasn’t what I expected.” You pick at a loose thread on the hem of your dress. “That’s all.”

“And what did you expect?”

“To be listened to,” you grunt. “Not gawked at by some ancient jerkoffs that were only there to stare at my ass when I turned to change a slide.”

Joel nods, quiet.

“I wanted it to matter,” you mutter. “Wanted to… fuck, I wanted to impress them.”

“I was impressed.”

“Oh yeah?” you snort, finally looking up. “You hightailed it out of there pretty quickly.”

Joel shakes his head and stares back at you, gaze heavy. His hands tighten into fists against his thighs, knuckles lightening to white as he squeezes. You shuffle on the seat—ignore the flare of heat that erupts where your shoulder nudges firmer against his.

“I guess you could say,” he speaks slowly. “I’m tryin’ to keep my distance.”

You arch an eyebrow and attempt to swallow the laugh bubbling up your throat.

“Well, you’re doing a great job,” you smirk.

Joel laughs and your smile falters, mouth going slack at the sound. How rare it is, and how much rarer to have it all to yourself like this. For all of his sharp angles, his sweet talking, his harsh words, and harsher touch—that laugh is the cruellest part.

He jostles his shoulder against yours a little. An acknowledgement; perhaps a glimpse inside. Something that says, I know, I see it, I feel it, I can’t stop either.

“You make it hard,” he says then, and his voice is soft—almost a whisper.

“How’s that?” You match his tone, as if you’re two little kids who’ve snuck outside to share secrets where no one else can hear them.

“You bein’ here,” he murmurs, eyes searching. “Startin’ to feel like you’re everywhere I turn.”

A breeze swims past and you shiver, locks of hair floating in a mess around your face until you pat them down. Joel moves almost imperceptibly, curling his side tighter against yours to shield you from the onslaught.

“I know the feeling,” you admit.

The muscle in his jaw ticks and he clears his throat, looking out across the green again. For a moment the pair of you sit in silence. Not as professor and student, but simply a man and a woman on a bench. Breathing the same air, soaking in a shared silence that only the two of you could understand. And there are so many more questions you want to ask him, so much more you feel compelled to know, but instead you settle for this—sitting on a bench together, shoulders and thighs and chests pressed side to side, two frames moulded around the welcoming shape of one another. For now.

“It gets easier,” Joel says then, jaw tense as he spares a glance back in your direction. “This stuff, these people, all the talkin’.”

You acknowledge him with a small smile, just the slightest twitch of your lip. Don’t bother saying, maybe for you. Maybe for a man.

“You know,” you suck in a breath and give him a lazy smile instead. “I think this might be the longest conversation we’ve had without ripping each other’s clothes off.”

“Mm.” He leans his head back to rest on the wall, eyes focusing up towards the sky.

“I like it,” you say quietly. Hear how vulnerability chimes in your voice – a wobble that begs to be ignored and understood all at once. “It’s nice… talking like this.”

Joel’s head tilts towards you, dark eyes locked on yours. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see that wariness in his eyes. The same wariness that poured out in flecks of brown and amber and gold in the light of your bedroom a week ago, when he told you he was fifty. A hesitant curiosity, an incessant suspicion, a bark of disbelief. You feel the desire to pluck the feeling out of him and swallow it whole. To lock it safely inside yourself and make it so he never has to feel it again.

So you lean in a press your lips against his. Painfully soft, just a whisper of two mouths slotting together. Chapped and dry from the wind, he tastes like bitter sparkling wine. You sigh into him, uncaring. Hook your ankle around his, place your hand on his thigh, and sink closer, deeper.

He pulls back an inch, mouth still hovering over yours, the tip of his nose pressed into your cheek.

“Shouldn’t do this here,” he warns quietly, eyes still closed. His breath is hot against your face, and you inhale the taste of mint and Cava and Joel.

“I know.” You grip the lapel of his blazer and kiss him again. Firmer this time, grazing your tongue along the seam of his lips until he welcomes you inside to taste behind his teeth. The frame of his glasses presses into your nose, your cheeks, and you smile into his mouth. Rough palms and lazy fingertips graze the skin of your bicep, your neck, until they find a home at the nape of your neck. His thumb presses against the hinge of your jaw, hot wet tongue working your mouth open until you’re whining, teeth nipping at his bottom lip and fingernails digging into the meat of his thigh.

Only when you move to press a hand beneath the collar of his shirt does Joel pull back again, this time to stand and take a step away from the bench. A tinge of scarlet creeps its way from the hollow of his throat to the apple of his cheeks. He clears his throat and glances over his shoulder, towards the door. When he looks back, there’s something new there. Some dangerous that flashes in his eyes and lingers when his gaze dances down the curve of your body against the seat.

“Where are you staying?” you ask, breathless.

For a minute he doesn’t answer. Simply stares, contemplating, broad chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The lenses of his glasses are fogged, and you watch them slowly clear.

Then— “The Pendry.”

Joel reaches into his pocket and retrieves something small and laminated. You take it from his outstretched palm carefully. “Fifth floor.”

You stare at it for a moment. Turn it over in your palm once, twice. Read the room number printed on the key card before tucking it safely into your purse. When you look up again, Joel is already walking back inside.

It’s nearing midnight by the time you arrive at the Pendry – a high rise in Manhattan West, the kind with a fancy lobby and a doorman in a neat black suit. The polar opposite of the hotel where your suitcase lies unopened across the city. You feel out of place in an instant, but you’re still in your dress, and the staff don’t bat an eye at your presence. The key card he gave you is hot where your fingers curl around it, plastic damp and foggy with the sweat from your palms. By the time you reach his door you have to wipe it on your dress before the sensor will recognise it.

A hollow beep echoes through the hall, and his door presses open with a soft hiss.

The room is enveloped in darkness. Moonlight shines in through a slim gap in the curtains, highlighting vague edges of the space. A desk against the wall, a large bed on the left of the room. For a moment you consider that he isn’t here—that he got caught up at the conference, sweet talking into the midnight hour with other professors and alums. You can hear sounds from the street, music and car horns blaring, even from the fifth floor. But nothing else. No Joel.

Tentatively, you take a step inside the room. And then another. Kick your heels off and feel rough carpet hairs sift between your toes. Holding your hands out into the darkness, fingertips ghosting the wall for support, you venture further into the room, only pausing when your shin thumps against the corner of something sharp and sturdy.

You spit a surprised curse and stumble into the wall, hands falling to grip your leg where it throbs and smarts.

“Jesus fuck,” you hiss, smoothing your fingers against the already forming lump.

A lamp flicks on, and the room lurches into view, tinged in a soft yellow light. You jump, eyes squinting against the sudden brightness. Bed sheets rumple and shift, and Joel is frowning at you from his place amongst the pillows, a hand raising to drowsily scratch his chin.

“The hell are you doin’?” he rasps.

Heat flares in your face as you straighten up, mirroring his frown. He moves slow, a sluggish stretch out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and he looks almost concerned. It gives you pause for a moment, eyes unsure of where to settle, as you note just how much of his body you’ve never seen before. The soft muscles in his legs, the dark hair over tan skin. You can see the slight round of his stomach through the thin fabric of the shirt.

“Were you asleep?” you accuse.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” Joel mutters, and the sound is a fractured medley of words and yawns. You feel a dull pang of disappointment in your chest as you watch him rub sleep from the corner of his left eye.

“Were you hoping I wouldn’t?”

He doesn’t respond.

“You gave me a key.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“Of course I was going to come.”

He nods. Yawns again, hand snaking upward to cover his open mouth.

You turn your back on him slowly. Take a glass from the little kitchenette and let the faucet run a cool burst of water into it. Little specks of water splash up, dotting against your hand. Your feet ache from wearing those damn heels all day, but you wilfully ignore the pain, gulping down half the glass while staring at your reflection in the splashback. Blue dress, hair tucked behind your ears, charcoal smudged around the curve of your eyes.

Joel’s fingers wind around yours, peeling the glass from your clutch so he can steal the final few sips. He discards it on the counter and leans against it. You try to make out his expression in the shadowy light, wiping your water-dotted arm against your side.

“S’a good dress.” He looks more alert suddenly, eyes sharp and focused, wide shoulders squared.

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

“Didn’t say anything about it earlier.”

“Was tryin’ not to think about it,” he says plainly. “And how badly I wanted to take it off.”

Your hand stills. That misplaced disappointment slips out of the room, an unwelcome third party, and you grin at him. A sleazy, sleepy smile, and walk backwards in the direction of the bed without taking your eyes off of him.

“So take it off,” you challenge.

Your heartbeat is a steady thrum against your breastbone as he crosses the room. Badoom, badoom, no less than three strides and he’s there, gripping your waist to turn you so his chest is against your back.

Your zip is a low whir in the air, spinning downward slowly, slowly, from the nape of your neck to the sloping base of your spine. Deft hands trace skin, grazing every mark, every freckle as they are revealed to him, until the material of your dress is a gaping smile across your back. You shiver as the air rushes to meet your bare flesh, and then careful—cautious—you feel a pair of lips press against the top of your spine, soft pink against steely vertebrae. You say his name, low and surprised, and he doesn’t say anything. Those hands push the dress down your arms, and you watch it tremble and fall, a mess of blue at your feet.

You can hear his breathing; the way it stutters and jumps as he traces the clasp of your bra, the arch of your spine beneath it.

“Take it off,” you say again, and feel a sharp scratch of desperation that perhaps this time he won’t deny you this. This something that you’ve not experienced even once, and yet you find yourself missing.

The idea of his skin against yours is something prophetic, something inevitable, something divine—something determined far before the two of you met in that bar. It’s out of your control or his, irrevocable—a beast bred from desire that claws and snaps at the bars of its cage, calling you kicking and screaming into each other’s arms.

His fingers pluck at the clasp, and you smile. Sigh in relief as your bra hits the floor and the weight of your breasts are borne to the increasingly warm air. Joel is still behind you, still not seeing you. But broad palms splay across your back, massaging and flexing into your skin as they roam your sides, your stomach, up your front to cup your breasts. You gasp, eyelids fluttering as he squeezes softly, palms warm and solid against the stiff peaks of your nipples.

“Fuck.” Joel’s nose buries itself in your hair, his forehead against the back of your head. Your legs shake, and you lean back into his chest, your body a soft and tremulous thing that would surely float away if he weren’t here to hold you up.

His hands are on your breasts, sweet and tender and finally, and you wonder how long this wanting will feel like burning. Like nicks of flame that gloss over you and spit embers at anyone who dares to get too close—at him, sparking and sputtering as they collide in a spitfire symphony. This man who lives set ablaze in his own right. This man who welcomes your flame every time—swallows it whole, and lays kisses against the back of your neck with lips still warm.

Calloused fingers roll and circle your nipples, playing gently, listening for every gasp, every sigh, before diligently repeating whatever it was that called the sound forward. Your underwear is all but ruined, already damp and clinging to the slick skin between your thighs. And you can feel him against your lower back, albeit unmoving—not grinding against you, not pushing you down onto the bed, but waiting – for what, you can’t be sure.

You turn around faster than he can stop you. Hook fingers into the band of your panties and drag them down in a swift movement before straightening, holding his gaze all the while. And Joel—

He looks in pain. Dark eyes lock onto on your face and don’t stray. Don’t dip downward, don’t glance around the room. His hands hang by his sides, palms facing upward in a dejected fashion, jaw slack as he just—waits.

“Why won’t you look at me?” you whisper.

“You don’t….” he shakes his head. “If I look, I won’t be able to forget. And I—I can’t—”

There’s a flash of that memory again. Sweating in the dark bathroom of a bar in Portland. Joel wiping stained lipstick from your chin. The words I’m gonna remember this dripping from his swollen lips.

You take a step forward. Feel your nipples graze the soft material of his shirt. “And what if I don’t want you to forget?”

He says your name quietly, shoulders tense. But when you grip the hem of his shirt, he doesn’t stop you. Rather, he lifts his arms and lets you drag the fabric over his head. You marvel at the bare skin, eyes dancing across jutting collarbones and the soft swell of his stomach. Watch the way his chest rises and falls as stilted breaths flurry inside him before spilling into the air between you. Admire the trail of dark hair that rests between his bellybutton and the soft band of his underwear. His eyes don’t leave your face as you push the boxers down his legs.

“So handsome,” you say and Joel exhales, hands hovering a hairsbreadth from your waist. The weight of the moment hangs heavy between you. This moment of more. To be with him like this feels like more. To be naked feels like more.

You grip his hand and raise it to your breast again. Squeeze your fingers over his. His thumb flicks across your nipple and you gasp. His eyes darken, nostrils flaring as he fights to restrain himself.

“Joel,” you whisper. “Look at me.”

Finally, he does. Those brown eyes flickering downward to rake in the sight of your body.

He’s on you in a second, mouth slanting desperately against yours while his hands drift aimlessly across skin, untethered in their access. Fingers pinching and grabbing and squeezing, teeth searing at your lips, and you gasp as his cock presses against your stomach. The long, thick weight of him, drooling and needy. Your fingers slip around him, rub softly over the underside of his head, the vein on the underside of him. Joel grips your wrist and pushes you backward a step, his lips leaving yours with a wet smack.

“Sit on the bed,” he orders firmly.

You wander backward, stumbling onto the edge of the bed when your calves collide with the heavy wooden base. He watches you, hand drifting to wrap around the base of his cock. He strokes himself gently, black eyes tracing vigilantly over every inch of your body. And you expect him to push you down, to crawl on top of you. Instead, you watch with bated breath as Joel drops to his knees in front of you. His knees crack as they bend but he ignores it, nudging your thighs apart so his broad frame can fit between them. Hooded eyes gaze between your thighs, roaming across all of the bare skin on show. Slowly, he lifts a hand and rests it gently on your mound. Calloused fingers stroke over the dark hair there, stroking through the short curls. You sigh and cant your hips up, but Joel only grunts, his free hand squeezing your thigh to hold you against the mattress.

Before you can process it, he’s leaning forward, nose nestling in your hair as his warm tongue parts your folds. You groan in unison, your fingers carding through his curls to hold him against you. He murmurs something that you don’t quite catch over the roaring in your ears, but you don’t care. Too caught up in a smooth slide of his mouth slotting against you. The flat of his tongue glides up and down your sex, smearing a mess of slick and saliva in his wake. You gasp as it flicks sharply across your clit, your jaw tensing at the harsh sensation. Joel notices—pulls back.

“Tell me,” he urges.

“Slower,” you say quickly, voice feeble and desperate.

“Slower,” Joel repeats with a nod, and he massages your thighs as he licks into you, fingernails scraping your skin as his grip tightens and loosens and tightens and loosens. He traces slow circles around your clit with the flat of his tongue that have you gasping and bucking against his face. And when his tongue presses inside of you, you moan, fingers twisting in his hair and tugging.

“Fuck,” he growls into you, and he likes that. You do it again and his eyes flick open, pupils blown, gaze darting wildly across your stomach, your arms, your breasts, your face – watching, admiring, taking in every detail of the offering that you’ve laid so generously at his altar. The tip of a finger curls inside you and he grins when your thighs tense around him. He rears his head back to watch how you welcome him inside, eyes locked on the way your weeping cunt clenches and drips around one of his fingers, and then another.

“Yeah,” you sigh, nose scrunching at the slight stretch. “Yeah, like that, fuck.”

“Look at you,” he mutters. “Christ.” And then the cut of his wet red mouth is back on you, lips parting to suck against your clit until you’re crying out, voice a hoarse shout as you speed rapidly towards your end.

“Shit, Joel,” you gasp. One of your legs kicks out straight and his hand drops from your thigh, one set of fingers working you open while the other comes up to part your lips, giving himself more access. As he lathes wet kisses against you, the coarse hairs of his beard scraping your inner thighs, you can feel it. That liquid heat that coils and stirs in the base of your stomach.

“Joel, I—ohh—I think I’m gonna come,” you whimper, hand shooting out to grip his shoulder. Your nails dig into the tense muscle there, using the leverage to rut your hips against his face.

He groans into your sex, fingers moving faster, unforgiving against that spongy spot deep inside that sets you alight. His teeth graze against your clit, the lightest brush, and your stomach is tensing, every muscle in your body locking up.

“Give it t’me,” he says gruffly. “That’s it, come on, baby.”

A choked gasp falls from your lips and then you’re coming, twitching against his face, pussy bearing down on thick fingers that stoke you through the high. Your hand leaves his shoulder to grip the back of his neck, holding his face against where you’re aching for him still. Joel moans, a low sound from deep in his chest, dragging his fingers away so he can drink down every heady drop of your orgasm.

Baby.

The word rings in your head, bouncing inside your skull, a fierce ricochet. Baby.

Trembling fingers feather across the cowlick at the crown of his head, twisting and petting soft wayward curls as his mouth pulls back, a wet drag across the skin of your hip. You catch a glimpse of his cock, heavy and throbbing between his thighs.

Joel’s teeth nip at the sensitive skin of your thigh, a sharp pinch that makes you flinch. Tired muscles tensing, face twisting up as he sucks and licks, hot tongue soothing over the stinging red mark. He breathes your name, mouthing the sound into your flesh once, twice.

“I’ve been tryna remember this,” he murmurs. “Only ever had it for a second.”

You whimper as he licks into you again, slowly. And you’re so sensitive, and maybe—maybe—it’s too much, too soon, but he doesn’t care. He grips your calf and tucks it over his shoulder. Holds it there in a vice grip.

“Wasn’t enough,” he says. Dark eyes look up and you’re rapt in them—bound and boneless simply from having those eyes on you you you nothing but you all he sees is you and he loves it, you can tell. Thrives on the way you melt beneath his rough fingertips, the wet drag of his tongue. “Remember that first day in my office?

Remember, remember, remember, how could you forget? I’m gonna remember this this this.

“Yes.” Your leg trembles against the side of face, the coarse hairs of his beard scratching your skin. The tip of his tongue lathes slow circles around your clit. A cruel, leisurely slip of flesh on flesh that has you gasping and twitching beneath his hands.

“I wanted this that day,” Joel rasps. “Needed it. But you were gone so soon, ‘n’ I couldn’t help myself.”

“What—oh fuck—” He flicks his tongue faster, hot swipes from side to side that have your thigh clamping down against the muscles in his neck. Your mind is a blur, eyebrows furrowed as you try to make sense of his words.

“Fucked my fist the second you left,” he growls. “My fingers in my mouth, the taste of you—Christ, couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“Joel,” you gasp, impatient. “I—get up here. Please, just—”

Strong hands push you up, push you back, further onto the bed until your head hits the pillows. His hair is a wild fray around his head, knotted and mussed from your fingers raking through it.

“I don’t have anything,” he says.

“I don’t care,” you say.

His knees press onto the mattress on either side of you and his eyes glance down your chest before he grips your waist and he’s turning you. Your stomach meets the sheets and you move to arch your back, to tilt your hips up towards him, but a firm hand rests on the small of your back, and keeps you down.

“Like this,” you hear him say. “Trust me.”

His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel him there, knuckles brushing the flesh of your ass, spreading you apart so his cock can press inside. The pillow swallows your wet gasp, and your eyes pinch shut against the stretch as he sinks deeper and deeper. Every delicious inch splits you open wider, further, carving out that space that’s just for him, and it’s more. Your vision blurs and you clutch at the sheets, fingers tangling in linen as Joel’s breathy groans fill the air.

“God,” he grunts. “Always so fuckin’—tight.”

You cry out as he begins to move, pressing you further into the mattress. The stretch of him is so broad—so deep—it has hot tears pricking in your eyes. Your legs are straight, almost clamped together, leaving the smallest gap for him to break through. His chest melts against your back, sweet sweat sliding from skin to skin. And his stomach is soft against the base of your spine, but his teeth are sharp where they nip and smart against the skin of your shoulder, your neck. He sets a pace that has you biting down into the pillow to muffle your groans. It’s almost overbearing how good it feels, how he surrounds you. Flat against the mattress, there’s nowhere to hide from the pleasure, no way to twist or curl your body away from how good it feels. A choked moan is muffled by the pillow.

And then his fingers are in your hair, dragging your head up.

“What are you fuckin’ doin’?” he grunts. You gasp, eyebrows furrowed and mouth ajar as you take take take. He pulls your hair harder when you don’t respond, presses his chin against your shoulder, lips curling against the skin of your neck as he speaks. “Don’t do that, not here. No more hidin’, I wanna fuckin’ hear it.”

He grips your hips and drags you upward so you’re on your knees, bracing against your forearms, and then his hand snakes around the front of your body, fingers dragging between your thighs as he begins moving again.

“Oh fuck,” your eyes widen in surprise, jaw hanging slack as he rolls his finger in expert circles over your clit. “Fuck, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he gasps.

“Fuck,” you repeat, mewling every time one of his thrusts sends your face forward into the pillows. “Yes, oh god.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust of his hips. “That’s it, lemme hear it.”

“Joel,” you cry out, voice cracked and broken. “So good.”

“I know, baby,” he grunts. “I know.”

“You’re so—deep,” you gasp.

“I know,” he soothes.

“I missed this,” you babble, mouth moving faster than your mind. “Missed you.”

“Christ,” he spits, pulling you up until you’re leaning against his chest. His fingers are a blur against your clit, cock a fast wet shift in and out in and out.

You tilt your head back against his shoulder, mouth hanging open as you press your ass back into him.

“Missed me?” Joel says, and his cheek is warm against yours. Wet. Your face is wet. “Gonna show me how much?”

“Yes,” you moan. His free hand grips your breast, squeezing and pinching.

“Need to get my fuckin’ mouth on you,” he growls.

“No,” you beg. “Joel, don’t—fuuuck, fuck, don’t stop.”

“Wanted to,” his hips stutter against you, losing momentum for a second. “Jesus, wanted to take my fuckin’ time.” You snake a hand behind his head to grip his hair again, to press his face into your neck. His mouth latches onto your skin, spit mixing with sweat where his teeth and tongue trace your roaring pulse. Your thighs are trembling, knees weak and wobbling against the mattress as he pistons into you, unrelenting, unforgiving.

“I’m—” your eyes start to roll back. You can feel your back arch and twist against him, toes curling into the sheets. “Oh my God.”

He says your name in a panicked hiss and pulls out.

You gasp at the loss, eyes flying open in alarm. He moves your body, not wasting a second as he lowers you down onto your back presses inside again, hands gripping the underside of your knees, holding them against your chest. Practically bent in half, you tremble in his grasp, eyes blurred and wet as you sob his name.

“Lemme have it,” he goads you, voice a dull vibration against your chest. “Bein’ so fuckin’ good for me, yeah, just like that.”

And it feels like something splinters within you as heat floods your senses, vision whiting out until all you can see is the soft edges of his curls against your chest, the wet smear of his tongue over your nipple. All you can hear is the words he speaks against your skin.

I’m close, he warns, and you say yes, say please, say I want it, because you do.

“Where?” You call the shots.

And you say, Inside, say, I want it, because you do.

Because you want everything. Everything he has and whatever dark matter is left after that. And everything is a naked thought, a stark realisation, a frighteningly bare streak of madness that zips down your spine and melts in your belly, and you can feel yourself tightening around him with the enormity of it. Can feel your body squeezing and sucking and holding it holding it holding it and with black eyes, spheres of a night sky’s pitch, he stares at you. Unruly eyebrows pinched tight. Mouth slick and swollen and snarling, white teeth grit like prison bars, keeping everything contained inside himself, just out of your reach.

“Fuck,” Joel spits, pleading, desperate. “Don’t—”

But his hips are bruising against yours and you relish in the ache. The jut of bone amidst the softness of his skin, a reminder of the coldness in him, the determination, the impatience. And you know that you can only have so much softness until there is stone. But you cannot understand don’t, you never have with him, so you grind upward. Meet him thrust for thrust, and shiver in delight as a tortured expression passes over his face. And when you come again he curses, broad palms bearing down on you, holding your frame into the mattress as he pushes you through it, prolonging that naked thought, that fearsome idea. You only hope that he cannot see how your own everything spills. How it cools and congeals around him with its palms spread open, longing to receive as much in return.

Joel comes with a shout, hips dragging backwards so his spend can spill across your stomach and the puffy lips of your sex. He grips his cock, milking himself for all he’s worth until wet ropes of his come are smeared across your thighs too. You gasp and writhe against the bed, trying in vain to keep your heavy eyelids open, not wanting to miss a second. The shine of your slick on his thighs and lower stomach is clear in the dim lighting, and you smile at the sight of it – your claim on him. Chest heaving, he follows your gaze, fingers swiping across his skin before sinking into his mouth. He groans around his fingers and you stomach lurches as he lowers his chest to the bed, mouth drifting between your splayed thighs.

You cup his jaw and hold him still.

“I can’t,” you murmur, and your voice is cracked and broken. “S’too much.”

And he agrees, tracing the marks on the inside of your thighs with his mouth until your eyes drift closed.

Time passes slowly after that. You don’t open your eyes for a while. Too fucked out, too tired, too tender.

There’s a warm glide of something soft and wet over your stomach, your thighs, between your legs—Joel cleaning up his mess. You almost wish he wouldn’t.

“Sorry,” you mumble a few minutes later. “I’ll go in a second.” But your eyes are closed, and the sheets smell like him.

You feel the mattress dip beside you. Hear a soft click as he turns off the lamp, and darkness swells around you once more.

“S’okay,” he says, and his voice is so close, as if he were whispering against the shell of your ear, breathing the words into you. “Don’t have to go.”

And it makes sense not to go. To stay, to stay, to stay. To sink deeper into the hotel mattress, and let the sounds of his heavy exhales lull you further to sleep. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t come any closer. But you can smell him. Can feel his warmth, a radiating sun that shines across the side of your body closest, and you sink deeper still.

You think of the katabasis - the hero’s journey spiralling down into the underworld. Of Orpheus seeking the safe return of Eurydice, his love lost too soon. Of Odysseus, guided by Circe to discover Teiresias on his quest for homecoming. Of Aeneid, venturing downward to meet his father and hear his true destiny. This descent into the afterlife, into the realm of the dead, wherein upon return our hero is irrevocably changed. But to stay, to stay, to stay. So warm it is here, you think, so lovely and warm to descend wholly into this wanting, this burning, this everything.

“Is this a good idea?” you murmur, voice a drowsy call into the darkness. “For me to stay?”

Joel doesn’t respond.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @bbyanarchist @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @@lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5 @psychedelic-ink @what-is-your-wish @sugadolly @elissaaa @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul

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#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #ALP #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut

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usedpidemo · 2 months

Text

Stargazing (Twice Mina)

With the way things are going, Mina’s begging for trouble. And not the usual slap of the wrist kind that celebrities get away with—the kind that’s scandalous, career damning.

She’s so close to falling apart.

And as you watch her come undone—the very image that defines her gradually disappears—you can’t help but think: she deserves this.

—————

If there’s any clear-cut takeaway, it’s this: Mina is designed to be gorgeous, and she plays the part to near perfection.

That’s the whole point. Here’s a sea of media outlets and paparazzi, accompanied by flashing cameras and screaming fans on one side. On the other, stars and figures from different fields, all dressed to the nines and emanate a distinguishable aura. The ‘I’m better than you’ kind. No amount of modest smiles and perfectly curated PR-fluff can disguise the noxious air of celebrity on the red carpet.

Then you look at Mina, wearing the hell out of that backless dress, designed by none other than yours truly (you). You couldn’t have asked for a better muse. She carries herself and your brand around with a confident smile—with pride—seemingly indifferent to the raucous screams telling her to look this way, that way. Wherever her profile turns, cameras illuminate the crowd in near-perfect unison.

It’s a slow motion fashion moment.

As if she couldn't look any prettier, she brushes her hair with a quick, delicate swipe of her hand with queenly grace. The cameras live for moments like these. It’s what goes viral online; it’s what gets social media buzzing. She’s a K-pop idol, the media will say and it’s true, but she doesn’t look out of place with the so-called elite. If anything, she blends in seamlessly, rich, quiet, and enigmatic personality and all.

Cameras continue to follow her as she walks through the carpet. She greets a few other celebrities in the vicinity; mostly Hollywood actresses and artists before she disappears behind the steps of the building. Throughout the entire ordeal, you were never on her mind, not even during interviews, nor when she was in clear view, even though you made her what she is now. All she can think about is herself and her character. That’s how fame works.

You don’t even get a text. Your only reference is a note that reads 23:00.

—————

The next time you see Mina is hours later, at the promised time. One slender leg enters the backseat of the vehicle. She remains mostly untouched, leaving the gala looking the same as when she entered. She’s considerate enough to wave and give a flying kiss to the crowd, who unsurprisingly, go crazy for her. It’s a convincing act. You would, too, if you weren’t always by her side for ninety percent of the day.

She breathes out this deeply relieved sigh once the door slams shut. She’s tired—of being someone else, and just exhausted in general; she’s been in front of a mirror since five in the morning and it’s almost midnight by the time the event ends. You can tell she’d rather be in her hotel suite than anywhere else.

So you drive. No words. Just hit the road and get out of there.

Even late into the night, Paris is still bustling and lively. You don’t make it past three streets before being met by traffic ahead. It’s an agonizing crawl. The satnav says you’ll arrive at your hotel by 2:00 in the morning. Mina probably won’t make it by midnight, at this point because she’s on the verge of falling unconscious, resting her head on the door. Her heels are set on the opposite end, with her lower half resting along the edges of the backseat into a couch position.

Even when she’s asleep, she’s still gorgeous.

“Miss?” you gently call to her, snapping her from her tired daze. She gives you a mild stare through the rear-view mirror, unable to speak.

“We’re gonna be held up by traffic. You want something to eat?” you ask, knowing she likely won’t take anything more than a handful of fries or half a burger.

“Sure. Whatever.” Mina sounds cold, a little annoyed somewhat. The past day has been unkind to her health; she arrived at the airport yesterday after a different schedule and barely had less than five hours of rest before dedicating the entire day for a gala she had contractual obligations to attend. She couldn’t say no even if she wanted; she’s got her whole schedule curated and planned out for months.

You have more time to get her dresses planned out and prepared out than she has to breathe.

And time is unkind to both of you right now. Traffic trogs along at a snail’s pace. The arrival time on the satnav moves further and further away. Sunrise will meet you above a red light at this rate. How anyone gets around in this city considering the number of events that are happening all at once is beyond you. You only drive through Paris a handful of times a year, all for the same reason, and you abhor the idea—let alone the experience—every single time.

It’s difficult enough to wait, especially in this late of hours, when money and careers are on the line. Even more challenging is keeping a cool head and withholding yourself from using your instincts against the trusted systems of the algorithm. Mina will call you many things. She’ll call you insane. You don’t mind; it’ll be on the lower end of insults and comments you’ve heard from the so-called ‘elite.’

At the end of the day, you’re just simply following orders.

You swerve off the main road, into narrow alleys and streets that aren’t registered on any official map. Anywhere that can give you a sense of progress and hold momentum. You drive. You make liberal use of your klaxon against anything and anyone. You go around in circles, sometimes looking at the satnav if it’s kind enough to give you a shorter, quicker path. In your haste, you completely overlook the star, the celebrity you’re meant to protect and coddle like fine art, and cracks begin to form.

“Shit!” Mina fastens the seatbelt, in distress and wide awake from your uncharacteristically aggressive driving. She lifts her head. Pierces your gaze through the rearview mirror with a mixture of panic, concern, and frustration. All that hours spent in the makeup room to look perfect, down to the smallest of details, coming undone within a few minutes.

She seemed rather proud of her appearance, too.

Of course, her demands bounce off your ears—or ring through like white noise. You only know your task. Get her safe.

Even though it’s your very idea, you forget about the thought of eating, too. You’ve passed by a couple of McDonalds along the way, but are blinded by tunnel vision to recognize a single one. It’s not a big loss; she’s as tired of eating fast food as much as you are. It isn’t good for her image right now, either.

Eventually, you do make it back to her hotel. A little over midnight, but still not as early as you wanted to be. You look at the status of your passenger princess. She’s about as coddled as a five year old playing with her doll. A mess.

When you open up the door for her to step out, it’s a dramatic moment that gathers everyone’s attention and fixes every eye. It’s loud.

It also so happens to be empty in the area.

The way she slaps you in the cheek echoes throughout the valet like the sharp crack of a whip, or the pop of a firework. Fucking hell, she hits hard. For a dainty woman like Mina, she’s surprisingly strong. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she snaps, cold and bitter.

You find no mistake in what you did. In fact, you believe you’re doing her a service. Tomorrow, she’ll be at the airport and out of the country faster than when she came in. She doesn’t have to think about you for the foreseeable future. You only see a moody, ill-tempered celebrity frustrated that circumstances haven’t gone her way. Chalk it up to fatigue, but you can’t be arsed to explain yourself or react accordingly at this point.

She’s also pretty when she’s angry, you can’t help but think. Not the pouty, cute, wholesome kind—the ‘I’m gonna rip your throat’ out kind of ire. Sometimes you forget your job and admire just how gorgeous Mina is. You’re no different than the paparazzi or the average fan.

It makes her heated. You’re mentally smirking.

It would be a waste to fight over something as petty as reckless driving this late. No one got hurt; not a single traffic light or speed limit was violated. But her heart jumped a little bit when she expected the least. In her eyes, it’s a reasonable enough incident to show some attitude and assert her status over you.

But not tonight.

Instead, you take her by the wrist and lead her to the alley beside the hotel, away from potential cameras and prying eyes. She yelps, but you slip a hand around her mouth so she remains quiet. Mina is too tired to show some resistance.

“Listen here, Miss Myoui,” you tell her, pointing your finger directly at her. “I did everything right to make sure you have a fine, comfortable experience in Paris. Did your dress, drove you around, everything. What I did was save you a few hours of sleeping in the car. I never asked for anything from you, so don’t come acting like an ungrateful brat.”

“Fuck you.” Mina raises her palm, readying another thunderous, face cracking slap as a threat. “I could have done all that instead if I wanted to.”

“Need I remind you who made the dress that you’re wearing?”

She freezes, unable to find some form of retaliation or rebuttal.

“Thought so.”

“Well what am I supposed to do, then? Get on my knees and worship you as my lord and savior?” she asks.

Suddenly, something clicks inside your head. An idea.

“That—” you pause, mentally noting the entire sequence in a flash, “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”

“I’m not doing it.” Mina rolls her eyes, turning her gaze away and crossing her arms. Somehow, she’s managed to recognize your intent so quickly. What isn’t surprising is her natural cleverness and intelligence. “Not tonight. Not after what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s what you believe, asshole.” She shakes her head. “Just—let me go.”

“Would be such a shame if a rumor spread around then that you were spotted in the bathrooms with one of the billionaires,” you say, blunt in your threat. “Wouldn’t you hate that? I hear there was a tabloid photo of you spotted with one of the presidential candidates too—”

“You lie.” Mina’s eyes glare at you. You don’t flinch.

She’s not wrong. You’re only telling a half-truth. It’s true that there were billionaires who attended. It would be a strange event if there weren’t any present, in Paris of all places. The report of a presidential candidate showing up is legitimate as well, but that’s as much as you know as the general public. What goes on inside, you have no knowledge of.

“And what happened there was nothing at all,” she adds. “So quit trying to blackmail me and just let me fucking rest.”

“Then explain this to me.” You point at the dress she’s wearing—your dress—and find different sized patches where they shouldn’t belong. They’re not by design; they’re clearly the result of some kind of external tampering or meddling. Around where her legs should be. Near her tummy. The gala is an indoor event, yet it looks as if she had been soaked in some capacity.

Something’s quite off.

“So?” Mina defends herself, unwilling to concede. “Got spilled by drinks, and you don’t really care if it gets ruined.”

While it’s true you usually don’t mind your dresses getting ruined, it comes at a price. “I’m not mad. And yes, I don’t care if you do fuck all with that dress. Hell, that candidate is very lucky he got to clap that—”

“Shut up!”

By instinct, Mina slaps you again.

You chuckle. The sore redness of your cheek isn’t going to silence you.

As she tries to walk away, you grab her by the wrist again. Pull her close to your chest. She trembles, but can’t do anything to stop or shake you loose.

“So you admit? You got fucked by that candidate?”

“No!” Mina remains adamant in her tone. She twists your grip to free herself. “Just—fucking stop already!”

“Only if you blow me. Just a quickie.”

“What? Why?”

“As remittance for the ruined dress, of course. Remember? Ruined dress, ruined cunt.” You can’t help but grin as you remind her of the terms of your agreement. It’s not written in the contract, but a mutual trust shared between you and your muses.

Mina sighs. A deal is a deal, even if it’s not signed on the dotted line. And she has the experience to show for it. Ultimately, she reluctantly agrees, sounding defeated in her response. “Fine. But after this, we’re fucking done.”

“I’m in a bit of a good mood today, so I don’t want your pussy,” you tell the disgruntled Mina, unbuckling your belt then unzipping your pants. “Not gonna lie, the thought of some future president fucking that cunt of yours makes me sick. Get on your knees.”

God, it feels wrong, but you’re enjoying every little moment of this, down to the finer details. The look of dissatisfaction on Mina’s face. The fact you can get her flustered with your teasing. The fact she’s obediently on her knees as you whip out your hard cock directly in front of her. She can tell you as many lies as she wants, but they have no firm ground to stand on. She’s not some stuck-up star unlike many others in that gala, but even she needs to be humbled once in a while.

“His dick is better than yours, anyway. I won’t miss this pathetic piece of shit,” she tells you, gripping to the hem of your dress, dodging every attempt to slip your shaft between her lips.

All the more reason to plunge it deep in her throat.

“Is it? This piece of shit you love to ride on?” You grab your cock and pursue her evasive mouth. You have a hand planted on her scalp, holding her still, as she begrudgingly accepts your length between her lips slowly, in a losing effort to fight back. She gulps her throat, watching as her cheeks hollow, as drool begins to coat your sensitive shaft, until eventually, her seal is vacuum-tight and tension builds up in your groin. “This cock you want to use—fuck—”

Words fail you as you become reacquainted with the warmth of Mina’s mouth. She bobs her head back and forth, slipping a hand around the base of your shaft to stroke. Your cock is poking the back of her throat, your senses relaxing at the pleasure coursing through your body. You feel yourself slipping away—at the cold, at the heat of her sweltering lips, at the layer of saliva that fills every inch of your length. It’s all too much.

This is Mina’s least favorite position. She’d rather have you beneath her most of the time, relentlessly bouncing on your cock till you’re completely drained; it’s how most encounters with her go to the point you simply give up and expect yourself on the mattress as soon as you enter her room. None of that matters now, not when she needs your very shaft to fill her thirsty, dry mouth, as a palette cleanse from the boring gala and because she needs you as much as she utterly hates you.

She doesn’t like the thought of you above her. Her eyes can’t be bothered to look up. It’s a strange dynamic; she’s the celebrity, she’s supposed to have control, not you. Your hand tugs on her black hair, begging her for more, and it reinforces the idea. You love this. Mina, the quiet, cold personality that everyone wants to be like, is zealously sucking you off and you’re helpless to how incredible she is. The suction of her throat. The drag of her tongue on your head, then on the sides. The passionate hum of satisfaction. You recognize the smug grin etched on the corner her lips while she doesn’t bother to look back, knowing full well she can take you any way she wants and you’ll fucking love it. She’s so aggressive, yet perfectly paced.

And she moves like she can read your mind—cum and saliva dripping from the corners, her tongue running laps around your balls, her mouth devouring you entirely with each entrance. Small, whiny sounds that resemble a choke—they’re nothing compared to the echoey moans you can’t help but make. You’re gasping for air as if she’s punctured a hole in your lungs—and to an extent, she has. Your body instinctively has to remind itself they’re leaning on air, because she’s making your spine contort in ways they shouldn't be twisting.

Mina is quite used to this. The notion of having to suck a cock. Not just yours, but fans, higher-ups in suits, all kinds. She’ll tell you yours is the best one, and you’ll believe her. You can tell by personal experience. You shouldn’t let control slip, especially now, when such power is rarely vested on you, but you can’t help yourself. There’s some urgency in handling her, but it might be a little too late. Especially when—

“Mina,” you pant, and you sound so desperate. “So close, Mina. I’m so close. I’m gonna—”

She continues to create friction, and eventually fire. Her hands wring around your balls and your base, tightening the coil of pressure in your stomach and in your veins. Spiraling further and further out of control, you can feel your legs crumble in a last ditch attempt to hold on. With your remaining resolve, you cling to whatever semblance of clarity you can find.

And she plunges her lips further into your length. Her tongue descends lower, to the underside of your balls. None of that disdain and hate from moments ago can be found, only zeal and passion. It’s not graceful in the slightest; it goes against everything her image represents, yet she’s so damn good at it, you can’t stomach the thought of her doing something this filthy, this obscene. The very idea breaks reality. Yet here she is, on her knees, a mouth filled by cock, encouraging you to cum without uttering a single word.

So you oblige her.

You don’t give her the decency of asking. You just pour it all over her with reckless abandon. Yanking her by the scalp, swiftly pulling yourself away in the heat of climax, blasting thick warm seed all over her pristine features, using her visage as a canvas for all your repressed thoughts. Mina welcomes every drop, sticks her tongue out with an inviting stare, unfazed by all that hot load you’re shooting directly at her. Her professionalism is practically hardwired, second nature to allow herself to be used this freely. It’s more than personal satisfaction; it also pays the bills.

It’s a win-win.

“Happy?” she asks, propping herself back on her feet, using the top of the dress to clean herself. Not a waste when it’s sole purpose is to be one and done.

The mess around your groin—residue sticking on your pants—answers her question. You can only nod in agreement as you clumsily and slowly gather your bearings. She shakes her head, amused at your predicament, but proud of her work.

Mina acts nonchalant, walks back to the hotel while you still work through your trousers, as if nothing ever happened. As if you weren’t moaning in public about how airtight her lips are around your cock. You hurriedly follow her, only to be met with a surprise waiting just past the entrance doors.

“I hope Paris has been kind to you so far, Miss Minari, because we certainly won’t be.”

Three comically mischievous men of similar stature and appearance, in nearly identical outfits (a simple shirt, coat, jeans and beret combination, how inspired) with the most cartoonishly evil looks on their faces. They could be anyone on the street. You can immediately tell they’ve been waiting for some time.

“Who are you?” you ask, stepping in front of your client. Mina looks nervous, quietly analyzing the three suspicious characters.

“Doesn’t matter who we are, even if we tell you,” replies the middle man, matter-of-factly. “We have no intention of hurting you.”

“If that’s the case, then please step aside. Miss Mina won’t be taking any requests and she’s very tired, sorry.”

“I don’t think so, buddy.”

“What?”

“We heard everything. You lucky bastard,” says the man on the left. “I don’t think Mina seems to be tired at all. In fact, I believe she wants more of it!”

All eyes turn to the person of interest, who seems to be in denial. Mina, this cold, calculated star, appears to have a harsh, sudden reaction. Offended by the comment, she angrily retorts, “No? What the hell are you saying?”

“Yeah, you heard the guy.” The third man steps forward, the other two close behind slowly approaching her. “It’s all over you. Don’t try to deny it. You enjoyed getting blasted all over that pretty face of yours!”

The three men nod in unison. You don’t have a firearm or any weapon on hand, but you’re willing to fight all three guys, even if you meet a terrible end. That’s the likeliest outcome. Lady luck seems to have disappeared on your side, but it’s part of the job, after all.

“Relax, girl. Again, we don’t wish to hurt you or your bodyguard.” The first man, the guy assuming leadership reiterates. It’s as civil and diplomatic as it sounds, but the looming threat remains prevalent. And it doesn’t do them any favors when they creep up towards both of you like wolves. “We just want what he has.”

“And what is it?” Mina frowns, hiding herself behind you, peeking over the shoulder, trembling.

“Oh, you know what we want, Miss Minari. Give it to us and then we’ll leave you alone.”

Where’s the security in this hotel, you wonder? The ground floor is dead empty of guests, which is to be expected, there’s hardly anyone at the front desk, and there are zero guards at the valet that normally wait for the next car to pull up. It’s midnight, what did you expect?

“Can’t I give you guys some money instead?” she pleads, desperate. She’s no longer hiding herself, but standing side by side with you. Shaking. Nervous. “Name your price and I’ll pay it.”

“I don’t think that will work, miss.” The three men remain adamant. They have you trapped against the corner of the entrance door. Neither of you can hardly move, let alone run. “We’re in Paris. We can easily rob anyone for our keep.”

Judging by the rather expensive watches and sneakers they all sport, they seem to have a point.

“But please, we just want one. One round with the finest Japanese idol in the business. That’s it,” the first man adds, his cohorts nodding in agreement.

Mina turns to you, calling your attention. “Hey.” You’re on high alert, waiting for the moment for hell to break loose. She merely stares. Nothing comes out of her mouth, just an expressive, seemingly strange gaze that doesn’t register anything in your head, nor does it open up any sort of interpretation. And for a while, you don’t understand what’s happening or what’s her intent. The three guys seemingly wait, shrugging whenever you eye any one of them. There’s no rush; time seems to stop at that particular moment. You know their demand; you have ears. You just don’t know if Mina is actually serious about caving to the pressure.

—————

(And fucking hell, you’re so—so—screwed.)

You don’t know if Mina will recover after this. Specifically, her career.

Clothes scatter everywhere in the room, with no regard for cleanliness or the host’s decency. Mina is set in the middle of the mattress as its centerpiece. The star of the show. Her dress is bundled around her waist, baring her chest and legs, while every man is completely in the nude. She’s spread on her fours, with the two subordinates lined up parallel in front of her, the third right behind her. You plan to join after, when everyone’s seemingly tired, when you can have her all to yourself.

At least, that’s what you think will happen. You know she’s going to get used all night long. Mina’s bracing for impact, hoping she can walk out in one piece after this.

You’re holding your phone, ready to record every little thing that happens. It’s not by their request, but your own personal desire. You love seeing it—the notion of Mina getting her comeuppance. The two men in front of her waste no time, stroking themselves hard and slapping their cocks right into Mina’s face, spilling flecks of precum on her. You notice the giddiness in their expressions as they incline the idol’s chin up, nothing but unbridled lust on their faces. The only thing missing is hurling her around and ragdolling her.

“Such a pretty face deserves all this cum,” says the second guy. He’s on the pudgier side, evidently not meant to be in the same atmosphere, let alone the same bed as Mina. “I’ll have you know you were my bias, and you have the most numbers on my counter.”

Utterly shameless.

Meanwhile, the first guy, his colorful body filled with numerous tattoos, slaps Mina’s cheek hard. It ripples throughout her lithe figure, rattles the bed a little. She keens. He takes a moment to look at the hand that committed the sinful act. He’s shaking, in disbelief. He did that. It’s a moment in time, a monumental occasion. Anyone else in his position would be shouting in the streets, celebrating too.

You would.

The third guy, this aged man who’s evidently in his mid-to-late forties and probably shouldn’t be consuming K-pop, continues to stroke himself to Mina’s face. Too bad her mouth can only fit one cock at a time. Her hand grabs his shaft and he grips her hair instead as she pumps him at a delicate pace. Their collective moans fill the room as each person assumes a position around Mina’s sensitive holes, filling them hastily. No technique, no patience whatsoever.

It’s pornographic for all the wrong reasons. How it all came to be. The setup. The characters. The very scene itself. Down to the shitty camera recording. Not befitting of an idol such as Mina. It’s got its own charm, but for the most part, it's as disgusting as you imagined. You can’t believe she’d agree to this. At the same time, you can’t look away. It’s a car crash that you know is gonna happen, yet all you can do is watch helplessly—and stroke yourself hard to.

All three men have different rhythms in which they fuck Mina. Tattoos slowly pounding at her dripping cunt, accompanying each deep thrust with a loud smack of her ass. His one hand grabbing at the hem of whatever’s left of her dress, itching to rip it off. Mina’s moan is suppressed by Pudge’s cock protruding through her throat. A fistful of hair in his grip, the other on her flushed, reddened cheek. Expecting her to take his relentless rhythm, only for her gag with each pump into her airtight lips. As if he doesn’t know how giving head works. The oldest man loosens up, lets his body hang as Mina strokes his cock with her ironclad fingers, letting flecks of cum spread over her neck and her shoulders, content with letting her handle him how she wants.

In a way, it’s admirable seeing Mina like this. Three cocks and all, her commitment to fanservice and satisfaction is any fan’s dream for their idol. You’ve seen it firsthand before, how she attends to each fan one by one, but to handle multiple without a single complaint is quite the accomplishment. She’s gonna take it, and she’s going to love it.

And in fact, she does. You’ve never seen her this dedicated and into pleasuring anyone. How she uses her other hand to seize Pudge’s cock, spitting and licking the head, setting him ablaze. Even as the man with the tattoos begins to wreck into her sopping cunt, foregoing leisure for speed—as her whines echo throughout the room—she maintains her composure the best she can. Even begging him to go harder, which he obliges. The bed’s quaking, seemingly closer to collapse, as the man screams to the ceiling, “Fucking tight—so close—cumming—aah—”

All three men are clinging to Mina in some capacity. On her waist, using her hair, or her shoulders—as they all appear close to their climaxes. Their collective groans of pleasure make this evident noise that warrants numerous calls of disturbance or concern. Imagine the commotion when the staff called in to investigate eventually finds out. The notion spurs Mina as she leans further into it—looks right into the camera as she licks up Pudge’s underside. As if demanding you to take the best shot of her while doing it.

It’s scandalous—the way Mina uses her expressions to make herself look good even under duress. How she winks, sticks her tongue, twists her face into lewder and lewder reactions while the three men who seemingly have power over her, now fold under her control. If only you could step in and be a part of the show, but you can’t.

And she looks even better with cum all over her.

The three guys moan in unison for dramatic effect. As if it was part of the intended shot. One after the other, each man reaches their own orgasm and blasts their hot load onto some part of Mina’s body. None of them seem to find their way into what they initially wanted, which is her holes. Mostly—tattoos man is partly into a deep thrust when he meets his abrupt end, only filling part of her cunt with his seed before deciding to pull out and throbs onto her back, her legs instead. Pudge gets most of her face, which she happily accepts. But even with her mouth wide open, he can hardly land his cum onto her sweet lips. As for the old man, he was never a factor to begin with. He had spilled his cum on the side, on the shoulder, on some hair, on her fingers. He was done before the others even finished.

What an unexpected sight.

You stand from the couch you’ve been sitting on, close in on the aftermath of their orgasms, watching as they stand lifeless around the centerpiece that is Mina, running her fingers over all the cum spilled on her body. This is child’s play to her, yet the most surprising thing is: she wasn’t expecting any of the three guys to finish this soon, let alone all three of them. She has this unsatisfied look in her eyes observing her conduits, the supposed ‘threats,’ as if they didn’t live up to her expectation.

“Did I look good?” she asks you, tilting up, resting her head on her palm.

You show her the phone, speed past the raw footage. She watches like she’s the director—which she kind of is.

“Mm—not good enough,” she adds, grabbing the phone and grabbing a tripod from the bedside drawer. “Set it up over there and do it again. They’re not leaving this until they get it right. And you’re gonna show them the way.”

Looking at their tired, exasperated faces, they’d rather be anywhere but here.

As for Mina, she’s the most energetic you’ve seen her in a while, eager for more—and you’re gonna have to make some phone calls explaining why she isn’t at the airport by morning.

—————

(A/N: woo missed another deadline/date but happy birthday Mina! By request/commission, so thank you for waiting and I hope it was to your liking. I do agree we need more subby Mina but in the end she owns all of us let's be real XD Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #twice #mina

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jflemings · 27 days

Text

— big sister duties

pairing: kyra cooney-cross x reader

synopsis: harper is the best wingwoman

warnings: i’m iffy on this but fuck it we ball

୧ ‧₊˚ 🌈⋅ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

you sat attentively with a handful of children at a blue plastic table, paints and messy fingers surrounding you. you had been in charge of the finger painting portion of the rotating activities for the past hour and it was safe to say you were having a great time.

you smiled at the giggles coming from two of the children that sat across from you as they painted their names with pink, green and yellow paint. to your left sat little harper gorry, her blonde hair in a braid that had slowly gotten messier through the day. you tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and look at how she’s going writing her name.

your eyes widen in shock at the sight of her first name painted in orange on the page “harper! that’s so good” you praise

she gives you a small smile “kyra help me learn” she says, still focused as she begins to paint the ‘g’ in her surname “we did it on the weekend”

your curiosity perks at the name you don’t recognise. you knew katrina and clara well, having seen them time and time again when they’d drop off and pick up harper but you can’t ever recall hearing of a kyra.

“who’s kyra?” you ask, dipping your finger in some red paint

“my big sister” harper answers easily, completing the letter ‘o’ with a smile.

you quirk a brow. you weren’t aware that katrina had two daughters since she hadn’t mentioned it before, but you suppose there was no real reason for her to if her other little girl was primary school aged.

you dip another finger in some white paint “she sounds like a very good big sister”

“she is!” harper exclaims, looking to you “she does my hair and gives me piggy back rides whenever i don’t wanna walk anymore” the young girl tilts her head as she talks, admiring her work whilst she tells you about her older sister.

smiling, you wipe your pointer finger off and dip it in a small pot of green paint “that’s what good big sisters do”

harper sends you an affirmative nod as she paints the last three letters of her name, earning a small cheer and high five from you when she holds her paper up proudly. you quickly snap a quick photo for the weekly kindy newsletter before ensuring that harper and the other kids all have clean hands as you send them off to their next activity.

a week later you’re doing drop off greetings when harper runs in, her little raincoat dripping on the floor as she tries to shrug it off. you smile and help her unbutton it, handing it up on her coatrack when a disheveled looking woman pushes open the door.

she looks to be around your age, her hair is pulled back into a high messy bun and she’s dusting the rain off of her freckled cheeks “harper you can’t run ahead like that” her australian accent is prominent and she zips open harper’s butterfly backpack, pulling out a piece of paper.

she seemingly notices you standing there and pauses to just stare at you before offering her hand “hi, i’m kyra”

kyra. as in harper’s kyra. as in the kyra you had been thinking was a pre-pubescent girl for the past week.

since that day fingerprinting kyra had come up more and more with harper telling you different stories about things her and harper got up to together. not once did she mention that kyra was an adult and not a kid.

“y/n” you say, shaking her hand “harper’s talked about you a few times”

kyra chuckles whilst putting harper’s backpack down “she’s talked about you too. speaks very highly of your fingerpainting abilities”

“kyra!” harper exclaims whilst holding out a hand expectantly “painting please”

she hands the roller up piece of paper over before taking out her waterbottle and hanging up her bag on the hanger. harper unrolls the paper and shows you proudly, a wide smile on her little face “look miss y/n!” she says to gain your attention “this is you, and this is me, and this is kyra” she points to each painted person “kyra’s wearing red ‘cause she plays for ars’nal”

you raise your eyebrows “that’s very good harper! do you want to put it in your bag for safe keeping?”

harper shakes her head “no, you keep it”

“don’t you want to keep it at home so kyra can see it too?”

“kyra doesn’t need a painting she sees me all the time” she says as she shoves the paper into your hands “mama says sometimes too much”

you can see kyra roll her eyes in your peripheral before harper runs off to the other kids, plopping herself down onto the floor to play with another little girl named sarah.

“mini said there’s a sheet i have to sign?”

“mini?” you question

“katrina” the australian clarifies “we call her mini cause y’know” she waves her hand at about katrina’s height whilst giving you a small smile.

you nod and grab the clipboard from the admin desk nest to you “right” you laugh, handing kyra the papers.

“just harper’s name, your name and number and then your signature”

she fills the form out easily and hands it back to you before tugging on the front of her coat “min– katrina, and clara have some busy mornings coming up with getting ready for the new baby and everything so i’ll be dropping harper off a few times” kyra explains easily.

“okay i’ll let our admin staff know”

you send her off with a smile and a small wave, blushing slightly when you se ever look back at you through the door before walking off.

over the next month you become very aquatinted with kyra. you learn that she does in fact play for arsenal and the australian national team, that she sneaks chocolate into harper’s lunch and that she cannot parallel park for the life of her.

one morning she’d run in late with harper on her back, dressed in her full arsenal training kit and shooting you an apologetic look when you mention the way she’d thrown her car in park. she’d blushed and hastily signed harper in before kissing the top of her head and running out the door with a wave.

“kyra thinks you’re very pretty” harper had said whilst watching her get into her car “do you think kyra’s very pretty?”

harper’s big brown eyes had stared up you innocently as she awaited your answer. you had made the fruitless attempt to fight off the blush dusting your cheeks, trying to hide your surprised expression from the young girl “yes i do think kyra is very pretty”

she giggles and pats the side of your leg before running off to find her friends to play with. you don’t have time to dwell on harper’s strange reaction before another mother and her little boy named ethan walks in. he loudly recalls his weekend to you, boasting about getting to watch chelsea play whilst taking off his coat and following you into the classroom with kyra on your mind.

you aren’t doing drop off greetings the morning harper comes barrelling through the door with kyra not far behind. you can hear a quiet commotion in the hall, kyra seemingly protesting whatever harper is doing.

“harper” she hisses “stop it”

harper stomps her foot “do it now! do it now!”

your back is turned to them as you set up a cut and paste activity for the morning, the pair’s voices getting closer. your move around the table to ensure you’ve got the right amount of everything for each kid you’re expecting when you’re interrupted by some knocking on the wall.

you look up to see harper beaming whilst gripping kyra’s hand for dear life, the latter giving you a tight lipped smile as her cheeks go pink. you check your watch and glance back to the pair curiously. they’re earlier then usual and kyra is once again dressed in her arsenal training kit with harper’s backpack slung over her shoulder.

“hi guys! bit early today, aren’t we?” you greet whilst smiling “is something the matter?”

“kyra has something to ask you!” harper almost yells, dragging kyra in front of her and then giving her a shove before going back towards the bag rack.

she’s like a deer in headlights. her brown eyes are blown out wide and one hand is frozen on harper’s bag strap. she purses her lips and looks behind her, seemingly looking for harper, before sneering and turning her attention back to you.

“you okay kyra?” you ask mildly concerned. she’s shifting her weight from one foot to the other and is looking anywhere but you, seemingly interested in the animal abc’s hanging on the wall.

“yeah, yeah i’m good! just uhh” she draws out “just waiting”

you smile and your brows crease “waiting for what?”

“for harper to stop being nosy” she jerks a thumb over her shoulder and harper’s little face pops out from behind the door frame

you kiss your teeth “harper go see miss ella at the desk, she’s got a surprise for you”

“okay!” harper says as she scurries off, leaving you and kyra alone.

kyra releases a breath and turns back to you “thanks”

the smile remains on your face as you move from desk to desk, your curiosity growing as kyra steps further into the room “what are you doing this saturday?” she asks nervously, fiddling with the ring on her right middle finger.

you stand and turn towards her, the multi coloured construction paper crinkling in your hold. you bite your lip in an attempt to suppress a smile “nothing, why?”

“i was wondering if maybe you’d like to get lunch with me? i’ve got training in the morning but uhm, i’m free after that. if it works for you”

your hands drop in front of you “i’d love to”

“okay! great! i do have to go but i’ll be picking harper up this afternoon”

“doing the double shift today? that’s new” you joke with her, walking past her to put the left over paper away.

kyra shifts on her feet again “i wasn’t sure i was going to ask you this morning so i told mini i’d do drop off and pick up”

you can’t help but smile at kyra’s planning, finding it endearing that she was so nervous to ask you out. you check your watch out of habit and your eyes widen before leaning over and taking harper’s bag off the footballer “you’re going to be late”

kyra’s eyes also widen and she hustles out the door, patting harper on the head “harps i’ll see you later, please eat your sandwich” she says, her eyes pleading as she looks at the mischievous little girl standing behind your legs “i’ll see you later, too” she says lowly, a blush present on her face.

you nod and wave her off shyly, blushing when she looks back again like she did that first time. you hang harper’s backpack up on the rack and grab out her lunch to put in the fridge.

“kyra wouldn’ stop talking ‘bout you! you don’t even understand” harper says dramatically, still gazing out the glass door before turning to you “miss y/n are you and kyra girlfriends now”

your eyes widen as you direct harper back to the classroom, waving off ella at the admin desk as you go “no harper we aren’t girlfriends”

“what a shame” she says as she sits down at the dollhouse in the corner “maybe if you were kyra would stop talking ‘bout you”

“harper!”

#kyra cooney cross #kyra cooney cross x reader #kyra cooney cross fic #kyra cooney cross imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fic #jflemings woso #jflemings writes #jflemings tillies

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bunnysbrainrot · 9 months

Text

No Vacancy - Day Three

Relationship: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader

Content: explicit smut, rough sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), slight dacryphilia, size kink, unprotected sex (wrap it up), degrading language, and a very desperate Sam

Summary: After the discovery of the lust spell placed on Sam, you quickly learn that he can’t control himself. In fact, you don’t want him to.

A/N: Some paragraphs have different spacing than others. I’m not sure as to why, but I hope it doesn’t affect your reading!

“Fuck,” Sam muttered, pacing in front of the bed where you sat. It had been about five hours since the two of you surveyed Casey’s childhood home, uncovered her identity as a witch, and found the lust spell Sam took as ‘evidence’.

Now, he stood directly ahead, desperately holding back a groan. Sam had turned around, hand reaching to his crotch. You strode to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. He pulled away from your touch, a growl sounding through gritted teeth.

“Sam, give me the sachet, I’ll burn it. It should help,” you offered, extending a hand toward him from behind.

“It’s not going to work,” he snapped, “The spell is… strong. Way too strong. I’m gonna, um, wait in the car, ‘kay?”

He stumbled to the door, doubled over in discomfort. You recalled what you’d said before about spells like these - their efficacy relied on preexisting feelings. The dots were there, and you’d connected them. You rushed to Sam’s side, helping him stand fully.

Sam panted, avoiding your worried stare.

“Sam,” you said softly, “what can I do?”

No response. Sam’s eyes flickered up to yours, and you froze. Within those eyes there was a deadly seriousness you’d never seen. Like a predator sizing up its prey before going in for the kill.

You whispered, “I think I understand now.”

Cupping Sam’s face in your hands, you brought him closer and planted a kiss on his cheek. He let out a whine, and shuddered against your touch.

“Take me, Sam.”

Like a starving animal, Sam’s teeth sank into your neck, eliciting a high-pitched moan from you. His hands tugged and tore at your loose shorts and shirt, the last things keeping you from him. From what was truly his. Sam’s lips worked furiously as reddish purple marks erupted across your skin. They trailed from your jaw to your shoulders, downward to the neckline of your shirt.

Sam growled against your chest, “If you let me to this, I’m not holding back. I can’t.”

You gasped helplessly against his touch, chest arching into him. Sam grazed his lips over your supple skin, denying the both of you what you had ached for. He was waiting for an answer.

“Please.”

He cupped his hands to your thighs, lifting you swiftly to wrap around his waist. A hand found it’s way to your hair, clutching a large chunk and tugging your head back. Sam’s lips crashed to yours, harshly nipping and biting at your bottom lip, his tongue pushing in for entry. You granted it, circling your tongue with his.

A rough push, a free-fall, and you had landed unceremoniously on the mattress. Sam pounced, hovering his body over yours as you lay under him, breathless. You had imagined your first time with Sam, previously hypothetical, to be slow and sensual. This was a shock, but the way Sam’s mouth moved over your collarbone wiped all sense away.

You rushed to tug your shirt off, chest now fully bare to Sam. His eyes raked hungrily over your breasts. He dipped down, taking one perked nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. Two fingers pinched and twisted at the other, tortuously harsh and desperate.

Sam let out a hum with each moan that slipped past your bitten lips. Your legs wound around his back, tugging his hips flush with yours. Even still confined in his pajama pants, Sam’s length ground roughly into you, each thrust paired with a rough growl. His sheer size sent heat to your core.

“Sam, I need more,” you sighed.

His fingers fumbled for the waistband of your shorts, roughly tugging them past your ankles and carelessly discarding them.

“Need you inside me.”

“Sam, I need you now.”

“Please, Sam, I need it.”

Though the spell had been cast on Sam, your desperation matched his own ferocity. Every plea you whispered in his ear threatened to send him over the edge. But Sam, to his credit, tried his best to maintain his composure. His lips and hands roamed every inch they could, gaining purchase on each curve, kneading your breasts, dipping his head down your stomach.

He adorned you with hot kisses, suckling at your skin to bring out more of those beautiful marks. After this, he didn’t care who knew you were his, and what he’d done to you tonight. Sam swore to himself that spell or not, this wouldn’t be the last time.

“Open,” Sam ordered, pressing your thighs apart.

You clenched your thighs together, still timid about Sam seeing what lay between them. His hands gripped your knees, spreading them apart.

He needed to see everything.

“Fuck,” hissed Sam, trailing a finger through your wet slit. He brushed against your clit - swollen, throbbing, and aching for him. You bucked your hips into his touch.

Sam removed his hand, “Needy little slut.”

A finger dipped past your entrance, curling masterfully against your sweet spot. You ground your hips into Sam’s hand as he slowly pumped in and out of you, each of your moans earning a deeper thrust, before Sam added a second finger.

“You know how long I waited for this?” Sam’s voice had become strained, as if this still wasn’t enough for him.

A deep thrust. A curl of his fingers. A sharp gasp as he filled you. Another groan from the man taking over your cunt.

“The whole time,” Sam said, “The. Whole. Fucking. Time.”

Your fingers weaved into his hair, tugging him closer to your pussy, eager for him to add his tongue. He took this in stride, suckling onto your clit as his tongue flicked fervently. The added pleasure coursed through you - a familiar coil in your abdomen threatened to snap at any second.

Sam pulled away slightly, muttering against your soaked folds, “Come on, sweetheart. Give it to me.”

Your orgasm crashed through you like lightning. Sam resumed eating at you, lapping up what leaked from your pussy onto his hand. Your walls fluttered around his fingers, even though they still crashed against your g-spot. The overstimulation brought tears to your eyes, calling Sam’s attention.

Normally, your crying would leave him yearning to comfort you, but with the spell overtaking his senses, it sent a wild desire through him. Oddly enough, he liked it. Loved it.

He braced himself on one arm, the other still trained on your cunt, fingers pumping furiously into you. Your tears fell past your cheeks, mouth agape in pleasure.

“That’s it, baby, cry for me.”

Dacryphilia was a foreign kink for you, though Sam’s encouraging words gave you comfort in it. You did as told, letting your tears fall while you writhed in pleasure. Sam let out an approving grunt as he delivered harsher thrusts. He added a thumb to your neglected clit, roughly circling as another orgasm surged through you.

“Attagirl, just let go,” Sam purred.

You’d lost track of time, of how many times you’d came. Sam never seemed fully satisfied - grunting in frustration and palming himself through his pants.

You whined, “Sam… need you… inside.”

He pulled his fingers out of you, ignoring the whimper you gave at the lack of touch. Sam raised on his knees, tugging down his pajama bottoms and boxer shorts. A thick, heavy cock sprung free, twitching and achingly ready. A bead of precum leaked from the head, onto your stomach.

Without a word Sam tugged your hips to his knees. He held the base of his cock and lined it up with your entrance, slipping the head between your folds, smacking against your clit.

“Such a pretty pussy,” Sam praised, realigning his length with your opening. He slowly eased into you, hissing through gritted teeth until he bottomed out. Every inch felt fuller than the last; you were certain you were being split in two. Now taking his full size in, you steadied your shaking breaths before Sam began to move.

“So fucking tight… Might just break you in half, huh?” Sam teased.

His hands rested on your hips, splayed wide for him so he could watch the way his cock sank into your pussy. You let out another whine when he thrusted harder, the head of his cock pressing against your cervix.

“Look at that,” he cooed. You couldn’t, with your head tilted back in a soft moan. Sam gripped your hair harshly, pulling you forward to get a better view.

“Fucking watch. See me stretching you out? Filling you up like the dirty whore you are.”

The degradation sent you into a frenzy. His cock thrust fully into you, then out halfway, the wider part of the middle of his shaft opening your soaked cunt. Each thrust left his length glistening with your slick.

Sam growled as he thrust harder into you. You felt yourself fall apart around him with another climax, wrapping your walls around him in a vice grip. He panted, mindlessly bucking his hips into yours, each stroke harsher than the last.

The room was silent save for the moans, whines, and whimpers escaping the two of you. Wet smacks rung out as skin slapped together - the noises coming from your pussy were borderline obscene.

Filthy sweet nothings came from Sam as his speed increased.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Just take it.”

“Good girl, cum for me.”

A hand wrapped around your throat, now pushed into the bed as Sam plunged his cock into you.

“I know, honey, it’s good, isn’t it?”

“Feels so good, filling you up like this.”

“Get nice and tight, perfect little slut…”

The pressure on your throat darkened your vision, sparks at the edge of a fuzzy blackness. Sam released your throat and gripped your chin, forcing you to look into his half-lidded eyes. Mouth slacked, tongue lolling out playfully, you accepted a finger that rested on your bottom lip. You wove your tongue around his finger, hollowing your cheeks to suck harder.

Sam growled lowly, “Good. Use that pretty mouth.”

You moaned around his finger, bobbing your head as you continued. Sam’s thrusts grew sloppy by the second, his own release not far behind a climax of your own, shuddering over his cock. He bottomed out, pausing to rest himself inside of you.

“Better be careful,” he warned, “you’re gonna make me finish.”

You clenched around him in reply, drawing out another moan from Sam. He slowly moved his hips, pulling from you fully, leaving you hollowed out without him inside of you. You protested with another whine, bucking your hips pathetically into nothing.

To your surprise, Sam seemed to be calming down. His once frantic panting had subsided into quick breaths. Maybe the spell was wearing off, you thought to yourself, as Sam reached for your hips with gentler hands, flipping you over onto your stomach.

Your fingers gripped the sheets as he tugged your hips up. Sam lined himself with your entrance once more, and sank right in until his hips smacked against your ass.

The self-control didn’t last long. Sam kept a relentless pace as he fucked you, relishing in each moan you let out, muffled by the sheets you had bit into.

He lifted one leg, propped now on one knee, and thrusted into you impossibly deeper. This time, you were certain you’d break, barely held together with Sam’s hands gripping your waist.

He gained full purchase on your spread hips, tugging you onto him, crashing against your cervix with each thrust. You cried out into the mattress when another orgasm took you over the edge. Sam shouted as his hips faltered, his cock twitching as his own release washed over him. Thick ropes of his cum filled you, each spurt paired with a raucous moan.

Even still, he didn’t stop after he’d finished. Sam took hold of your hips and continued thrusting, despite the overstimulation that begged him to stop.

He leaned back to watch himself fuck into you; the cum that had been deep in your cunt spilled out over his shaft and onto the bed. Sam threw his head back, another shudder coursing through him. Without this spell on him, one orgasm would’ve had him completely drained, but it persisted regardless. With a few deep thrusts, Sam came again, filling you even further.

You both panted as Sam pulled out completely, crouching down to watch his cum leak out of you. A beautiful reminder of how he’d used you, of how he took claim of your body as his. He brushed a finger through your folds, smiling as your body shuddered at the touch.

At long last, the spell had worn off. Sam’s breathing returned to normal as he stared at your naked form. The spell didn’t let him forget about tonight, even though part of himself shut off when you’d said ‘please’ that first time. He saw everything clearly now, and realized just how rough he’d been, and the things he’d said to you.

He eased your hips down and turned you onto your side, laying parallel to you as you both slowed your breathing.

“I said some pretty, well, rude things back there. I’m sorry,” his voice softened.

You shook your head at him, “I liked it.”

Sam smiled nervously and let out a breathy laugh.

“At least I know what to do for next time,” he replied. Your cheeks flushed a deep pink. Sam leaned in, planting soft kisses along your cheekbones, before finding your lips once again.

He mumbled against your mouth, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I hope you all enjoyed! I have an idea for a follow up chapter, if y’all want to read it! Thanks for all of your support!

- bunny

#supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction #spnfandom #fanfiction #supernatural smut #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #spn smut #fic writing

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unclewaynemunson · 1 year

Text

Eddie can hear from Steve's breathing that he's sleeping deeply and he's wondering how the hell he can possibly be asleep right now. His own mind is spinning and he kinda feels like he might throw up soon. Steve went to sleep with his back to Eddie and now Eddie can do nothing but stare at his silhouette in the dark.

He doesn't really understand what happened: they had this big fight and the word slipped out of his mouth before he even realized it did. The one word he had promised Steve to never say to him. And then Steve stormed out and Eddie just fucking stood there, unable to move and nauseous as hell, tears prickling behind his eyes. By the time his brain started working again and he realized he should probably go look for Steve, he could already have gone anywhere.

Half an agonizing hour later he returned; Eddie didn't give a shit about their stupid fight anymore and tried to apologize, but Steve... wouldn't let him. I know you didn't mean it like that, was all he said. It's okay, but I'm really exhausted, so let's go to bed first and talk about it in the morning.

The worst part is that he doesn't know what he should prepare himself for. Steve has never done anything like this before, but Eddie sure as hell recognizes the signs: waving him off, attempting to make him feel safe, so he'll let his guard down and then it'll all come crashing down on him. He can hear his mother's voice again, so clearly that she might as well be standing right at his bedside:

No, of course I'm not mad at you, Eddie. You couldn't help it, it's not your fault.

Have you already forgotten about what you've done, Eddie? Looks like I have to punish you after all.

The worst one had been after his dad got locked up, five whole years of jailtime ahead of him. He had never been behind bars for more than a couple months on end before. And Eddie had been with him when it happened. No, worse: he had run away.

You couldn't help it, Eddie, you were scared, and you couldn't have gotten him out of it anyway.

He had been grateful for his mom's understanding words, had finally lowered his guard when she even made him a hot cocoa before bed. It only took one restless night of sleep until he'd find out what she really thought about him: a coward, a sissy, someone who didn't know what loyalty was. Didn't he love his father? Would he like to see his own dad rot in jail? She was often cruel with her words, but the times she was cruel with her hands were a rarity.

Eddie had never viewed Steve as being anything like his mother, but with yesterday's events in his mind and Steve unreachable on the other side of the bed, he supposes it's more than justified. However shit will go down tomorrow morning, he will most certainly deserve it.

------

He must've somehow drifted off in the early hours before morning, because he wakes up to light pouring through the windows and - an empty space on Steve's side of the bed.

He quietly slips out from under the blankets and tiptoes to the door, but when he peers around the corner, he finds the living room empty. Upon further inspection, the kitchen and the bathroom both turn out to be abandoned as well. Steve's nowhere to be seen. A new wave of nausea washes over Eddie when he realizes that things must be even worse than he was expecting.

He remembers those times, too: the times when his mother would disappear, sometimes for a couple hours, sometimes for days on end. When he was little, he'd get hungry. As he grew older and learned to take care of himself, he'd only get scared. When she'd finally get back, she'd tell him that he shouldn't be so dramatic, that surely she'd told him where she was off to and for how long she'd be gone. Sometimes, she'd even tell him that no, she hadn't been away for three days, she had only gone to the store, what the hell was he talking about?

When the realization hits him that Steve might never come back - the same realization that used to cause the paralyzing fear whenever his mom disappeared - it becomes difficult to breathe. He staggers and stumbles into the bedroom, where he starts randomly pulling the doors of their closets and dresser drawers open in a desperate attempt to see if all of Steve's clothes are still there. His polos are hanging in a neat row in the closet, and his underwear dresser is filled just fine. His toothbrush is still in the bathroom, just like his shaving cream and his medication: that should be enough confirmation that at least he'll come back but maybe that's exactly what he wants Eddie to think and he can't breathe anymore and -

-------

A good night's sleep and a morning run are the perfect cure for just about everything, if you ask Steve. He comes home all sweaty and short of breath, but feeling better than he has in days. His head is clear and yesterday's fight suddenly seems almost insignificant. He opens the door, ready to make some coffee and finally properly talk with Eddie, who was still fast asleep when he left the house two hours ago.

But when he calls out a "Hi, babe!" the apartment stays eerily quiet. There's no trace of Eddie in the kitchen, nor in the living room, and Steve wonders if maybe he has gone out to get some snacks. He shrugs and walks into the bedroom to take off his sweaty sports clothes - and chuckles quietly to himself when he sees the mop of dark curls above the blanket.

'Eddie, it's almost noon, man,' he says while walking up to the bed. It's only then that he notices that all their drawers and closets are opened, as if Eddie had been frantically searching for something.

'Have you been sleepwalking again?'

He goes to sit down on the bed, right next to the lump of the blanket that is Eddie's sleeping body. When Eddie still doesn't move, Steve gently combs a hand over the curls and then pulls back the blanket.

'Hey there.'

He traces a thumb over Eddie's cheek, which finally causes him to jolt up. Steve immediately clocks that there's a look on his face that can only be described as concerning: something frantic and fearful is radiating from those big brown eyes he knows so well.

'You came back,' Eddie sighs out when he sees it's Steve who woke him.

Steve frowns. 'Of course I came back. Are you okay? Did you have a nightmare?'

'How long were you -'

There are tears in Eddie's eyes now, and he looks more scared than Steve has seen him look in years.

'Oh, baby, it's okay, I'm here,' he says, opening his arms to catch Eddie in an embrace. 'I was only gone on a run. Yesterday was pretty intense, remember? So I wanted to clear my head while you were sleeping in. I've only been away for two hours or so.'

Eddie slumps heavily against Steve's chest; his whole body is trembling like a leaf.

'What happened, baby?'

'What day is it?'

'Jesus, Eddie, you're scaring me. It's Saturday.'

Eddie lifts up his head; his cheeks are red and puffy and wet.

'Saturday?' Eddie repeats, voice sharp and frantic again. 'Is that true? Are you telling the truth?'

'Yes, what's going on, Eddie? Why would I - oh.' He doesn't need to finish that question to understand exactly what's happening, and he quietly curses himself for being so blind to it. 'Oh, fuck, Eddie, I didn't mean to - I'm so sorry.'

Not giving a shit about his sweaty sports clothes, he pushes Eddie a little bit to make space and crawls under the blanket beside him. He pulls him in his arms, cradling his head with his hand, and keeps repeating sweet-nothings like I'm here and I'm not going anywhere and I love you and I'm sorry for scaring you until Eddie has finally stopped trembling and his breathing is back to normal again.

'You're here,' Eddie finally says. His voice is creaky in a way that's breaking Steve's heart.

Steve leans forward to press a kiss against his temple.

'I'm here,' he repeats. 'And I promise you I would never do anything like the shit your mother used to pull, alright?'

'Watch out with that,' Eddie says. 'I also promised to never call you bullshit.'

Steve utters a sound that's somewhere between a sniff and a huff. 'Was that - a joke? Did you seriously just go from full breakdown to cracking jokes?'

Eddie hums something unintelligible and lets his eyes fall close while he nestles himself into a more comfortable position in Steve's arms.

'Why did you think I would ever do something like your mom?' Steve's question is almost a whisper.

Eddie sighs deeply. 'Because yesterday,' he says, burying his head against Steve's chest. 'It was too easy. You should've been mad, but you forgave me right away. And then you went to sleep with your back towards me and I - I had the whole night to spiral further about it. And then I woke up and you weren't there and - I dunno, my head was running wild, man.'

Too easy. That's exactly what it feels like, sometimes, with Eddie. To hear him say bullshit and know he doesn't do it to intentionally hurt him. To have a fight and know that they still love each other through it all. To come home in the apartment they share and have coffee together every day. It's too easy, too good to be true. Not something either of them ever thought they could have with someone. But they do. Even if they both take their damaged hearts with them. Even if they've both been raised on cruelty instead of love. Maybe it's not too easy after all; maybe they simply need to learn the difference between easy and too easy. Maybe easy is exactly what they deserve to share with each other.

Steve brushes some stray hairs out of Eddie's face. His cheeks are still swollen and his eyes are red. And it's never been easier to love him.

#don't mind me rambling about stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fruity ficlet #tw child abuse

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theostrophywife · 8 months

Text

kiss with a fist | chapter five.

masterlist 💋 chapters 💋 playlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: me and the devil - soap & skin.

author's note: things are picking up. a little bit of angst, a little bit of smut and a whole lot of theo just being theo.

After three consecutive brewing sessions without any incidents or explosions, Theo was fairly confident that you had mastered Angel’s Trumpet. All thanks to his supreme knowledge. His words, not yours.

“Today’s the day,” Luna announced cheerfully as she hooked her arm through your elbow.

The two of you walked through the sun soaked courtyard, weaving through your fellow loitering students. “Let’s hope to Merlin that I don’t blow up the place.”

“You won’t,” Luna said supportively. “Though if you do, you can always blame it on the wrackspurts.”

“Wait up, Lovegood!”

Luna slowed as Mattheo Riddle and Enzo Berkshire flanked your side. Mattheo smirked at you while Enzo waved politely. The former had a cigarette tucked behind his ear.

You wrinkled your nose in disgust. “Smoking isn’t allowed on campus grounds, you know. I should dock points from your house.”

Mattheo raised a brow. “Go ahead, little miss prefect, but then I’d be inclined to let slip that our studious little Ravenclaw has been sneaking into the Slytherin boy’s dormitory at all hours of the night.” You gaped, turning red as you fought the urge to clobber him right then and there. “The walls are very thin, you know. I could hear you and Theo giggling from across the hall.”

“We were just eating gelato!”

Riddle appeared unconvinced. Even Enzo struggled to hide his grin. “Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays? Anyways, I’m not interested in who's eating whose gelato.”

“You’re a menace and a pest.”

“I’ve been called worse, sweetheart.”

“Anyways,” Enzo interjected. “Pansy wanted to know what snacks you prefer for the quidditch game after party, Luna." The Slytherin boy turned towards you and smiled. "You’re invited too, Y/N.”

You raised a brow at your friend. “You’re going to a Slytherin party? Hosted by Pansy Parkinson? Who is apparently concerned about your snack preferences?”

Luna blushed. “I meant to tell you about it, but I figured Theo had already invited you.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Mattheo said with a grin. “Notty boy probably asked her in between spoonfuls of gelato and pillow fights.”

“Is there an actual point to your existence or are you just here to be a pain in my arse?”

“One would argue that irking you is a purpose all on its own.”

“Tell Pans that I’d love a bag of wotsits,” interjected Luna. Berkshire looked relieved to receive an answer.

“Right, then. Mattheo and I will relay the message.”

“But I wasn’t—”

“Let’s go, mate. Before Snape gives you another detention.”

Mattheo blew a kiss as Enzo dragged him away, which you returned with a classy display of your middle finger.

“Pans?” you asked incredulously. Luna flashed you an innocent smile before pushing you towards the potions classroom.

“We’ll talk about it later. After you ace Angel’s Trumpet!”

You watched in astonishment as your best friend’s platinum blonde head disappeared into the crowd, happily bobbing up and down. “This isn’t over, Loons!”

Luna giggled and gave you a cheeky wink as she rounded the corner.

“What was that all about?” Theo asked as you slipped into your usual seat.

“What do you know about this newfound friendship between Pansy Parkinson and my best friend?”

“Oh, I’d say it’s much more than a friendship.”

“Luna…and…Pansy. How is that even possible?”

“Well, when a mommy and mommy love each other…” quipped Theo.

You raised a hand, flashing him a glare. “I mean, I know that it’s possible. Just not between those two. They have virtually nothing in common.”

He shrugged. “Opposites attract.”

“But Luna’s so sweet and nice and thoughtful and Pansy’s…” Theo gave you a warning look. Slytherins could insult each other all they wanted, but the serpents had some twisted code of loyalty to one another. “You know what I mean, Theodore. I know she’s your friend, but if she hurts Luna I swear to Godric I’ll shove a Nimbus so far up—”

“I think I get the gist, diavolina. Why is your first instinct always violence? Aren’t you Ravenclaws supposed to approach things with logic?”

“The logical response to anyone hurting my friends is violence.”

Theo’s mouth quirked. “Is it strange that I’m weirdly turned on by that?” You smacked his arm in response, which he yelped rather dramatically at. “Lovegood’s perfectly capable of holding her own, you know. She wouldn’t have caught Pansy’s eye if she wasn’t.”

“Parkinson’s treating her well, then?”

“Oh, more than well. I haven’t seen her this giddy since she abandoned the straight act.” You bit back a smile at that comment. “I mean, imagine having to pretend to be attracted to Malfoy.”

“I heard that, you twat,” Draco said from a few seats over.

Theo blew his friend a kiss. “You were meant to, Dray.”

You almost let out a snort, but you caught it just in time. Theo grinned from ear to ear as you glared at him. He leaned in, nudging you with his elbow.

“That charming little laugh is supposed to be our little secret, amorina.”

You flushed as he winked at you. Fortunately, all conversations ceased as Professor Slughorn entered the room.

“Good afternoon, students. As you know, we will be brewing Angel’s Trumpet Draught today. You will have ninety minutes to complete the assignment. Whoever brews the best draught will receive a special reward.”

Slughorn clapped his hands, sending the room into a frenzy. “Best of luck, then.”

By now, the steps were so ingrained that you hardly had to think about it. You and Theo had poured over Alessandra’s grimoire for countless hours. The instructions and illustrations floated in your mind as you worked quietly. Your movements were sure and confident, executing each step with an odd sense of calm. Usually, you were tense while you brewed, but it was different this time around.

Across the table, you looked up and found Theo hunched over his cauldron. There was an intense expression on his face as he brewed and his fingers moved with expert precision. It was such a stark contrast to his usual easy breezy attitude that it made you smile. Sensing your gaze, Theo turned and pierced you with those watercolor eyes. Finally, it dawned on you what they reminded you of.

Theo’s eyes were like the Black Lake—deep and full of danger, but beautiful in a strange sort of way.

The intrusive thought nearly broke your focus. You didn’t have time to think about what it meant—you didn’t want to think about what it meant. Instead, you fixed your attention to the task at hand.

After stirring clockwise and then counterclockwise, you watched with bated breath as the draught simmered to a shimmery mauve color. The perfumed aroma wafted from the cauldron, catching the attention of those around you. Theo appeared nearly as anxious as you while the draught bubbled softly.

Then, a puff of smoke billowed to signal your success. You had never felt so relieved and proud. All that hard work had paid off.

“I did it,” you said incredulously. “I fucking did it!”

Before you even realized what was happening, you were leaping into Theo’s arms. He chuckled, spinning you in the air with a huge grin.

“I knew you could,” he declared proudly. “I’m so proud of you.”

His words made you flush all the way to the tips of your ears. Since you were little, you thrived off of praise and recognition. Commendation had always been every Ravenclaw's drug, but with Theo it almost felt like an Achilles heel. The weak spot that may very well provide him with the perfect opening to your steel armor.

Suddenly, you were all too aware of how close you were. Theo seemed to realize this too because he set you down gently and scratched the back of his head like the moment baffled him too. Luckily, your classmates were too engrossed in their own cauldrons to notice the outburst.

Theo cleared his throat. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to—just got a bit excited—”

“No—it’s fine—perfectly understandable—” you mumbled, straightening your tie to avoid making eye contact.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here then?”

The two of you leapt apart as if electrocuted. Thankfully, Professor Slughorn was perfectly oblivious to the awkward tension. He peered into your cauldron, scrutinizing the color, smell, and texture of the draught. After a few moments, he gave an approving nod.

“We have our winner,” the older man declared. Slughorn took a few drops of the draught and placed it into a vial. He passed it around your classmates. “This, my dears, is how you brew a perfect potion. When prepared properly, Angel’s Trumpet Draught is known to cause vivid hallucinations. A large enough dose can even result in psychosis. It is a poison commonly used by those who practice the dark arts to drive its consumer into madness, heightening their torture to a sadistic degree. Notably, the Dark Lord’s servants were overly fond of using this particular potion paired with the Cruciatus curse.”

Beside you, Theo stiffened as several of your classmates glanced at him and Draco. You frowned, shooting sharp daggers at anyone who dared to meet your gaze. The lingering prejudice after the final battle still hung over Slytherin house like a malevolent fog, but you would’ve thought that your fellow classmates would have enough sense to realize that not everything was black and white. The world existed in shades of gray. Every Ravenclaw knew that. Still, even your fellow housemates regarded Theo with suspicion.

Your fists curled at your sides. “Didn’t Godric Gryffindor invent the potion?”

“Yes, very good Y/N.”

“I’d say it’s safe to assume that he was aware of the potential damage of the potion. Dark wizard or not, everyone is capable of creating weapons of mass destruction. Either that or good old Godric had a pretty wild acid trip planned with the rest of the founders.”

Behind you, Malfoy snorted while Theo bit his lip to keep from smirking.

Professor Slughorn was taken aback for a moment before continuing his spiel. “Whatever his reasons, Godric created a rather potent potion. Our job is to deconstruct Angel’s Trumpet in order to counter its effects. Next class, each of you will turn in a list of ingredients for a possible anti-potion.” He waved his hand, dismissing the class. “Good luck.”

One by one, students started filtering out of the potions lab. You followed after them until Slughorn called you back.

“Miss Y/N, stay. There’s still the matter of your reward to discuss.”

You walked up to his desk, fidgeting with the strap of your satchel. You were fairly certain that he was about to give you a dressing down for your snarky comment. Instead, Slughorn offered you a kind smile and a scroll of parchment.

“A letter of recommendation,” the Professor explained. “While I am aware that you have already secured a spot at Oxford, I hope that this will help in your pursuits of being recruited by the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. It was widely known that Slughorn was a longstanding member of the society. Not only that, but he held sway in which applicants were eventually accepted as well. A letter of recommendation from him was basically a guarantee.

“Thank you, Professor. Since first year, it’s been my dream to join the society.”

“You’re well on your way, Y/N,” he said with an encouraging nod. “I must say, that brew of Angel’s Trumpet was even better than some of my fellow colleagues. You are an exceptionally talented witch and I am very much interested in cultivating talent like yours, which is why I’d like to extend a dinner invitation to you.”

A letter of recommendation and an invitation to an infamous slug club dinner? Seventh year was definitely your year. But still, something niggled at your brain.

“Thank you, professor. I truly appreciate it, but I have to be honest. I didn’t brew that potion on my own. I had a great deal of help from Theodore. He was the one who taught me how to brew it properly. If anyone deserves the credit, it’s him.”

Even as the words were coming out of your mouth, you couldn’t believe you were actually saying them. It went against every instinct as a Ravenclaw to not use this opportunity to get a leg up in your academics, but it wouldn’t have been right. It wouldn’t have been fair.

Slughorn was quiet for a moment. “Ah yes, I have noticed that Theodore is especially talented in potions. As was his father before him.” He gave you a pointed look before continuing, “Be that as it may, I couldn’t very well extend an invitation to Mr. Nott. His father is a convicted Death Eater facing a life sentence in Azkaban.”

“I know,” you proceeded cautiously. “But Theo has been cleared by the ministry. He had nothing to do with his father’s service to the Dark Lord and has never once expressed loyalty to Voldemort or spread his pureblood propaganda.”

“Don’t get me wrong, dear. I am not accusing Theodore of any wrongdoing. Mr. Nott is an exceptional quidditch player and one of the brightest young wizards of your year, but I’m afraid the optics aren’t in his favor.”

The optics aren’t in his favor. As if public opinion and appearances were all Theo amounted to.

You dug your fingers into your palms, embedding crescent shapes within your skin. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.

You were so angry that you wouldn’t be surprised if you looked down to find yourself bleeding. You needed to get out of there. To leave before you said something irrational.

“Thank you again, professor. I should get going for my next class.”

“Of course, dear. Do let me know about dinner.”

You gave him a curt nod before departing. The dungeons passed by in a blur as you stomped your way through the crowded halls. Many of your friends called out to you, but you didn’t bother acknowledging any of them. You were too furious to even have a conversation right now.

You didn’t go to class. Instead, you found yourself on the fourth floor of Ravenclaw Tower. The music room—your place of refuge.

Particles of dust floated like snow through the air as you pulled back the piano cover. Your shoulders were tense, your spine ramrod straight as you sank down onto the bench. Without thinking, your fingers flew angrily over the keys. You channeled all your rage and fury into the song, allowing yourself to feel every surge of emotion with each chord.

It wasn’t right.

It wasn’t fair.

The judgment in your classmate’s eyes. The cowardice in Slughorn’s words. The confusing swirl of emotions it made you feel.

You weren’t used to feeling so much. You valued logic above all and yet here you were, taking out your frustrations on this grand piano like it had personally affronted you.

What in the bloody hell was happening to you?

“Beethoven,” a familiar voice drawled, startling you out of your thoughts. “Merlin, you must really be pissed to be playing moonlight.”

Theo slid into the bench beside you. The piece ended on an unpleasant note with a slam of your fingers.

You refused to look at him. “You should be in Charms right now.”

“So should you,” Theo countered. “Instead, you’re here abusing this poor piano.” He turned over, cocking his head. Then, in a gentler voice, he asked, “What happened, Y/N?”

“Slughorn gave me a letter of recommendation and an invitation to a slug club dinner.”

“Shouldn’t you be happy about that? It’s literally all you’ve been hoping for since first year.”

“He only did that because of the Angel’s Trumpet.”

“Which you brewed perfectly.”

“With your help,” you said with a sigh. “I wouldn’t have been able to brew it at all if you hadn’t helped me and I told him that. I told him that and he—” you inhaled sharply, feeling a million pinpricks in your lungs.

Theo furrowed his brow. “You told him I helped you? Why would you do that?”

“Because, it’s the truth. We both know I couldn’t have done it without you. I don’t deserve that letter of recommendation or the dinner invitation. You do.” You took a ragged breath. “I know it. You know it. Slughorn knows it, but do you know what he told me? He said he couldn’t offer either to you because the optics aren’t in your favor.”

He remained silent, quietly watching you. Theo didn’t even look angry, which frustrated you even more.

“Did you hear me? Slughorn says that he can’t invite his star pupil to dinner because of how it would look. He can’t reward a student’s hard work because it would tarnish his precious reputation.”

Theo stared at you as though he were trying to work something out. He must have found whatever it was, because a second later, he was smiling.

“My nemesis coming to my defense?” He teased, nudging you with his elbow. “Don’t tell me that you’re actually starting to like me, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes. “You wish, Nott.” As determined as he was to treat the matter lightly, you just couldn’t seem to let go of it. “No, this isn’t about hate or like. Being judged for your father’s actions isn’t fair.”

Theo merely shrugged. “Nothing in life is fair.”

“How are you not angry about this?”

“Experience.”

You paused. “This isn’t the first time something like this has happened, is it?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Of course it’s a big deal!” you seethed, baffled that he wasn’t as outraged as you were. “It’s prejudiced bullshit! We’ve been rivals for years and you’ve never once brought up the fact that I’m muggleborn.”

Theo grinned. “There’s plenty of things about you that annoy me that are completely unrelated to your blood status.”

“That’s exactly the point. You don’t buy into this whole blood purity nonsense, but Slughorn is acting like you do.”

“It’s been like this my entire life,” Theo said as if you were merely discussing the weather. “That’s not to say that my existence is some sob story. I am still rich and handsome, after all, but there are stains that even my devastating good looks and trust fund can’t blot out.”

“But you didn’t make those stains.”

Theo smiled sadly. “Neither did Draco or Pansy or Mattheo, but we all pay the price for it anyways.” His hands hovered over your shaking fingers. “It’s alright, Y/N. Since we were old enough to understand, we’ve all known and accepted that our family's reputations will always precede us. For better or for worse. Besides, I much prefer people whispering behind my back than facing a dementor’s kiss.”

“It’s not fair,” you repeated, feeling your heart clench in your chest. “You’re not your father.”

To your surprise, Theo took your face in his hands and kissed you. It was a gentle kiss, his lips pressed softly against yours, noses brushing while he caressed the curve of your jaw. When he pulled away, something heartbreaking flashed through his features.

“Thank you,” he said after a moment. “For caring enough to be angry.”

The combination of the look of gratitude on his face and the soft way he said those words wrenched at your heart. Theo was grateful. Grateful to have someone who cared.

You didn’t know why, but it felt like your heart was breaking.

It must have showed on your face because Theo tilted your chin and kissed you again. This time, he didn’t hold back. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in closer. The kiss was a conversation—every peck and nip and bite littered with words that you were too afraid to say. His tongue slid against yours and the taste of him was intoxicating. You could’ve kissed him for hours and you would have if you hadn’t realized that the choir was set to be practicing in this exact room in less than ten minutes.

“We have to go,” you murmured against Theo’s mouth.

“Don’t,” Theo whispered, stealing kisses. “Wanna.” His fingers tangled in your braid as he chased your lips.

“We can go to my dorm.”

Theo pulled away and stared at you. “Your dorm?”

You nodded. “Luna’s in class, as are the rest of my housemates. The tower is completely empty. Why shouldn’t we take advantage of it?”

He smirked. “I like the way you think, my devious little Ravenclaw.”

On high alert, the two of you snuck out of the fourth floor and into the fifth. You quickly answered the eagle’s riddle to enter the common room.

“Wait,” you said, turning towards Theo. “How did you get past the knocker downstairs?”

“I offered to grease its hinges,” he replied salaciously. You snorted, which made him smirk. “I’m kidding. I answered the riddle, obviously. Honestly your constant questioning of my abilities would be rather offensive if I wasn’t made aware of your gallant attempt of defending my honor.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled him into the common room. As you predicted, the tower was completely empty. Theo surveyed the floor to ceiling windows, the four story bookshelves, and the star flecked glass ceiling with awe and admiration. He whistled, taking his surroundings in.

“No wonder you hate the dungeons. This is—excuse the pun—quite magical.”

“It’s even better at night,” you said, staring up at the domed ceiling. “You can practically touch the stars from this high up. If you’re good, maybe I’ll find a way to sneak you in again.”

Theo smirked. “I haven’t even stepped foot in your dorm yet and you’re already thinking about next time. A bit eager aren’t we, dolcezza?”

You rolled your eyes and dragged him into a narrow hallway. The dorm you shared with Luna sat at the top of the spire, offering you the best view in the castle. With a flick of your wand, you unlocked the door.

“Come in before I change my mind, Nott.”

Theo was just as nosy as you were back at his dorm, if not more. He took in the twin blue and gold canopy beds, the arched bay windows strung with enchanted fairy lights, and the built in bookshelves that lined the walls. Despite this, there were still stacks of books by your bedside table that were set to topple over at any moment. Theo gravitated towards your side of the room and ran his fingers through the spines of your beloved novels.

He peered curiously at the pinboard by your desk, examining the variety of pictures—muggle and magical, the concert tickets, the pressed flowers, and even the framed photo of you with your mum and dad standing on platform 9 ¾ taken right before your very first trip to Hogwarts. Theo’s smile widened as he toyed with the hem of his jumper, which was currently draped over your chair. As much as you hated to admit it, the damned thing was so comfortable that you’d taken to sleeping in it almost every night.

“Are you quite finished snooping?” you asked, flushing.

Theo smirked and stalked over to you. “Why? Do you have other plans for me, diavolina?”

“A few.”

He walked you to the bed until the back of your legs met the edge of your mattress. Theo gripped your waist, dipping his head down so his lips ghosted over the hollow of your throat. You arched against his mouth and the low rumble of his dark laughter skittered over your skin.

“Show me, then.”

You pulled him in by his tie and he grinned, leaning down to kiss you. Theo chuckled darkly as you flipped positions and pushed him onto the bed. He watched with hungry eyes as you crawled over him, his wandering hands roaming up your skirt. You gasped as he gripped your thighs, positioning you over him as his lips met yours in a passionate kiss.

There was so much heat and tension between you that it felt like you might spontaneously combust. His touch was fire against your skin, tracing every curve and dip like he was committing every detail to memory. You unbuttoned his shirt and he watched carefully, those hypnotizing eyes locking you in place while he allowed you to undress him.

The romps with Theo had always been frantic and rushed—stolen moments in cupboards, closets, and classrooms, but this time you took it slow. You traced over every mole and scar and freckle on his torso, feeling the heat of his skin underneath your fingertips. His gaze never left yours as he helped you shrug out of your blouse, watching your reaction as he cupped your breasts over your bra before taking it off in one swift move. Once you stripped out of your layers, Theo leaned down to kiss you again.

His lips moulded perfectly to yours, a perfect mix of give and take. You groaned as he nipped at your bottom lip, teasing at the seam. The pressure of his hand against the base of your throat made you gasp.

Theo’s tongue slid against yours as he gently laid you down on your back. His arms bracketed your head on each side and he kept his eyes on your face as he lined himself up at your entrance. The intensity of his gaze made your stomach flutter and when he pushed inside in one swift move, you nearly clawed at his back. The feel of him was so familiar and yet it left you gasping every time. Theo swallowed your moan as he thrust in slowly and your legs wrapped around his waist while your arms snaked through his neck so you could pull him closer.

The sunlight caught in his eyes, the blues and greens and golds refracting like a kaleidoscope in the golden hour glow. “Keep your eyes on me, bella.”

You opened your eyes, whimpering as Theo linked your fingers together. The kisses he gave you were deep, tender, and his lips caressed yours in a way that made you forget your own name. He groaned as you canted your hips against his, meeting his pace with equal hunger.

“That’s it, Y/N. You’re taking it so well for me.” Theo pinned your arms above your head and thrusted deeper. “Breathe, baby. There you go, love. You like that, don’t you?”

Theo pressed his forehead against yours. The hand that wasn’t holding yours crept up your neck, resting at the hollow of your throat. He caressed the side of your neck possessively.

“I need—I need—I,” you stuttered through the words, biting your lip to keep your eyes open. “Deeper, please. I need all of you.”

A stream of curses flowed effortlessly past Theo’s lips. You were already well acquainted with his filthy mouth, but for Godric’s fucking sake, did he have to sound so bloody attractive while swearing in Italian? It was truly, honestly, unfair to the rest of the world. A temptation perfectly crafted to make your knees weak and your heart flutter.

“Oh god, oh fuck, please—“

“You sound so pretty when you beg, but don’t worry sweetheart. I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Theo hiked your legs over his shoulders and drove into you at a deeper angle. You felt him shudder as your walls clenched around him.

He groaned as you raked your nails across his back. “Feels so good. Don’t stop, please. Just give me all of it.”

“It’s yours, Y/N. All yours.”

Your bodies moved in sync, skin melding against skin until you became a mass of tangled limbs and sex soaked desire. When you locked eyes again, it felt like Theo was peering into your soul.

He brushed his thumb over your cheek. “Are you close, pretty girl? I can feel it.” He kissed your temple as he filled you over and over again. “Come with me. Can you do that, amorina?”

You nodded as Theo’s fingers brushed over the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs, pushing you to the precipice. Stars exploded behind your eyes as your body shook underneath his. Theo groaned as he finished, his hips stuttering against yours. He rested his head in the crook of your neck and kissed the hollow of your throat gently.

Instinctively, you brushed back his curls and traced soothing circles against his skin. Theo looked up, his gaze filled with loaded emotion. His eyes flickered over you as though he was savoring the rare display of vulnerability. The two of you laid there for a while, content to bask in the afterglow.

“Dinner will be starting soon,” you whispered, half afraid to break the little bubble of bliss.

“I know.”

“We should probably clean up and get ready.”

“Probably.”

You chuckled. “You know that means we both have to get up and out of bed, right?”

Theo sighed. “Fine.”

Slowly, he gathered his clothes and began putting them back on. You walked over to your chair and shrugged on his jumper before redoing your disheveled braid. When you turned around, you found Theo staring at you with an unreadable expression. There was a faint smile on his face as his eyes raked over the huge jumper covering your body.

“Come to my game.”

You blinked. “What?”

“That’s what I want in exchange for helping you with the draught.”

“I’m not going to cheer for you. In fact, I might cheer against you.”

Theo smirked. “You really know how to deflate a bloke’s ego, don’t you?”

You smiled. “Good. I don’t need your head getting bigger than it already is.”

“That’s strange. You seemed to be enjoying my impressive size just a second ago.”

Rolling your eyes, you tossed Theo’s shirt at his bare torso. “Goodbye, Theodore.”

“I’ll see you on the pitch, princess.”

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#lskjdfkljsdf hey man i'm totally so chill about theo like its so casual #theo nott #theo nott fic #theo nott smut #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theo nott imagine #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott smut #theodore nott imagine

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bananami · 2 months

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A Day in the Nanami Household

a/n: this one is for the anon that asked for more papamin content. i went full domestic house, wife (gn), and kids. clearly im delusional and have thought about this way too much. and i didn't proof read it. sue me. i would do ungodly things to marry and have children with this man.

Mornings

They go one of two ways: perfectly smooth or absolute chaos. On mornings that things go according to plan you and Kento get up earlier than the kids to have coffee or tea. Some mornings Kento will even order breakfast to the house (a scone and croissant that you'll split between the both of you, five glazed munchkins for Nobara, a chocolate donut for Yuji, and a blueberry muffin for Megumi). Megumi is usually the first one up and will make his own way downstairs to where he knows you and Kento will be sitting on the couch watching the morning news. He's usually still tired and will curl his little body up on one of your laps and probably fall back asleep for another twenty minutes or so. Nobara is typically the next to wake up and Yuji will almost always have to be dragged out of bed. If the kids aren't being too difficult they'll get dressed easily and eat breakfast quickly and without complaint. Kento will help buckle them into their booster seats and kiss you goodbye before getting in his own car to drive to work. Nobara and Yuji will almost always laugh, make kissing noises, or yell eeeewwww!! from the back of the car, while Megumi waves goodbye to Kento until he can no longer see his dad's car. He'll always ask "is dad going to work?" and you'll always answer yes, and Yuji or Nobara will always follow up with "can I go to work with dad?" and you'll always answer no. They'll get out of the car easily, without any push back or crying, and you'll demand a hug and kiss from each of them. Yuji will cling on the longest, and he'll always add in that he's really really gonna miss you today.

On rougher mornings, you or Kento are typically already running behind. The both of you can tell it isn't going to be a good morning when one of the kids comes down complaining about something or when no one wakes up on their own. You have to practically bribe them to get up and get ready for school. Nobara will hate every hair style Kento tries to do on her, and finally he'll give up and ask to trade kids with you. Megumi's eyes will be watery all morning and he'll stop you every five minutes to whisper "can I stay home with you today?" and it'll break your heart every time to tell him no. Some days you do break and keep him home, and Kento will make fun of you for breaking so easy. The breakfast he ordered ahead will be delayed or cancelled altogether, so you'll have to make breakfast. And then of course all three of them want something completely different to eat, Yuji wants eggs and bacon, and Nobara wants pancakes, and Megumi wants cereal (oh and also to stay home *cue waterworks*). Everyone will get a poptart and be happy about it. If he has time, Kento will usually offer to drive the kids to school because he can see you growing frustrated, especially if one of them is sick or Megumi is having separation anxiety. Really bad mornings is when one of them is sick and crying, one is throwing a fit over not wanting to go to school, and the other is running around the living room refusing to put their shoes on because they think it's funny. Kento will use his dad voice, and that's usually where they all fall in line. From there, they'll get in the car, you'll help buckle them in, and you'll make sure you give your husband a kiss before he leaves. Megumi will try and ask one last time to stay home.

Afternoons

Kento works from home two out of three days of the week. It's those days that you two are able to work in any moments of intimacy. Those are your favorite days. Kento takes an hour lunch break. Sometimes you'll eat lunch, sometimes you are lunch (Kento hates when you describe it this way). Sometimes you just force him to cuddle with you on the couch (those are usually after the bad mornings). When Megumi wins the morning fights and gets to stay home, he sticks to your side the whole day. He'll ask to be picked up, or constantly be holding your hand, or he'll wrap his arms around your leg and make it near impossible for you to get anything done around the house. You've brought it up to his therapist and she assures you it's natural for him to have those moments given the situation you and Kento adopted him from. That reminder to yourself usually has you cuddling with him instead on the sofa all day. But he likes the days that Kento is also home because he likes to make lunch for him with you. Kento acts like those are the best lunches ever, you 'lie' and say Megumi made it all by himself, and Megumi lights up from the praise he gets from his dad after.

Sometimes, on days where the rest of the week has been really hard, Kento will cash in a day of PTO or use a sick day to stay home with you. He'll say it's because he wants to help you out around the house, but it's almost always because he just misses spending time with you without the kids around, as selfish as that may seem. Nothing will get done around the house. You'll spend all day in bed or on the couch watching tv, sometimes you'll step out for a lunch date together, and you're only rule with one another is that you don't talk about the kids unless it's absolutely necessary. At some point Kento will attempt to seduce you and you're not sure why you say attempt because he absolutely will. On more than one occasion the two of you have almost been late to pick up the kids. Their favorite days are when you and Kento are both there to pick them up.

Evenings

Yuji is usually the first one jumping into the car and throwing himself at the both of you, yapping on and on about his day at school. The three of them like to listen to whatever four songs they're currently hyperfixated on on repeat the whole ride home. And they'll sing them loudly and really badly until you pull into the drive way. Nobara will jump out of the car and run straight upstairs to take a bath because she doesn't like to smell bad and she needs to immediately wash the school germs off of her. Kento or you will start on dinner or make the decision to order in if neither of you feel up to cooking. The kids always want pizza or Asian food if you choose to order in. While one of you cooks, the other sits down with the kids to do homework. Kento is better at it and much more patient with them when it comes to homework, so you usually opt to cook.

Nobara is a total daddy's girl. For at least an hour a night she will lay on Kento's chest while he reads or sits on his iPad. But when he gets up to get everyone ready for bed she immediately is switching sides, asking for you to help her pick out her school clothes and braid her hair so it's curly in the morning. Then when it's time to tuck them in, she'll switch sides once again, demanding that Kento carry her to bed and check all the dark spots of her room for monsters. Kento will make a show of it, which you'll call him a dork for later. Megumi will sit up in his bed patiently waiting for the both of you to come in and say goodnight all the while Yuji is jumping up and down on his own bed stating that he is not tired and can't go to sleep just yet. Some nights it takes a while to get Yuji to settle down. More often than not, Yuji wakes up in the middle of the night crying (the night terrors are apparently also an expected symptom of his trauma prior to the adoption), and if he doesn't get up to come to lay in yours and Kento's bed then Megumi will get up and you'll find them laying in Yuji's twin together the next morning.

Every single night, you and Kento spend at least an hour together talking about your days or just relaxing in each other's company. You two debrief and plan for tomorrow together, or if it's Friday you plan out the weekend and when you'll make time for just the two of you. Kento is the perfect father and husband, and you never fail to remind him of this every night. And it doesn't matter how chaotic the mornings start because the nights always end the same way, with the two of you (and sometimes Yuji) laying together in awe of the life you built together.

#jjk x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk fluff #nanami fluff #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #papamin au #papamin #itadori yuji #nobara kugisaki #megumi fushiguro #yuuji #nobara #itadori #fushiguro

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boytransmission · 3 months

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Hello, I bounce between two names but typically go by Will online! I post lewds, code on neocities, take other photographs, and read often. I am using this post to talk about attempts at raising funds for long-needed top surgery, and the gfm I use to host it. I’m a trans stone butch, and I have been publicly iding as a trans man since 2018. Since puberty (2015?) however, I have been desperate to get rid of two glaring, physically heavy boulders on my chest. I am a full-time blue-collar worker at a commercial paint store, and since we lift hundreds to thousands of five gallon buckets (60-100 pounds each) every day, I cannot safely bind on or off the job as I need to rest. Even sports bras bind too harshly due to my size, and when wearing one I cannot take in a full breath. Sizing up is not an option, as my breasts are severely saggy and inhibit my mobility at work (and mental power out of dysphoria) as they move. I work an eight and a half hour shift every weekday and drive half an hour to and from my job- that’s at least 9.5 hours of (light?) binding every weekday, and every weekend usually adds 4-6. I have been binding (properly, I swear, as this 9.5/5 in wage labor thing started seven months ago) from such a young age that my breasts are abnormally saggy for their size and have already lost most sensation. There is no way to get that back (I do not want it back), but there is a way to give me strength and confidence and tame dysphoria, and that’s of course a double mastectomy, or top surgery. All the money I earn at my full-time job needs to be saved for my run from southern Florida, and as such I cannot afford to save for gender-affirming surgery whatsoever. I have a gofundme here, which is the only place I currently take donations.

If any of my photo sets have got you going, I seriously urge you to tip me (and, while you’re at it, swers on this site that you dig) the only way I have set up and help me live a fuller life. I have not hidden my work behind a paywall, as I doubt it would’ve worked anyway, but this funding is the top motivator of why I post at all while I still have breasts. So, if you’re into any of it, let’s keep this shit going!

If you want a gift, I have NSFW offerings below the cut.

Thank you dearly for considering helping, and sincerest biggest most insane thank you to anybody who has pitched any amount to me—it lights up my world, really, and I cannot thank y’all enough. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

Alright, you want more… fair enough!

I cannot do videos or self penetration in any hole. I can, however, show hole in photo sets tailored to your descriptions and desires. Each “set” is three photos each, and may include extras for no charge; only three are guaranteed per concept. Any donation at or above 8$ and proof of an email receipt gets you a slot (equals three photos or one “concept”). You can talk to me about details before or after one is placed, though I suggest before if you know ahead of time that you want this, because if you make a donation but I cannot fulfill your request, I cannot refund you. What I need to know is:

-vibe, concept, other synonyms? you can even be abstract, though I’ll likely ask more clarifying questions -what am I wearing? glasses, nothing, nothing but a collar, full clothes, etc., go nuts (browse existing photos to get an idea of what I have; I cannot afford to buy new objects or clothes) -are there any parts of my body* you want me to focus on? -subby or dom(ish)? pup-oriented? -any camera, only Nikon (denim sets on my profile were shot with such), only iphone?

These photos will be yours and yours alone, and thus will not ever be posted to butchkelev for other eyes, unless you would like me to do so** with direct credit for concept and funding.

*I know a lot of you really, really get off on the exact breasts I have been so long hellbent on ditching. If you want to see a photo, one photo, of my boobs without them being pinned down or hidden, I charge 30$. Any additional photo is also 30$. I will not take these photos lazily, and they will be quality, but my breasts, big as they are, are not picturesque (sagged to the point of mutilation), so proceed with caution and seriously curb your fantasies. If I send you a nude including my uncovered chest, you are NOT allowed to respond with any positive comment on them. I keep take the cash and block you. I know bodies are neutral, but from strangers or mutuals or partners, I refuse to take any “compliment” on what I desperately need to destroy. It is extremely disrespectful and not at all gentle or kind to me. **I will not share any photos of me with an uncovered chest on my account no matter what.

Anyway :,) Thank you for anything and everything!

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mionemymind · 1 month

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Can you plsss do an imagine with Wanda (or whoever u feel is right) where reader is a formula 1 driver? It'd be so cool. But you don't hv to ofc. I'm a new follower and i absolutely adore ur works <3

Getaway Driver (Rewritten)

Summary: Based off my incorrect quote, Y/n is the getaway driver for Wanda's mission.

Warnings: Shooting, Cursing, Slight Blood, Fluff

A/n: Before y'all comment, I really suck ass at action sequences lmaoo. Please try to imagine something better. But this is for the folks that love F1 and Wanda (@thatdudeusimpfor @canyonyodeler @pikachooo3 @rayisaknight) also gif credits go to Redbull

I had rewritten this the very next day because I was so unhappy with how I did the action scene. Hopefully this is better :)

Word Count: 4.3k

Masterlist

“Lights out and away we go!” The rumble of engines passed by as cars zoomed past the start. The roaring cheers coming from the fans grew louder with each second.

Starting in pole position, Y/n gets away unscathed from the mess in the back as well as her current teammate, Max Verstappen. They stay side by side through the chicane, protecting the front positions as many drivers behind them try to slip past.

In between turns two through five, multiple close calls occur as the the Stake F1 team showcase breaking issues this early on in the race. Y/n hardly got out of the chicane without hearing mishaps from the back.

“Fucking cunt,” George Russel stated to his race engineer, Marcus Dudley. The fans screamed and laughed as the message was played out loud for the whole broadcast to hear.

To mediate the tensions, a commentator stated, “For this British Grand Prix, we have a total of 52 laps with a forecast of dry conditions.”

Coming from the paddock, Will Button announces his guesses for the race today, “It will honestly be a close call for first between the young driver of Redbull, Y/n, and her older teammate, Max. I know a Redbull 1 / 2 position will happen but my money is on Y/n as they’ve been on a winning streak for the past three races. As for third position, Lando Norris in the McClaren would be my final guess.”

Will moved closer to the McClaren garage as multiple shots show off the engineers, mechanics, and leaders. “They’ve recently redesigned their floor as well as the front wing. This big upgrade in the middle of the season might be the break that McClaren has been hoping for since the start of the season.”

Coming up on their first lap, Y/n still leads the race. “51 more to go,” she thinks to herself. Although her head should be in the race, her heart couldn’t help but wish for this race to be already over. A certain red head was all she could think of.

Two hours away from Silverstone, Wanda listens closely for enemies. She could sense two of them guarding the very door she needed to be in. “On my signal,” Steve mouthed.

Just as Steve gave the go ahead, the sound of F1 commentary started to play in Wanda’s ear. “Lights out and away we go!” Wanda walked through the hallway, incapacitating the guards, allowing Natasha and Steve to drag them to an empty room.

Natasha gave Wanda an ‘are you serious’ look as the commentary also played in her comms. “Why am I hearing about a race right now?” They all stood outside the entrance to the headquarters room. Around five guys and one guard were currently there from the looks of it.

“Sorry, I had meant to only set it to my comms.” Wanda brought out the hologram and changed the settings before looking at Steve for the next set of instructions.

“Since when did you care about racing?” Wanda shrugged in response as Steve signaled with his hands on which people to take care of.

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Are you fucking blind?” Y/n yelled to her race engineer. Lance Stroll had almost hit her side at turn seven, almost costing her the race had they actually made contact. “If he keeps racing like that, he’s bound to hurt somebody.”

“Copy that. We’re already in contact with the FIA about that.” Y/n’s grip on the steering wheel hardened. It was only lap 19 of 52 and her nerves were getting the best of her. She knew the race was going to be easy but her excitement to see Wanda again was causing her to lose focus.

“I hope she’s watching me somehow,” Y/n thought. It was stupid to hope though as the driver knew Wanda was currently on a mission. It would be highly unlikely that she would watch her race, there were more important things than watching cars go round and round.

Regardless though, winning this race was important to Y/n. This was the first race as an official couple. While the media hasn’t found out yet, she certainly didn’t want to give Wanda a bad impression. After all, if your girlfriend was continuously saving lives, the least she could do was win a race.

“This ones for you Wanda.”

“That should be the last of them.” Steve tied up the last enemy on base and sent the coordinates to backup for retrieval. “Let’s get to the rendezvous point. It’s around 30 minutes west from here on foot.”

Wanda pulled out her secured phone as they walked out the secured building. She opened up the F1 app and immediately tuned in for the last couple minutes of the race.

“We have a battle between the two Red Bulls, Max Verstappen and Y/n Y/l/n, for P1.” Steve gave a disapproving nod as they walked through London, trying their best to blend in with the crowd. Wanda could care less of Steve’s approval for her antics. The mission was nearly over and she wanted to at least support her girlfriend from far away.

“Oh God! There’s a crash at Luffield! It’s a Mercedes!” Wanda watched in horror as the car flipped through the gravel multiple times before hitting the fence, landing in an awkward position. Had the gravel not been there, the car would have surely gone through the fence. A safety car was brought out, allowing people to pit.

“I believe that was George Russel’s car that had just crashed.” Wanda flipped through the drivers until she found Y/n. Although she knew that wasn’t her car, seeing her safe and sound brought Wanda relief.

“Jesus, is George okay?” Y/n asked. Wanda smiled at her girlfriend’s natural concern. Although it was one lap away from finishing, it was nice to know that the safety of others was the first thing that Y/n thought of.

“Wanda.” Looking up, Natasha gave a silent command to put her phone away. “We have people tailing us. When I say go, run as fast as you can. Make sure to stay close.”

Slyly looking back, Wanda could point out the people that looked out of place. “Fuck me.”

“Thank you all for the wonderful race! The car was practically a bullet and everyone did so amazing today.” Y/n slid into first place and did a mini celebration on her car.

As the camera crew came closer, she jumped in front of them and grabbed the camera. Taking off her helmet and balaclava, Y/n yelled, “This win is for my beautiful girlfriend! Can’t wait to see you babe!”

Looking at the time on the screen, Y/n rushed past the cameras and went straight into the paddock. She ignored all the weird glances and congratulations she got on the way, the race win still fueling her adrenaline.

“Y/n? What are you doing?” Christian yelled but Y/n ignored it. It wasn’t like Red Bull had the balls to fire her for not celebrating.

Her assistant, Niya, had followed suit as Y/n took off her helmet into her dressing room. “Is my car ready Niya?” She nodded as she typed up a statement on her iPad. The team was going to be unhappy at the lack of answers but she knew they were ultimately happy with the points she scored for the team.

In no time, Y/n was out of her race suit and in an all black attire. She ran out of her room, yelling a thank you to Niya. Up on the screens, it showed Max at P2 while Lando was at P3 just like Will guessed. Several news outlets tried to catch up to Y/n, but she was not having it.

“For the first time in F1 history, we don’t have the P1 spot filled. It seems our winner of the race had an emergency situation to attend to. Regardless, congratulations to Red Bull for the 1 / 2 positions.”

Y/n smiled at Will’s comment as she passed the gates. This was going to be all over the news ‘Y/n runs off after P1 victory’. Yet Y/n could care less for all the speculations. She had to see her girl and nothing was stopping her.

Hopping into her jet black Ferrari, Y/n sped out Silverstone. It was around an hour drive to the rendezvous point, but knowing the country like the back of her hand, she was guaranteed to make it on time.

“Does anyone know who the getaway driver is today? Fury stated that we’ll know the day of the mission, but I was never briefed about it,” Steve inquired as the team finally got away from the enemies.

Wanda glanced up from her phone, “It’s my new girlfriend.” Not a lot of things shocked the assassin and the super soldier, but that comment did.

“Is she qualified?” Natasha quipped. She found it strange that Wanda hadn’t mentioned her new partner. In addition, the lack of information on Wanda’s girlfriend was also alarming. What if she was the enemy? What if she was an assassin? So many questions ran through her head, but kept her anxiety at bay.

“More than qualified,” Wanda stated with a proud smile, “She’s a driver at her day job. Plus Fury gave the approval for it just for this mission only.”

Natasha and Steve digested Wanda’s words and continued to walk. However, Natasha wanted to know more, even if Fury did approve of it. “How did you two meet?”

“Funny story, I was actually running away…”

Wanda was surrounded. At every single avenue and exit was a marked enemy and with no back up, she only had herself to rely on. “Shit.”

Wanda hurried herself out of the hotel, still noticing all the eyes around her. Thank goodness that it was still broad daylight. The enemies weren’t that careless to attract a crowd.

As if sending a silent prayer, all attention diverted to the red ferrari that pulled up to the hotel. Before the valet could go up, Wanda rushed to and opened the passenger seat. She hopped in and closed the door.

Turning to the driver’s side, Wanda fully expected some old man to occupy the seat, but when her eyes met comforting brown eyes, a pretty smile, and furrowed eyebrows, she was hooked. The red head was distracted for a couple of seconds, before asking, “Do you know how to drive?”

Wanda knew she looked ridiculous. Any sane person would immediately kick her out, heck even call the police. Furthermore, the chances of a rich stranger even offering help was little to none, but when Wanda reached for Y/n’s emotions, she was even more surprised to see that this stranger didn’t feel any of that.

“I do.” The accent almost made Wanda forget everything, but the sight of enemies getting closer made her focus.

“Then drive.”

“So you hijacked your girlfriend’s car, asked her to get you out of a sticky situation, and then survived?” Steve chuckled at Natasha’s question. The story felt like something out of an action movie, but then again, they were superheroes, so anything could happen.

“I don’t know how, but she managed to get me out of Spain safely. I even asked her to drop me off at our pickup location. Her car wasn’t bulletproof, but she was so fast, they could hardly get a scratch on her.” Wanda smiled at the memory of their first encounter.

“At the end, she didn’t even ask why I needed to run away. I think she recognized me from the news and just wanted to help. But before I left, she asked for a date.” How crazy does one need to be to ask the very person that put you in danger on a date?

“I said yes because why not? I liked her and it was the least I could do after she spent a whole hour driving.” It was Natasha’s turn to laugh at how made up the whole story sounded. But when the assassin could not pick up on a single lie, it made her chuckle more.

“Well I can’t wait to meet her,” Steve remarked. They were 10 minutes away from the pick up point.

“And she better knows how to drive,” Natasha added. Wanda nodded quickly, the nerves finally making its way to her head.

“I promise. She’s good.”

“Where is she?” Natasha didn’t mean to sound aggressive, but they were still on a mission, something she ran a tight ship on. The crew were a minute early to the pick up point and Wanda had forgotten to ask Y/n to share her location. Right now, the witch paced back and forth with her phone in hand.

The assassin didn’t want to add to Wanda’s already nervous state but they needed to leave. Before Wanda could send another message, a loud car screeched to a halt in front of them. Once the smoke settled, Wanda smiled at the sight of the getaway car.

Opening the car door, Y/n got out, wearing a suit similar to her driver attire but in all black. “Am I late?” The wide cocky smile on Y/n’s face was hard to hide. The driver knew she was on time but didn’t dare to comment.

Immediately noticing her girlfriend, Y/n closed the door and picked Wanda up by the thighs, spinning her around. The giggle that escaped Wanda’s lips almost made Natasha barf at how love sick the two were.

As Y/n placed Wanda back down, she pulled her in by the waist and gave her a long kiss. The two almost forgot that they were in front of a crowd as Wanda ran her hands through Y/n’s hair.

Natasha wanted to grumble at the unprofessionality but Steve’s look stopped her. Wanda was in love. This was something Steve had never seen before, and he was not going to dare to ruin it. This wasn’t to say that the assassin wasn’t happy for Wanda. She really was, but the mission was still the priority.

Breaking the kiss, Y/n mumbled, “I’m not too late am I babe?” Wanda shook her head no as a large smile was plastered on her face.

While holding Wanda’s hand, Y/n looked at Steve and Natasha, “Hi. I’m Y/n Y/l/n. It’s nice to meet you.” Letting go of Wanda’s hand, Y/n reached out to shake their hands.

Steve was the first to shake Y/n’s hand and said, “Nice to meet you. My name is Steve.”

Natasha bumped Steve out the way and shook Y/n’s hand, immediately liking the firm grip Y/n had. “I’m Natasha. It’s nice to meet you, but I think we should get out of here.”

Stepping back to Wanda’s side, “You’re right, let’s get y’all out of here.” Y/n stepped around to open Wanda’s door, something both Steve and Natasha mentally noted.

Once everyone was buckled in, it was like a switch flipped inside Y/n’s brain as she zoomed from the meetup location.

“Someone is following us.” The rest of the group turned around at Y/n’s comment and noticed the entourage that was heavy on their tail. Y/n had barely driven for 10 minutes before enemies found them.

“I thought we got rid of them,” Wanda grumbled. She wanted her first mission with her girlfriend to have gone a bit smoother, but nothing is ever how she planned.

The red head looked over her girlfriend’s suit, hoping that Fury had given Y/n a bulletproof suit. Last thing Wanda needed was for Y/n to bleed out.

Blocking her anxiety away, Wanda focused on the mission at hand.

“Do you think you can lose them?” Steve asked, ready to fight. Remembering the map she carefully studied, in 10 miles was a mountain with lots of turns. Right before it was a small village.

“Get rid of the bigger caravans and I’ll take care of the two smaller cars. Do it quickly. There’s a village up ahead.” Y/n steadied the car as Steve nodded in understandment. Slowing the car down, Steve predicted his route as Natasha did the same.

Once the enemies were close enough, the two hopped out of the car, each on a different caravan. Immediately, Steve used his shield to pierce the front left tire, causing the caravan to veer right into the woods.

Steve hopped to the next caravan before it crashed. By now, multiple shots were being aimed at Steve, Natasha, and the car.

“Keep us close. I need to help them,” Wanda stated. Y/n nodded as she tried her best to slow down at a safer speed for Wanda. Crawling to the back of the car, Wanda used her magic to fling a couple of enemies out of the cars.

This ultimately assisted Natasha as she finally pierced her caravan’s tire. Instantaneously, the car crashed off the road, straight into a large pile of rocks. The assassin hopped off the caravan, aiming for the getaway car.

Noticing the large gap, Y/n whipped closer to Natasha. Landing harshly on her side, Natasha groaned as Wanda held on to her arm, making sure she doesn’t fall off. “Are you trying to hit me with the car?”

“It was the car or the ground, you choose,” Y/n quipped back. Had they been in a different situation, Natasha would have laughed but considering that the enemies were still shooting, she simply hustled back into the car.

“Can Steve jump far?” The last caravan was close enough to continuously hit their back bumper. And with all the debris coming from the crashes, the sides were damaged.

Before Wanda could answer, Steve jumped on top of the car as the caravan stopped into a halt, crashing into everything along with one of the smaller cars. Only one car remained.

While Steve crawled back into the car and Wanda back in her spot, the village came passing by just on time. The mountain was right before them.

Pushing the car into different gears, Y/n kept her eye on the rearview mirror as the car drifted through tight turns. The enemy car screeched behind them as it struggled to keep up through the turns. However, the straights were its friend.

Up ahead was another set of turns, something Y/n already memorized in the back of her head. “Natasha, keep trying to shoot at them. I need something to distract their driver.”

Pushing the getaway car to its limits, the turns proved hard for Natasha to hold on to, thankfully, Steve was holding on to her. “Aim for the driver’s view. It may be bulletproof but anything is better than nothing.”

Natasha did as told, managing to aim perfectly even with all the wind rushing past her and the aimless turns up the hill.

“We have a quarter mile left! Keep going at it!” Natasha emptied clip after clip as Wanda tended to her slight wound. Bullets came back towards their car, none created a single scratch on the car.

Rounding the last turn, Y/n drifted perfectly to stall the car in place for a couple more seconds, allowing the enemy to catch up even closer. Keeping a couple seconds between them, Y/n pushed the car into gear, sending it through the last straight.

“Get back in!” Y/n hardly gave Natahsa time as she pulled the car into the hard right. Before they knew it, Y/n had been driving backwards. In the next second, a grapple launched from the car, landing right on the enemy’s bumper.

”Hold on!” Everything turned to a blur with how fast Y/n was reacting. Steve almost got whiplash and motion sickness from all the drifting and wild turns. Within the same second, Y/n used the momentum from the car to fling the enemy off towards the cliff.

As the enemy hit the guard rail, it started to tumble through the air, pressing another button, the grapple released. Pulling up the handbrake, Y/n straighten the car back out onto the road. Driving away with a satisfied smile, Y/n was happy to see an explosion from the mirror.

With a hand on Wanda’s thigh, the rest was smooth sailing for Y/n as she drove them to safety.

The car arrived, smoke trailed from it’s path as Y/n continuously pushed it past its limit. While Steve was thankful to have arrived earlier than expected, the nauseous feeling in his stomach held his compliments back.

The pair from the back quickly got out of the car, throwing a thankful smile to Y/n as they headed inside, ready to debrief about the meeting.

Once they were out of sight, Wanda was quick to giggle. Nothing was particularly funny, but the redhead couldn’t help but laugh. Not really understanding what Wanda was laughing about, Y/n merely chuckled a little at how adorable Wanda looked.

“Do you think your boss will be pissed about the state of the car?” Y/n joked. The driver could probably afford whatever car Fury provided, nonetheless, she wanted a good first impression.

“I think,” Wanda placed a hand on Y/n’s cheek, a smile still evident on her face, “you did amazing today. I knew you were a great driver but I didn’t expect you to handle all the gunshots like it was nothing.”

Y/n kissed Wanda’s palm, leaning in closer to her touch. “I think with all the superhero stuff happening, I’ve become immune to things like that.” Y/n shrugged as the pair got closer, faces nearly touching. “Plus it helps that I know my girlfriend would do anything to protect me.”

Leaning in for a kiss, Y/n nearly groaned at how soft Wanda’s lips were. While this wasn’t their first kiss, the feeling of Wanda’s lips was something Y/n was never going to get used to. All the races, fast speeds, and fame was nothing compared to the feeling of kissing Wanda. Just the privilege alone made Y/n light headed with love.

As Wanda slowly continued to kiss Y/n, her stomach grew with tightness, her mind numbing with stupid thoughts such as ‘what if I climbed over the console and I made out with her?’. While there would be absolutely no complaints from Y/n, Wanda knew they still had an audience.

But god, Wanda couldn’t think when it came to kissing Y/n and they were hardly even making out. What was going to happen once they actually did have a heated make out session? Was she going to pass out?

Regardless, the two pushed their limits on how long they could go without air. Soon, Wanda broke the kiss but she craved to kiss Y/n again. Not wanting to push her luck, Wanda pressed a couple pecks on Y/n’s lips, sealing the deal with one more long kiss.

Leaning back in her seat, Wanda covered her mouth, enjoying the feeling of how plumped it was. Ultimately, she couldn’t hide the smile on her face as Y/n looked at her with adoration. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you this whole day.”

Y/n grinned as she leaned over the center console, “We can still kiss all you want babe. Name the time and place and I’ll be there in minutes.”

Wanda laughed as Y/n puckered her lips, ready to kiss again. Giving in to her girlfriend’s antics, Wanda cupped Y/n’s face and kissed her once more.

Before it could go any deeper, Wanda broke it, causing Y/n to pout. “You can’t just hold your lips hostage like that.”

“Well dekta, we’re still on a mission.” Y/n rolled her eyes at Wanda’s response. It was not a good enough reason to stop kissing.

“Well babe, what if I told you I won my race today?” Y/n licked her lips, hoping it was enough to entice Wanda to kiss her again.

“You won?! I’m sorry I couldn’t come and I tried watching the end but-”

“-just kiss me babe.” Y/n pulled Wanda for another kiss, not even caring that Wanda was unable to make it to her race. There were still multiple races to come and multiple opportunities for her to watch. But kissing Wanda was enough for Y/n. Everything else was just a bonus.

By now, Wanda couldn’t hold back her moan as the kisses got deeper. Too busy in their own world, the pair didn’t notice Natasha approaching the car.

The assassin rolled her eyes at the scene. Regardless, she knocked on the window. The two jumped from the unexpected sound. Their dilated eyes focused back at Natasha as Y/n rolled the window down.

“Meeting starts in a minute. Say your goodbyes.” Without a response, Natasha walked back into the base.

“Am I going to see you soon?” Wanda asked, feeling like a teenager asking when she was going to see her girlfriend again.

“You will. I’ll make sure of it.” The blush on Wanda’s face deepened. She kissed Y/n one last time before exiting the car, knowing that if she stayed any longer, she would have been unable to leave.

Walking backwards to the base, Wanda waved goodbye. In normal Y/n fashion, she made donuts at the front of the base, before leaving.

Once the dust settled, Natahsa came back out. “She was good.”

Wanda turned around, giving Natasha a small smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s gonna be nice working with her again.” The smile on Wanda’s face grew wider at the approval.

As the two walked to the meeting, all Wanda could think about was her getaway driver.

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thebirdandthebee · 9 months

Text

Back to Sleep (18+)

A little something to try to get back into writing - let me know what you think! 18+ only! This is not edited, so please excuse any glaring issues.

Title: Back to Sleep Ain't sorry that I woke ya. WC: 1839

“Baby, you almost done?” Jake asked from the kitchen, where he’s just finished loading the dishwasher and wiping down the counters. “Come on, let’s be couch potatoes,” he insists.

It’s tempting, it really is, but you’ve got so much work to get done to stay ahead of schedule. Perched at the dining room table, your hair was tossed up in a ponytail as you focused on the laptop ahead. Yes, you were first in your class in your occupational therapy program, but final exams were coming and you were gunning for the number-one spot.

“You go ahead and I’ll meet you,” you said, tipping your head back for your fiancé to plant a quick kiss on your lips.

“You’ve been studying like a maniac for weeks,” Jake pointed out, one hand gripping the back of your chair and the other braced on the corner of the dining table, “one night isn’t going to break your streak – exam isn’t for a few weeks, still.”

“I know, I promise, give me thirty minutes,” you insisted, looking up at him through your blue light glasses that you knew he loved.

“Thirty minutes,” he repeated, kissing you again.

But thirty minutes came and went, and you were still staring intently at your computer. Admittedly, Jake got swept up in Thursday Night Football, and at halftime, he shook out of it.

“Excuse me,” he called from over the back of the couch, “Where is my fiancé?” He asked. You peeled your eyes off of your study cards, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

“Twenty more minutes!” You called back, tucking your hair behind your ear. But as twenty minutes passed once again, you found Jake dragging your chair back from the table. “Jake, please, I’m on a roll,” you whined. You barely had time to grab up your notecards before Jake lifted you from the chair to bring you over to the sofa.

“You can study from the couch if you must,” he said, only somewhat dramatically.

And that’s how the evening progressed, with you flipping through notes and Jake’s arm firmly around your shoulder as the clock ticked later and later. Soon, you were yawning and focusing more on the back of your eyelids than your flashcards.

“Jake,” you murmured, eyes still shut. “I gotta sleep,” you said, reaching over and patting him on the stomach twice.

“I’m going to finish the game, be up in a second,” he assured. You dropped another sweet kiss on his lips before making your way upstairs, flashcards in hand. After changing into a pair of Jake’s boxer briefs and a big t-shirt, you crawled into bed, still flipping through your notes.

Jake was surprised to see you still awake when he came up to bed about forty-five minutes later. Leaving the bathroom door open, he quickly showered and brushed his teeth

“Baby, time for bed,” he gently plucked the cards out of your fingers, tossing them onto his nightstand. You groaned quietly but snuggled up to his side instead. You’d been hitting the books hard and it was finally catching up to you. Jake’s warm, vetiver skin lulled you quickly to sleep.

However, much later, during the wee hours of the night, Jake awoke to find your side of the bed empty. His eyes strained in the dark night and if he listened carefully, he could hear the soft clicking of a keyboard.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Jake muttered, wiping at his eyes as he rolled out of bed, lazily pulling his sweatpants up his hips to pull the drawstring tight. He padded down the stairs to see you yet again perched at the dining room table, the chandelier above dimmed to the lowest setting. “What are you doing?” He asked, eyes still adjusting to the light, “it’s almost three in the morning.”

You jumped at the sound of his voice, turning to see your fiancé frowning at you in the soft light.

“I know, but I had a dream that I showed up for exam day and couldn’t remember the steps to the malleability scale and I woke up panicking,” you listed off. “I just thought if I could re-arrange some of these class notes into a more visual aid, it would help me remember,” you gestured to the computer, a giant yawn overtaking your face.

“Babe, it’s time for bed,” Jake said, stepping closer. You protectively splayed your hands across your notebook on the table.

“I’m not done,” you said quietly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Jake reached over closing your laptop.

“You’re done. Bed, now,” he ordered, which gave you a little shiver, but you complied nonetheless – dragging your feet down the hall. Luckily for you, you could turn the brightness down on your phone and run through the study guide your leading MD sent out.

After tucking into bed yet again, Jake rolled over, invading your space.

“Phone,” he said, holding out his empty palm.

“Jake,” you began to protest. He tipped his chin up in a challenge. “I need it for my alarm,” you weakly argued.

“We have an alarm clock and I’ll make sure you’re up,” he reassured as you reluctantly placed your phone in his hand. Jake rolled over, his back to you as he set your phone on the side table before snuggling down into the mattress.

“M’not even tired,” you lied with a petulant tone. Jake rolled his eyes, not that you could see it. You spent the next minute being dramatic, sighing heavily and flipping all around to find a comfortable position.

“Baby, go to sleep,” Jake grumbled. You glared at his back for a moment before flopping on your back, arms crossed over your chest, staring at the ceiling. You wondered if you could remember what the study guide looked like from memory.

A few beats passed.

“I swear to god just you being awake like this is keeping me up,” Jake said with finality, rolling over to face you, a stern expression on his face.

“You could have kept sleeping if you just left me alone at the table,” you pointed out.

“You have to sleep or that pretty little brain aint’ gonna remember shit,” he countered, nearly taunting. With a huff, you turned to face away from him, lying on your hip with one knee bent up.

“M’not even tired,” you mumbled again. Ten seconds later, you jumped when you felt Jake’s full body pressing into you from behind.

“You’re not even tired, huh?” Jake asked, knowing damn well you were just being a brat.

“No,” you grumbled, trying to keep in a squeal as his stubble scraped against your neck.

“You want me to put you to sleep?” He breathed into your ear, big hand landing on your upper thigh, just below where his boxer briefs had ridden up your leg with all your tossing and turning.

“You can’t,” you replied, still feeling put off by Jake confiscating your flashcards.

“Sure I can,” he said, hips shifting so you could feel his soft erection against you.

“Bet I can get you to sleep in twenty minutes,” he murmured, pressing a kiss behind your ear.

“Not even tired,” you tried not to gasp as his fingertips slipped below the stretchy band of your borrowed shorts.

“How can you be tired when you’re this wet?” He asked, swiping his fingers through your sex, making you huff.

“You know I like those boxers on you,” you muttered, embarrassed, but at least you were honest. “You’re on the clock, Hangman,” you reminded. Jake gladly cradled your clit between his two fingers, rolling them up and down against your skin. The way you almost avoided his touch by pressing your hips down into the mattress made him grin. Sometimes it was almost too easy. You frowned softly into your pillow as you felt Jake’s hand retreat from your body, but squealed as he quickly dragged the waistband of his boxers all the way down to your ankles.

Jake softly huffed as he pressed his blunt tip against your sex, jaw clenching at the resistance as he sunk in further and further. Turning him further beneath you, your front was pressed down into the mattress.

“How’s that, hmm?” He murmured in your ear. “Gonna listen to me when I tell you to go to sleep, smart girl?” You simply whined gently at the feeling as he filled you. “You hear me?” He asked, knowing he was being haughty.

“Yeah,” you whispered, pushing your hips back against him. Jake reached underneath you, palming your breast in his hand as he continued to fuck you gently down into the mattress. “Jake,” you huffed softly.

“I know, pretty girl,” he cooed patronizingly. “Put you right back to sleep tonight,” he snapped his hips, making you jump. His hand traveled down your stomach, the other braced against the bed so he didn’t squish you entirely, to find your clit again, and gently circling it.

You could feel it start to tickle at the soles of your feet – a telltale sign of impending orgasm.

“More,” you murmured, eyes shutting gently both from pleasure and pure exhaustion.

“More?” Jake asked, pulling his hand out from between your body and the mattress, dipping his fingers in his mouth as his hips continued their steady thrusts. Zeroing in on your clit once more, he knew you were getting close – after this long together, he could read you like a book. He didn’t mind, he was close as well. “Going to fill you right up with a sleeping pill,” he didn’t care that he sounded corny, he was putting his money where his mouth was. One more strategic roll of his fingers and you were fluttering around Jake’s cock, toes curled tight at the end of the bed.

“There we go,” Jake grunted, meeting his own orgasm as he pumped into you dutifully. “That’s a good girl,” he exhaled.

You hated it when Jake was right, because now, your eyelids felt like they were being weight down with bags of cement. Whining once more as he withdrew, you jumped when he tapped the head of his spent cock against your clit.

“Wait right here, precious,” he said, pressing a kiss to the round of your hip.

As if you were going anywhere now. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, you knew an alarm was set for the morning, because now you simply couldn’t be bothered to lift your head from the pillow.

“Warmed it up for you, baby,” Jake murmured as a warning before a wet washcloth swiped through your folds. “I know, I know,” he hushed. Jake wiped himself down before padding across the room to drop the towel in the laundry hamper.

Crawling back onto the mattress, he threw a blanket over the two of you, double checking his alarm once more before tossing an arm over your waist. Your lashes laid across your cheekbones in pure serenity as you entered deep sleep.

“Thought you weren’t tired, huh?”

#jake seresin smut #jake seresin #jake seresin fic #jake x reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman fluff #hangman smut #hangman fic #hangman x reader

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drabblesandimagines · 1 month

Text

Trunk

Leon Kennedy x female reader (BSAA) for this request Fluffy, bit of mild spice, bit of blood, mention of panic attack, swears

It was meant to be straightforward surveillance ahead of the main op. Monitor the drop – the metal suitcase fitted with a tracking chip and three fake virus vials – note any observations about the pick-up, then inform the rest of the Wolf Hound Squad who would track the co-ordinates to find the terrorists’ base of operations.

You had pouted a little at being sidelined from the main action, but Chris needed someone stealthy to keep an eye over the drop and, with a squeeze to your shoulder, your track record meant you were the prime candidate.

You’d set yourself up in the eaves of the abandoned warehouse that served as the drop-off point, armed with a pair of binoculars, an ear piece and a couple of guns, as always, for if anything went south...

..which it did the moment you detected movement from the south-east corner. It took a few attempts to get them in focus, but your heart sank when you recognized the figure – one Leon S Kennedy of the DSO rolling between abandoned shipping containers, honing in on the one you’d placed the metal suitcase in a few hours previously.

What the hell is he doing here?

You press down on your earpiece and it beeps once, opening the line to transmit. “Alpha to Lupe. Got a problem. Over.”

Silence.

“Alpha to Lupe. Got a problem. Over.”

Nothing – again. Maybe your current position has poor signal, but there’s no time to troubleshoot when squealing tyres echo around the structure, alerting you to the two black cars swerving in and heading to the shipping container in question.

The cars stop, their engines remaining idle and five well-built and well-dressed men depart – three from one, two from another.

Through your binoculars, you see Leon head straight for them, gun raised.

Shit.

You are jolted back into consciousness when your crown smacks on something hard, before being ricocheted back down to your nose cracking against something firm, groaning as you come to.

“Finally awake, sleeping beauty?”

The voice is familiar and rumbles through your chest with the horrible realization that you’re lying on top of someone. You try and scoot back, whacking your head again and a sinking feeling as you feel plastic digging into your wrists, keeping them bound behind you.

It all comes flooding back.

Numerous gunshots go off as you slide down the ladder back to the ground floor, half expecting to find Leon bleeding out or even dead on the concrete. Instead, he’s being heaved up by his armpits, unconscious, and pushed into the trunk of one of the cars, half in, half out as one of the heavy-set men commences a search, confiscating a multitude of weapons with a scoff.

You can’t see any other bodies, which is strange. Is Kennedy getting slow in his old age?

At the other car, a man with a blonde pony-tail is bent down, talking through the window to someone you can’t see. “Go on ahead with the package.”

The driver seems to protest, but ponytail shakes his head.

“We’ll take the rat elsewhere, have some fun… We’ll join you back at base after. Go.” He thumps the top of the car with his fist to emphasize his point.

The idling car now hits the gas with gusto, the tyres burning against the concrete before it skids out of sight.

The heavy-set man seems to have concluded his search of the unconscious agent by then, finishing with what looks to be Leon’s phone. He considers it for a moment before he drops it to the floor and grinds it into the concrete with the heel of his shoe, the screen splintering and plastic cracking under his weight.

He then leans into the trunk before holding Leon’s arms behind his back and securing his wrists with what looks like a zip tie, before heaving up his legs and giving his ankles the same treatment.

You grit your teeth as you think – you don’t have much time. They’re not taking Leon to the HQ, so it’s not like you can catch up and let the rest of the squad know they’ve got a hostage.

The other car’s gone, one of the guys is distracted, if you just-

“Well, well…” There’s a gun pressed to the small of your back and your stomach sinks. You’d thought the two remaining were the ones you had in your eyesight, assuming three others had got back into the other car, but one seems to have been prowling. Fuck, you’re better than this usually. Are you and Kennedy both having an off day?

A thick forearm wraps around your throat in a headlock.

“Drop the gun.”

Before you can even think of how to get out of the hold, a knee is forced between your thighs, weakening your stance and preventing any sort of retaliation you might be able to achieve with your legs. The forearm tenses and cuts off all air, the order repeated and it is not until your grip on your gun goes limp, letting it drop to the floor that it relaxes, leaving you gasping for breath.

“We’ve already caught ourselves a rat this evening, suppose it makes sense we catch a mouse next.”

You try and throw your head back in desperation - if you break his nose he’ll definitely let go, but there’s not enough room and the arm around your throat squeezes again, but this time there is no relief, only a smug whisper in your ear.

“Sweet dreams, little mouse.”

Everything went black.

You squint in the dark of what you assume is the car trunk – an eerie red glow emitting from the corners which you presume are the taillights – and your eyes slowly begin to adjust to find two icy blue ones staring up at you under familiar bangs. “Leon?” Your voice is a little hoarse, but it’s better than being dead.

“One and only. Gotta say, this is a surprise. Been a while.”

You try and roll off his chest entirely but it’s awkward and cramped. The trunk is not large enough to be accommodating two adults, let alone one as muscular as Leon. You manage to shift most of your weight off him, though your legs are somewhat still entangled, ankles crisscrossed together with the same zip tie treatment. You cough, trying to relieve the tightness in your throat. “What are you doing here? This is a BSAA op.”

“DSO had intel of a terrorist cell being supplied with virus samples.” He tries to shuffle back a little, take in your face after you lying atop of him unconscious for however long.

“It’s a fake – it’s our drop.”

“What?”

“I was doing surveillance to confirm they accepted the suitcase with the tracker – the rest of the pack is gonna intercept their base once co-ordinates are confirmed.”

You see him raise his eyebrow in the dim light. “Pack? Redfield still going by that wolf crap?”

“Oh, because birds are so cool, right?” You retort, though you’re more annoyed at your situation than him.

“How’d they get you?”

“Does it matter?” You avoid the question, not wanting to tell him the real reason you’d got caught was because you’d been concerned seeing him being shoved into the trunk.

“We’ve gotta get out of these restraints. I can try and…” You trail off, your breath catching in your throat. You pull fruitlessly at the plastic holding your wrists, ignoring the sharp pain, and try and bring your knees up to your chest.

“Already tried, there’s not enough space.” Leon interjects. “Maybe if I was here solo…”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you mean to sound sarcastic, but with how you’re breathing it sounds more like a genuine apology. “I just thought it looked so fun when I saw you being kidnapped so I had to join in, you know?”

You’re breathing too heavy now, but it’s not getting down into your lungs. You’re not sure if it’s because your windpipe was crushed earlier, or that you’re on your side in an awkward position, or the fact that you’re stuffed in the trunk of a car with potentially limited oxygen.

Fuck.

“Hey.” Leon’s voice sounds foggy.

You shuffle as best you can, hoping a change in position might open up your airways, but it feels like as if the trunk is closing in around you.

“Hey. You good?”

“I…”

“You need to breathe deeper than that, okay?”

Deep down, in your logical mind, you know you do, but in the panic it’s just not happening, and your breaths grow only shallower. Your throat is too tight, the zip tie around your wrist and ankles is too tight, the space in here is too tight. Leon tenses his forearms behind his back for the umpteenth time, willing the plastic to break as he sees you falling further and further into distress. His words aren't getting through and he can't really touch you either, can't grab your hand or your shoulder and try and ground you for a moment to catch your breath. “I’m so sorry.” Leon throws his head forward and kisses you – not square on the lips, more at the corner of your open mouth, messy and awkward - but it’s enough to knock you out of hyperventilating as your scalp tingles.

“Breathe.” He orders, pulling back.

“You just-”

“Breathe. There’s plenty of oxygen in here – it’s not airtight. Breathe.”

You close your eyes and mouth and take a deep inhale through your nose, spluttering a little as you try to hold it. It takes a few cycles, Leon keeping silent as you gather your bearings, but eventually it steadies.

“Sorry.” You mumble, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have kissed you, I just couldn’t think of how else to divert your focus.”

“No, it’s okay. Definitely worked.”

There’s an awkward silence before Leon shuffles ever so slightly.

“Promise you won’t tell Redfield? I’d rather not have my neck snapped.”

“Why would he do that?”

“You... You two aren’t a thing?”

“No.” Your brow furrows. “He’s my captain. My life’s already complicated enough fighting bioweapons without throwing in dating my superior.”

“Oh. I thought…” He shrugs as best as he can before you can see the infamous cocky grin. “Well, how about you and I grab dinner after this?”

“If there is an after this.” You try and swallow down the anxious feeling that’s crawling up from your stomach once more. “Being moved to a second location against your will is nev- Ugh!”

The car drives over a pothole but, thankfully, your head doesn’t collide with the top of the trunk. Leon groans as the impact threw him over onto his front before he mutters under his breath and starts to grind his hips.

“Holy shit.”

“What?”

“I think they missed a weapon.”

“Really?” Your voice perks up. “What?”

“A knife.”

“How’d they miss a knife?”

“Is that a complaint?” Leon scoffs.

“No, just seems a bit amateur hour. Can you reach it?”

“Not a chance, but, er…”, he clears his throat, “you might. We’re gonna have to try and adjust positions first, I’ll need your back to my chest.”

“Okay. Erm…” You scooch yourself forward with your hip and heel of your boot - easier said than done as the trunk grows narrower the further you go down, your knees bunching up towards your chest. “Like that?”

“Gimme a sec.” He responds through gritted teeth, trying to roll over again. Whatever make car this is, it’s not American – the trunk space is abysmal. Eventually, he manages it, shuffling himself forward until your fingers are pressed up against what feels like his chest.

“Hey!” He snaps with a poorly concealed laugh as your fingers twitch against the fabric. “That tickles.”

“Sorry – reflex. Where is it?”

“Well, put simply, my crotch.”

You give yourself a moment to let the words sink in.

“You keep a knife in your crotch? How have you not cut off your-?”

“It’s more a scalpel than a knife,” he cuts you off. “And it’s hidden away in the lining – in-built sheath – near the fly. Think you can find it?”

You close your eyes tight, thinking it might help you focus. Your thumb brushes up against something firm and you feel Leon tense behind you.

“Is that…?”

“My jockstrap, thank you.” He clears his throat again. “Higher than that and more to the left.”

You try to follow his instructions, but it’s impossible to go any higher, unable to bend your elbows. “I don’t think I can. Can you shuffle down any?”

“Er…” He tries, shifting down an inch or so, his knees pressing into the back of yours in a spoon, his breath tickling your ear as he settles back down. “There. Bit to the left again.”

You close your eyes again, feeling the zip with your thumb and head to the left until you feel what feels like a thin tube.

“That?”

“Yep. Now, just try and bring it up and out. The blade’s at the bottom.”

That’s easier said than done as you press your thumbs either side of it and feel it move ever so slightly up. It’s a slow and steady process, not helped with the fact of how sweaty your palms are now getting with Leon pressed right up against you. “I think it’s nearly there. If the blade’s at the bottom, can you shuffle back? I don’t wanna slice you open.”

“You got a good grip?”

You swear you can hear the grin in his voice with that one.

“As good as I ever will.”

He scoots back a little, not as far as possible, but enough room so you can pull the scalpel implement up and twirl it around carefully in your grip so you can start to saw against the zip-tie.

“Got it.”

“Does it feel like it’s working?”

“Yeah. Just kinda awkwa-" There’s a stinging pain in your palm as the knife slices through and you hiss.

“What?”

“Got my palm.”

“Bad?”

“Had worse.” You bite your lip at the pain then, eyes squeezed shut again, trying to visualize what might be going on behind your back. Your movements are miniscule, a concern that that if you went any faster you’d slip in your enthusiasm and stab Leon.

It feels like hours when you finally feel the tension give and your wrists are free of the horrid plastic.

“Got it. Just…” Mindful of your bleeding palm, you roll over with your good hand and lean up, pushing Leon face down so you can set to work on his wrists. It only takes a few confident saws, despite how slick your palm is with blood, before the agent groans and pulls his arms in front of him.

You pull your knees up to your chest and quickly slice through the restraints around your ankles, before handing the scalpel to Leon to do the same. His fingers pinch your other wrist instead, bringing your bleeding palm up close to his face to analyze in the dim light.

“Shit, that’s deep.”

“It’s fine,” you try and shake off his hold, but his grip remains firm.

“That’ll be the blood loss talking. Hold on.” He pulls up his shirt with his free hand and rips at the hem with his teeth, tearing off a rough strip, before he begins to wrap it around your palm in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

“There.” He announces, tying it off with a tight knot. “Not ideal, but it’ll have to do for now.”

“Thanks.” You cradle it back against your stomach and hand him over the blade so he can finally cut through the zip-tie around his ankles. It seems just in time too, as the car begins to slow.

“How do you want to play this?”

“You sit tight, I deal with whoever opens the trunk… then we go for dinner.”

“You know I am not a sit tight kinda gal, right?”

“We’ve only got one knife.”

“One scalpel.” You correct.

“Exactly.” The car stops.

“Roll over, face the back.” He orders, taking control. “I’ll go the other way – they won’t be able to see our hands. When they lean in to haul me out…”

The dulled sound of the car doors opening leaves you with no choice but to turn away as instructed and your hand brushes up against Leon’s as you tuck them back behind your back. With the hand that’s not holding the scalpel, he grabs hold of your uninjured hand and squeezes your fingers in reassurance.

The trunk opens.

Leon is peering through his lashes, bangs over his eyes, as his captor comes into view, gun raised. He nudges Leon’s shoulder with the barrel, watching the agent’s head lull back before holstering his weapon and preparing to heave Leon out of the trunk.

And that’s when he takes his chance, scalpel in hand, straight into the jugular, his other hand nabbing the gun out of the holster as he twists himself up and out of the trunk before the man can hit the ground.

Before you can get up to join him, he slams the trunk back down. You curse, hearing back and forth gunshots before the trunk opens again a few minutes later, Leon stood there with an apologetic smile.

“Coast is clear. We’re down at the docks – I can’t believe I let myself get caught by these amateurs.”

“Well, I can’t believe you shut the trunk on me!” You shuffle forward using your good hand, relieved to be sitting upright at last, legs dangling out from the trunk.

“I’m sorry - I know most guys bring their dates flowers,” he pulls another confiscated gun out of his back pocket – must be his prize from the other guy – and offers it out to you, “but something tells me you’d accept this instead?”

You take it with a smirk and a retort too good to pass up on. “You’re really gunning for this dinner date, huh, Kennedy?”

He leans forward and pushes you back into the trunk with a kiss.

This is so, so silly but I had fun x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy mild spice #death island leon #DI Leon Kennedy

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

Text

Life in the City 4

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bad friends, creep behaviour, abuse of power dynamics, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You move to the big city and find yourself swallowed up by its chaos.

Characters: Clark Kent, Thor Odinson, short!reader

Note: I think I'm addicted to thick men.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you. No tag list, do not ask for updates.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Tuesday sees a new block in your calendar. The three hour meeting stands out in the internal calendar as its highlighted bright yellow. You don’t know where it’s come from. You’re nervous.

Have you done something wrong? Is this a firing? Does that really take three hours?

You try not to let your innate insecurity get the best of you. You click on it but the new window offers little more than the time. All participants are hidden and there’s no description aside from ‘meeting’. The only other information is the conference room number. Right, so you’re going to implode in the hour leading up to it.

You try to focus but the Excel lines are much tighter than usual. They seem to blur together as you file through a thousand different possibilities and none of them are good. What do you do if you are in trouble? If you do lose your job? You have nothing to fall back on.

You get up ten minutes from the start of the meeting. The building is still new to you and you have to check the placards on the wall to make sure you’re at the right conference room. The door is already open and you slow down as you see Tony strut through ahead of you. This definitely seems off. He’s one of the top execs…

What if it’s a mistake? What if you were added by accident? Maybe you misunderstood it. Maybe it was a notice to stay away. Oh, you’re so confused.

You enter the room and hug your notebook to your chest. The table against the far wall is arranged with trays of catering; pastries, fruits, veggies, quiche, all sorts of delights. Alongside the treats are coffee and tea and a frosty jug of water.

Tony helps himself to a cup of coffee and several tarts. Several other seats are already filled. You vaguely recognise them, not all by name, but you know they’re from various departments. You sit at the table and lay your notebook down, nervously gripping the spiral as you flick your thumb against the tip of the pen slid within.

No one else seems to notice you. They all know each other and chatter among themselves. Five including you. Not very many at all. You wait, wondering who called the meeting as no one seems in a hurry to begin.

The door clicks but you’re the only one who hears it as they rest or deep in conversation. You peek over as Thor strides to the head of the table, stopping behind the high-backed chair.

“I hope you all helped yourselves to the wonderful treats,” he smiles, “don’t mind me as I grab a few before we begin.”

He carries on to the trays and you look down at your notebook. You open it to the first blank page and slide your pen free of the coil. You wiggle it between your fingers as you wait. Surely, it can’t be disciplinary. There’s food and Tony is one of the top guys.

Thor returns, a healthy mound of sweets and fruits on his plate and a steaming cup in the other. He sits and pushes his shoulders wide, sighing as he peers up and down the table. You shrink down as you sit at the opposite end.

“Well, we are all here,” he declares, drawing the silence of the rest. They all turn their attention on him. “I think some of you already know why I’ve brought you here but we have lots of time to get filled in. We’ll be taking breaks of course but we won’t waste time, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” your voices reply out of turn.

“We will be working on a very special project. It’s big news that we’ve acquired Onyx Row and it’s all well and good to put a pretty bow on it and send out a release, but we have to handle all that background noise. We have to figure out how that works,” he explains.

You’re almost hypnotised by his voice and the way he moves his hands as he speaks. He’s so confident and carefree. You envy him as much as you admire him.

“You have all been handpicked to take this on,” he pauses to look at each and every one of you. “We need a strong team. We’ll have new clients to take it and to retain, we’ll have new profits but new expenses as well, and we have a lot to learn about OR. We all know things are not always transparent in acquisitions.”

There’s a murmur of agreement as you stay silent. You’re still not sure you’re supposed to be here. You don’t have very much experience, just a certificate you got at the end of your degree. You chew your lip as you stare down the table, suddenly caught in the sights of another.

Thor’s blue eyes meet yours and his cheek dimples. You blanch and make yourself sit straight. You uncap your pen and quickly scribble in your notebook; Onyx Row.

“Today’s strategy planning,” Thor says, “we’ll toss some ideas around until the first break, then after that, we’ll come up with a ladder.” He stacks his hands over and over as he talks, “figure out how we climb it. Step by step.”

There’s typing on keyboards. You regret not unhooking your laptop but your notebook’s just as good for notes. Tony leans backs as he chews a quiche, crumbs dusting down his jacket.

“Stark, why don’t you write something down, eh? You’re not here for a free meal.”

“That’s what you think,” Tony scoffs playfully but lets his chair snap straight and taps on his touch pad to wake up the laptop.

“Right then,” Thor stands, “I’ve a brief presentation to get us started before we start brainstorming.”

Your stomach swims. The displacement remains but at least you’re supposed to be there. Even if you’re not sure you’re the right choice. Everyone else in the room is a veteran and you’re just you. That’ll have to do.

Or maybe you’ll just show yourself to be a total noob.

🏙️

At the midpoint of the meeting, several new trays are added to the spread. It’s a lot for six people. You finally get up to grab a tea, steeping a bag of green in hot water, then take a small triangle of a tuna sandwich and a few pieces of fruit back to your seat. Despite the ice breakers round, you’re still shut out of the clique-like conversation of the others.

You don’t mind so much. Talk for business, nothing else. This is work. Besides, you’re so anxious you don’t know what you would say. You chalk it up as much to your own inaction as to their blatant exclusion.

The empty chair to your other side rolls back, frightening you as Thor sets down another plate of goodies and sits. You gulp and look at him as you quit your nibbling of the sandwich crust. You clear your throat and wipe your fingers on a napkin.

“Sir,” you greet with a cringing smile, “hi, er.”

“Thor will do,” he assures coolly, “are you enjoying the food?”

“Um, yeah,” you answer, trying to brighten up out of your cocoon, “it’s good.”

“Feel free to have more. There’s plenty to go around.”

“Thank you, that’s… I’m good,” you press your thumb to your index and bend and unbend your knuckle nervously.

“Tea?” He muses as he reaches to flick the small tap dangling from your cup.

“Mhm,” you nod awkwardly, “coffee burns my tum–stomach.”

He smiles broadly, “ah, mine too, but I’m stubborn.” He leans his elbow on the table, his chair turned to face you entirely, “are you nervous?”

Your eyes give you away as they widen at his blunt question. You dip your chin again, “a little. I… you know I only just started, right?”

“Yes, but you have your qualifications,” he insists.

“Yeah, uh, but…” you glance around at the others.

“But, I have faith in you. As I said, I picked every person in this room. You included. I know that new minds are as valuable as more experienced ones.”

“Well, er, thank you for taking a chance on me,” you bit your cheek and force a smile.

“You know, if no one had ever taken a chance on me, I might not be sat here with you right now,” he leans in just slightly, “everyone deserves their chance to prove themselves. I have faith in you, and what about you?”

“What about me?” Your cheeks wobble.

“Do you have faith in me?” He rests his chin in his hand, watching you intently.

“Y-yes, sir, uh, Thor,” you crackle out, “thanks, I…”

“Good,” he praises and sits up, “I’ll let you finish your food, if you don’t mind that I stay and do the same.”

He swivels the chair and picks up a cracker from his plate. You hum in acquiescence, barely able to muster words. The only permission he needs is your nervous reach for your tea. As if you would tell him to go. He’s the boss.

🏙️

You’re finally let free but you don’t feel as much. You have so much more to do now. You carry with you the folder handed out to each member of the room with an exhaustive overview of your session and the Onyx Road contract.

You sit at your desk and take a moment to situate yourself. This is your priority. Everything else is second tier. That’s as much as Thor said but what are you going to do about Dawn breathing down your neck?

You fix the loose button on your cardigan that comes undone now and again, right at the worst spot; the middle. You pull the bottom straight and clear your throat, signing into your computer as you rejig back to work mode.

As you shuffle through the emails you received in your absence, a figure approaches. You delete a redundant communication before you face them. You expect Dawn but instead, an all too familiar face looks down at you. Sitting, Thor seems to tower over you even more than usual. You feel like you should stand as he bends his neck to talk to you.

“I did forget to mention some things early. As you can expect, some details slip through the cracks in such a big project,” he spreads his hand on the corner of your desk.

“Oh, okay,” you grip the arms of your chair as you peer up at him.

“IT will be around to help connect to the shared drives required for the project,” Thor explains as he leans on one foot, hooking the other over it. “You will be dealing with some very important documents. Confidential so you will also need to relocate…” he looks around briefly, “you will be moved to a private office.”

“Uh, wow, that’s… okay,” you nod with a flutter of lashes.

“It’s a lot, I know, but you will be compensated. At special projects rate, no less,” he intones as he drags his hand up his suit jacket and curls his fingers around his lapel. His fingers are so thick. All of him is. And big. You’re getting vertigo just looking up at him. “You be in your new home by the end of the day.”

“Today?” You ask, almost breathless.

“Yes, we move fast around here,” he grins, “but I also wished to tell you that should you require any support, you will come to me. Your supervisor has been informed of your reassignment and your daily duties will be handed out to your colleagues for the duration of this project.”

“Uh huh,” you croak out, “that makes sense.”

“You understand, this is a big assignment. It could require late nights and… business trips.”

“Yes,” you lie. You really hadn’t considered that. In the contract you signed, it was for a desk, there was no travel, no overtime.

“Another matter for us to deal with. Travel pay, extra hours…” he drones as if bored.

“I understand,” you murmur.

He drops his hand to frame his hip, pushing back his jacket as he stays leaned against your desk. His eyes stick to you as they storm in mystery, “I like that sweater. It’s cute.”

You look down at the flower embroidery and your cheeks singe. Compared to him and the other execs, you were a touch underdressed. That’ll probably need to change too.

“Uh, yeah, I…” you fix the loose button again, “sorry, I’ll… I’ll buy a blazer.”

“I mean it,” he drags his hand from the desk and stands straight, “don’t buy the blazer, that suits you better.”

You crane your neck to look up at him again, “thanks, sir,” you fold your hands in your lap, “I… like your tie.”

You immediately want to disappear as the words trickle out. You sound so stupid. He touches his blue grey tie patterned with white paisley and examines it.

“Not one of my favourites, but thank you,” he chuckles. “Right,” he snaps his fingers, “much work to do. For both of us.” He shifts back on his sole, “don’t forget what I said, if you need anything, I’m your man.”

He winks and spins on his heel. You watch him go as tension raises your shoulders. That was awkward and painful. You’re already doubting your place in this whole thing. Before you can turn your chair back to your desk, you don’t miss the errant gazes in your direction. You ignore them as best you can but they sear into your back. You have witnesses to your humiliation, great.

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #life in the city #superman #avengers #mcu #dcu #dc #marvel

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recuira · 9 months

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after hours

after hours : a live action buggy x fem!reader fanfiction

for some odd reason, you have no idea who he is. and he fucking loved that.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

chapter one chapter two chapter three chapter four

chapter five | fights. fondness. fury.

his pov;

I followed close behind Y/N, almost like a lost puppy. She led the way while I walked after her, holding numerous bags full of random vegetables, grains, and dairy products. I felt bad but Y/N insisted on using the money I lent her to pay for the groceries. I told her I'd be happy to cover this but she gave me a firm 'no' and told me that a dinner guest shouldn't have to pay for their meal. It was inhumane- improper, she said. I smiled. I loved how persistent she could be.

As we turned the corner, she reached deep into the pocket of her backpack and pulled out a rusted key. The sight of her home appeared in the distance. I've never been inside. I've only ever seen what it looked like from an outside perspective. I was thrilled to finally be a part of Y/N's personal life. I was always separate from this part but now, I was finally being let in.

Her home appeared closer within seconds which took me as a shock. She lived closer than I had originally realized. Clearing my throat, I scooped the bags into my arms, hugging them against my chest. I rested my chin atop the quart of milk and looked down at the girl as she struggled to jam the key inside the lock. "Anything I need to watch out for?" I asked, taking a step closer to her.

Shaking her head, she was finally able to unlock the door. "No, just be nice. Use manners."

"Do I not already?" I asked, taken aback.

"Use them more often."

I nodded my head, clenching my jaw.

Y/N looked up at me, somehow being able to sense how nervous I was. I gulped and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Relax, Buggers," She hummed as she nudged me with her elbow. A warm smile wafted over my face and I shrugged my shoulders back, listening to her simple yet helpful words of advice. "Just be yourself."

"I've never had anyone tell me that before."

"Why?"

Just before I could answer, the door was pushed open and Y/N's mother appeared, smiling at the both of us. I stayed still as my friend walked ahead of me, slipping her shoes off beside the open door. I remained frozen, wielding the bags of groceries close to me. Why was I so scared? Why was I not moving?

"Is he not going to come in?" Her mother whispered to Y/N.

"Buggy, come inside."

With those words, I snapped out of my horrified trance and listened to her, walking in. The door was shut behind me and I took a second to admire everything around me.

To the left of me was the kitchen. A small counter wrapped around, two barstools sitting underneath it. A bowl of fruit sat atop. The kitchen was tiny with two burners, one of which held a tea kettle. The refrigerator was marked with scratches and what seemed to be dents. I frowned. I wonder what happened.

To my right was a staircase leading upstairs, to what I'm presuming was Y/N's bedroom and an extra room now that her mother moved downstairs. In front of me was a large wooden table with two matching chairs and then past that, a couch lined with assorted blankets. Built into the stone wall was a fireplace that was burning brightly, the flames crackling. I'm glad she could have a furnace or some type of heat to keep her warm at night. Especially during these times, hypothermia was fairly common. I was thankful it wouldn't be an issue for her.

After examining my surroundings, my eyes trailed back to the lovely woman next to me who started to grab items from my arms. I apologized and set the rest of the bags on the countertop, helping both her and her mother to unload them.

"How much was all of this?" Her mother asked as she grabbed a bag of tomatoes, staring closely at them.

"Not much."

"Did he pay?" She met my gaze for a second then looked back down.

"No, I did."

"Why didn't he pay?"

"Mom-" Y/N nudged her mother's shoulder, shaking her head. "Don't say anything like that. It's rude."

She held her hands up in defense. "My apologies." Her eyes rolled.

I decided to let them be and ventured into the living room. I took a seat on the couch, resting my arm atop the back of it. I leaned back and admired the crackling flames. More bickering was heard from behind me and I cringed. Poor girl.

"Is he gonna help make dinner?" I heard her mother whisper after she questioned if my nose was real or not. I grimaced.

"You can ask him yourself! Talk to him. I'm going to go get changed. I'll be right back," Y/N announced. As I turned my head, I watched the young girl walk up the staircase. Her mother was staring at me, forcing a smile.

"Come help me."

I gave a firm nod, pressed my hands to my thighs, and pushed myself up and off of the couch. I headed into the kitchen and smiled down at her. "What can I help with?"

"Chop those tomatoes and the onions."

"Okay," I said with a smile. I grabbed a knife from the small rack and slipped my gloves off, stuffing them into the left pocket of my coat. I wielded the knife and started to slice the tomatoes. "Diced? Chopped?"

"Diced, please."

An uncomfortable silence fell and I raised my head in hopes of seeing Y/N walking down the stairs but she remained invisible. I gulped and turned my head to face her mother who was measuring a few cups of water. I cleared my throat. "Thank you for inviting me over for dinner."

"I've heard a lot about you. I wanted to see if you lived up to the expectations."

"What has been said?"

"Only good things."

I smiled. I'm glad Y/N thought so highly of me. "She's said good things about you, too."

Her mom let out a gutty chuckle. "Yeah! That's funny. She hates me."

"No, she doesn't. She loves you."

"She sure has a hefty way of showing it."

"What do you mean?"

"Ya know how kids are. Disrespectful, defiant. She's no different."

I frowned. "How is she disrespectful?"

"Talks illy of her father. A man who aspired to be more and she shames him for that. I'll never understand it."

I scooped the tomatoes into a small bowl and then started to chop the onions, constantly blinking so I wouldn't cry. The smell burned my nose and eyes. I wanted to give my opinion on the matter but due to my dinner invitation, I didn't deem it to be seen fit. I stayed quiet and listened to her complaints. When Y/N finally appeared, it felt like a breath of fresh air to see her angelic self walk down the stairway. I found myself to be entranced with her beauty.

She changed into a sundress, the fabric matching her eyes. I smiled at the sight, biting my bottom lip. I was so distracted by her goddess look that I didn't feel the blade of the knife cut into my finger. With my clouded mind, I was also unable to use my devil fruit ability to stop the blade from cutting me. As soon as I felt it, I jumped back and dropped the knife. My blood pooled on the white cutting board and I winced, grabbing a towel from the stove to wrap around my wound. Y/N noticed this and hurried towards me, frowning. "What happened?"

I blinked and shook my head. "I just cut my finger, that's all. I'm okay."

"You're not okay, you're bleeding."

"Yeah, but-"

"Follow me, come here." She led me over to the other side of the counter and sat me down on a barstool. She disappeared into a small closet before reappearing with a small wooden box. I held my finger, feeling a pulse beat through my hand. Her mom watched with a troubled expression. I ignored her look and turned to gaze up at Y/N who was finally taller than me. I smirked.

She dug through the box and pulled out a bandage.

"Thank you, nurse," I whispered while she wrapped the bandage around my finger after disinfecting it with alcohol. "It feels a lot better."

"Don't mention it,'' She said softly. "Be careful next time."

"No promises." I winked.

As she turned around, I noticed that the dress was sheer. I don't know if she realized that but I didn't want to sound like a pervert by telling her. But I felt like a pervert by not telling her. I chewed on my lower lip and looked down at my finger.

Part of me wished she kissed my finger, but I knew I was asking too much.

Rising from the seat, I resumed cutting vegetables while the girl set the table. She pulled a barstool over and slid it next to one of the chairs. I watched her momentarily before scooping the remaining sliced peppers and garlic into the small bowl. I carried it over to her mother. "Here you go."

"Thank you," She patted my hand and then started to sift them into the pot of chicken stock. I backed up and leaned back against the counter, folding my arms over my chest. "What should I call you? Y/N's mom?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Evelyn."

"Nice to meet you, Evelyn."

I caught Y/N looking over at me. I met her gaze and smiled as she mouthed a quick 'thank you'.

I whispered 'you're welcome' in return, winking at her.

-=-

her pov;

It was a nice sight to see my mother and Buggy getting along so far. My mother was a troubling woman. While I loved her, she always had ulterior motives. She never did anything out of the kindness of her own heart. So while watching her interact with my new friend, I tried my best to predict what would happen. But there were too many possibilities. Too many endless outcomes. All I could do was wait because if I asked her, I'd be chewed out instantly.

I reached into the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of red wine. Popping the cork out, I poured three glasses and set them next to each of the three plates. I wasn't going to drink but I knew my mother would. I looked up at Buggy. Was he going to? The extra glass was just for show. I was called numerous names by my mother for not drinking alcohol. I didn't want to hear any of it tonight. I wanted things to go perfectly- no, beyond perfect. Things needed to be overly perfect, if that was possible.

But as the night furthered, I realized that my hope was nothing more than a silly dream.

When dinner was finally being eaten, the three of us gathered around the table. Buggy sipped on his glass of wine while my mother downed hers and then grabbed mine. "You're not gonna drink it," She insisted as she took a swig. "She hates alcohol," She said as she looked at Buggy.

"I know." He swallowed and slid the glass away from him.

I slowly began to eat. It’s been so long since I’ve sat down with my mother and shared a meal. And even longer since she cooked. Most of the time we ate separately. The only time we shared together were with stupid arguments.

“How’s the food, Buggy?” My mother asked.

The clown smiled and nodded his head. “Very good.”

“Y/N?” She tilted her gaze toward me.

“Good, thank you.”

“So, Buggy, I heard you used to be a pirate. Tell me about that.”

“Uhm.” He dropped his fork and finished chewing before washing the food down with wine. He cleared his throat and sat up. “What would you like to know?”

“How much money did it make you?”

I rolled my eyes and dropped my head into my hand.

“Well, obviously you can imagine it was quite a lot. I was quite wealthy and fortunate but of course, it wasn’t the best way to make money. I regret it now but-“

“Are you still rich?”

“Mom, talk about something else-“ I interrupted before she interrupted me.

“Stop. I’m just making conversation.”

I sighed and grabbed the wine bottle from beside her. I poured myself a glass and hesitantly, I took a sip. I grimaced at the taste but forced it down. I could tell tonight wasn’t going to go smoothly.

“I do have a bit saved, yeah. But not nearly as much as I used to.” The pirate took another bite.

“How much do you have saved?” My mom dropped her fork and rested her chin on her hands.

“A couple million berries, give or take.”

“Is that going to my daughter when you get married?”

I gasped, laughing. “What kind of question is that?”

“It’s a simple question, is it not? If you two are going to get married, then you need my blessing.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re not even dating, what makes you think we’re going to get married?” I scoffed, rolling my eyes as I took another bite of the meal. "What is with these questions? Is it only about money for you?"

"We have no money, Y/N. I've been telling you it's best to marry young and marry wealthy."

"Are you kidding me?"

-=-

his pov;

The tension was growing fast. And so was my discomfort.

When the idea of marriage came up, I felt hot.

It was a dream of mine but there was no way I was going to. At least not yet. Y/N looked so uncomfortable with the thought of it, as well. I wanted to interrupt and hopefully ease the situation but before I knew it, they both were yelling at each other.

I frowned, sinking into my seat.

But the thing that worried me the most was how much Y/N was drinking. When I first realized how many glasses she repeatedly poured herself, I grew concerned. Before I could reach over, grab her wrist, and tell her to stop, the argument got more heated. Both women were drunkenly yelling at one another, pointing out each other's flaws and dismays.

"You're nothing but disrespectful toward me, do you know that? Constantly talking back, saying you know what's best for me, shitting on your father who risked his life for us! You're horrible to me, Y/N. I try to be a good mother to you, and this is what I get in return. Blatant disrespect?" Evelyn spat as she pushed herself up from her seat at the table. She stormed into the kitchen and leaned down, sorting through the liquor cabinet. While she wasn't looking, I grabbed the girl's wrist and urged her to stop.

"Hey, don't fuel this. Let's just go. You can stay with me again tonight-" I tried to whisper but she ripped herself from my grip and followed after her mother in the kitchen, continuing to add fuel to the wildfire. Sighing, my head fell into my hands and I felt the urge to scream but I remained quiet, forcing myself to sit still. I wanted to defend Y/N, however, this wasn't my battle. She needed to conquer this on her own.

"He left us! How is he risking his life? He willingly ditched his family for some stupid, probably made-up treasure! Do you find it odd that he never wrote to you? Or me? He completely abandoned us! And you call him a hero," The girl's face went red with anger. She threw her hands up in the air to exaggerate her point. She then shook her head. "It's pathetic. I knew I shouldn't have invited Buggy over."

"What?"

"Do you know how horrible it is to ask someone for their money? Or to insinuate that you want it? He's a good friend of mine. I don't care about his money. I never asked for anything. He offered it to me out of the kindness of his heart."

"Are you ashamed of me?"

"Take a guess."

Slap!

Before I could process anything, Y/N was clutching her cheek, crying.

The escalation of this situation was beyond anything I could process. One moment we were getting along, sharing a nice meal, and now, Y/N was on the floor, crying as she cursed her mother, wishing her to be dead like her father.

Within seconds, both women left. Y/N ran to her bedroom and Evelyn left through the front door.

I sat alone at the table, clutching my thighs as I stayed completely still. I attempted to process what had just happened but I failed to do so.

Y/N had every right to despise her father. He left her when she was an infant for the One Piece, which sure, could simply be a huge hoax. A woman without a father is tragic. She needed a proper male role model in her life. However, due to her father's immature dreams, she was left alone. And Evelyn? While present, she was still very absent in her life. My heart ached for her. Someone so sweet and kind shed too many tears for people who could care less about her.

I didn't want to immediately run upstairs to her aid. She needed space, from what I understood.

I took a few minutes to clean up from dinner then I proceeded up the narrow staircase. I knocked on the door which consisted of a weeping woman behind it. A muffled 'come in' allowed my entrance.

I pushed the door open and closed it behind me.

The poor girl lay on her bed, clutching herself in a tight ball as she wept, her body shaking the bed. I approached her, kneeling on the bed. My hand found her back and I stroked it. I succeeded in ignoring the sheerness of her dress, my eyes locking on the back of her head.

"Are you alright?"

A stupid question, I know. She was crying. Of course, she wasn't okay. But I felt responsible to ask it.

She remained silent, the sounds of her sobs hurting both my heart and my ears. I wanted to be deaf. To hear someone as enchanting as her cry was worse than a life sentence.

"Do you want me to leave?"

With those words, she twisted her body and faced me. Her makeup streaked down her wet face. I gave her a sincere smile. She was still so pretty. I reached to grab her hurt cheek. I wiped her tears, making sure to be extremely gentle.

"I'll be quiet. Talk to me when you feel ready."

Her swollen eyes closed and she gave a half-nod.

I remained quiet, caressing her soft skin. I admired her, thanking God her eyes were closed so she wouldn't think my staring was creepy. A few loose strands of hair stuck to her teary face to which I wiped them away.

I let out a soft sigh and laid back, my head propped on a stuffed animal of a turtle. I smirked to myself. Her room was cozy. Her bed was soft and the sheets were silk. A window took up half of a wall which had translucent pink curtains hanging down from a pole. A lantern sat on her bedside table, a wooden dresser in front of us. If I were her, I'd never leave. I loved all of the pink decorations. It was cute.

I was about to check on her again but before I could, she sat up and crawled closer to me, her wet face burying into the crook where my neck and right shoulder met. I let out an inaudible gasp, a shiver running down my spine as I could feel her hot breath against my skin. My arm swept underneath her and I pulled her closer to me, my hand rubbing her back. I slipped my hand below the hem of her dress so I could rub her bare back. She didn't protest. I smiled.

Her hand found my chest as she clutched my striped vest. I spread my legs to get comfortable. Her own wrapped around my waist. I was shocked with how close and personal she was becoming but did I mind? Not. One. Bit.

My free hand caressed her soft hair, combing my fingers through it. The sweet scent of her strong shampoo floated past my nose. Coconut and vanilla.

I opened my mouth, moments from speaking but before I had the opportunity to, a kiss was placed against my neck. My eyes widened and I pushed her off of me. Her tired eyes met mine for a moment. I looked at her, confused. But she smiled at me and leaned back in, this time placing a kiss against my lips. When she pulled back, a soft red tint rested on her mouth. "What?" She whispered, her eyes trailing to admire my mouth.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't know," She murmured and kissed me again. She repeated this, each kiss longer and more passionate than the previous one. My hands now remained glued at my sides. I was scared to use them, not knowing what I planned on doing with them. But when her hand grabbed my own and she brought my injured finger up to her soft, plump lips, I swallowed, feeling my body heat up. She kissed my finger, humming. "I wanted to do this earlier, but…"

"Y/N, what's going on?"

"Hm? Nothing," She murmured and kissed me again. She guided my hand up to grab at her chest. She gripped my hand upon her right breast then dropped her hand. "I'm not doing anything," She repeated.

My body only continued to grow hot.

What was she doing? Why was she doing this?

She wasn't the type of girl to just sleep around. She had respect for herself, which I heavily admired. So why was she doing this?

Her kisses grew more frequent and before I knew it, she was completely on top of me. Her thighs straddled my hips as she forced me back against the bed. I pulled the stuffed turtle out from beneath my heart and tossed it somewhere across the room. I moaned into her mouth as she kissed me harder, this time with her tongue.

I shivered, my hand stuck on her breast, delicately scrunching my fingers. She wasn't wearing a bra.

My breath hitched as my finger grazed over her nipple. She whined at this, a sound that was a symphony to my ears.

"Buggy," She moaned against my mouth. "Take my dress off."

And that's when it hit me.

This wasn't her.

This wasn't Y/N.

As much as I've been craving this since the moment my eyes landed on a goddess like herself, I couldn't do it. Not when she was drunk and an emotional wreck.

"I can't," I whispered against her mouth, my hand dropping from her breast. Her hovering mouth pulled away and she gave me a skeptical look, her eyebrows furrowing together. I frowned. I could tell she was upset. "I'm sorry."

"What do you mean 'you can't'?" Y/N asked, clearly offended and taken aback. She looked down at the erection beneath my pants. She giggled, "You clearly can. And want to."

"Do you?"

"What?" She laughed, her eyes rolling. "I insinuated this, no?"

"You're drunk," I said flatly. "I don't want to do this. I feel like I'm taking advantage of you." I grabbed a pillow from behind me and used it to cover my hips. "I want to do this when you're sober. Not when you're intoxicated and upset."

She scoffed. "Are you kidding me?"

"I don't want to upset you-"

"Well, you have." The girl crawled off of me and her arms folded over her chest. Her lips were stained red from my own. Normally, I would find the sight to be riveting but now, I was ashamed that I let it travel this far. "I want you to leave," She whispered.

"Y/N, come on, I don't want you to end up regretting this."

"No, you're right. I would end up regretting this."

I frowned. "Can we just talk tomorrow? About all of this?" I reached to take her hand in mine but she declined the offer by slapping it away.

"I want you to go."

"But-"

"I thought you liked me. I felt like we had a connection. I understood you, you understood me. And when I finally get the courage to show you how I feel, you just push me away," Her lower lip quivered as her eyes watered with tears.

"I do like you. I always have. I just want you to be sober, to be confident in what you're doing."

"And what makes you think I'm not sober?"

"You're slurring your words and your breath smells of alcohol," I admitted.

"Whatever," Y/N mumbled as she crawled off of the bed and stood on her feet. "I just wanted to give this night a good end. But my fault, I guess. I read into things too much."

I stayed quiet. I knew she didn't mean what she was saying.

"You're horrible, ya know that? You give me so many mixed signals by calling me cute, buying me things, and spoiling me with money. What do you want from me? I throw myself onto you and you push me away? What is wrong with you?"

"I'm going to go."

"Good! Go! The quicker, the better. I was sick of looking at you anyway." Her words cut deeper than any knife or blade ever could. But I knew she didn't mean any of it. It was the alcohol. I knew how she felt when her mother pulled this stunt with her. It wasn't a good feeling.

"Have a good night, Y/N." I smiled as I climbed off of the bed. I approached her despite her discomfort and pressed a kiss against her forehead. I then backed away, approaching the door. Part of me hoped she would beg me to stay but she remained quiet. Just as I left her bedroom, the door behind me slammed shut. While I was unhappy with her reaction, I was satisfied with the outcome. I'd much rather her despise me than take advantage of her when she was drunk by having sex with her. I knew she would regret it. She wasn't the type of girl to drink, let alone have sex with a guy while doing so.

As I walked downstairs, I realized she might forget about this in the morning. Or she wouldn't. I just didn't want her to hate me because of this. I was only looking out for her best interest.

I left her home and adjusted my coat, closing the door behind me. Evelyn leaned against the outside of the house, her foot propped up with a lit cigarette in her right hand. She looked at me and smiled. "Trouble in paradise?" She chuckled, taking a puff.

I adjusted the sleeves of my coat and looked over my shoulder. If it weren't for her, none of this would've happened. I developed a new hatred for Y/N's mother. "If I give her any more of what I have, I'm making sure you get jackshit," I snapped.

"We'll see about that. Like mother, like daughter."

"She is nothing like you."

"You're a no-good pirate. I see that. I just need her to realize that."

I rolled my eyes and scoffed. I reached over, grabbed the cigarette from her lips, and threw it on the ground. I squished it below my foot and then stepped forward. "The first step to conquering addiction is admitting you have one."

"Go home, clown."

It took everything in me not to say my true feelings to her, but that was Y/N's mother. I wasn't going to insult her mom.

It was best to leave before things escalated further.

I had such high hopes for tonight but alas, nothing was made a reality. As I started down the street, I wondered if I made a mistake by not continuing further with Y/N. I wanted to, I really did. I wanted nothing more than to share a moment of intimacy with her. But the red wine clouded her judgment. She had a huge fight with her mother. Evelyn even hit her. There was no way she was thinking clearly.

And if our relationship is affected because of this, then so be it.

I'd rather that than take something precious from her.

Than to corrupt someone as pure as she.

#buggy the clown #buggy the genius jester #buggy x reader #captain buggy #buggy smut #op buggy #one piece live action #buggy one piece #buggy #x reader #buggy the flashy fool #buggy x y/n #buggy x you #one piece buggy #opla buggy

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dilemmaontwolegs · 11 months

Text

The Taste of Temptation {3} || DR3

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x fem!reader Summary: Pierre enjoys winding Danny up with rumours, and Danny enjoys his recompense with your body. Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, age gap (13 years) reader is 20, smut, smut, alcohol, smut, ass play, dom!daniel, bond*ge, overstimulation WC: 3.7k F1 Masterlist Story: One || Two || Three || Four || Five Snapshots One || Two || Three || Four || Five

Round Fourteen - Netherlands You had been minding your own business, enjoying a cool glass of fruit juice to combat the rising temperature of the day. The Red Bull motorhome was unusually quiet as you sat down at an empty table, so much so that you didn’t even notice the hush that fell over the few members of staff that were around setting up for the week ahead.

Something hit your neck and a sudden roar almost deafened your ear as the shock turned to a flash of pain. You jolted out of your seat, tipping it over, and clutched the burning skin below your ear as you saw a dark blue shirt disappear out the door, the number 10 printed on his back.

“What the hell was that?” you asked as you used your phone as a mirror. “What the fuck! GASLYYY!!!!!”

A deep purple circle was growing on your skin where he had pressed the end of a hoover against it, the bright red vacuum now discarded on the floor in the culprits rush to get away. The powerful suction had instantly brought your blood to the surface and it looked like a huge hickey, and Daniel was just walking in.

You slapped your hand over the mark and saw the team members of his that were still around stifle their laughs.

“What’s so funny?” he asked with a grin.

“Pierre just gave her a hickey,” Calum, a friendly technician, managed to admit as he pointed to your hand. “Then he boosted it out of here, never seen an Alpine go so fast.”

Daniel didn’t laugh along with the rest as his fingers curled around your wrist and pulled your hand away. His eyes narrowed at the offensive mark before darting to the vacuum still running on the floor behind your chair. The stupid smile and big, round eyes on the plastic shell only seemed to grow more mocking the longer he looked at it.

“It was just a silly joke,” you said softly.

“Very funny.” He forced a smile but his eyes kept flickering back to your neck and you shivered as he ran his tongue along his teeth and leaned closer so no one could overhear his promise. “But only I get to mark you, kitten.”

Daniel got his recompense when you returned to the hotel mid afternoon. There was a few hours of down time before there was a small get together planned, nothing too crazy since media day started in the morning and no one wanted to be hungover for that.

“Shhh, kitten, the walls aren’t that thick.”

With the curtains drawn it was impossible to tell how long had passed, how long it had been since Danny tied your wrists to your ankles and subjected you to such immense pleasure you couldn’t remember your name.

His fingers were cool against your hot skin as he brushed your hair back from your sweaty forehead before they softly tweaked your nipple piercing and another gasp slipped past the strap of leather you were biting.

The rave music filling the room was set to overwhelm yet another of your senses but it couldn’t hide the sounds you were making and it was a wonder that all of the Netherlands didn’t know what he was doing to you. You didn’t even know what he was doing to you, there was only one orgasm rolling into the next as your tears wet the pillow beneath your head.

Toys littered the bed and Danny had taken his time to enjoy ruining you with them all.

Your ass throbbed around the metal plug he had worked you up to taking, his words of courage helping you to push through the gasping breaths you filled your lungs with as he stretched you to the limit. The cry of relief that had erupted when the plug slid home, and the sight of your hole clenching around the narrow handle, had been enough for him to come again and the warm ropes of his release had splayed across your breasts.

If you could move you would have run your fingers through it, gathering the viscous mess so you could taste it on your tongue. That was where he had finished earlier and where he would possibly finish again, because before you knew it he was hard again.

“Please,” you whimpered as he pressed a bullet to your clit, the vibrations making more tears stream down your cheeks as intense tremors rocked your entire body and your ankles screamed for mercy. “I need to come.”

“Soon, kitten.”

Daniel shifted to lay between your spread legs, his breath hot on your cunt as he tasted the essence dripping from your swollen lips. His fingers soon replaced his tongue and the lewd sounds of them pumping in and out of you only added to the overwhelming experience.

Two fingers, then three. Each snap of his wrist buried them deeper and each time he brushed against the butt plug and pushed it further. Stars danced across your vision and you couldn’t hold back any longer as your pussy spasmed around his fingers before they were gone and his tongue lapped at his reward as it escaped your folds.

“I didn’t say you could-”

Your body fell slack against the restraints as you lost all ability to think, see or hear and you floated away on the high.

When you came back to your senses you were tucked under the blankets with Daniel’s body curled behind you, his arm draped over your waist. His beard tickled your shoulder and he pressed a soft kiss upon it when he felt you wake. Every part of you ached in a way that could never actually hurt and you sighed with contentment as you rolled over to face your boyfriend.

“How long was I out?”

“About half an hour,” he said with a proud little smile as he pulled your leg over his hip as you felt his hard length teasing along your entrance. “I think that’s a new record.”

Your body felt empty without the toys and you looked around to see them neatly lined up on a towel drying. As messy as Daniel liked to get, he also liked to clean up after and you could feel your skin was no longer slick with sweat or sticky with his release that had painted your skin. He had taken care of it all after you had passed out.

“How bad is it?” you asked when you caught his fixated stare on your neck but he grabbed your hand when you reached up to touch the tender area.

“Don’t hide it, kitten. You can cover up Gasly’s but not mine.”

You rolled your hips and smirked when his lips parted with a deep breath as his sensitive head started to slip inside you, just an inch. “You are so petty.”

“You’re mine and I have to mark my territory,” he said before snapping his hips forward and stealing your breath as he bit your bottom lip. “It’s just biology, baby.”

“Have you been watching the Discovery Channel again?” you teased as your eyes fluttered shut.

Daniel laughed as rolled you to your back and tugged your other leg over his hip too before pinning your hands to the headboard. “There’s something satisfying about seeing a hunter subdue his prey.” His head dipped to yours and a shiver spread goosebumps across your skin when he grazed his teeth over your racing pulse. “Seeing how vulnerable she is up against such a beast.”

You arched your back and pushed your breasts up, silently begging him to trail his lips further down to them. He was gentle this time, swirling his tongue over the sensitive peaks knowing they would be tender. Everywhere was tender so he was taking his time with you, enjoying the long, slow strokes that made you feel every single inch of his cock as it filled you.

“She’s only vulnerable to him,” you moaned as you dragged your fingers through his hair and tugged the damp strands.

Daniel’s honey brown eyes said far more than his lips did as they curled up into a soft smile that made your stomach flip. “A lion and a kitten.”

He released your hands so he could run his own down your arm and over your collarbone to cup your cheek, the calluses on his palms tickling your skin along the way. His hand was so large it cradled your entire jaw and his thumb stroked your kiss-swollen lips before he took them for his own.

There was never a fight for dominance with him, your lips just parted as if he were the elixir of life and you were dying of thirst. He was intoxicating and addictive, unlike anyone you had been with before and he completely consumed your consciousness, filling every waking thought before infiltrating your dreams too.

You lost all sense of self with him, yet he had helped you explore your body and find so much more. And you also had lessons to teach him.

“Lions don’t actually hunt,” you murmured as you lay your head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat thumping rhythmically in your ear. “It’s the females that do the hunting. The male is just there to fuck.”

Your muscled pillow bounced as he laughed, his fingers along your spine pausing their relaxing dance. “I like that even better. What can you tell me about the honey badger?”

You pushed up onto your elbow, resting your chin on your hand so he could see the amusement on your face. “The honey badger is a cheeky creature who is very territorial and gets quite jealous over little things.”

“Is that right?” he dared you to continue with the lifting of one eyebrow and a smirk on his lips.

“Mhmm, but don’t let the cuteness fool you, there’s a fighting spirit beneath all that fur,” you teased, running your fingers through the dark triangle of curls that grew over his sternum. “And six nipples. Oh, did you think I was talking about you?”

His smirk broke into a bright smile that reached his sparkling eyes as his laugh filled the room. “You never know, I might have six nipples and just be very good at hiding them.”

You snorted a laugh and buried your face into the crook of his neck, squeezing your arms around his waist. “No, you would happily parade them about if you had that many.”

Danny placed a soft kiss atop your head before resting his cheek upon it with a happy sigh. “You know me so well.”

“Hey Nips,” Pierre greeted with a grin as he bounced on the balls of his feet impatiently. “You haven’t blocked me on Insta have you?”

“I will if you keep calling me Nips,” you warned as you pulled your phone out of your clutch and checked the app you had muted the notifications for and groaned. “Seriously?”

The Frenchman's laugh was insufferable as you saw what he had uploaded while Daniel returned to your side after chatting with Valterri, never straying too far away from you. The video wasn’t great quality considering Pierre had been running full pelt through the paddock with a vacuum plugged into a massive extension lead but you could still make out the path to Red Bull’s hospitality.

You saw yourself sitting at a table sipping your juice in peace before he flicked the vacuum on and a look of shock fell over your face when it sucked your neck into the nozzle. Unable to resist now that he had more than made up for it, Daniel chuckled in your ear at the video and you jutted your elbow back to check him in the ribs.

The next picture he posted made you roll your eyes before you saw an opportunity and sent a reply before locking the phone and slipping it back into your clutch as Daniel’s laugh grew even louder. “There’s those claws, kitty.”

You regretted opening the app as you were still thinking about the other notifications you had seen and they left you distracted. It wasn’t anything new and they weren’t often malicious but the rumours were just irritating. Every single post you were tagged in by one of the drivers inevitably led to people thinking you were dating them.

It was only Pierre who did it on purpose for his own amusement, knowing how possessive Daniel was towards you. It was like he just wanted to push his buttons and see how long it took for him to snap and make the relationship public. There had been talks of it, after collapsing into bed, high off an orgasm, but then nothing happened.

The rumours were still playing on your mind when the group moved to the large round table and you saw the name on the seating chart next to yours.

“Hey, what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Danny asked as he sat to your left, his hand disappearing under the table to slide up the slit of your dress to your thigh, his thumb drawing soothing circles over the bare skin.

“Nothing, I’m just a little tired.” You weren’t lying completely, you could have done with a lot more sleep after what he put you through.

“Have you been boring Nips, mate?” Pierre asked as he dropped into the chair beside you, likely having paid off a waitress to have his name card put on your table. A smarmy smile played at his lips and he trailed a finger around the rim of his glass, the crystal humming quietly, as his other arm draped over the back of your chair. “You weren’t bored in Paris with me, were you?”

Danny’s fingers tightened around your thigh and you fought back the gasp as his nails dug half-moons into your skin. “Do you want to tell him why you’re tired or should we let him use his imagination?”

You hid your laugh behind your hand and Pierre’s interest only grew as he leaned closer. “I don’t think he is creative enough to imagine everything we did. Maybe I’ll tell Kika and she can surprise him.”

A dopey smile crossed his face at the mention of his girlfriend before a camera flashed and he sat back in his seat with a huff of annoyance at the photographer. “I thought they weren’t allowed at these things.”

You shrugged and accepted the glass of wine Danny took from a passing waitress. “Netflix wants a taste of everything this year, all the behind the scenes shots. Just be grateful you don’t have to wear microphones.”

“I dunno, could be entertaining as hell,” Daniel chuckled as he teased his fingers along the edge of your panties. “But they would have to censor 99% of what happens outside of the paddock. For us at least.”

“We get it, you guys have sex,” Lando said with a roll of his eyes as he arrived late and dropped into the seat beside Daniel, Carlos on the other side of him. “Sup, what’d I miss?”

“Nothing much. Pierre got schooled on Insta, and we are going public,” Daniel casually stated, your head whipping around towards him as he shrugged with a smile. “What? It was bothering you and it’ll shut him up too.”

Instead of looking annoyed that his fun was coming to an end, Pierre laughed and let his arm slip off your chair. “About time. Pay up, Norris.”

Lando groaned and fished his wallet out his pocket, his fingers flicking through the cash before taking it all. “You couldn’t have waited one more week? I’m a bit light. Can I get you the rest tomorrow?”

You curled an eyebrow as the money exchanged hands in front of you and you reached out, taking one of the €100 notes from Pierre. “My cut for using my relationship for your gains.”

“Well, if I’m losing five grand on this I want to see the evidence,” Lando said as he started unfolding and refolding the swan-shaped napkin in front of him. “Or I’ll have it back, thanks, with interest.”

“You’re not getting this back,” you stated as you shoved the cash into your bra before fetching your phone from the table. “My employers are cheap bastards.”

Pierre laughed with a shake of his head, knowing you had one of Danny’s credit cards and that he would never let you spend a cent of your own money while you were with him. It was the same amongst all the drivers, they spoiled their partners and enjoyed providing everything one could want or need. They didn’t see it as being ‘used’.

“There,” you grinned as Daniel’s phone beeped with a notification you had posted on Instagram. “The not-so-secret secret is out.”

“Let the chaos begin.”

Daniel’s hand disappeared from your thigh and you instantly missed the warmth before he reached for your nape. His fingers tightened their grip as he drew you closer and your breath hitched as you saw the possessive glint in his eyes before he crushed his lips to yours. The room was forgotten as he took all your focus and your phone fell to your lap so you could grab the lapels of his collar and deepen the kiss.

Ten seconds or ten minutes could have passed by the time you parted breathlessly and as your eyes fluttered open they were blinded by the flashed of the cameras aimed your way. Daniel smirked and pulled the finger at them, causing another bright burst of flashes. “Fuck ‘em all.”

“People will talk.”

Your tongue wet your lips before you dared him. “Let them.”

His eyes drifted down your body before he dragged them slowly back up. “They’ll say you’re too young.”

“Age is just a number.” You used his own words against him, the words that had lingered in your mind since he had said them to you the first day you met.

“They’ll say you only got your job because of me.”

A small giggle bubbled up as your fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt. “I’ll show them my degree.”

“You have all the answers, don’t you, kitten?” he smirked.

“No, there’s still one I’m waiting on...”

The moment hung suspended in the air as his brown eyes searched your face for the answer and he swore under his breath. “Fuck ‘em all. You’re mine.”

Daniel’s teeth nipped at your earlobe and you inhaled sharply at the bolt of lightning that struck your core, tightening your stomach as it flipped in response. “You’re mine, kitten, all mine.”

You couldn’t even form a response as your back pressed against the wall and he pinned you there with his hips. The denim he wore did little to hide the hard length that he ground against your core and you trembled with anticipation.

“Please, Danny,” you begged unabashedly. You had fantasised over this moment since you had met him but nothing could prepare you for the reality. Your eyes screwed shut as his zip brushed over your clit and your lips parted at the sensitive touch, a keening whine slipping from them, “Pleeease.”

Your arms tightened around his neck as he stepped away from the wall and carried you to the bed, swiping the half empty wine bottle as he passed the coffee table. The mattress rushed up to meet you and he smirked down at you as he used his knee to spread your legs wider.

“This isn’t champagne but we’ll make it work.” His fingers curled around the bottleneck and his thumb covered the hole so he could control the flow as he started to pour it over you. You jolted at the difference in temperature and the red potation started to snake across your skin with each small movement you made.

“It’s going to stain the bedding,” you whispered as you tried to hold your breath so it didn’t displace even more.

“Wine will be the least of their worries,” he teased as he dipped his head down and lashed his tongue across your stomach, dipping it into your belly button where the wine had pooled until he had licked it clean. Your stomach clenched when he rolled his eyes up your body to look at you and you swore you almost came from that image alone.

You were heady as he made his way up your body, trailing a dribble of wine between the valley of your breasts before chasing it with his tongue. His thumb traced your lips, parting them as he tipped the bottle up to fill your mouth until it overflowed. The bottle was carelessly discarded and a large hand caught your chin, tipping it back before he sealed his mouth over yours and shared the flavour of the wine on your tongue.

You silenced your phone from the incessant notifications that hadn’t stopped all evening and tossed it onto the coffee table. Dropping onto the sofa in the quiet hotel, you swirled the topped up red wine around your glass mindlessly and wondered what you had gotten yourself into.

“It’ll die down, as soon as something new comes along.” Daniel fell into the space beside you and took the wine stem from your hands, sipping it before placing it on the table and pulling you onto his lap. His hair was still damp from the shower he had just had and every few seconds a droplet would break free from the strands and run down his neck. “You’re not regretting it, are you?”

There was a touch of vulnerability in his tone that he tried to hide with a smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. You cupped his face and brushed your thumbs over the creases that were deeper when he truly smiled and shook your head. “A little apprehensive of what’s to come,” you admitted with a whisper. “But I’m proud to be yours, you make me happy.”

“That’s all that matters to me.” He guided your head to his shoulder and you relaxed as your body moulded to fit against him perfectly. This was your safe place and your soul recognised that as the late hour instantly caught up with you. A tired yawn clicked the joint of your jaw and your eyes grew heavy as you nuzzled your face closer to his neck. “And what do we say if someone has a problem?”

“Fuck them,” your murmured sleepily, making his shoulders bounce with a silent laugh.

“That’s right, kitten,” he whispered across your skin as his lips rested on your forehead. “Fuck ‘em all.”

Click here for part four.

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