#and thank goodness he was fine in the end | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eff4freddie · 13 hours ago

Text

Sittin'

Joel Miller x F!Babysitter Reader No outbreak Joel Miller AU - Words: 10k

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI

You're working your way through medical school, supporting yourself by taking the occasional babysitting gig. One local single Dad needs someone to look after his 10 year old daughter Sarah on nights when he's late back from the jobsite. And it's all fine and good until your neglectful boyfriend decides to crash the party. Warnings: small age gap (Joel is 32, reader is in medical school), reader is babysitting Sarah as a side hustle to support her studies, Sarah is cute, reader has a shit boyfriend, Joel is trying really hard to resist, exhibitionism, thigh-riding, praise, dirty talk, thigh-humping, oral (f receiving), fingering, general defiling of a perfectly good granite countertop, Joel has opinions about how a woman should be treated as is not afraid to demonstrate them.

A/N: My attempts at writing PWP almost always end up like 10k lol. Whatever, I like a good slow burn. If you enjoy, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you - Freddie x

It was a hot night, the latest in a long line. You knew you were lucky getting to spend some of your evenings over at the Millers, simply because it meant you got to sit under Mr Miller’s air conditioner, the box wedged firm into the window in the living room, little droplets of water condensing and running down the pane of glass underneath it. You’d put a dishtowel down to protect the carpet.

You knew you were lucky, too, because once Sarah went off to bed you could spread your books over Mr Miller’s kitchen table, listening to the buzzing of the fridge as you tried to memorise the functions of the lobes in the brain. In class, your biomedicine professor had blown up balloons and handed out sharpies, inviting her students to draw the lobes in the right place, and yours had popped when you pressed too hard on the occipital lobe, and your lab partner had laughed and said that it was ironic, but you couldn’t figure it: the motor cortex would have been ironic, this was just startling.

You cracked your neck, rolling your shoulders and looking over to the clock on the wall. Nearly 10:30 PM. Mr Miller would be coming back soon.

Sarah was a good kid, and some nights she stayed up to ‘help’ you study, mostly by pointing to pictures in your textbooks and asking you to explain them to her. She’d hated the full-page coloured illustration of the eye, but had been fascinated by the heart, trailing her finger along the arteries, into the chambers, tracing the pathway in and out again. You’d make a cardiologist of her, yet.

Tonight, she’d only made it to twenty minutes past eight, her eyes growing heavy as she turned the pages of your book. This one didn’t have as many pictures, and you could sense her fatigue in the stuffy air.

‘What kind of doctor do you want to be?’ she’d asked, and you’d pulled your hair up off your neck to try and get some air on your skin. You weren’t sure how to explain it without sounding gruesome, without giving her nightmares. She was only 10.

‘When people have emergencies and they have to go to the hospital right away, they need to see a doctor to patch them back up again…’ you’d said, and she’d stared at you with a tiresome expression on her face.

‘I’m not a baby,’ she said, disapproving. You smiled at her.

‘Trauma surgeon,’ you replied. She nodded her head, deeming your answer satisfactory, and taking herself up the stairs to bed.

She was one of the easiest kids you’d ever babysat for, and over the years you’d racked up quite a roster. You’d started in high school, first saving up enough for the prom dress right in the storefront window, and then later keeping yourself fed during your undergrad. When you’d moved to Austin you’d rented a studio apartment in the back garden of a little old lady, a woman who had revealed herself to be an excellent cook if militant about her hydrangeas. You’d letterboxed the neighbourhood and picked up a few odd jobs but nothing lasting, until the evening you’d got a call from a very frantic Mr Miller, who was so beside himself he only asked how quick you could get there and didn’t even ask about your rates.

It turned out Mr Miller got caught up at the jobsite some nights, staying back later than he expected with his little brother to finish framing, or guttering, or wiring. He was running out of favours with his neighbours, he’d explained, and Sarah was still too little to feed herself. You hadn’t minded, his deep southern drawl doing something to you even over the phone, such that you found yourself cancelling plans just to go and sit on his couch that very evening, textbook over your knees.

Some nights with Sarah tucked up fast asleep you’d stand and stare at the pictures of the two of them, her holding up a soccer trophy nearly twice her size, him standing with his hand in his pocket, his other over the shoulders of a younger man you assumed was Tommy. If you were feeling particularly bold, or were procrastinating especially hard, you’d extend a finger and run them up and down the strings of Joel’s guitar, resting sentinel against the windowsill. You imagined his fingers pushing into the fretboard, the strings indenting the flesh.

It wasn’t even that he was handsome, although he definitely was. He was a young father, doing it almost entirely alone, and on any other man that would have made for grumpy, for overly tired, for entitled. On Mr Miller it made for kindness, for a nurturing type of strength, corded tight under his skin. For a single dad always thinking about his daughter, only ever wanting the best for her. For a man focussed on doing right for his family, small as it was.

You rolled your shoulders, the pre-frontal cortex just about beating you for the night. Just as you were wondering if the Millers kept any ice cream in the freezer, you heard the key in the front door. You listened as Joel followed the same routine, first toeing off his boots, letting out a little grunt as the second one hit the floor. You heard him huff as he stretched his back, rolling his hips in a little circle to try and get some stretch into them, before dropping his keys on the table and padding, surprisingly light on his socked feet, into the kitchen.

‘Hey, Sweetheart,’ he said, his pet name for you emerging on only the second time you’d sat for him and still, even after this many months, causing your stomach to do a little flipper.

‘Evening, Mr Miller,’ you said, and he tutted at you, moving over to the fridge and extracting a beer.

‘Told ya not to call me that,’ he muttered, but you could see the grin behind it. ‘How was my girl tonight?’

‘Perfect, as always,’ you said, smiling at him as he poured you a glass of sweet tea from the jug in the fridge without bothering to ask if you wanted any. You accepted it gratefully, suddenly noticing how dry your throat had become.

‘She’s a good kid,’ he said. He sat down, heavy, in the chair opposite you. The ceiling lamp buzzed above you both, and the light bounced off the fine sheen of sweat accumulating on his arms, on his cheeks. He glowed, even if it was under a layer of exhaustion.

‘You look tired, Mr Miller,’ you said, and he cocked a little grin.

‘You sayin’ I look like shit, Sweetheart?’ he asked.

‘No, never,’ you said, instantly regretting how quickly, how fervently, you had responded. He continued to grin at you, lopsided, the dimple on his right cheek popping out to greet you.

‘What is it tonight?’ he asked, and you held up your book to him. ‘The bio-mech-an-ics-of-thought: phys-ee-ol-o-gee of the brain,’ he intoned, before letting out a low whistle. ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ he said.

‘It’s interesting,’ you defended, unsure why. ‘So long as there are diagrams,’ you added.

‘So that’s where the magic happens?’ he asked, gesturing to the illustrated image of the brain in the centre of the page you had been working from.

‘This is where thought happens,’ you nodded. ‘Kind of like…where decisions are made.’

‘Must be a woman’s brain,’ Joel deadpanned, taking a swig of his beer. ‘Can guarantee men make their decisions someplace else.’

You caught a glimpse of something dark in his eyes as he glanced over you. You blushed, swearing it was just the heat, and furious with yourself. This wasn’t like you; you weren’t some shrinking violet type. You’d had boyfriends, you’d had fun in college. You had no idea what it was about Mr Miller that made you immediately go all giggly, all girly, but whatever it was you wished it would fuck off.

The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence. You were used to this from him, the way his mind seemed to drift, the way he seemed content enough to let it. Gently, so as not to jolt him out of his thoughts, you closed your book, gathered your pens together. Everything tucked away in your bag you were surprised when you looked up to see he was watching you.

‘Apparently Sarah’s taken an interest in science,’ he said after a moment, his warm eyes watching yours for a second. You felt a tingle of pride in your chest.

‘Oh yeah?’ you asked.

‘Mmhmm, apparently after she pushed Simon Strzelecki off the monkey bars, she offered to patch him up again.’

You grinned before you were able to catch yourself.

‘That’s…very, umm…’ you trailed off and he huffed out a little laugh.

‘It’s very Sarah,’ he agreed.

‘M’sorry, Mr Miller…’ you started, but Joel stood up, waving you off.

‘Don’t be, Strzelecki’s a little shit’f the highest order,’ he said. ‘You gonna let me give ya a lift this time?’ he asked, and this time you shook your head at him.

‘No, I can walk it.’

‘Y’know I don’t like ya walkin’ around out there on yer’own,’ he grumbled, and you felt the insane urge to reach your hand out to rest on his bicep, to ease his evident discomfort.

‘I can handle it,’ you said, instead.

Something stole over his face for a moment, a sharpness in his eyes. For a moment you gazed up at him, the furrow in his brow deepening, the muscles in his jaw twitching as his eyes roamed over your face. Standing this close to him you were reminded how tall, how broad he really was. You dropped your eyes to his arms, crossed over his chest, and imagined him holding you with them, circling them around your back as you leant, safe, into his skin. You blinked yourself back to reality, worried for a second he could read your thoughts.

‘Know you can handle it,’ he said, his voice low, ‘just don’t like it, is all.’

You did this every time, this stand-off. You worried one night you would waver.

‘G’night, Mr Miller,’ you said, over dry lips. He nodded, once, at you, still evidently displeased something dark, something haunted, passing over his features before he brought them back into line.

He stood on the front porch, light still on, until you rounded his driveway and disappeared past the oak tree by the front lawn.

Mick was a guy from your Tuesday morning bio class, and you only realised he was your boyfriend when he introduced you to a few of his friends that way. You’d just gone with it, because it had seemed easier, and he was nice if a little full of himself at times. He was the son of the one the big ranching families, had been almost guaranteed a position at whatever college he chose on the day of his birth, hadn’t ever really considered that money was something you saved, something you worked for.

But he would never let you pay for dinner, and often he showed up to class holding a coffee just for you. You’d been on your own for a long time, had been self-sufficient well before you had any business to, and it was kind of nice to let yourself be cared for, if that’s what this was.

On nights when you had to work he would pout and complain, and you told yourself it was because he cared about you, because he wanted you around, even if some part of you knew he just didn’t like to be alone. Every once and while he would ask if he could come with you, ‘feel you up on the couch like it’s eighth grade’, and it made you feel exactly fourteen years old, like this was a summer job you had failed to grow out of. It didn’t help that he more than once referred to your sitting job as ‘cute’. His mother had stayed at home the moment she fell pregnant with Mick’s older brother, and as far as you could tell was yet to leave. You never asked about a future with Mick, terrified of what kind of picture he would paint.

On one such evening, after he’d been particularly insistent that you blow off your job and come and hang out with him and his friends, he’d starting blowing up your phone just as Mr Miller sat down beside you, weary-boned and sleepy-eyed, at his kitchen table.

You ignored the calls, tried to carry on reading even as Mr Miller arched his brow at your insistently vibrating device. You huffed, knowing at some point Mick would get bored.

‘You’re popular tonight?’ Joel prompted after a while, making you lose your place in the paragraph you’d read over at least ten times already.

You huffed out a sigh, reaching out and scrolling through the stream of notifications. He’d started texting, sometimes just sending a single emoji, sometimes entire paragraphs about how badly you were letting him down. You felt an ache bloom behind your right eye socket, and you reached up to your temple to try and massage it away.

‘It’s my boyfriend,’ you told him, and with your eyes still closed you didn’t see him scowl. ‘He wants me to come out to some bar with him and his drunk friends.’

Joel considered this for a long moment. When you opened your eyes they blurred under the sudden light, and you blinked away sleep to see him clearly again.

‘You should be out with your friends, it’s a Friday night…’ he said, almost looking guilty for a moment, and you rushed to reassure him.

‘No, no trust me…this is better. They’re boring when they’re drunk. And also when they’re sober.’

Joel smiled, straining just slightly, at this.

‘He a good man?’ he asked, and you scoffed a little.

‘He’s barely a man at all,’ you said, automatically. Later you’d reflect on this moment, feel it turn you inside out and scold your skin with the heat of your own shame. For now, though, you were too tired, and it was too hot in the kitchen, for you to catch it.

Joel caught it, though. He cleared his throat.

‘We met at college, and he’s…well, he’s kind of set up for life. He doesn’t have to worry about grades, or proving himself. He’s almost guaranteed his residency.’ You were aware you were starting to sound bitter, and maybe you were just a little. Something about Mr Miller, sitting at his kitchen table late in the evening with a beer, muscles wrapped in a plaid, his soft brown eyes watching you carefully, made you think he’d understand.

‘He doesn’t make you feel good enough for him?’ he asked, after a while.

You considered this, eventually shrugging your shoulders. ‘I don’t know if he makes me feel anything,’ you said, truthfully.

Joel leaned forward, elbows on the table, his chin resting in his hand as he watched you, gazed at your face.

‘What do you want him to make you feel?’ he asked.

‘Seen,’ you said, without hesitation.

‘Just seen?’ he asked. His voice was deathly quiet now, almost entirely gravel. His eyes were burning, sharp. You watched as they darkened, stealing your breath out from under you.

‘Desired,’ you almost whispered. He dropped a hand to the table, his fingertips only inches from yours, resting casual on your textbook.

‘What man’s out there runnin’ round this town not desirin’ you?’ he asked, almost as though he couldn’t believe it, and you felt scorching heat on your cheeks, rushing down your sternum, pooling heavy in your core.

You blinked, terrified to move in case you broke whatever spell had befallen him. He turned thoughtful, his eyes dropping to the woodgrain of the table.

‘Y’been working a lot here…can’t imagine hanging out with me and a ten-year-old girl is the same as bein’ out there, living your youth…’

You felt something heavy shift in your belly, something essential curdle and erode.

‘I like it here, Mr Miller,’ you said, all big eyes and almost quivering lower lip. Joel moved away, sitting up straight and peeling the label off his beer.

‘Pretty thing like you, shouldn’t be spendin’ all night waitin’ on us,’ he said, almost to himself. You shook your head again, but he was closing off on you, you could see it in the way his shoulders were folding, the way his mouth was tugging down at the corners.

Without even considering it, operating almost entirely on instinct, you reached your hand out to rest on his bicep. You watched as his eyes drifted close, a long exhale through his nose. He grimaced, almost like you were hurting him, until he lifted his hand and held yours fast to him, wrapping his paw around you.

‘I really love spending time with Sarah,’ you said, just over a whisper, as he stared hard at the table. You could sense he was avoiding your gaze, and you wanted to say something to draw him to you, wanted to give him a little nugget of truth that he could take into himself, hold deep and quiet in his depths. ‘I love spending time with you,’ you said.

He raised his eyes to yours. His hand was so warm over yours, your cheeks so pink in the sleepless heat of the late evening. You saw his eyes fall to your lips and you slipped your hand from under his, reaching up to trace the contours of his jaw with your fingertips.

‘Baby…’ he whispered, ‘I been’ resistin’ you so long, don’t know if I can…’ and you pushed a finger to his lips. You didn’t want him to break whatever spell you were both suddenly under. Didn’t want him to take this from you both, whatever it was turning out to be.

‘Don’t argue,’ you instructed, quietly. With brows saddled, he nodded his head.

And he didn’t argue. Not when you moved your finger from his lips and traced it down over the hollow of his neck, over to his pulse where it thundered under your tough.

Didn’t argue when you leant forward, pressing your nose to his, giving him time to pull away, to move from your lips.

Didn’t argue when you pressed them to his, a little soft and quiet thing, earning you a wanting gasp from him, a prize you would hold in the cavity of your chest so long as your heart stayed beating.

Later, when you had gathered yourselves, when he had gazed at you and you had felt the want in him mixing with the regret, with the necessity of the un-having corrupting the want to take and take and take, you had simply gathered your books, tucking them quiet and neat into the bag at your feet. He didn’t argue with you about driving you home that night, suddenly quiet in a way that set your teeth on edge, and you felt an ache in your belly you couldn’t account for when he closed the door. You waited behind the trunk of the tree at the end of his driveway, counting the minutes he left the light on for you after you’d slipped from view, giving up when you got past 15.

You were unsettled. Joel hadn’t called for two weeks, and you were starting to worry that you’d ruined things, your silly little kiss bubbling corrosive at the base of your spine. You couldn’t help going over the whole evening again and again in your head.

You should have told him you preferred spending the nights at his house, that the way it smelt like play-dough and sometimes sawdust, sometimes pine, was so unique to the both of them that you felt your nerves settle the moment you stepped over the threshold. That the house was warm and quiet, that you could spread out your books and something essential to you, that in this space with them you felt more yourself than anywhere else on the planet, even locked away in your little studio apartment, even just you and your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

You wanted to tell him Sarah was funny, and smart, and kind, and being around her made you nostalgic for the childhood you never had but ached for, that you felt all that time with her she was giving you something precious and absent, something simple and something sweet. That there were nights you weren’t sure who was sitting who.

You wanted to tell him you didn’t expect anything from him, that it didn’t matter to you if nothing ever happened, if he regretted letting you kiss him, if it had just been that it was too awkward in the moment to say no. Just that you wanted to keep sitting for him, just that if all you got was a casual conversation at the end of the evening and an argument about driving home that would be enough for you, because it would have to be, and so you could make it so.

You begged off seeing Mick for the second Friday night in a row, wanting to be available in case Joel called. You felt silly but you could use the cash. Your textbooks were $400 a piece, and next semester you were taking three classes. Just feeding yourself was enough to stop your studies in their tracks.

Two things happened in the span of ten minutes. A knock at your door stirred you from your lecture notes, and your phone rang. By the time you had it in your hand you were holding Mick back from your face, your palm to his chest, as you craned your neck away from him to speak.

‘M’sorry, Sweetheart, it’s just…I know, it’s a Friday…’

‘It’s fine, Mr Miller,’ you said, ignoring the way Mick was making smoochy faces over your shoulder. ‘I don’t have any plans.’

When you got off the phone Mick was pouting again, and you sighed.

‘I thought I was your plans?’ he said, and you shrugged at him.

‘It’s good money for easy work, babe,’ you said, the nickname sitting heavy on your tongue.

‘I can give you money,’ he said, pulling you towards him by your belt loops and nipping at your jaw. You cringed away from him.

‘That would make me your whore, right?’ you said, and he grinned at you, wiggling his eyebrows.

‘Never seemed to bother you before…’ he said, and you bristled against him.

‘The fuck does that mean?’

“Oh, fuck me, babe, make me yours…” he imitated, his voice high in a general approximation of yours. You blushed, furiously. ‘You think good girls beg like little whores?’ he asked, and you knew he was kidding around, knew that he wasn’t smart enough to do it without outright insulting you, knew that you’d put up with this shit before so there was no reason why he wouldn’t assume he couldn’t get away with it now. You knew the way he spoke to you was basically your fault, and you couldn’t yell at him now that the precedent had been set. You felt yourself crumple, landing with a thump on the edge of your bed.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ he was saying, grinning at you like he’d won his prize. ‘You put the kid to bed, and I’ll come by and keep you happy ‘til Dad gets home.’

You hated the idea, the thought of Mick in that space you’d almost come to think of sacred making your stomach churn.

‘No,’ you said, and you watched as he arched his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You can’t come in…’

‘Say no more,’ he said, grinning again, and for whatever reason, you didn’t.

He arrived, just after 9 PM, already drunk. You winced as he parked his car in the driveway, right in Mr Miller’s spot, worried for a moment he was going to swipe the mailbox when he took the angle too fast. He skidded to a stop mere inches from Mr Miller’s garage door and you exhaled, realising you were bracing for the sound of splintering wood. He ambled over to where you stood on the front porch, tugging at your shirt sleeves in the cool night air.

‘Babe!’ he called, and you shushed him almost instantly. He was carrying a sixpack of beers, three of them already gone. His breath reeked and you wrinkled up your nose when he slung his arm over the back of your neck and pulled you in for a sloppy kiss.

‘This feels like high school,’ he said, and giggled.

‘This is my job, y’know,’ you corrected him, but he wasn’t hearing you, backing you up against the side of the house. You thumped into the brick, wind temporarily knocked from your lungs before he was on you, slipping his entire tongue into your ear in a way that made your skin crawl.

‘Easy…’ you said, and he ignored you, his hand not holding the beers rising up to paw at your breast over your shirt.

‘Mmm…such a tasty little slut,’ he said, and you closed your eyes. ‘Little naughty baby-sitter.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ you stage-whispered, not sure how well your voices wouldn’t carry over the breeze in Mr Miller’s cul-de-sac. He leant down, resting the beers on the front porch so that he could grope you with both hands.

He groaned as he rubbed his cock at your clothed centre. You moved your face to the side, letting your eyes slide closed again.

You tried to think of a romantic movie. Tried to remember some of the fragments of the romance novels your mother had kept stowed under the bed and that you snuck into the den to read to your giggling friends. Tried to imagine a different man, a stranger’s hands on your chest, a stranger’s fingers pinching at your nipples. Tried to imagine what it would feel like if they found the sweet spot, if they sent electric shocks into your belly, into your cunt. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push the sound of Mick’s heavy breathing out of your mind, focusing instead on rough and calloused fingers, the scruff of a beard teasing along your skin. Heavy accent and sweet pine, a groaned little ‘Sweetheart…’ as he slipped your shirt up over your shoulders.

‘The fuck’s going on here?’ you heard a gruff voice as your eyes sprang open, pushing Mick from you hard enough that he stumbled, backwards, landing on the grass.

‘Mr Miller!’ you exclaimed, shame burning bright on your cheeks as you righted your clothes. ‘M’so sorry, he just dropped by…’ you started but Joel was striding up his driveway, as you realised with a new flash of guilt he’d had to park on the street.

‘Hey, man…’ Mick was saying, his hands up in front of his face. ‘Just checkin’ in on my girl…’

You cringed, this particular pet name always feeling more like ownership when it came from him.

Joel looked up at you, his brows saddled. ‘You OK, Sweetheart?’ he asked you, and you realised for the first time he wasn’t angry but concerned, his fists balled up like he was ready to spring to your defence.

‘It’s Mick,’ you explained, glancing down at him as he tried to climb to his feet, getting as far as his knees and settling there for a second to plan his next move. ‘He…he wanted to…’

‘Yeah, I saw what he wanted to,’ Joel huffed out, reaching down to pull Mick upright by the back of his shirt. ‘Saw the way you were bracing away from it too,’ he said, looking directly into Mick’s grinning face.

‘What else you see, old man?’ he asked, and Joel dropped him back onto his knees.

‘You got your keys?’ he asked him, and waiting for the younger man to root around in his pockets.

‘Don’t steal my ride,’ he said, handing them over and not noticing when Joel slipped them into his pocket.

‘M’going inside, and I’m gonna call you a taxi, and you’re getting in. She can drive your car back to you tomorrow mornin’…if she doesn’t decide to drive it off a cliff,’ he said, abandoning Mick on the front lawn and coming towards you, grabbing your wrist gentle but firm in his hand and pulling you inside. ‘C’mon, darlin’,’ he said, and you followed, almost entirely on autopilot.

‘I’m so sorry, Mr Miller,’ you started but he waved you away, placing a call for the taxi while keeping you fixed in your spot with his glare. When he was done, he rolled his shoulders, sighing.

‘You sit,’ he said, striding into the kitchen and emerging moments later with two glasses of sweet tea. You realised, as you lifted your hands to take your glass from him, that you were shivering.

‘I didn’t know he was going to do that,’ you said, and Joel shook his head. You felt the waves of disappointment rolling off him and you worried for a moment you might cry.

‘He always touch ya like that?’ he asked, palming at the back of his neck.

‘Like what?’ you asked, your cheeks burning again.

‘All…clumsy and…disrespectful,’ he said, quiet. He stared at the floor between you while you perched on the edge of the couch.

‘Well…’ you started, but you weren’t sure how you wanted to finish that sentence. Sometimes he doesn’t even bother to touch me at all, you thought.

Joel scoffed, his jaw squeezed tight. ‘Guys like that are all the same, Sweetheart, just…selfish. Even in the bedroom. No lady should be touched like she’s a piece of meat.’

You considered, for one crazy moment, if Joel wasn’t so much disappointed in you as he was in Mick’s prowess. Suddenly you had to stifle a giggle.

‘What’s so funny?’ Joel asked you, surprised.

‘Just…I mean, they all go to such fancy schools, get all that college for basically free…’ you started, trailing off when you saw him starting to smile. ‘He can’t even boil an egg, and I don’t mean mine,’ you said, and he laughed then, free and loud, and the sound of it made a little fizzle of joy spark up your spine.

This was fun, you realised, shitting on your terrible boyfriend with the most handsome single Dad you’d ever laid your eyes on. This was really, really fun.

‘So, I take it he don’t make you breakfast in the mornin’,’ Joel joked, and you snorted. ‘What you eat for breakfast, anyway?’ he asked, turning to you now, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You swallowed. ‘No, wait,’ he said, ‘let me guess.’ He pretended to look you up and down, his brow arching as he considered. ‘You’re not a waffles kinda girl,’ he said, thoughtfully. You grinned and shook your head. You’d never liked the sponginess. ‘But you’re too fun for plain old oatmeal,’ he said, and you felt a blush crawling across your chest. ‘You’re a pancake princess,’ he decided, finally. ‘Am I right?’

You pretended to consider it for a second before nodding happily at him. ‘Maple syrup and berries,’ you agreed.

‘Maple syrup and berries,’ he said, grinning in his victory. He paused, something passing between you. Suddenly he shifted forward, his knees just barely brushing yours. You found yourself mirroring him, leaning in enough that you had to put your hand out to steady you, landing it on the cushion only inches from his thigh. You could feel his warm breath on your cheek when he whispered in your ear, ‘tart…but a little bit of sweet for m’sweetheart.’

You felt heat scorch its way up your chest, reduced to kindling beside him.

‘Bet he don’t kiss ya like ya should be,’ he said, and you thought for a second of Mick, grinning and drunk out of his mind on the front lawn. You wondered if the taxi had come for him yet, and had absolutely no interest in going out to check on him.

‘Mr Miller…’ you whispered, and he groaned, then, his eyes rolling back in his head.

‘Please, baby, when you call me that…’ he trailed off, eyes blown wide and you felt, then, the thundering in your chest. From this distance you could see his racing pulse in his neck, the same pace as yours.

‘Mr Miller…’ you said, again, staring now at his lips. You wanted to reach out and just take a little nibble.

And he was on you, grasping the back of your head and bringing it down to him, crashing his lips into yours as you gasped, swallowing the echo down into his throat. His tongue, scorching hot, exploring your mouth as he teased it open, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheeks.

‘Thought about you…’ you said, without even thinking, and Joel pulled back a second to appraise you; your swollen lips, your doe-eyes gazing up at him.

‘Say that again,’ he mumbled.

‘When he’d take me, I’d think about you,’ you said, and you watched as his eyes fell shut, taking the moment to glance down at his heaving chest, the aching bulge between his legs. ‘Thought about your hands on me, Mr Miller, about your mouth.’

‘Fuck, Sweetheart…’ he said, almost as if it pained him, before his eyes snapped back open to gaze at you.

‘Kiss me?’ you asked, sweet as you could for him while you tried with both hands to hang on to the moment, to stay here in it with him. You would need to remember this, every corner of the room, every detail. Would spend nights reconstructing his face in your mind, the way he was looking at you now, wanting and red-cheeked, dark eyes and a hot little huff as your words landed their blows on him.

‘Canna touch you, baby?’ he asked, and you were nodding, pulling him towards you as he slid his hands over your waist. Threading your hands through his hair he brought you over him, straddling him on the couch as he stared up at you, brows arching high, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was happening. You smiled at him, feeling like his prize, as you brought your hips down on him and watched his eyes ease shut, heard his breath stutter. He was big, you could feel it even as the seam of his jeans rubbed at your core. You could feel yourself aching for him, hot and pounding where you ground yourself down.

‘Fuck, Mr Miller…’ you gasped as you felt him push his cock up into you, his hands on your hips and pulling you down.

‘So beautiful, baby,’ he whispered, reaching up with one hand to cup your breast, squeezing the nipple between his fingers that, even through your shirt, shot lightning bolts to your cunt. You gasped, a high-pitched little sound you were sure you’d never made before, and he soaked it down into his skin, kept it held tight and precious in the core of him, to keep him warm on cold evenings.

You felt yourself shivering, even as his warm fingertips dropped to lift the hem of your tee and trace their way back up to your tits along the skin. His enormous hands almost completely captured it, and you felt small, then, and shy, but when you looked down into his warm, brown eyes you saw only safety there, only naked desire for your pleasure.

You let your hips roll, that building ache in your core. You’d only ever felt this alone, had never had another person bring it out of you, and you felt the sharp edges of it as you felt a shard of panic slice through your gut. No one had ever done this for you, before. You weren’t sure if your body would allow it, weren’t sure if you could let go enough to fall.

‘Hey…’ Joel said beneath you, his eyes roaming your face. ‘Relax, Sweetheart,’ he whispered, reaching his hand from your hip to your jaw, pulling you down to rest your forehead on his. ‘Just you n’me, baby,’ he whispered as you rocked on top of him. ‘You can take what you need,’ he promised. ‘I got you.’

‘Joel!’ you gasped, the shiver in your body now ratcheting up your spine, your thighs burning as you rolled your hips on his lap, his cock still tucked away in his jeans. ‘I don’t know if I…’

‘Sssh…’ he cooed, raising a thumb to your lips and slipping it between your teeth. You sucked instinctually, swirling your tongue over the tip and letting your eyes drift closed. ‘Just feel it, baby,’ he said, ‘don’t force it. Let it grow.’

Never in your life had you felt like this. You took his thumb between your teeth as you ground, the spark of fear in your belly engulfed by the roar of your desire. You could feel your hips stuttering, could hear yourself starting to pant.

‘Good girl…’ Joel encouraged, slipping his thumb from your mouth now and smearing it across your lips. ‘Right here for ya, baby,’ he said. ‘Wantchya to feel so good.’

You cried out, smacking your hand over your mouth to stifle your cries. He was going to kill you, and you would let him again and again, let him bring you back to life just to kill you this way all over again. You had no idea bodies were made to feel this good.

‘Oh!’ you gasped, all the warning you could muster as he grabbed your hips with both hands, slamming his bulge up into you as he pulled you down, the seam of his jeans rubbing hard into your clit. ‘Yes!’ you whispered, your body shuddering as you felt yourself crest, the pleasure roaring from your cunt to your chest, exploding out of your skin as you rolled, roiled, boiled on top of Mr Miller.

‘Jesus, there she is…’ he whispered, and you opened your eyes to gaze down at him, your breath still coming in gasps as he watched you, awe and desire on his face. ‘There she is,’ he said again, like a prayer, a benediction.

You woke slowly, the dappled light streaming in through the oak tree beside Joel’s window. It took you a moment to orient yourself, to remember that you were in his bed because he’d considered it too late for you to take yourself home, even if you had Mick’s car. Because the pleasure he’d wrung out of you on his couch had left you boneless, because the idea of ripping yourself from his smell, from his heat, was unthinkable in that moment.

You stretched, noting that the other side of the bed remained made, that he had spent the night on the couch. You remembered that you had wanted to ask him to stay, that the words had formed on your lips, and that in that moment you saw the regret on his face, the longing to tuck himself in beside you and pull you into his chest, let the weight of the night take him and you with him, but that he wouldn’t allow it, that he was holding back. You weren’t sure why, but you assumed out of decency, out of respect. Out of some vague employee-boss professionalism you would both cling to in an attempt to paper over the grasping maw of desire opening up between you.

You had wanted him, and you had denied him, allowed him to deny you. You rolled to your back in a frustrated huff, surrounded by the scent of him, of his cologne and the scent of his skin imbued in the sheets beneath you.

After a while you heard noises in the kitchen and you left your cocoon, pulling your clothes on and padding down the stairs constructing a cover story for Sarah as to why you were still there. When you rounded the corner, though, you saw only Joel –in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, standing at the stove.

‘Hey, Sweetheart,’ he said casually, as if you hadn’t come on his lap less than twelve hours before, ‘Sarah’s headed off to soccer practice, so you and me’ll have to take care of all these.’

He gestured over his shoulder to the kitchen table, where a stack of cooling pancakes stood proud. You felt a shiver of shock run though you at the sight of them, turning to Joel with the curl of tears tickling the back of your eyes. ‘No berries, sorry darlin’,’ he said, without looking up. ‘But we got enough syrup to make it up to ya, I hope.’

You weren’t sure anyone had ever done anything like this for you. You wanted to sob, wanted to walk over to the table and pick up the pancakes in your fists and mash them into your skin, wanted to drown them in syrup and eat until your belly distended, wanted to force feed them into Joel. Instead, you stepped forward, your arms opening all of their own accord, wrapping yourself around his back like a Koala. He huffed out a surprised laugh, growing serious when he turned you in his arms to face him, seeing the gathering tears at your waterline.

‘Hey, what’s this?’ he asked, and you grinned, watery, up at him.

‘No-one has ever…’ you started, catching your words before they spilled too much of the truth. Understanding passed over Joel’s face.

‘Oh, my sweet girl…’ he said, and you glowed for a minute, the words reaching down into your chest and igniting something long extinguished.

He leaned down towards you, pressed his nose to yours, his forehead resting gently on yours. You inhaled him, his scent and the sweet smell of the pancakes on the stove, tried to imprint the memory deep in your DNA.

‘What the fuck is this?’ an angry voice sounded from behind you, and you snapped away from Joel, taking several steps back. Mick, still in his same clothes from the night before, stood furious in Joel’s kitchen.

‘The fuck, you let yourself in?’ Joel asked, matching Mick’s anger with his own. ‘This is a private residence, man.’

‘That’s my girlfriend, man,’ Mick spat, his face twisting into an ugly mask you weren’t sure you’d ever noticed on him before. ‘The fuck you doing feeling her up? You stealin’ my car and my girl?’

‘Mick…’ you started but he was ignoring you, advancing on Joel. You stepped towards him, hands up to placate, but Joel was suddenly beside you, tucking you behind him and shielding you with his broad chest.

‘Back up, buddy,’ Joel said, a whispered warning.

‘Me, back up?’ Mick seethed, about to go on before Joel interrupted him.

‘Yeah, you back up. You need to sit your arse down and learn yourself somethin’,’ he said, advancing on Mick so that the younger man took several steps backwards, heading towards the kitchen table. You wondered if anyone had ever actually stood up to him, if usually his wealth was enough to make people cower. He backed into a kitchen chair, slamming down into it with a thud as he stared up at Joel, the older man red faced and pointing a finger at his chest. ‘You think that little display last night was any way to treat a woman?’ he grit out. You watched as Mick shook his head no. ‘You think she enjoyed that, being pawed at in the dark like a fuckin’ street walker?’ he asked.

‘She looked pretty whorish a few seconds ago,’ Mick responded, petulant and stupid. You could see by the way Joel braced his shoulders, his back expanding in resplendent fury, that Mick had made the wrong fucking choice.

‘Ya little shit,’ Joel said, stepping back from Mick and towards you. He held his arm to you, beckoning you into his chest and you went to him, tucking yourself against his side.

‘You have a woman like this, you fuckin’ cherish her,’ Joel muttered, tracing his fingertips along your side and making you shiver. ‘Look at these pretty little tits,’ he said, moving to cup them as you blushed, tucking your face into his neck. You heard Mick’s sharp intake of breath, mirroring your own as Joel rolled your nipples through your shirt. ‘The way you were grabbin’ at ‘em last night, you think that felt good? You make her groan like this?’ he asked, applying just the right amount of pressure on the sensitive nubs, eliciting a moan from you, unbidden.

‘Listen, man, this is…’ Mick started but Joel cut him off with just a look, stern and disapproving, before his face shifted back to adoration when he turned to you.

‘Let’s show him, baby?’ he asked, his brows saddled high. You knew you were safe with him, that at any moment you could call it off, but you wanted this. You wanted Mick to see what Joel could do to you, the sounds you could make. Wanted him to feel small and insignificant in the presence of a real man, of real pleasure. Wanting him to see what money couldn’t buy.

You nodded your head at Joel and watched as the grin bloomed over his face. ‘M’good girl,’ he said, quiet enough that only you could hear it, and you felt the bolt of want shoot down into your core. Your cunt already aching, already dripping for him.

‘Show me where,’ he said, stepping back as you surveyed the space. You nodded towards the kitchen island, the bench just above your hip height. Joel nodded, lifting you up easily to perch on the edge, your body facing Mick as he sat, frozen, at the table in front of you.

‘Slip these off, baby,’ Joel said, tugging at your sweatpants and you lifted your hips as he slipped them, your panties along with them, out from underneath you. The granite countertop cold on the top of your thighs you revelled in the sensation of it, the hard, cold surface so different to Joel’s hot body as he hovered at your side.

‘Show him,’ he said, tapping you on the knee. You spread your legs, hooking one thigh over the edge of the counter and the other widening out to your side, your cunt unfolding before the two men in front of you. You watched as Mick’s face turned pink, sweat appearing on his brow. You turned to look at Joel, the hunger in his eyes as he devoured every inch of your skin. He reached over, running his fingertips over the inside of your thigh, moving closer to you, leaning over your body to whisper into your ear.

‘You’re dripping onto my countertop, baby,’ he said, and you could hear the glee in it, the wanting.

‘For you, Joel,’ you clarified. ‘Not him.’

‘Nah, never for him, I reckon,’ Joel agreed, his fingers slipping further towards your slit. You felt totally exposed and wanton, whorish, as Mick had put it, and your cunt was pulsing, aching from the desire of it. You felt like a priceless piece of art admired in a big city museum, like a stripper opening up her legs for hoards of braying men, like a girlfriend letting her disappointing boyfriend know in no uncertain terms he would no longer neglect her. You felt power coursing through your veins and into your cunt, your slick pooling on the top of your thighs as the most beautiful man you had ever seen stood beside you and teased the pleasure from every nerve.

‘Fuck…’ you whimpered as Joel’s fingers landed light and dexterous on your clit, the little bundle of nerves sending the pleasure roaring through your core and into your chest. You bucked your hips, nearly slipping from the countertop, Joel coming forward again to brace you against his chest.

‘God, look how much she wants it,’ Joel said over your head to Mick. ‘Bet you’ve never made her jump like that.’ You opened your eyes, not even having realised they’d closed, to watch Mick swallow hard and heavy. You beamed back at Joel, letting the pride in his face radiate warmth down upon you.

‘So good f’me, so good t’me,’ he said, spreading your lips apart with his fingers and pushing a fingertip inside. You gasped, shock on your face at the intensity of the need for him burning where he touched.

‘Please…’ you whimpered, just wanting more and just wanting him to never stop, just wanting him to reach inside you, to wring the pleasure out of you, to make you come so hard you forgot your own name.

‘Sshh…’ he cooed to you, ‘your boyfriend needs to concentrate so he can learn.’

You emitted a squeal of frustration, bucking your hips on his hand to try and draw him in, earning you only a chuckle from Joel.

‘Ok baby, m’sorry. Just like teasin’ ya,’ he grinned at you, before sliding two fat, rough fingers hard into your cunt.

For a second you lost touch with reality, your head flying back to the ceiling as sensations strong enough to take your breath roared from your cunt. The stretch was delicious, the heel of Joel’s hand rubbing hard at your clit as his fingers reached deep inside you, opening you up for him, your slick gathering in his palm.

‘Look how wet she gets,’ Joel noted, over his shoulder to Mick. ‘Such a shiny little cunt when she’s drippin’ like this. You ever work her up like this?’

You heard Mick grunt, a pleading note of displeasure, and you sighed as Joel started pumping, stoking the fire in your cunt that threatened to eviscerate you and everyone within the vicinity.

‘Joel!’ you gasped, rolling your hips again, trying to shove him deeper into your greedy little cunt as it grasped at him.

‘Could lick ‘er up, whatchyu reckon?’ Joel asked, already getting down on his knees as you groaned, certain now he was going to send you into the stratosphere. ‘Can I, baby?’ he asked, and you nodded, frantic, unable to form words.

‘Bet she tastes sweet,’ Joel said to Mick, who was inching closer in his chair, peering over Joel’s shoulder as your cunt swallowed his thick fingers. ‘Like watermelon on a hot summer day. You ever taste her, Mick?’ he asked. You watched as the shame bloomed over Mick’s face. Joel scoffed. ‘Course not, ya fuckin piss weak little prick,’ he spat before turning, diving in to lick a fat stripe at your folds, settling in to lap at your clit as his fingers worked you.

You screamed, sucking in huge lung-fulls of breath just to let them keen out of you, your hips slamming shut on Joel’s head as he sucked at you, every nerve ending screaming now as you felt the blooming heat of release.

‘Oh, he’s gonna make me…’ you said to Mick over Joel’s shoulder, watching you with owlish eyes.

‘Don’t talk to him,’ Joel admonished you, pulling your focus down to him as he perched between your legs, ‘you talk to me,’ he said.

‘Sorry, Mr Miller,’ you said, watching as his eyes rolled shut, a shiver passing over his shoulders.

‘Be the death of me…’ he muttered, returning his attentions to your pulsing cunt. You gripped his hair, rolling your hips on his face and rocking into him, chasing the release now gathering at the base of your spine.

‘Jesus…oh, fuck…’ you cried, trying desperately to warn him, your eyes slamming shut only to open in shock as he found new ways to wring the pleasure from you.

Joel worked you up, his tongue never fatiguing, setting up the perfect rhythm to hold you just on the edge. You could feel your sweat pooling on your skin, the heat in your cunt spreading down your legs, the pull of the knot in your belly.

To your utter dismay Joel stopped, lifting his face to address Mick at his shoulder. ‘You ever make her squirm like this?’ he asked, and you cried for him, then, scrabbling to grip his shoulders, his chin, to push him back to your desperate cunt. He laughed, nipping at your fingertips as they passed by. ‘Look at her graspin’ for me. You seein’ this? This is what real pleasure looks like.’

You cracked open an eye, the room spinning around you as you fought to regain control of your limbs. You saw the look of shame embedded deep into Mick’s face now, the sight of it somehow intensifying your pleasure, the building pressure in your cunt.

‘Fuck me,’ you gasped, turning your attention back to Joel, his eyebrows shooting up. ‘Show him how to fuck,’ you groaned, pushing off the countertop and spinning up onto your toes, laying chest down on the granite now hot to the touch from your writhing body on top of it. You spread your legs a little, knowing that your puffy little cunt lips would be revealed to them both, and you heard them both groan, Joel’s chesty moan full of grit, Mick’s high pitched and brimming with regret.

‘Don’t do this, man…’ he pleaded, and you heard Joel’s little scoff.

‘That’s the thing, buddy, the lady always gets what she wants.’

You felt him come to stand behind you, heard the rustle of his sweats as he pulled his cock over the waistband. It took everything in you not to turn and admire it, knowing in that moment you would have plenty of opportunity.

‘Fuck, she’s got me weepin’,’ Joel said, and you heard the unmistakable sound of skin on skin as he wrapped his hand around himself and tugged. ‘Got me harder than a railroad spike, this little cunt…’ he muttered. You whined, swivelling your hips to try and entice him, begging him to move faster as the walls of your cunt fluttered for him. You heard him sigh, a happy little sound. ‘Ok, baby, I’m here,’ he said, running a hand up your spine to hold you gentle and firm at the back of your neck, the head of his cock nudging at your cunt. ‘Gotta be gentle with my sweet little pussy,’ he said to you, leaning over you to place a chaste kiss in the cup of your shoulder blade.

‘Please, let him see it stretch me,’ you said, and you felt Joel shudder, notching himself at your entrance.

‘Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll chain him up in the basement, make him watch me fuck you every day,’ he muttered, pushing gently at first, the tip enough to make you gasp.

He was big, you realised. All of this time working you up he’d been leading to his moment, preparing to tease you open. ‘Oh, shit…’ you gasped as he pushed.

‘You ok, baby?’ he asked, pausing until you nodded, frantic, hands gripping at the edge of the counter for purchase as you pushed back into him, sliding in a few extra inches, as Joel moaned.

You were dimly aware that Mick was moving, coming to stand in front of you, a look of sorrow and unabashed heat on his face.

‘Please, can I?’ he asked, rubbing himself through his pants and you swatted him away.

‘No, fuck you,’ you said, emboldened by Joel’s desire for you, by his cock currently splitting your folds. ‘You never get this pussy again,’ you hissed at him, and you felt a bloom of pride at the look of hurt crossing his face just as Joel cheered from behind you.

‘That’s my beautiful girl!’ he gasped, bringing a finger to your clit and rubbing tight circles into it, making you gasp as you let your head fall, resting on the countertop. ‘So good f’me.’

The burn in your cunt from the way he stretched you abated, the pleasure Joel was giving you from your clit causing more slick to gather, your cunt grasping him again, your walls fluttering as you felt the ache turn to sweet pleasure, to a blooming rapture.

You lost touch with the ground, Joel’s harsh thrusts pushing you further up the counter, completely at his mercy as your legs hung useless beneath you, hands braced against the granite to give him purchase. In this moment, spread out on his cock, your cunt open and dripping for him, the pleasure ripping the words from your brain, gasps racking your throat, you felt completely under Joel’s spell, his touch, his heat. Mind-numb, thoroughly fucked out, gripped in this moment between the build up and the threshold of release.

‘Oh, you’re gonna make me…’ you warned but Joel had you, was there already with you.

‘I know, baby, I know,’ he grunted between thrusts. ‘Can feel it, can feel that sweet little cunt grippin’ me.’

You cried out, nodding your head furiously, entirely at his mercy now. ‘Yes, yes…Joel, it’s gonna…’

‘Let it go, baby,’ he moaned, and you felt none of the panic, none of the terror at your impending release, wrapped up safe in Joel’s body, in his groans of rapture, in the pull of the knot as it threatened to snap entirely.

‘Watch me make her come,’ he spat out over your head, and you were only dimly aware of what he was saying as your release sped towards you.

You writhed, your breath stolen from you by the roar of the wildfire across your chest. The push of your orgasm slipping you under, crashing your body into the shore, rolling and quaking underneath it as indescribable lust coursed through your veins.

‘Oh, fuck, there she goes,’ Joel spluttered, his hips stuttering as he started to deepen his thrusts. ‘Gonna fill up ya girl,’ he grit out, his final movements sloppy and desperate as he approached the edge.

‘Do it, baby,’ you whimpered beneath him, words finally able to escape the cage of your throat. ‘Need you.’

He did, then, his come exploding into you and washing you clean, cleansing you of Mick, of all your disappointments, of all your fears. You looked back over your shoulder at him as he crested, his eyebrows saddled and his eyes trained on you, a look of reverence and hunger, of sweet shock, as though he couldn’t believe how good it felt either, as if everything for him was also slotting into place, as if he knew in this moment he would never let anyone separate you, would never let anyone take you from his side, that in his moment you were his just as much as he was yours, that this was a forging of something solid and essential, something vital and something precious, something that was just for you.

You didn’t remember Mick leaving. Didn’t care to say goodbye.

Joel had peeled you off the counter and carried you upstairs, drawn you a bath and lowered you gently into the water, sat beside you and washed your body as you lulled in and out of a light sleep.

Drying you off he wrapped you up in his clothes, swamping you in cotton and his scent, before promising to make you a fresh batch of pancakes. You hadn’t let him, whimpering when he tried to leave your side, pulling him down beside you on the bed and wrapping his arms around you.

Later you would figure out lunch, and then Sarah, and then the rest of your lives. For now, you had each other, and cool sheets, and the light patter of rain as a welcome cool breeze blew new life over the garden beneath Joel’s window.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic

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daisymbin · 3 days ago

Note

Second chance 5 "I still keep your picture in my wallet" and 11 "you always had a piece of my heart" for cheol please (extra fluffy happy ending)

Your works are so cute!!🐱🐱

thank you anon!!! 🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // cheol's m.list

second chance prompt #5: "i still keep your picture in my wallet." +

second chance prompt #11: "you always had a piece of my heart.

seungcheol didn’t know how he ended up here, sitting in front of you with his heart lodged somewhere between his ribs and his throat. the cafe was quieter than he expected for a saturday afternoon, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. you looked exactly the same as he remembered—maybe a little older, a little wiser, but still undeniably you.

��it’s been a while,” you said, breaking the silence.

“yeah,” he breathed, his fingers curling around the strap of his bag. “too long.”

you nodded, your eyes searching his face for something he wasn’t sure he could give.

“how’ve you been?” he asked, the words awkward on his tongue.

“good,” you replied. “busy. work’s been… a lot, but it’s fine.”

he nodded, unsure of what else to say. there was a time when talking to you was the easiest thing in the world, when your laughter felt like sunlight and your words were his favorite song. but now, standing here in the aftermath of everything that happened, he felt like a stranger.

“you?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “how are you?”

“fine,” he said automatically, then hesitated. “better. i’m better.”

your lips twitched into a small smile, and for a moment, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“look,” he said, clearing his throat. “i know this is… weird. and maybe i shouldn’t have asked you to meet me, but there’s something i need to say.”

you straightened slightly, your expression cautious but open. “okay.”

seungcheol took a deep breath, his fingers brushing against the edge of his pocket. “i still keep your picture in my wallet,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.

your eyes widened, surprise flickering across your face. “you… what?”

“your picture,” he repeated, pulling his wallet out and flipping it open. he slid the small, worn photograph out and held it up for you to see. “it’s been there ever since we got together and when we broke up— i couldn’t… i couldn’t bring myself to take it out.”

you stared at the photo, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached for it. “why?”

“because,” he said, his voice softening, “you always had a piece of my heart. even when we weren’t together, even when it hurt too much to think about you… you were still there.”

your breath hitched, and seungcheol felt his chest tighten at the sight of the tears welling in your eyes.

“i thought you hated me,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“i could never hate you,” he said, shaking his head. “i was angry—at myself, at the situation, but never at you.”

you bit your lip, your gaze dropping to the photo in your hands. “cheol…”

“i don’t expect anything,” he said quickly, his heart pounding in his chest. “i just… i needed you to know. i needed to tell you that i never stopped caring about you. not for a second.”

you looked up at him then, your eyes searching his face for something he couldn’t quite name.

“i couldn’t keep pretending i was okay without you,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “i tried to move on, but every time i saw something that reminded me of you, it felt like… like i couldn’t breathe. and then i thought, what if i never told you? what if i never got the chance?”

you stared at him for a long moment, your expression unreadable.

“say something,” he pleaded as he cracks, his voice barely above a whisper.

you exhaled shakily, your fingers brushing against his as you handed the photo back. “i missed you,” you said finally, your voice thick with emotion.

a tear slipped down your cheek, and seungcheol reached out instinctively, his thumb brushing it away.

“do you still…?” he trailed off, his voice faltering, not daring to fully ask you.

you nodded, your hand covering his. “yeah,” you said softly. “i do.”

his breath caught, hope blooming in his chest for the first time in what felt like years.

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ratatoilett · 3 days ago

Text

katsuki is back in town, and he already regrets coming home for christmas this year.

now he’s standing in front of your house, holding a box of chocolates he thought you’d like. the kind you used to crave after long days together. he doesn’t even know if you still like them, if you even still think about those things he remembers so well. three years have passed, and yet here he is, feeling like a fool for every step that brought him to this moment.

he rubs the bridge of his nose, trying to push down the nerves. why is this so hard? what if he’s changed too much, and you don’t recognize anything familiar in him? or worse—what if you’ve changed, and he’s holding on to someone who doesn’t exist anymore?

he’d thought it ended on a good note. that’s what he told himself all those years ago. so why is he so afraid to see you now? why does it matter so much?

fuck it, he raises his hand, giving a quick knock on the door before he can talk himself out of it. but before he finishes, he hears movement from inside, and the door opens, catching him off guard.

“oh, fuck, you scared—”

it’s you. the words die in your throat, and for a moment, the world seems to stop. even the snowflakes look suspended in mid-air as you stare at each other. he opens his mouth, but only manages, “uh—hey, I, uh… sorry.”

your expression is unreadable. he used to know every glance, every little movement, every sigh. now, you’re a stranger, and it terrifies him. why can’t he read you anymore?

“katsuki, hey—” you finally say, and he hears that voice he’s kept buried in the back of his mind, replayed on endless, restless nights. he feels an urge to reach out, just to touch you, as if that would bring back something of the past.

“i—it’s been so long, katsuki.”

“babe, who’s there?” a voice calls from inside, and he freezes again, the world suddenly colder.

“it’s just—it’s a friend! this’ll just take a minute,” you say, glancing over your shoulder, almost apologetically.

a friend. the word stings, cutting deeper than he expected. he looks down, shaking his head, and forces a small, wry smile. “sorry for interrupting. i just-was gonna give you this anyway, so—”

“no, no, you can—i mean, if you want to— you say, trailing off, eyes uncertain.

he swallows the ache in his throat. he’d known this was a bad idea. but still, some part of him had hoped, against all sense, that you might feel something too, that maybe you were still who he remembered.

“nah. m' fine. just take it.”

you reach out slowly, your fingers brushing his as you take the box from him. “thank you, katsuki.”

“t’s nothin’. should get goin—”

“how—how have you been, katsuki?”

he stops, the question hitting him harder than he thought it would. he feels the world hold its breath again.

“great.”

“why did you come back, katsuki? you never—” you hesitate, your words hanging in the air. “i’m sorry, that was—i shouldn’t have asked.”

he shoves his hands into his pockets, rocks back on his heels, the words he wants to say caught somewhere deep in his chest, tangled and painful. he wants to tell you about every night he lay awake, thinking of this exact moment, of how he’d imagined you waiting for him, of how he’d never truly let you go.

“somethin's always bringin' me back to ya, i guess.”

you blink, your face shifting, as if something in his words struck a place you’d tried to keep buried. your expression softens, and he feels something in you shift, something he hasn’t seen in years. he gestures back towards your door, a small nod.

“go inside. he’s waitin’ for ya.”

but you don’t move. you just stand there, looking at him, your expression a mix of things he can’t quite read. it’s like you’re searching for the boy you knew, and instead, seeing a man who’s weathered years without you. he wonders if you’re feeling what he’s feeling now—a kind of regret that lingers, that quietly seeps into the cracks left by time.

“gotta go,” he murmurs, the words tasting hollow as he says them. “i’ll—see ya around.”

he turns to go, but you speak up, voice catching in your throat. “wait. just—katsuki, look—”

he stops, his back to you, the words sinking into the silence between you. for a moment, he stands there, torn between staying and leaving, between the past and the present.

slowly, he turns, his eyes meeting yours, and in that gaze, everything he’s ever wanted to say seems to spill over.

“i—” katsuki starts, his voice shaking ever so slightly, like he's struggling against a tide of emotions that’s threatening to drown him. he looks at you, the words weighing heavy on his tongue. “i don’t know what i thought would happen.”

there’s a vulnerability there, one you haven’t seen in years, one you didn’t even know he still carried. it hits you harder than you expected. and suddenly, it’s like the air between you two is charged with everything you’ve been holding back—everything that’s been buried deep inside for so long.

you swallow hard, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. not because you don’t want to—because you don’t know how. nothing feels right anymore.

“you didn’t have to come back,” you whisper, but the words sound like they’ve been stripped of meaning, like they were meant to be something else, something you can’t quite reach.

“i know.” he shakes his head, frustration tightening his jaw. “but i did anyway.”

the silence that falls between you both is heavier than any words could be. it’s thick, pressing down on both of you, pulling at all the things you wish you could say, all the things you should’ve said. there’s so much left undone, so much left unsaid, and it’s suffocating.

you look at him, searching his face, trying to see the person you used to know—the one you loved, the one you lost. but instead, all you see is a stranger. a person who’s still a part of you, but someone you can’t reach anymore.

“i—” he stops himself, his hand clenched by his side, like he’s holding back everything he’s feeling. he looks at you one last time, like he’s trying to find something that will make this easier, something that will make it all right again. but it’s too late for that. It’s been too long.

“take care of yourself, yeah?” he mutters, his voice almost a ghost of what it used to be—small, broken, like the words are falling apart before they reach you.

you can feel the emptiness of it. “yeah. you too.”

it’s all that’s left to say. there’s nothing more. you both know it, but neither of you wants to let it go, even though it’s already slipping through your fingers.

katsuki turns away, his steps slow, deliberate, like he’s dragging the weight of every unspoken word behind him. the snow falls harder now, swallowing his footprints, erasing him as if he were never here at all.

but the ache stays. it’s in the pit of your stomach, twisting with every breath. the world moves on, but this—this moment—will never leave you.

you stand there for a long time, watching him fade into the distance, knowing that this is the last time. the last time you’ll see him like this. the last time you’ll ever have a chance to say all the things you wish you could.

and just as he disappears into the snowfall, your chest tightens, your breath catching in your throat. you want to scream, you want to run after him, but you know it’s pointless. the distance between you is too great now. it always has been.

but before he’s completely gone, you see him look back one last time. just a flicker. just a moment. and you wonder, for the briefest of seconds, if maybe—just maybe—he feels it too.

then he’s gone.

and all that’s left is the quiet. the snow. the space between you both, filling up with everything that will never be.

#—bkg #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bnha fanfiction #bakugou x reader #bakugou angst #mha angst #bnha angst #nylu has written

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strang3lov3 · 6 hours ago

Text

Rescue Mission

“You take him beautifully, birdie. Beautifully,” Ezra says, now drawing in and out of you at a faster pace. “Look how happy he is inside a’ ya. You’re soakin’ the fella.”

Tags - smut, dubcon, dbf/dad’s weed guy/uncle!ezra (he’s not your biological uncle. I promise), pussy job, unprotected piv, creampie, cock pronouns in excess, cock nicknames (fella, bastard), Ezra’s cock has a titan’s girth (thank @beefrobeefcal), fire hazards, plumber’s crack, smoking weed, a tasteful amount of pussy pronouns, me writing Ezra comes with its own warning, surprise surprise Ezra is morally bankrupt, Beefro contributed so I’m not all to blame, Ezra has a lot more jizz than the average man. i don't know how to summarize this. Fic Help - thank you @beefrobeefcal for being my guiding light. Without you this fic would be nothing! thank you @endlessthxxghts and @noxturnalnymph for your eyeballs! A/N - heddo! I finished my research paper but I still have a few things to do as far as school goes, but the end of the semester is right around the corner!! Thank you all for being so patient with me this month. I love you. Mwah!

This is my submission for @sp00kymulderr’s cock pronoun event. I had so much fun with this!! Thank you for hosting, Gideon!!

After packing your old Vera Bradley weekender duffel bag with the last of your clothes for the long weekend ahead of you, you open up your phone one last time to check the weather. It’s not supposed to snow until later in the afternoon, but you’ll make it to your dad’s before then.

You haul your duffel into the backseat of your car, then carefully place two 9x13 Pyrex pans covered in tin foil next to it. Your dad asked that you prepare a couple of Thanksgiving sides - sweet potatoes and broccoli cheese casserole. Your dad is taking care of the turkey, with other extended family members taking care of everything else.

You do one last quick check to make sure everything is in order, taking care to give your cat an extra scoop of food.

Fuck - the litter box. You almost forgot! You thoroughly clean it so your neighbor doesn’t have as much work to do when they’re caring for your cat in your absence, but you realize you forgot to buy a new tub of litter at the store the other day. Not to worry, your dad left you some in the trunk of your car for some reason or another. You’ll just leave that for your neighbor to use.

You get into the driver’s seat after turning off all the lights and pull up directions to your dad’s on your phone and put on Father John Misty’s newest album, then you’re on your merry way.

About a quarter way through your drive, you have to turn your windshield wipers on. It’s not bad, but there’s the tiniest sprinkle of snow coming down. It’s probably nothing. People are driving like morons under just the threat of snow, but it’s nothing. It’ll be fine. At a stoplight, you change the music. This time, you listen to Love Deluxe by Sadé, one of your Uncle Ezra’s favorite albums. You wonder if you’ll see him at Thanksgiving.

Quickly, the snow becomes not-nothing. The further you drive, the worse it gets. The snowflakes are getting bigger and coming down heavier, and the road ahead of you is becoming so covered that you can hardly make out the white and yellow lines painted on the road. You’ve slowed to driving at about twenty miles an hour, and you’re growing nervous. It seems like you’re headed deeper into the storm.

Forty-five minutes pass, though you’ve not driven more than ten miles. It’s coming down now, and the roads are so thick with snow that you’re driving at what feels slower than a glacial pace. This is getting dangerous. The good news, however, is that you did see plow trucks driving down the opposite side of the median. Not confident in your ability to safely drive through what is now probably three inches of snow on the ground, plus the added slush and ice, you decide to pull over and wait for a truck to salt and plow the roads before continuing on your way. You turn on your hazards and watch the traffic move slowly ahead of you; it seems that nobody else has the same idea as you.

You text your dad first just to let him know that you’ll be a bit late, that you’re pulling over to wait out the storm and wait for the roads to be plowed.

Ok. Stay safe. - Dad.

Things could be worse, right? You’re safe and warm in your car, you have plenty of gas in the tank. It’s probably another 45 minutes of just waiting, but finally, it happens: plow trucks drive by, salting the roads in their wake. Halle-fucking-lujah. You adjust your mirrors, put your seatbelt back on, and throw the gear shift into drive. Aaand…

You’re stuck.

You press the gas again, and you’re still stuck. It doesn’t take long for you to start to panic. But your dad will know what to do, right? You call your dad and explain the situation to him.

“Try rocking the car,” your dad tells you.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Forward, reverse. Forward, reverse.”

With your dad on speakerphone, you try just that, but it’s a difficult maneuver. “It’s not working, Dad.”

“Okay, okay. Can you dig yourself out?”

“No!” you whine. “I am not doing that.”

Your dad’s eye roll is audible. “Alright. Cat litter. I left you cat litter in your trunk last time you came up, remember? Sprinkle that around your tires, it should give you enough traction to get out.”

“Cat litter…cat litter…”

“Yes, the cat litter. That I left in your trunk.”

You laugh awkwardly, “Yes. About that.”

Your dad groans on the other end of the phone, “You have to be kidding. Okay. Hang on, where are you again?”

“Just past…I don’t know. I’ll drop you a pin.” You text your dad your location. The text takes some time to go through, but it does.

“Alright. Uncle Ezra’s not far from you. I’ll give him a call, see if he can’t pick you up. Hang tight.”

“Isn’t he with you?”

“No,” your dad replies. “Why would he be with me?”

“I just figured he’d be up for Thanksgiving too.”

“I invited him, but I never heard back. Dude probably forgot. Okay, call you back.”

Sounds like Ezra. Ezra always was an…odd duck. You remember him visiting from time to time when you were a kid, and he and your dad would spend a lot of time locked in the garage together. It wasn’t until much later that you realized they were smoking weed.

Ezra’s not your uncle, not really. It’s just what he calls himself. He’s your dad’s old coworker turned weed dealer turned buddy. Probably still sells your dad weed, though. Ezra also used to sell your dad quarter sticks of dynamite for the Fourth of July, and both of them made you promise not to tell anyone about that.

Ezra was always a comforting, if somewhat peculiar, presence in your life. He called himself your guardian angel and texted you from an unknown number - he never has the same phone number whenever he texts you - on your twenty-first birthday, promising that one day soon he’d take you out for a beer.

Your dad calls you back. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you greet him back.

Your dad cuts right to the chase. He tells you that Uncle Ezra is on his way, that he has your location and he’ll come pick you up in thirty minutes. Worry about towing your car later, et cetera.

“Okay. Love you. I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Love you too, honey. Be safe.”

‘On his way’ your ass. True to Uncle Ezra’s style, he doesn’t show up until nearly two and a half hours later. It’s just like that time he told you he’d pick you up from something at eleven and didn’t show up until the clock said 11:47. ‘Yeah,” he said, ‘Clock still says eleven, don’t it?’ He pulls up next to your car in a beat up old Kia van, the same Kia he’s been driving for years.

Ezra hops out of his car, clad in snow boots, plaid pajama bottoms, a Carhartt jacket, and a fleece trapper hat. He stomps through the snow and opens your door, then ushers you into his van. “I apologize for the delay. Wasn’t expectin’ to be assigned a rescue mission,” he shouts at you. You’re not sure why he’s yelling.

You watch Ezra grab your prepared food and the duffel from the back of your car, his ass crack visible through his falling pants. Ezra tosses it all haphazardly in his before getting back into the driver’s seat. He’s covered in snow, stomping off the flakes before looking over at you. With his dark brown eyes narrowed in your direction, he scans you up and down. “What on God’s green earth is the matter with you? You intended to traverse without the proper coverage?”

“Excuse me?”

It takes your brain double the time to process Ezra’s words. You forgot about the unique way he speaks, his very particular vocabulary. You wonder where he picked up that way of speaking.

Ezra gestures to your torso. Oh, you think. Right. You’re just wearing a hoodie. You suppose it could have been a problem, had your car’s heat gone out.

“Jacket,” he chastises you.

“Yeah, no. I got it.”

“Then where is it?”

“No- like, I understood what you-” Ezra stares at you expectantly, with raised eyebrows. “Never mind.”

Ezra shakes his head in disappointment, then puts his foot on the brake of his Kia and pulls it into drive. “My domicile will have to do for you tonight, birdie. If you are amenable to it, of course.”

“Mhm,” you hum. “Works for me.”

It takes Ezra about forty-five minutes to drive back to his house, which is located behind a water tower and a church off of a highway exit. It’s in a secluded area, thick with trees, the snow much heavier on the unplowed roads over here. Ezra pulls into his driveway, then opens the garage via a remote control attached to his sun visor. He gets out of his seat first, then rounds the front of his van and opens your door. “Hold onto me,” he tells you, holding out his arm. “You’re liable to slip and fall on these slick grounds.”

You take hold of Ezra’s sleeve, and he carefully helps you out of the van and ushers you inside his house. “Get settled in. I shall retrieve your belongings and return to you post haste.”

You toe off your shoes and leave them on Ezra’s doormat, then begin strolling through his home, perusing through his belongings. His home is cluttered yet clean; lava lamps left on, paintings of St. Francis and St. Gertrude on the walls in his game room, which has floor to ceiling bookshelves full of board games and Dungeons & Dragons paraphernalia. A Halloween bucket full of month-old candy on the table. The house smells strongly of incense, and when you turn the corner and enter the living room you see that Ezra’s left his fireplace lit.

“Awh shit, must’ve slipped my mind,” Ezra says, noticing the same thing you do. He’s got your duffel bag on his back and the Pyrex pans in his arms. He sets all items down, then goes back into his garage without a word. A few minutes pass and you’re left confused by his absence, so you follow him.

“Uncle Ezra?”

Ezra’s at his workbench, the warm flicker of a flame illuminating his handsome features as he lights a joint. He blows out the smoke, then smiles at you. “Joinin’ me?”

“Uhhh…”

“C’mon,” he urges. “It’s the holidays.”

You join Ezra at his workbench, still unsure if you want to partake yet. While Ezra smokes, you study his workbench. There’s not one tool in sight, but there’s lucky bingo trolls, little Buddha statues, snow globes, and other little tchotchkes sitting on the bench. It’s lit by old, dim, rainbow Christmas lights, and little ornaments hang from the wire. You touch an ornament depicting John McClane from Die Hard in when he’s in the air vent, turning it side to side as you inspect it.

“Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker,” Ezra croaks out with a smile then coughs. He offers you his joint. “Let’s have ourselves a merry little Christmas, now.”

“It’s Thanksgiving, Ez.”

Ezra’s brows knit together, “What’d I say?”

“Christmas.”

“Oh.”

Ezra’s still confused as he puts the pieces together, and then he realizes you’re correct. “I suppose you’re right, little bird. In any case, s’a reason to celebrate with a little green, no?”

“I’m not sure Thanksgiving is the weed-smoking holiday.”

“Oh, but it is indeed, little bird. C’mere.” Ezra takes a pull from the joint held between his middle and forefingers, then, still holding the joint, puts both hands on your cheeks and pulls you close, pressing his lips against yours. He blows the smoke into your mouth, “Attagirl,” he says, his lips curled in a wry smile that makes your stomach churn and your heart flutter. You cough a bit, turning away from him to hide your flustered expression. Ezra pats you on the back. “You’re alright. You got it.”

He pulls off his trapper hat then, setting it on the workbench. His black hair all messy, and he’s gotten grayer since you’ve seen him last, but that little white streak is still prominent as ever. “Let’s get you somethin’ to eat. Betcha need somethin’ in ya,” he says.

Ezra ushers you inside, then sits you down on a barstool at the kitchen counter window. He opens his once white but yellowing-with-age refrigerator, scratching the back of his head as he examines his lack of contents in it. “I got…uh…” he trails off, bending his upper half to look through condiments and cans of ginger ale. “Wasn’t expectin’ company.” He opens a box of take-out, takes a whiff, and recoils. “Christ almighty,” he exclaims, “Don’t even wanna know what that most unholy concoction is.” then throws the box away.

You have to laugh. Ezra is as Ezra as ever. Charming, bizarre, endearing, confusing. He’s never had his shit together, not once. You slide out of your barstool, then head into the kitchen to join him. You nudge him to the side, then pull out your Pyrex pans of Thanksgiving sides from his refrigerator. He’s got an R2-D2 magnet holding up a paper full of logins and passwords on it. ‘ezralikesballs’ is his WiFi password, apparently.

Ezra smirks at you, tapping his index finger against his temple. “Smart girl,” he says, watching as you start pressing buttons on his oven. “Hold it right there–” Ezra pushes you out of the way and opens the oven door, pulling out various Halloween decorations, all of them plastic, before allowing you to preheat his oven. “Didn’t have a proper place to store ‘em.”

Jesus fucking Christ. How this man made it past forty years is beyond you. You preheat Ezra’s oven, then sit back down at the barstool as you wait for it to heat up. Ezra pours you a glass of ginger ale, and you spend the time until your food is warmed talking.

Ezra doesn’t have oven mitts or potholders, so you have to pull your pans out with kitchen towels. You carefully pull off the foil, and Ezra’s standing beside you with plates and forks, ready to serve you both.

“Goddamn,” he marvels, salivating at the sight of the food you prepared. “You made all of this?”

“I did, yeah,” you reply, smiling shyly.

“Beautiful. Jus’ beautiful.” Ezra serves himself first, a generous helping of both the sweet potatoes and broccoli casserole. He opens a cabinet and pulls out a can of Ocean Spray jellied cranberry sauce, “Knew this’d come in handy. Never hurts to have a can of this stuff for emergencies,” Ezra tells you, waving the can in your direction. He serves you next, then opens the cranberry sauce and puts a bit of it on both of your plates. You avert your eyes from the expiration date on the can. You don’t wanna know.

With a nod of his head, Ezra tells you to go sit in his living room. He pushes an ottoman in your direction with his foot, then sits down on his sofa. He pats the spot next to himself, “C’mere, sweetheart. Uncle Ezra missed his birdie.” You sit next to Ezra, who then turns on his TV. He puts on the Thanksgiving classic, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, which is also one of his favorite movies. “‘Tis the season.”

Ezra nudges you and leans down to whisper in your ear, “Wake up, sleepyhead. The hour’s come for us to adjourn to my quarters,” he drawls.

“Hm?”

You hadn’t even realized you were asleep, and asleep on Ezra’s shoulder at that. In your head, you thought you could still hear the movie, that you were following along to it. You’re surprised to see Steve Martin cursing out the airport attendant on Ezra’s TV.

“Bedtime,” he says. “Upstairs.”

“Oh. That’s okay, Uncle Ezra. I’m fine right here.”

“On the sofa?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

You turn your head to face Ezra better, stunned. “No?”

“This couch is Hans’ domain. Best not to provoke the fella. Don’t feel like settin’ him off tonight.”

Hans is Ezra’s cat that you’ve rarely ever seen, but have often felt when his feather-duster tail brushes your foot, heard him when he hisses at you before skittering off into a dark corner. He has to be in his twenties at this point, an Eldritch creature. Hans was ancient when Ezra found him palling around with a raccoon by his garbage, and that was years ago. Ezra’s always spoken about him like Hans is an abusive husband, that one wrong move could result in a reckoning most unpleasant. You’re glad to know the beast is well.

Ezra stands up first, then stretches backward, exposing his soft, pillowy tummy and happy trail to you. He smirks when he catches you looking. “Your turn, birdie. Up you go.” Ezra bends forward and takes hold of both of your hands, then guides you upstairs and into his bedroom.

You enter the dark room first, Ezra right behind you with his hand on the small of your back. He turns the lights on and his bed is neatly made with the scratchiest flannel sheets that have to be well over decades old, knit afghans that are even older and have absolutely seen better days. Ezra peels off his clothes, tossing them into a laundry basket on the floor. Clad in nothing but boxers, Ezra gets into his bed.

God, it is sweltering. Ezra’s house is warm to begin with, but does not heat efficiently at all. You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and change, pulling out from your duffel only an oversized t-shirt. You’ll just be strategic, so as not to flash Ezra.

You return to Ezra’s bedroom, and he looks halfway asleep already. “Do Uncle Ezra a kindness, darlin’, and hit the lights for me.” Ezra makes a lazy gesture toward the light switch by the door.

You turn off the light, and darkness consumes the small bedroom until Ezra turns on his small CRT-TV, Die Hard playing and already halfway through. Another one of Ezra’s favorite films, as evidenced by the name he gave his cat and the little ornament in the garage. You’re not much of a sleep-with-the-TV-on person, but Ezra’s blackout blinds kind of freak you out so it’s nice to have that light. Plus, the volume is low enough. It’s been a long, long day. It weirds you out a little to sleep next to Ezra, but you know that while he’s a strange and bizarre man, he’s ultimately harmless. You slide into bed, exhausted to the point that you’re not even bothered by Ezra’s rock-hard mattress or the scratchiness of his sheets and blankets. The minute your head hits the pillow, you’re asleep.

You wake up in Ezra’s bedroom to that suffocating, smothering heat, the hot air so thick that it burns your nose and your throat. God, how does he sleep this way? His flannel sheets under your body are also warm, and Ezra’s insulating all that heat with his own body. Ezra’s cuddling you tightly, and you’re not sure when that happened, not sure whether he initiated it or if you did. Despite the heat, you don’t entirely mind when he snuggles you closer, curling himself around your body. Nuzzling the back of your neck, strong arms wrapped tightly around you.

Until you do mind.

He groans when he presses himself tightly against your frame, his hard cock against your ass as he ruts his hips into you.

“Uncle Ezra,” you whisper, scooting your body in the opposite direction. In Ezra’s unconscious state, he pulls you back against his body, now fully grinding his hard bulge into your backside with a rhythmic tilting of his hips. “Ezra,” you hiss, voice firmer.

“Wha…” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, his words slow and slurred. His brow pinched together and his eyes are squeezed shut to block out bluish light from his TV. “What’s ‘a matter?”

“You- your-” You swallow, trying to summon the words.

“What’s that? You’re havin’ a nightmare of sorts? C’mere, sweet birdie. Go back to sleep. I gotcha.” Ezra presses a kiss against the back of your head.

“N-no, fuck. Ezra-” You wiggle out from Ezra’s hold, then flip over onto your back.

The loss of your warm body against his cock, that’s when it all clicks for Ezra. “Ohhhh, I get it,” he murmurs, chuckling. “I understand perfectly well.”

“Yeah…”

“I do apologize, little bird,” Ezra says in a raspy, low voice. He reaches for your cheek and drags his pointer finger up and down the soft skin there. “The bastard’s got a mind of his own, doesn’t he?”

Jesus Christ, he’s so fucking weird. He? Ezra’s given his cock pronouns?

“S’alright, go on back to sleep, now.”

This has to be a nightmare. Or something in between a nightmare and a wet dream. You’ve had those before, anyway. You drift off to sleep once more, then awake again to Ezra’s bulge against you. This time, you feel more of him. His underwear is off, and he’s rubbing the head of his cock against your pussy. “Ezra!”

“What’s troublin’ ya now, birdie, tell me.”

“You…fuck.”

Fuck, it’s wrong. It’s so wrong and you know it. But goddamn, if his cock isn’t thick. Ezra keeps rocking his hips, grunting softly in your ear as he rubs his hard length against your pussy, arousal dampening the cotton of your underwear.

“I do apologize for wakin’ ya with my member, but he’s got a titan’s girth, birdie. What’s a man to do?”

Titan’s girth…what the fuck. You don’t even know where to begin deciphering that statement. Right now, the only thing on your mind is fighting the growing heat, that sticky feeling building deep in your belly as Ezra continues to grind against you. His little noises of pleasure aren’t helping in the slightest.

“Let’s get you outta these,” Ezra huffs rather impatiently, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties, then pulls them down with a practiced ease. He tilts your ass, “Yeah, lay like that. You won’t even know he’s there,” he whispers, then slots his length between your lips, coating himself in your arousal as he moves his hips. “Don’t pay him any mind, birdie.”

“Ez- oh, fuck–” you gasp when the thick head of his cock catches against your clit, sparking a pleasure even more intense. “We - you can’t.”

“Oh, I know, angel. He just needs to feel ya a bit, that’s all. Not gonna feel any sort ‘a - fuck–” Ezra notches his tip inside you, only temporarily as he continues rutting, “Any intrusion of any sort.”

“O-okay.”

Ezra snakes a hand under your shirt and paws at your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh in such a manner so as not to be too harsh, but god, he could tear you apart. Ever the gentleman, he holds back, teasing your nipples with his fingers instead. You moan a little louder, a little more sweetly when he does that to you.

It’s an excruciating tease - long, arduous, excruciating. Ezra needs more from you. He could get himself off just like this, fucking your slick folds and no more, but Ezra’s really not one to deprive himself. He’s always been a bit of a libertine in that regard, believing that pleasure’s good for the heart, good for the soul, too. He can’t stave off his hedonistic tendencies much longer, “Ohh, Christ. You feel how fuckin’ hard he is? He needs ya somethin’ fierce, birdie. Needs to be inside that sweet cunt of yours.”

“Ezra…”

“Why don’t you let him in, sweetheart? You need it too, I know you do.”

“We really shouldn’t, Ezra.”

“Says who, sweetheart? Ah–” Ezra notches his tip inside you fully, inching inside you little by little, “You cure what ails him, little bird. Be a lamb, now.” Ezra pushes inside you in one full thrust, burying himself down to the hilt. Ezra did get you sufficiently wet, but it’s still, still such a stretch. You wince in pain, and Ezra covers your mouth to quiet your cry. “You’ll get used to him. Relax, angel. M’gonna have him take good care of ya.”

With that, Ezra builds a slow pace at first. Just steadily moving in and out of you, his short term goal only to get you used to the thickness of his member. “Ezra,” you sigh.

“You take him beautifully, birdie. Beautifully,” Ezra says, now drawing in and out of you at a faster pace. “Look how happy he is inside a’ ya. You’re soakin’ the fella.”

Ezra moves fluidly, thrusting in and out of you as he breathes heavily in your ear, whispering swears you’ve only rarely heard him speak. This angle in particular has Ezra hitting that most special place inside of you as that hot, fiery pleasure inside you intensifies tenfold.

He’s sweaty and warm against you, his body slick with sweat. You clutch his forearm as he fucks you, rocking your hips to match his thrusts. He feels so fucking good, good enough to scramble every thought in your brain. His cock is so long and thick and curved at just the perfect angle.

Ezra wriggles his arm down the front of you, fingers immediately finding your clit. You gasp when he touches it, rubbing perfect, practiced circles into the sensitive bud. “Oh fuck, Ezra.”

“Yeah, she likes that, doesn't she, birdie? Don’t take much at all.” Ezra smiles behind you, then presses a kiss against your cheek. He breathes you in as he fucks you, rubbing your clit with precision to bring you to the edge. Within seconds, you’re whimpering, thighs twitching against his large, masculine hand. “Let go,” he grunts. “Come all over him.”

With his ministrations, his cock fucking you perfectly, you come with a loud symphony of moans, a mixture of swears and Ezra’s own name. Your pulsing cunt coaxes Ezra’s own orgasm along, walls squeezing around him as he paints your insides with so, so much come. A truly astounding amount of come.

“Ohhh, he needed that,” Ezra groans, pulling out of you with no regard for his spend that spills out of you and onto his flannel sheets. “Thanks for humorin’ him, birdie. Go on and get some sleep now.”

If you enjoyed, please please please reblog with some kind thoughts or send me an ask!! Your feedback means the world to me and keeps me motivated to write, and goes so far in making this blog feel like a community 🩷

#ezra x reader #ezra/reader #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect smut #ezra fanfiction #ezra prospect #Ezra prospect x reader smut #ezra prospect x you #Pedro pascal characters #prospect (2018)

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ladylokianna · 2 days ago

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Careful what you wish for...

Pairing: Aemond x fem!reader (as always i'm not used to use the first person p.o.v. mainly because in English i usually mess everything up by trying to fit verb tenses together so i hope everything is comprehensible).

Warning: 18+, MDNI, Fluff, but a little smut towards the end (i'm trying to emprove and i hope is not cringe), and again nothing too explicit 'cause i'm not good at writing it.

Fairly ooc Aemond, of course. A bit tender and affectionate with his old grumpy granny Vhagar.

The title... ehm. Sometimes i find a good one, sometimes no. Sorry.

***

The water of the lake is like a balm on that sultry mid-summer day. You feel as if you go back a few years when, as a young girl, you loved to desert your Septa's lessons so that you could swim in peace and find relief from the heat. You also remembered all too well the reprimand that usually followed those times when you managed to escape, but who knows how you always managed to find new ways to sneak away from the Septa and your damsels-in-waiting to their utter despair.

All is so calm, the sun is warm against your skin despite the freshness of the water beneath you and all is so silent that you can almost hear your heartbit. You like the Red Keep, you like the sense of calmness you feel inside its walls especially when you sit with a book in your hands, but it's still a fortress, and it's impossible to feel completely free in there.

When something huge seems to swallow the Sun above you, you already know who it is: you see Vhagar's shadow heading towards the clearing surrounding the lake and with a slight amused snort you swim towards the shore. Vhagar's landing creates some air displacement, and you hear Aemond giving her orders in Valyrian, before dismounting from the saddle.

"Hello old lady." you approach her slowly with a wide smile, touching the dragoness' snout, which had settled herself into a crescent shape to protect you and Aemond.

"I'm sweating in your place just seeing you in those leathers, you know?" you greet him, chuckling with amusement: how is it possible that he can stand that heavy jacket and even the gloves in that heat? Your laughter dies down, however, the moment you realise that Aemond is serious. "Has something happened, dear?"

"Thank the Gods you are here. We've been looking all over for you, i thought you'd been kidnapped." he scowls you, in a tone that in his intentions should perhaps have sounded stern, but which comes out in a worried whisper. "You shouldn't sneak out of the keep without warning and especially without an escort, it's dangerous."

You didn't think of that, actually.

"I noticed this place the last time we flew with Vhagar and i was hoping to go for a swim like i did as a girl... i'm fine, Aemond, nothing happened to me. You haven't alarmed the whole castle, haven't you?"

Not the whole castle, he replies, but Ser Criston and at least a dozen white cloaks, yes.

He grasp your shoulders and leans his forehead against yours with a sigh of relief, knowing you are safe.

"I'm sorry, i'll be sure to warn you next time." you reply contritely, sensing his tension.

"At least Ser Ammett." he tells you, alluding to your personal bodyguard. "I don't want to restrain you, i want to know you're safe."

You know that, you answer him with a smile. He's concerned, you understand that well.

"Will you give me a little more time before returning home?"

He nods, sitting down into Vhagar's shadow, near her head but far enough from her jaws. Then, he watches you swim for a while, and when you realise he is succumbing to the heat and slipping off his jacket and boots, you return to the shore.

"You must had been beautiful in your youth." you say, caressing Vhagar: what a majestic dragoness she is.

"She's still beautiful." Aemond points out, rolling up his sleeves. "She's just a little bit grumpy but i can comprehend her, since she have to deal with me, hm?" he adds something in Valyrian, and Vhagar snorts softly in response.

"You know Aem, i have to tell you: i didn't think you would last that long with all that clothes on, the Sun is so hot today that you can cook an egg on a rock."

"Is this a subtle way to tell me i had to undress?" he say with a smirk.

That's your turn to sigh, with a fake guilty look in your eyes.

"Not so subtle, isn't it?"

"M-mh. Sometimes you tend to forget that i know you like the back of my hand: you're an open book to me. And besides, as i told you countless times, you only have to ask."

"Care to join me, then, now that you have found out my intentions?"

"...into the water?"

"Well sure, where else? Come on, today it's hot as the dragonfire..."

"Yes, and thanks to you it's even hotter." he replies, looking at the way the wet tunic clings to your form like a second skin. He groans, reaching a hand to your ankle, tracing up along the calf and the crease of your knee and further up on your thigh.

"Later, Aem" you smile at him. You extend a hand in an invitation to follow you. "Come on."

You see him scanning the shore and the lake itself, which is rather calm that day.

"Okay but only up to my ankles."

You point your hands to your sides, arching an eyebrow.

"...maybe up to the knees?" he proposes.

"At least up to the chest, you cannot swim in few inches of water... once we reach the chest, we won't go further, i promise. I'm not asking you to go down-"

"Eh, that's not what you usually tell me."

"Aemond!"

"What? It's the truth." another sigh. "Fine. I can't swim." he confesses after a few moments. "I'm a Targaryen, and we do not swim, we fly."

"That means we'll reach a reasonable distance as far as you feel safe, alright? No jokes, i swear. And in the very moment you feel uncomfortable, we'll go back to shore. I got you, don't worry."

Aemond curls his lips for a moment, looking at you with a strange look.

"Hey, i don't like that gaze: you have something in mind."

"You have to make amend for making me worry." he tells you jokingly.

"Amend? It wasn't my intention to worry you. Tell me then, what do you want?"

"One turn upside down." he proposes, pointing at Vhagar behind him. "Grant us just one turn and i'll join you."

"Here's why i didn't like your gaze." you sigh, looking istinctively at Vhagar, who seems to understand what Aemond is asking: the growl she make is enough for you to shiver.

"Come on, be brave! I'm asking you that for so long and you have yet to see how happy she is when i let her do it. After that, you don't owe me nothing." he then spoke in his language again, saying who knows what to Vhagar, who shortly after shift her attention to you, her pupils pointed into yours. "...see? She's already happy."

"You two will be the death of me."

"Is that a yes? Hm?"

"Yes."

Aemond flashes a smile at Vhagar, and for a second you think you even glimpse a wink.

"You better bring yourself and your wonderful ass into the water, Aem."

"As my lady command." Aemond removes his tunic before running towards the water, diving into it with a loud laugh, leaving you utterly surprised, finally understanding that the whole i'm afraid of swimming story was just a play and above all, what awaits you.

"You... you're so in trouble, Aemond Targaryen." you snort, making him laugh even louder. "Yeah, laugh now, 'cause later, i promise, you'll beg for me to stop."

"Knowing you, you'll be the one begging, and surely not for me to stop."

"..."

Vhagar pokes gently your back with her snout, causing you to lurch forward.

"Easy, Vhagar."

"Why she did this?"

"Because she's happy and she likes you. Less chattering though, come here: water is perfect." Aemond teases you, with a playful smirk.

"Eh, you clearly have no idea what you will have to do to me to make this up."

His breeches suddenly lands at your feet as he looks at you.

"Take off your tunic. Now."

"Look, Aemond, you better not be joking now because you have no idea of what kind of beast you're about to unleash."

"For our sake, woman, just take that goddamned tunic off and make me happy too!"

There is something mesmerizing in the way Aemond lets himself go: in those moments you clearly see his armour shattering down and the man you love re-emerge from the depths of his complicated character: once his innate composure has been set aside, once he allows himself to be swept away by the moment, he is capable of consuming you with fierceness -or tenderness- with which he takes you, but at the same time of surrendering himself to you without reserve.

"We should... come here more... more often." Aemond is panting beneath you, still lost in the aftermath of his last climax. He rests his head against yours, smiling as soon as he feels your lips right above his scarred eye, in one of your usual affectionate gesture.

"Uh-huh." you agree, holding your legs so tight around his waist that you can feel his still hard length pulsing into your clenching walls, his hands steady on your hips. He rest a while inside you, a thing he likes to do knowing that you also enjoy. "At least i can hear your laughter again, it doesn't happen so often."

"I know, i'm sorry. Being a Targaryen is no joke."

Sometimes when he's back from a council meeting, you can clearly see the armour he wears to hide his real self so no one could take advantage of his flaws, his humanity. Something you can totally understand as it's not easy at all being part of a reigning family and you know, you know so well that is safer for Aemond to protect himself in that way but sometimes you feel like he's closing even you out of him.

"You okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Just give me a minute, i feel sore all over and my legs don't cooperate." is your reply, moving a little to relieve a cramp.

"Oops… sorry, my bad."

"Stop it, you're not sorry at all."

He chuckles, and you feel him hardening again, but Vhagar lets out a loud snort, distracting both of you.

"You're right, old friend. Let's go." sighs Aemond. "We all need to rest and you still owe me something."

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yuqsdug · 3 days ago

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In the one (1) Block Tales comic i've made so far, I drew the player as this R15 model Noob with modern day Roblox chat. Since blocktales can have four (4) players in a battle, I decided to draw the rest of the sqaud.

OBLIGATORY SEBASTIAN SOLICE

Drew him from memory

READ MORE ABOUT THESE BLOCK TALES CHARACTERS? down below

So you want to know more about these goobers hm?

[Player] (yes that's his name)

- Despite his very cheerful demeanor, he can make grudges extremely easy.

- He's the only one of the squad who talks in modern chat bubbles. Something must've went wrong when he time traveled.

- He still uses R15 because he didn't want to lose his elbows. He needs those to throw balls, Okay?!

- He may, possibly, be abusing the ghost Walker for meaningless- and legally dubious- means. He's not paying for a 777 tix card!

- Was the only who got to experience the later half demo 3. He was quite surprised to be in a hospital after defeating IT. His friends were hovering woriedly over his bed.

- Hatred was particularly strong in this one.

BaconBoy

- Brother of BaconGirl

- Quite a skitish boy, Easily scared. He did not like Telamon's manor ONE BIT!

- the time when his model type was added to Roblox left quite an impact on him. Why were people so mean?

- he forgot to change his scale before time traveling, so now he towers over most people they encounter. Now he's noticed even more and bumps his head on doors... Yay...

- He doesn't know a lot about Roblox before 2016. So the meaning of the swords their collecting is a bit lost on him. He can't help but be a bit fearful of them. The previous holders of the Icedagger and Venomshank seemed to be going insane. And his friends seen awfully attached to the swords they have collected. He hopes everything will end fine.

- FEAR is strong in this one

BaconGirl

- Sister of baconboy

- She can't handle being alone well. Being alone for a short time causes great feeling of solitude. She's always with atleast one of her friends.

- She's in charge of snack duty, she got the biggest bag after all. Someone low on HP? A burger is ready. Low on SP? the Bloxycola is already in your hand. Low on Tix? That's something she can't fix.

- She the only one of the group who realised they should be in the R6 model when they time traveled. She thought the rest also knew this, apparently not.

- The Icedagger is her FAVORITE weapon. Just focus a bit and heal EVERYONE? yes please! ####, She'd let this thing freeze her for less.

- She's a bit cold to the touch

- Solitude is strong in this one

Ann

- short for androgynous default (who is naming these children?)

- Very chaotic person

- They kill every enemy in their wake, be it bird, Mosquito, or zombie. Getting 0 xp does not bring them joy.

- Always has hard mode enable to get more Xp. This has absolutely backfired multiple times.

- They will come up for their friends, every good friend does that! Including when BaconBoy burgers contain pickles.

- Their a fan of the Venomshank. An AOE attack also afflicting poison is. the. best! The pretty flowers coming out of the enemies is a plus too.

- Greed is very strong in this one.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Thanks for reading that btw.

The drawings were made on my phone.

(trying to post thing broke my Tumblr, lol)

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unluckywisher · 2 days ago

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-> Audiovisual references <- -> AO3 Link <-

Summary: You go with Nero to a Wanderer Convention (the LaDS equivalent of Comic-Con) and shenanigans ensue after you win a cosplay contest...

Content: MDNI Porn with plot, hanging out with Nero, tension between you two, a bunch of cliche situations, Carter cameo because yes, experienced dom!fem!Reader, virgin extremely sub!Nero, coworkers to lovers, handjob, fingering, blowjob, p in v sex with protection (cowgirl to cuddling), overstimulation (crying), pussy eating, pegging, aftercare.

Word count: ~15k (this got out of my hands so fast) (+ extra at the end)

A/N: I wrote this for me and the other 3 freaks in the fandom who like Nero. I had so many ideas and scenes in mind but it honestly felt like too much for ONE fic so... Don't be surprised if I write more stuff for Nero in the future. I'm far from done. Mwah <3

There was a stillness in the air, uncomfortable for anyone who could feel it. In this case, most of the Hunters in the room could, except for the one who had caused it.

Nero had barged into the floor where you all worked, waving two pieces of paper high in the air, yelling, “I got free tickets for the WandererCon, and they let me bring a +1, so who wants to come!?”

It had been so out of character for him, to be so loud and cheerful, that you all had turned from your desks to stare at him. The question now was, who wanted to go with him? He was the only one that liked Wanderers to that extent.

And so, a silence fell across the room. His expression started to falter, realizing how embarrassing it was to yell such a thing to his coworkers, and the lifted hand with the tickets began to plummet.

“Me! I wanna go!” You jumped, feeling nothing but pity for the poor guy.

He brightened up again, “Really?”

You walked up to him, giving Tara a look, and nodded. “Yeah, when is it?”

Back to his usual introversion, but motivated by your display of interest, he presented the ticket to you. “This weekend… It lasts the whole two days, b-but! We can go at whatever day and time is best for you…”

You took the ticket. It was a bright blue piece of laminated paper with a drawing of a chibi Wanderer waving glow sticks, the words ‘Come wander through WandererCon! Weekend pass for 1. Only valid if presented with its twin ticket.’ were written in glittery white. He was holding an identical one.

There was a choice to make. Clearly, Nero wanted to spend the whole weekend at this event, which would mean sacrificing all of yours for his happiness. Would it really be that bad? It was a once-a-year event, and the guy didn’t really have friends outside of forums to go to this with.

“I’m completely free this weekend, so let’s make the most of it!” You smiled.

Blush creeped up his face, mouth opening and closing a couple of times, fighting the urge to assure you that - No, it’s really okay if you don’t want to spend the whole weekend there - because damn it, he did actually want to do that, and since you were offering so nicely…

“Okay!” He finally exclaimed, clutching his ticket tight.

“We can discuss the details later, we have to go back to work or Jenna will think we’re slacking.”

“R-right, yeah, of course…” He stumbled over to his desk, glancing at you once over his shoulder before disappearing behind his wall of monitors.

On your way back to yours, Tara rolled his chair closer, whispering, “That was nice of you. You know, I doubt he would have complained if you had only offered an hour of your time.”

“It’s fine. I really didn’t have plans for this weekend, anyways.”

“Have fun. And good luck with Nero… He’s probably going to be very excitable.”

You chuckled. “Thanks. I’ll buy you something.”

Hours later, it was time to head back home.

You turned off your computer and walked over to Nero’s. He was typing up a storm and didn’t notice you approaching. An extensive document analyzing the material and composition of Wanderer’s body-formed blades, and whether or not they can be considered an exoskeleton. You recalled Jenna asking for such a report earlier, but you didn’t expect a whole dissertation about it. Squinting, you could see that there were… 143 pages of text, all written today.

“Damn, fast fingers…” You muttered, before realizing you had said it out loud.

The typing stopped abruptly. “What?” He swiveled in his chair, face pale in shock, not quite meeting your eyes.

“Nothing! I just, um, came here to say ‘I’ll text you later to discuss what we’ll do tomorrow’, so, yeah, message delivered. I’ll leave now.” You waved goodbye, smiling awkwardly.

“Okay.” He nodded, waving back. He was still recovering from your words, though he couldn’t tell if he had heard correctly.

You arrived home and sighed. Were you truly ready for the activities of the next two days? Only time could tell.

After having dinner, now relaxing in your living room, you opened the messaging app. You couldn’t remember the exact moment you two had exchanged phone numbers, but this would be the first time you had texted each other, and the revelation made you strangely self-conscious about what your introductory message should be. Shaking your head, you went for something simple.

-> CLICK HERE TO PLAY THE TEXT MESSAGES! <-

Your patience be damned, you were determined to help Nero have a good time at the convention no matter what. Setting the phone down, you walked to your closet and rummaged around for the Lumiere costume, which was pleasantly clean and ready to be worn.

Goal in mind, you went to bed, ready for whatever the weekend would bring.

The alarm went off, signaling the start of your (most probably) eventful day. You rolled out of bed, had breakfast, took a shower, and commenced the Lumierification.

In theory, it was simple, but it took you a minute to manage to fully zip up the dress since you couldn’t reach, and the thigh highs refused to stay on your thighs until you used fashion tape, not to mention the mask kept tilting to one side.

Eventually, everything was perfectly in place, hair and make up as well. Just in time, too, since the clock now read 10:30. You grabbed your bag and made your way out.

Parked outside was an unremarkable small gray car, but that was the last thing in your thoughts. Leaning on it with his arms crossed, stood a perfect recreation of a Luminivore, so much so that your first instinct was to reach for your gun - even if you weren’t carrying it.

Whatever cool and composed attitude Nero had went right out of the window once he saw you approach, uncrossing and crossing his arms again only to uncross them and scratch the back of his neck, which he couldn’t, because of the costume, so he let them drop and shifted on his feet.

“You- You said-,” he coughed, sound muffled through the headpiece, “I thought you were going to wear-”

You looked down at yourself. Ooooh, right. He was probably expecting a male version of the costume.

“My bad, sorry for the confusion,” you waved a hand in the air, chuckling, “I guess I’m a female version of Lumiere. Is that okay?”

“Okay?” he said a little louder than intended, “Yes, of course- Of course it’s okay.”

You stepped closer to look at his costume. “This looks amazing, by the way.”

He froze.

“Don’t tell me you drove here wearing that helmet, though, because… That seems dangerous.”

He quickly shook his head. “N-no, I didn’t, I just wanted to show you the whole thing put together…”

“Ah, good,” you lifted your hand to touch one of the glowing ridges on his arm, “You did a great job. Looks just like the real thing.”

“Thanks,” he squeaked out.

You clapped your hands together and smiled. “Well, let’s go! We have a great day ahead of us!”

The noise made him straighten up. He nodded and reached up to take off the headpiece. Under it, he looked like always, glasses lopsided and hair a bit ruffled from wearing the Wanderer’s head, but nothing different. You also took note of the red hue on his cheeks, but you attributed it to the same cause as the others. He smiled and gestured for you to get in the car.

The drive was mostly silent, except for the music coming from the radio. Nero had asked you if you wanted to put on your own playlist because ‘his music taste was bad’, but you shook your head, so he settled for the radio. Otherwise, neither of you talked.

You decided to look up what the event’s activities were. He had probably planned it out already, but you were still curious.

A lecture on Wanderers by a Xander scientist, a card tournament - you didn’t know they sold cards, a Meet and Greet with some renowned Hunters, a cosplay contest, a Twinkle Toys plushie reveal, a DIY Protocore candy station… The list went on. It seemed like people took this more seriously than you thought. There were also many merch stands all over the enclosure.

One of the activities stood out to you, though.

“Are you going to enter the cosplay contest?”

He gripped the steering wheel, “N-no. Why are you asking..?”

“You should! You have a shot at winning with yours.”

“Mmm… I don’t know. I’d have to go up a stage, with so many people looking…”

“It’s up to you. In my opinion, you could win, but I might be biased because we’re friends,” you giggled.

He chuckled, brow a bit furrowed.

An hour later, you arrived at the place where the convention would be held. It turned out that there was a parking lot reserved for those attending, so you didn’t have to go in circles looking for an empty spot.

You got out of the car and stretched, looking around. Quite a few people - some in costume, some not - were already gathering at the entrance.

Nero put the headpiece back on and walked a few steps towards the crowd, before stopping and turning to make sure you were following. He tilted his head in a “coming?” gesture.

Sliding your tote bag up your shoulder, you skipped along.

A queue rapidly formed, with a coordination you didn’t expect from a group of sleep deprived nerds. Some of them looked at you - more like ogled at you. Great.

“QuantumSocialite?” A random guy approached Nero, calling him by his username. His friends gasped and whispered among themselves.

“...Yes?”

“Dude, it’s me, LuxLuxLucis.”

“The Lightchasers mod? Oh, wow!”

“You really wore the costume! It looks insane. You’re a legend. The material looks so accurate, how did you do it?”

“Thank you. I analyzed many Luminivore pictures and samples of their chitinous exterior, then compared what materials would be best to use without risking the quality while…”

Aaand just like that, you stopped paying attention. Instead, you noticed how this guy’s friends kept whispering stuff and giggling while looking at Nero. They were giving you major bad vibes. Pretending to be still listening to the incomprehensible yapping, you shuffled closer and eavesdropped on what they were saying.

“...paid her to come along with him.”

“For sure, he’s chronically online and he made that costume, there’s no way a female is hanging out with him willingly.”

“Wow, you guys know a lot about Wanderers,” you said pointedly, joining Nero’s conversation, “I’m actually learning a lot. I’m really happy I was the one that got to be your +1 and not our coworkers,” you gave him a warm smile.

The whispering ceased, now replaced by confused looks. He was completely still, his thoughts a mystery since his face was hidden.

“If you want to learn about Wanderers, you’re in good hands,” said the guy he was talking to, “He’s the most knowledgeable in that area.”

“I know! He really is. I’m really lucky we came together.”

Nero looked down at his clawed gloves, fidgeting with them. The two trash talkers were staring in anger, which you interpreted as jealousy since they were most likely projecting. Suck it.

Just then, an announcement rang out, stating the opening of the gates and the inauguration of the convention. Everyone got their tickets ready and began entering the place.

People were getting a bit pushy and the crowd got thick around you, so you hooked your arm around Nero’s to avoid getting lost or trampled, feeling safer next to his bulky costume. He jerked his head towards you, then realized why you were standing that close to him, and folded his arm to let you hold onto him better. An imperceptible tremble ran across his body.

You both walked to the gates and presented your tickets.

“Alright, let’s see… Couples’ weekend passes… Everything looks in order! Have fun,” the staff member smiled.

“...couples’?” You asked when he was out of earshot.

“W-wait, n-no, I- I didn’t, I mean-,” he gestured wildly with his hands, “They w-were given to me, you remem-ber, how I said, I said I got them for f-free? But I didn’t want to uhh… Um, to make it weird! At the office! S-so I skipped the fact that they were for, uh, couples…”

You chuckled, “Nero, it’s okay, I was asking out of pure curiosity. I have nothing against them being for couples.”

“O-oh. Okay. Right. Ha…” He visibly relaxed at your reassurance.

“So, what do you want to do first?”

“I was thinking we could walk around and see all the stands. Should be enough time until the first scheduled event…”

“Sure! Let’s go.”

It was a big space with rows of stalls selling merch, but also ‘official’ booths, including a Hunter’s equipment showcase, one for the show Super Hunters - with exclusive art never seen before, another with Lumiere memorabilia straight from Linkon’s History museum, Wanderers’ life-sized replicas…

Obviously, you visited all of these with Nero. Even took a picture of him next to the Luminivore replica per his request. It was cute seeing him struggle to find a good pose.

“The lecture is going to start soon… I’m going to head over there, but if you’re not interested, you don’t have to go.”

“The Xander lecture? No, I’m going with you,” you said with determination. You didn’t tell him that it was because you thought they were shady as hell and this was a good opportunity to get further information about them, but it’s not like he needed to know.

With Nero’s planning, you managed to get a good seat at the lecture hall before it filled up. He took off the headpiece to be able to see better and to avoid bothering the people behind him, placing it on his lap. Both your bags rested between your feet.

A staff member appeared, microphone in hand. “Hello everyone, and welcome to Xander Sciences’ lecture on the nature of Wanderers. Without further delay, let me introduce the man who will be speaking today, Dr. Carter!”

Everyone clapped as the man himself walked onstage. You were immediately on high alert, eyes trained on him.

“Thank you, thank you. It’s a pleasure to be here,” he took the microphone.

The next hour was spent picking at every word he said, trying to find any kind of incriminating loose threads, but it was clear the lecture was well rehearsed and none of what he said was useful to you, even if the way he talked about Wanderers put you on edge.

At the end, you grabbed Nero’s arm and pulled him along, “I want to talk to Dr. Carter for a moment.”

“Okay,” he followed, cheeks pink.

The rest of the attendants walked to the exit, which gave you a clear path towards the stage’s stairs.

“Dr. Carter!” You called out, waving your hand up.

He stopped for a moment, surprised to see you there. He smiled, “Ah, Miss Hunter, it’s a pleasure to see you again. I didn’t know I’d have such esteemed listeners in the audience today,” he extended his hand to shake yours. You didn’t.

“It’s an honor to meet you in person, Dr. Carter, that was a very insightful lecture,” said Nero.

“The honor is mine. You seem to be a Wanderer enthusiast,” he looked at his costume.

“He’s my coworker,” you cut in, putting a little more emphasis on ‘my’ than you intended, “don’t bother trying to recruit him for anything.”

“As cold as ever I see, Miss Hunter. It was a simple observation, I didn’t even say anything.”

“Why did you decide to give a lecture here, Dr. Carter?” You ignored his remarks.

“Why not? I’ve done a lot of research on Wanderers, and I thought it’d be best to share my knowledge with those seeking it.”

You were sure there was something more to this than that, but you doubted he would outright admit it. It could even be something much simpler, shameless Xander Sciences publicity to make people interested in being under their care, whatever that entailed. You hoped people wouldn’t fall for it.

He continued, “Since you’re here, you wouldn’t by chance be interested in a quick chat between us, would you?” He took half a step closer.

You felt a weight around your shoulders, pulling you back. Nero, who had been silently watching, spoke with a frown.

“She clearly wants nothing to do with you. What do you think you’re doing?”

You looked at him, eyebrows raised. He had a very determined look on his face, one you had only seen when someone insulted Lumiere in his vicinity, and to be honest, he was kind of intimidating. Kind of.

The tension could be cut with a knife. They glared at each other for what felt like an eternity. If it was your turn to say anything, they were out of luck, because you had no idea what to say. Finally, Carter stepped back and slid his hands in his pockets.

“Have fun in the convention, Miss Hunter. And your Wanderer pet too,” he smirked.

He walked away, leaving you both huffing at his arrogance. No, actually, as you looked at Nero, you discovered you were the only one huffing. He was tomato red.

“You had more things planned for today, right?” You snapped him out of it.

“A-ah, yes,” he pushed his glasses up, “let’s go have lunch.”

There were food trucks stationed outside of the convention center. The walk helped Nero calm down, though he couldn’t seem to look you in the eye. He wished he could put the headpiece back on, but it was a pointless action since you were about to eat and he’d have to take it off again.

After some deciding, you settled for skewers of deep fried chicken that were easy to eat standing up. You chose the honey sauce, he chose the sweet and sour sauce. For something so simple, it was delicious - the queue you had to wait was definitely worth it.

“Do you want to try mine?” You held up a skewer to him.

His eyes darted between it and your face, blinking.

“I mean, we got different flavors, so…” You shrugged.

At that, he shook his head like he was getting rid of his thoughts, then nodded.

“Okay. I’ll trade you- Mhmph!?”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence - ‘one of my skewers for one of yours’ - not that you had heard the beginning of it in the first place. All you heard was him agreeing to try yours.

You shoved the skewer into his mouth.

It took him a moment to understand what just had happened, but when it dawned on him, he turned red again. You were confused as to why he was staring at you instead of biting.

“...”

He bit down and gently pushed your hand away.

“How is it? Good, right?”

“Y-yes…”

“Can I try yours now?”

He lifted a skewer to give it to you in hand, but you-

“Aaah…” You opened your mouth expectantly.

The chances of him surviving this weekend decreased with every minute he spent by your side. Alas, he moved the skewer closer to your mouth with a trembling hand. You met him halfway and bit down on it, causing him to flinch.

You tore off a piece of the fried chicken, relishing in the taste with a “mmmm” as you chewed. By this point, he was fully looking away, covering his mouth with his gloved hand; it was so difficult to keep a clear mind.

“Yours is really good too!”

He hummed in response.

After finishing the food, a few people in cosplay walked past, followed by more, and more groups. The contest must have been about to start.

“You’re really not going to participate?” You asked.

Nero shook his head. He had put the helmet back on, to feel less ‘exposed’ more than anything.

“Is there any way I could convince you? What if we went together? You wouldn’t be alone,” you pulled out your phone, “I read there’s exclusive merch as reward for the winners that won’t be obtainable otherwise, and, look, there’s even a surprise prize for the couples’ category.”

You swore you heard him inhale sharply.

“We already have the couples’ tickets, don’t we? What’s the harm?”

You knew you were pushing him a bit too much, but you were sure that deep down he wanted to join the contest, all he needed was some bribing convincing, and limited merch was sure to do the trick.

“…Do you really want to join?”

“Yeah! It’ll be fun. Unless you think my costume isn’t that good. I don’t want to bring our score down.”

“No, no, no! Your costume is perfect! You look perfect. It would be great if we went together, actually…”

It was crazy to you that he got flustered over the smallest things but was able to say that to you with no trouble. Maybe he didn’t notice what he just said.

“Great! Let’s go register, then!”

Following the cosplayers, you walked back inside towards the hall where the contest would be held. They all looked fantastic, from many other Lumieres, to Wanderers of all kinds (a girl dressed as Heartbreaker was so cute), to characters from the Super Hunters show. All could be winners. But you looked to your left to the nervous mess that was walking alongside you, and you were certain that he would score the highest.

Names written, you were given the number 34 to go onstage. While you waited for your turn, you made sure everything about your costumes was in place. You even managed to convince him to practice some poses.

“I’m not sure about this…” He fidgeted with one of the protruding crystals on his elbow.

“We’re already inscribed, you can’t chicken out now.”

“I… There’s so many people here…”

“Nero,” you swatted his hand away so he wouldn’t ruin his own costume, “forget about them. Don’t look at them. Just look at me. We’re going to crush this, okay?”

He nodded faintly.

“When we go up there, keep your eyes on me if you want. Pretend the judges don’t exist.”

“O-okay.”

And so he did. When you two went onstage, his eyes didn’t stray from you. Not as you unsheathed your sword and struck a pose, not as you pretended to fight him, not as you gave a final smile and bow to the judges, not as you grabbed his arm and dragged him off the stage. The thing was, hadn’t you told him to keep his eyes on you, he still would have. He had been marveling at you from the corner of his eye whenever he had worn the helmet.

“You did great, Nero!” You clapped, giddy. “We’re gonna win for sure!”

He fidgeted under your praise, “Thank you.”

The rest of the contestants had their turn, which made you increasingly nervous; you wanted to know the results as soon as possible. You had gone through the trouble of convincing Nero, it would be a shame if you didn’t get at least a minor prize.

“And now, on the couples’ category…” The voice of the presenter echoed backstage, “In third place, couple 52!” Applause. The respective couple walked out. “In second place, couple 19!” More applause. They walked out, too. “Before we announce first place, a few honorable mentions…” Oh, come on.

“It’s okay if we don’t win,” Nero said with a soft voice.

You took his hand, “We are going to win.”

You had only taken his hand to calm down your own nerves, excitement and anticipation coursing through your veins, but it also helped him relax slightly, as long as he didn’t think too hard about the fact that he was holding your hand.

“In first place…” You both tensed up. “Couple 34!”

He squeezed your hand in reflex. Time stopped for a second. It wasn’t until a staff member pushed you both towards the stage that your face broke into a big smile, jumping and shaking Nero.

You were received with applause, like the previous couples. They made you walk to the center of the stage, standing between the other two pairs of winners, who were also clapping. The judges spoke.

“Congratulations to all of the winners, and thank you to everyone who participated. If you may all please take off the parts covering your faces so we can see our champions properly…”

The couples beside you took off theirs, you took off the Lumiere mask, and Nero took off the helmet. Applause followed. He smiled shyly, looking around at the crowd. Confetti rained down. Lost in the excitement of the moment, you moved closer to give Nero a kiss on the cheek. Just as he was turning to you.

Now, it’s not like you kissed him. But your lips did land on the corner of his mouth.

You blinked at each other.

“H-HUH?” He reeled back, covering his flushed face.

No time to explain yourself, as the staff members brought the prizes and shoved them into your hands. A large basket filled with all kinds of merch was given to all three pairs of participants.

“And for the couple who placed first, a special bonus! WandererCon has collaborated with a nearby hotel for a unique experience, offering you both a one-night stay!”

The staff gave you some documents detailing everything.

“That concludes this years’ contest…” The judge continued, but you weren’t listening anymore.

Because if what the documents said was true, you were about to spend the night with Nero in a room with one bed. Judging by the look on his face, he had just read that part, too.

“We have to tell them, that there’s been a… Um. A mistake,” he told you later, sitting on a bench, helmet back on to hide his expression.

“What if we tell them that we’re not a couple and they take away our prizes? They would question why we entered the couples’ category if we’re not one,” you reasoned.

The thought of losing the merch made him pause.

“It’ll be fine. I read that the room has a couch. One of us can sleep on it. And! Did you read the part about the Wanderer-themed food they’ll be serving us for dinner and breakfast? That sounds amazing.”

“Yeah… It does…”

In the end, he relented. That’s how you found yourself taking the keys to the room in the hotel’s reception, where you were informed of all the amenities and services provided.

A few of the guests gave you weird looks, but the receptionist asked to take a picture with you both.

“You must be the winners of the contest!” She had said with excitement. “Well, lovebirds, enjoy the room,” she added at the end of her explanation, winking.

The ride in the elevator was awkward after that moment. Floor 1… Floor 2… Floor 3… All the way to floor 6.

Luckily, the luxuriousness of the room took over all of your thoughts as you stepped in. It made you wonder what WandererCon could gain by partnering with this hotel for such a sum of money spent on this suite.

“The description on the document did not do this place justice,” you commented.

“Yeah… That sofa is bigger than my bed back at home…” He took off the helmet to see the place better.

The floor-to-ceiling windows gave you a view of the hotel’s garden below. A massive TV hung from the wall, coffee table and sofa in front of it. There was even a kitchenette in a corner, minifridge filled to the brim with free stuff that you couldn’t help but want to try right away just because it was free.

To the left, the entrance to the bedroom. If the sofa was already big enough to sleep, the canopy bed must’ve been king size. On it, a pair of folded pajamas and a change of underwear had been left, as well as a gift basket filled with…

“I’m going to put that away,” you said promptly, not giving Nero the chance to process its contents.

You opened the wardrobe and shoved it in the lowest space available.

“Woah… Look at this,” he beckoned from the bathroom door.

Peeking from his shoulder, the only word that you could really use to describe what you were seeing was lavish. Marble floors and walls, a massive shower, a massive sink under a massive mirror, and of course, to top it off, a massive jacuzzi. The reason for their sizes being that they were meant to be used by two people at once.

Room fully explored, you sat down on the sofa to discuss what to do next.

“They’ll bring us dinner as soon as we ask for it. I don’t know about you, but I want to take a shower and change first,” you said, taking off some of the costume’s accessories.

“Uh, yeah, no, I agree. You can use the bathroom first, I’ll go after you.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

You took the provided clothes and stepped into the bathroom, feeling tiny. It was easy to take off most of what you were wearing, except the same item that gave you trouble when you first got Lumierefied: The dress. You tried to reach the zipper at the top of your back from different angles, but you couldn’t get enough leverage to pull it down.

“Damn it.”

Nero was on his phone when you walked back to the sofa, presumably on one of his forums.

“Hey.”

He almost dropped his phone, startled. “Yeah?” He turned to you.

“I can’t unzip my dress. Would you mind helping me?”

Instantly red. And phone dropped.

You turned around to show him the zipper. “If you pull it a bit I think I can reach the rest of the way.”

He had taken off his clawed gloves already to be able to use his phone, so he had no excuse to procrastinate. As he moved to stand behind you, you could feel his shaky breaths on your nape, and you could swear you heard his heart hammering in his chest.

Ziiip.

It was faster than you had expected. Then again, you guessed he wanted to be done with it as soon as possible.

“T-there.”

“Thank you!”

Back in the bathroom, you took off the dress and turned on the shower. If you had been on your own, you would have tried the jacuzzi, but you didn’t want to take up too much time.

The water was nice and hot, not to mention the shampoo and gel given by the hotel smelled really good. Like coconut.

You finished showering and wrapped a towel around your body, drying your hair a bit too. There were a few steps in your post-shower routine that you usually went through, but you remembered that Nero was quite resolute about cleanliness and would want to use the shower as soon as possible, so in the name of efficiency, you took your clothes and lotions out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

“I’m done! You can go now,” you called out.

“Okay!”

He came trotting through the door, only to freeze and cover his eyes with his hands upon seeing your towel-clad form.

“Y-you said you were d-done…” His voice got quieter and quieter.

“I am! I know you like being clean, and you already did me a favor by letting me go first, so you can shower while I finish changing here!”

“It’s okay… Really, I, I can wait…”

“Nonsense. Come on.”

You grabbed his set of clothes and pushed them into his hands, forcing him to look at you, the way you wet hair clung to your skin, your flushed cheeks due to the heat of the water, the dangerously low point the towel was resting on your chest- He swallowed.

Completely ignoring his wandering eyes, moreso because it amused you, you grabbed his arm and forced him into the bathroom.

“See? Was that so difficult?”

You closed the door before he could answer, but he had little to say.

Time to finish your self-care routine. You grabbed the body moisturizer and started applying it to your arms and legs, the texture soft. Would they tell you the brand if you asked in the hotel’s reception?

While you pondered this, there was a crash.

“Nero…? You okay?”

“U-uh, yeah! I- I fell trying to get this off…”

“Having trouble with your costume, too? Yours looks harder to put on and take off than mine.”

“I didn’t really have trouble putting it on, but now…”

“Okay, let me help,” you knocked.

The door opened a crack, then closed as soon as he saw you.

“You- Ah, mm… Change first.”

“I can’t put on the pajamas yet, I have to let the lotion dry. Just come out.”

One second of silence. Two seconds of silence. The door opened again.

Making a gesture with your hands for him to move closer, you instructed him to lean down so you could pull off the upper part of the costume. He was glad he didn’t have to look at you and could look at the floor instead.

It was difficult to find the right amount of force to use, since you didn’t want to ruin it, but you had to get it unstuck.

So you pulled, and pulled, and pulled, each time with a bit more strength- Too late. The piece came off, but now there was no time to brake. You stumbled back, making Nero stumble forward, the costume part flying off backwards over your head and landing on the other side of the room… Just as you landed on the floor and Nero on top of you.

“Ow…” You reached to rub your head. At least there was a carpet.

“I- Uh- Um- I-”

You blinked your eyes open to see why Nero was speechless now. Ah. The towel.

It wasn’t completely off, but a straight line of skin was exposed from your right shoulder to your right thigh. That included half of your chest.

The rest was covered, but it’s not like it mattered right now.

He couldn’t function. His eyes were glued to your body, and his face was poppy red. Even his glasses were fogging up.

“Oh, please,” you rolled your eyes, “Nero, it’s a body part. You’ve never seen a body?”

He didn’t answer, still overwhelmed.

Well, since this had happened, you might as well have fun.

“Look.”

You grabbed his hand that was planted next to your head and pressed it to your breast, lifting an eyebrow.

“See? Just a body part.”

He squeaked and reeled back, pulling his hand free and crawling away from you. You sat up with a mischievous smile.

“Be honest,” you started, crawling towards him, “you like all this, don’t you? When I’m close to you, when I pay attention to you, when I touch you…”

He whimpered in response. The towel had fully fallen off by now.

“You act all shy, but we both know… You’ve been wanting this from the beginning.”

You reached him, caging him beneath you as he lay flat on the ground to stay as far away from you as possible. He was wearing a white T-shirt under the upper part of the costume, but he had yet to remove the bottom half, and you were certain that there was no space for him to wear pants of any kind under it, so he must be in boxers.

“I won’t do anything else unless I have your permission. If you want me to continue, you have to say it.”

Droplets from your wet hair fell on his face. Somehow, he managed to keep eye contact.

“You…” His chest fell and rose. “K-kiss me again, like before? P-please…”

Right, the accidental kiss. Had he been thinking about it this whole time? It was a quite innocent request compared to the situation you had put him in, but surprisingly direct coming from Nero.

His eyes darted to your lips several times, but he didn’t dare move.

“You want me to kiss you,” you repeated, then smirked, “is that all?”

He made a sound of protest and frustration. His fingers clutched the carpet in an attempt to hold himself back from doing anything embarrassing. He shook his head.

“No? What else? Use your words, pretty boy.”

His hand flew to his mouth. Did you really just call him that? You chuckled.

“Fine, we’ll take it slow.”

You pulled his hand away and pinned his arms to the floor. Slowly, so slowly, you leaned down until your lips brushed against his. Nothing more than a feather touch had him already gasping.

“Let’s see…” You whispered, “this is what I did before.”

Repeating what had happened in the contest, you kissed the corner of his lips. This time, however, letting the contact last longer, and making sure that a ‘mmm’ sound reverberated into the kiss.

When you pulled away, Nero was practically panting. His body squirmed under you, but you were certain it wasn’t because he wanted to escape your cruel intentions.

“There. That’s what you asked for.”

“W-wait!” Afraid that you were going to leave him like that, he found his voice again, “I want… Uhm- If you could, ah…”

“All you have to do is ask for it.”

He closed his eyes tight, as if saying these next words took all of his strength, “Do whatever you want with me.”

Your eyes widened. Oh, wow. He was actually a freak. Always the shy ones… You huffed a laugh, brushing the tip of your nose across his cheek to prompt him to open his eyes.

“Whatever, huh. Let’s be sensible. Just in case, let’s agree on a safe word,” you looked at him with genuine consideration.

He nodded, growing increasingly nervous at the thought of what you were about to do to him.

“How about… ‘Protocore’?”

“O-okay,” he knew this wasn’t a silly matter, so he was trying his best to be verbal about it.

“Alright, test it out. When should you say it?”

“Um… When I, if I feel uncomfortable… I should say p-protocore.”

“Good boy.”

Those two words made bumps appear all over his arms. You smiled with amusement.

That matter settled, your eyes made a very deliberate path to his lips. Since you were holding his wrists, your finger rested right over the pulse point there, showing you just how fast his heart had started beating at your gaze.

He tilted his head up to get himself the smallest bit closer to you, practically begging for a kiss. An actual proper kiss.

Your lips pressed against his, finally. You noticed they were slightly chapped, the texture rough in contrast to your softness, but that only made you want to run your tongue over them. So you did.

He instantly opened his mouth in response. You plunged your tongue into his mouth, which earned you a muffled whimper. He swiped his tongue against yours with caution, growing more comfortable as you kept going. It became messy very fast due to his inexperience, the deeper you kissed him, the more he started drooling.

Despite that, he was a very desperate kisser. Like he didn’t believe this was happening, nor it would ever happen again in the future, so he might as well go all out in the present.

You pulled back and licked your lips, looking down at his state. His glasses, apart from foggy, were now crooked, and a line of drool ran down his chin. You licked it up.

“I’m curious,” you announced with an air of mystery.

He tilted his head, silently asking ‘about?’. Not answering, you moved to sit next to him, setting his arms free. He mentally debated if he should touch your naked body with his newfound freedom, but he didn’t have time to reach a conclusion as your hand slid to his pants - still part of the costume - and pulled them off, along with his underwear.

He froze in flustered silence, completely exposed to you. Part of him wanted to cover himself up, it was too embarrassing to let you see his fully erect leaking dick, he felt too self-conscious about it, but the other part of him was curious to know your opinion. Maybe if you insulted him now, it would be easier for him to accept that he had fumbled you once he got back home.

But, you didn’t say anything.

No, as you stared at the 8-inch cock in front of you, you really didn’t have anything to say. Always the shy ones indeed.

With almost wonder in your eyes, you wrapped a hand around it. Nero twitched.

“W-wait, mh-”

He pushed himself up on his elbows, reaching to grab your wrist with half-lidded eyes. You didn’t move your hand, but returned your gaze to his expression.

“Wait? For what?”

“I just, well, you were kissing me and- I’m not saying I didn’t like it, t-the opposite, but well I’m nervous now, so… Uh, not yet because, because I-”

Cutting him off, you started pumping up and down, precum helping you slide along his length. He bit down hard on his lip to prevent a moan.

“W-wait! I! Ah-”

He let go of your hand in order to keep himself lifted on his elbows.

“Stop, s-stop, I’m too sensitive-”

You didn’t let up. If anything, you sped up, brushing your thumb across the tip.

“I don’t see how that’s a problem,” you said with a smirk.

“B-because, mh, fffh…” His words became higher pitched and whiney, “I don’t-”

His worst nightmare was realized right then. Having any sort of sexual interaction with a beautiful girl and cumming in less than thirty seconds. How pathetic of him, he thought.

The cum spilled over your hand and shot all across his T-shirt, his abdomen and legs shaking. His elbows gave out and he fell on his back.

“I’m s-orry- I’m sorry, I’m so- sorry-” Was the only thing he said through the orgasm, covering his eyes.

You stood up and left to go to the bathroom, and it solidified the fact for him: You thought he was disgusting and wanted to get away from him as soon as possible.

Nothing further from the truth, as you returned with a damp towel after cleaning your hand to help him clean up. You moved his hands away from his face and repositioned his glasses.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“What for?” You asked now that he had calmed down somewhat, handing him the towel.

“Mm… I, I came too fast…”

“But I wanted you to cum.”

“W-well, yeah, but, you know, that’s uhh…”

He didn’t look you in the eye as he cleaned himself and took his stained shirt off.

“It’s what?”

“Kinda… Pathetic…?”

He stood up and realized you were both completely bare in front of the other, and he still hadn’t touched you. The passing contact of his palm on your breast burned his skin.

“Maybe, but I found it hot.”

The blush returned to his face. He looked down and started fidgeting with his hands. You remembered he was about to shower before all of this happened, so you slid your hand in his and led him to the bathroom.

“Um, what are you-”

“I’ve been wanting to try the jacuzzi.”

“Oh.”

Water started filling the tub. In the meantime, you turned to Nero and stepped closer. He wanted to put his hands on you so badly, but he was too embarrassed to try.

Honestly, you just wanted to eat him up.

“Relax. We’re just going to take a bath, and then we’ll have dinner.”

“Yeah… Okay.”

You reached up and gently took off his glasses. Before setting them aside, you tried them on, curious, only to find he had a very high prescription. Even though you were blurry, the way you widened your eyes wasn’t missed and it made him giggle. As you looked at him, he coughed to cover up his laugh and looked away.

“I’d give you um, a compliment, about how they look on you but, you know uh… I can’t really see. Although I k-know for a fact that you look good in them because, because you… You look g-good in anything…”

You took them off and put them near the sink, then kissed his cheek.

“Thank you.”

Your bodies brushed when you got closer, and he instinctively lifted his hands with fear as if to say ‘I didn’t touch you on purpose! I’m not a pervert!’.

You shook your head and facepalmed. He panicked again at your gesture.

“Nero, I just gave you a handjob,” you sighed, “You know what? It’s okay. Forget that happened, maybe I went too fast. Let’s start from the beginning.”

You turned off the faucet, water having reached an acceptable level, and gestured for him to get in first. Like a small animal in distress, he followed your command and sank into the water, cowering because you seemed angry - you weren’t.

Before he could protest, you entered and sat on his lap, facing him, straddling his thighs. His hands gripped the edges of the tub.

“You said-!”

“And I meant it! Calm down, I just want you to get more comfortable with me. My body. Not every skin to skin contact has to be about sex.”

He relaxed the tiniest bit.

“Now, put your hands on my waist. And you have to understand, I want you to touch me. I’m not going to judge you for doing that. I was the one who put your hand on my chest!”

He nodded along with your explanation, sliding his hands down the white marble and bringing them to your sides. It still felt forced.

“Tell me something. Do you want to touch me?”

“Yes! Y-yes…” He sank his mouth underwater, blowing a few bubbles.

“Then do it. I give you full permission to move your hands wherever you want. Would you rather I… Don’t look?” You tilted your head. “Is that it? You feel judged if I’m looking at you?”

“A bit…”

“Okay.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned forward, resting your head against your bicep. Your chest pressed against his. He got hard again.

A few moments passed, but seeing you weren’t moving nor saying anything, he began to slide his hands up. You could feel his warm face pressed to your cheek.

He stopped right when he felt your breasts, gathering the courage to continue. As gently as he could, he cupped each breast in his hands until his palms were flush with your skin.

“C-can I… squeeze or will that hurt you?”

“As long as you don’t do it very hard, it’s fine.”

Worried about how hard was ‘very hard’, he squeezed with barely any force, then ran his thumbs across your nipples. That made you exhale.

He froze.

“That feels good,” you reassured him.

“Oh, okay,” he was taking mental notes of every piece of information.

He continued his exploration, moving his hands down this time, to your thighs. The sound of water and his echoey breathing were the only noise in the bathroom, since you hadn’t turned on the jacuzzi function yet.

He squeezed them, too, sliding his way up, but staying on the outer part.

“You’re- Very um, soft.”

“I think it’s the lotion I just used, but thanks,” you kissed his cheek, “your hands feel nice.”

“A-are you going to, uh, kiss me every time I compliment you?”

“Yeah, why not.”

“Well, I think you’re very pretty, b-but! Obviously that’s not the only thing about you, I mean, you’re a great Hunter and you’re very intelligent, every time you come back from a mission and I read your reports it’s always amazing to see how efficient you are, and you’re so much fun to spend time with, I-I’m very happy you came with me- Ah! I didn’t tell you before but you wear the costume so well, and you’re so talented-”

You cut him off with a kiss, which he instantly melted into. His arms wrapped around your waist to keep you close. This time he was a bit more sure of what he was doing, tilting his head and returning the motions of your lips. You pulled back but he furrowed his brow with a whine and dipped his head to kiss you again, one of his hands moving to cup your cheek.

Far from complaining, you kissed him back. The hand still on your back slid down to your rear. He broke the kiss with urgency.

“Y-you… made me feel good so I want to m-make you feel good too… Um… Show me how…?”

“Yeah, of course,” you smiled, glad that he was warming up to intimacy.

He took his hand off your cheek and presented it to you. Grabbing his wrist, you plunged it into the water and brought it between your legs.

“Feel around first, don’t be shy.”

The pads of his fingers traced down your pubes, over your clit and into your folds, finding your entrance.

“Do I just…”

“Hold on, you overlooked something.”

“I- I did?”

You moved his hand back slightly.

“That’s my clitoris. I thought you’d like to know.”

He blushed furiously, “O-oh. Yeah, mhm…”

His finger circled it a couple of times, getting used to its feel. Your breath hitched. Encouraged, he kept rubbing it.

“So is it better to do this… Rather than, you know, f-fingering you…?”

“Both are different, but I’m going to show you the best way. Put your ring and middle fingers together and put them in.”

“A-at the same time?”

“Yeah, slowly.”

He followed your instructions, ever careful. Once they were fully in, you spoke up.

“Okay… Now curl-”

The action was immediate, a gasp falling from your lips as you gripped his shoulders.

“Did I hurt you!?” He was about to pull his hand back but you kept it in place, shaking your head.

“Quite the opposite. You’re doing great. Now, press your palm up…”

Your hips bucked into his touch as he did.

“Y-yeah, like that, now you just move your fingers and rub with your palm.”

He started slow, pumping his fingers in and out while curled, making sure to keep the friction against your clit. You suspected he had skilled hands ever since you had seen him typing away on his computer, but his coordination was surpassing your expectations.

You grew breathless, your hips rocking in tandem with his touch. The water sloshed around you.

“And… You can…” You grabbed his free hand and placed it on your breast with a squeeze. “Mmm, like that…”

He was just as worked up as you, if not more. Unprompted - to your delight, he dipped his head and started kissing your neck. Very sweet and innocent kisses compared to what his hands were doing.

“C-can I, hm, b-bite you?”

“Yes,” you breathed, the pronunciation of the word more lewd than you intended.

You felt his dick twitch on your thigh. His teeth clamped down on your neck, tongue licking the skin with intent. You moved your hand down to jerk him off again, but he stopped you, a frustrating loss on your chest.

“No. T-this is for you… Just concentrate on feeling good, okay?”

“Okay,” you dug your fingers into his hair instead.

“Am I doing well?” His hand returned to fondling your breast.

“You’re doing great… Mh- Maybe you can go faster now.”

No more words were needed. He picked up the pace, hitting your g-spot just right each time, grinding his palm against your clit with more determination.

The moans couldn’t be held back anymore. He planted open-mouthed kisses to the spot where he had bitten, noting how you clenched around his fingers. How would that feel on his dick?

Pleasure started pooling, your movements becoming more erratic, reaching for that high. He noticed and pushed his fingers harder against your spongy walls.

“Nero- Mh… Keep going like that, yes, just like that- I’m gonna cum- Fuck, don’t stop-”

Your hands clutched his hair, head falling back, and-

With a gasp, followed by a moan, the orgasm wrecked through you. He kept moving his hand until your head fell on his chest, just to make sure you had fully finished.

He pulled his fingers out and hugged you in silence as your breathing returned to normal.

Once your senses came back, you lifted your head to give him a sweet kiss. He smiled, shy.

“You… Liked it?”

“Yes. I didn’t expect you to be so good at it,” you chuckled.

Pride overtook his expression.

“You sure you don’t want me to…” You looked down at his erection.

He shook his head, “A-after dinner… If you want, I- We-”

You laughed again, “After dinner, absolutely. Let me help you wash your hair, at least. It’s all tousled now…”

Since you had already taken a shower earlier, you focused on helping him, which he really appreciated. All the contact and intimacy that he had never had made this day easily one of the best of his life.

You washed his hair and massaged his scalp, sneaking a few kisses when he closed his eyes. He washed the rest of his body himself, blushing as you absentmindedly traced your fingers across his skin while you waited.

Before leaving the bath, you remembered the reason why you wanted to use it in the first place: The jacuzzi function. You pressed the button and relaxed for a few minutes under the bubbling water.

It wasn’t healthy to stay too long, though, so you said goodbye to the jacuzzi with a mock salute.

Nero passed you a towel and wrapped one around himself. Luckily relaxing in the water had made him go soft again, relieved that he didn’t have to feel embarrassed about having a tent.

You dried off then put on the pajamas and underwear, all very comfy and soft, and he put his glasses back on.

“I’ll call them to bring our dinner while you dry your hair,” he offered.

“Okay!”

The hair dryer was also really good quality. You were definitely going to participate in more contests in the future, regardless of whether a hotel stay was in the prizes or not.

You brushed your dry hair and walked out of the bathroom. Just then, a knock at the door.

Nero opened it and a staff member entered, pushing a serving cart filled with covered plates. They left it next to the coffee table.

“We have organized it so the entrées are on the upper tray, and dessert is on the bottom tray. The idea is that you go down each tray of food. There’s also a triptych on the top describing each meal. Do you have any questions?”

“Nope.” You looked at Nero. He shook his head.

“Then I’ll get going. Enjoy your food!” They smiled.

“Thank you!” You both said in unison.

The door closed. You took the first tray and put it on the table, then sat on the sofa.

“Want to do the honors?” You said to him.

“Yeah. We can do one each,” he sat next to you and lifted the silver cover.

The food was amazing. Both in presentation - they nailed the ‘Wanderers’ theme - and in taste. As you ate the meals, however, you noticed that Nero had grown weirdly quiet, and not in the usual shy way.

“Is everything alright?” You put your fork down.

“Hm? Why?”

“I don’t know, you seem upset or like, lost in thought.”

He put his fork down too.

“D-do you like me?”

“...What? What do you mean?”

“I mean… A-are you interested in me or… D-do you just want, uhm, a one night stand…?”

“Oh! No, no, I’m interested in you, Nero. I like you. You’re so cute and sweet. I would… It would be nice if we started dating.”

“Wait- Really?” He looked up at you with bright eyes, pushing up his glasses in a nervous gesture.

“If you also want to, yes.”

“Yes! Yes, I want to. I want you to be my g-girlfriend.”

You hugged him, covering his face in little kisses that knocked his glasses off. He laughed nervously, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your hair.

“S-stop, that’s too much…” He complained, but you knew he wasn’t actually annoyed.

“I can’t help it, you’re sitting here looking so kissable… Hehehe.”

You grabbed his glasses and put them back on his face.

“The food will get cold. You can continue your attacks after we eat,” he said, letting go of you.

“Oh, I intend to.”

That sent a shiver up his spine, but he refrained from saying anything in case you would change your mind and forget about the food entirely. After all, he wanted to enjoy this cute moment of eating dinner with his girlfriend.

Meals finished, cart taken away, you stood up with your arms crossed.

“Well?”

“...well what?” He looked around nervously.

“Are you going to stand up and join me in the bed or are you going to keep editing those pictures you took of the food?”

“A-ah…” He dropped his phone for the second time today.

You picked up the phone and left it on the table, away from him, to then pull him up by his arms.

“That wasn’t a response.”

“I’ll join you,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact.

You walked to the bedroom, hand in hand, but you stopped in front of the closet as you remembered the basket.

This time Nero got a good look at it.

“We-! We’re not gonna-! We-! Use all of that!?” He pointed at all of the items with a bewildered look.

“Calm down, we’re not. Geez, how freaky does the hotel management think we are?” You said with sarcasm, knowing exactly how much of a freak you were.

Nero seemed in particular distress about the strap on, which you lifted with curiosity but promptly put down. No, you were just looking for the condoms. For now.

“I feel like you should know, well I, I’m not exactly, um, what I mean is, I’m… A virgin.”

How sweet of him to mention it, as if it wasn’t obvious. You held back your snarky comeback, since this was serious for him and you weren’t that evil.

“Right. That’s okay. You remember the safe word?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’re good!”

You took one of the condoms and guided him to the bed, sitting down.

“I also don’t… I have no idea how to… Put one of those on.”

“I’ll help you, don’t worry,” you were concerned about the lack of sexual education he had received, but that was a different matter entirely.

He looked unsure of what to do next. Kiss you? Start undressing? Jump out of the window from embarrassment?

Those doubts dissipated as you started kissing his neck, his eyes closing in bliss.

“You left a mark on my neck,” you whispered between kisses, “it’s only fair I return the favor.”

He tilted his head up, grabbing a fistful of your hair, realizing he might be hurting you and letting go, ultimately grabbing again once you bit down. The noise he let out was borderline pornographic.

You sucked and licked the skin, only stopping to admire how it looked before moving on to a different spot and repeating the process.

By the time you were done, his neck was covered in hickeys, he was panting, and he was visibly hard. Your hands had stayed on his shoulders the entire time on purpose, but now, as you looked at him look at you, they wandered down to unbutton his shirt.

He tried to avoid your gaze by looking at them, but you were quick to tilt his chin back up.

“Unbutton mine.”

He complied, fumbling with the buttons and taking twice the time you did out of pure nervousness. He was about to lose his virginity with you of all people. Fuck, he was about to lose his virginity period.

You took off the pajamas and discarded them on the floor. Despite having seen you naked not that long ago, it took him a moment to calm down again.

Gently pushing him back, you took off his pants and knelt between his legs.

“I’m gonna show you how to put on a condom but first I wanna do something…”

“Hm?”

You lowered your head towards his erection and he immediately palmed your forehead to stop you.

“W-wait!”

He retracted his hand, but kept it between you and his dick.

“What?” You raised an eyebrow.

“If- If you do that, I am certain, I am… I will c-cum right away…”

“I still don’t see the issue.”

“But- You- I- Well- We-” He started gesticulating incoherently.

You took the opportunity of his hands being busy to lower your head the rest of the way and lick up his shaft.

“Ah!” He threw his head back, then shot you a glare.

The eye contact in that moment was when you decided to put your whole mouth around it, sucking it completely. It was the right choice, as you got a perfect view of his flustered expression.

His hands gripped the sheets, unintelligible sounds falling from his lips.

“Mh! Nghh…”

You sucked from bottom to tip, dragging your tongue along the veins, making sure to cover all of it with your saliva. Your dominant hand followed just after your lips, while the other fondled his balls.

“You have such a pretty dick, you know,” you kissed the frenulum.

It twitched in your hand, precum already dripping, and Nero grabbed a pillow to cover his face and muffle his moans.

“No, no, no, c’mon,” you pulled it away, “don’t you wanna see the cum all over my face when you finish?”

“Why do you-, why are you-, I’m just, I feel like-”

You sucked it fully again, swirling your tongue around it. His stomach trembled in tandem with his heaving breaths.

“Ahgh! Mmmff… P-please- Ahh…”

He was holding back. He was trying so hard not to cum, to impress you, to prove to himself that he could last, that he wouldn’t be a mess when he was finally inside you, but sucking up the length while rolling your eyes back and humming was all it took.

Thick ropes of white painted the inside of your mouth, his hips stuttering. Another apologetic string of sentences rang out of him, only a lot more garbled, his head on the mattress and his back arched towards you.

You licked and swallowed all the cum. When you finally pulled back and looked at his state, he refused to make eye contact, but his eyes were fixed on the top of the canopy with suspicious concentration.

You looked up and, ah, of course, a mirror. Your eyes met his and he instantly looked away, moving to lie on his side and bury his face against the mattress.

“Nero, are you embarrassed or are you upset? I can’t tell.”

“Mm mmm,” he answered, words muffled.

You lied down next to him and caressed his cheek. He slowly came out of hiding.

“I didn’t understand that. Can you repeat it?”

“The first,” he repeated with a huff.

“So, embarrassed. But, did you like it?”

“Are you joking!?” He exclaimed, “I- I mean… Yes…”

“Great, because I’m far from done with you,” you lifted the condom to his flushed face, “wanna be on top?”

He shook his head so hard that his glasses almost fell off.

“Listen,” he tried to explain as you got on top of him once more, “I’m still sensitive, a-and I might cum just as fast anyways, so I’m really sorry in advance for how much of a mess I’m going to be, I promise I’m doing my best, if you don’t want to do this anymore that’s fine by me, we can do whatever you want- Aah-,” he shuddered as you slipped the condom on his still hard dick, “...that was easier than I expected- A-as I was saying! If you don’t like this, I could e-eat you out instead- MMMGH!”

You sank onto him in a swift move, the full length now buried to the hilt inside your warm cunt. It made you gasp, too. It felt better than any sex toys or past flings you had had.

“With how fast you talk, I don’t doubt that it would be nice, but you made me so wet with all your moaning that I couldn’t wait to fuck you properly.”

He mumbled a response, hands grabbing your thighs to keep you still for a moment; it was too much for him to process, and he knew that if you started moving he would-

You rocked your hips, propping yourself with your hands on his chest, and his nails dug into your skin with a broken whimper.

“Wait!”

Ignoring him, you did it again. God, he felt good.

“Agh-!” He arched his body, scratching your thighs, which he looked really apologetic about but he couldn’t help himself.

“How mean, you have all this and you want to keep it all to yourself…” You teased.

“N-no, it’s not that, I swear, u-use me, I-”

At those words, you raised your hips and dropped them sharply, the tip of his dick kissing your cervix. His eyes rolled back, words dying in his throat.

“You didn’t let me, let me f-finish s-speaking…!” He protested.

“Since you wanna talk so much, how about I give you something to do with your mouth?”

You reached up and pushed your fingers inside his mouth, delivering another pointed rock of your hips. Helpless, he began sucking on them.

Matter settled, you started to actually move on top of him at a constant rhythm, new red lines appearing on your thighs with each movement. He was so overstimulated that tears started to pool and fall down his cheeks.

The best thing about riding him was that you could deliver a perfect hit to your g-spot every time, although with how thick he was, he might’ve done that anyways if he was on top.

You clenched around him and he saw stars, whimpering and moaning between your fingers. Hit after hit, warmth started to spread across your body, growing more and more breathless as the pleasure built, never enough - you needed to step it up.

So you took your hand out of his mouth to keep balance as you fucked yourself on his dick, faster and harder, his pussy-drunk expression only serving to drag you further, moans now spilling from your lips as well.

Nero slowly but surely recovered from the overstimulation, the mattress below him wet with tears. He chased his own pleasure now too, hips jerking up to meet you.

“I’m gonna cum,” you said, having trouble holding yourself up.

“Don’t st-oh-op, p-please, p-please, mmh…”

“I- I can’t keep, fuck, ah-”

The rope stretched tighter and tighter until it snapped, electricity jolting up your spine. Your body shook and fell on top of Nero’s, spasming with the aftershocks of the orgasm.

“No! Mh! P-please!” He cried, feeling so close himself but edged since you had stopped, “I need- you- I need to-”

He turned, both of you lying on your sides, his hands keeping your thighs around his waist, and-

With desperate thrusts, he tried to reach the climax he hadn’t. He buried his face in your chest, glasses pressing against your skin as he kissed and sucked anywhere his mouth could reach.

You grabbed his hair, shaky gasps each time his tongue teased your nipples or his cock reached deep. It was a lot, his pace relentless, but you wanted him to finish, so you let him continue.

“S-sorry, I need to- I want to cum so bad- P-please, I’m almost there- Nghh-!”

The sweet torture didn’t last long - not that you expected it to in the first place, his hips stuttering as he delivered a couple more deep hits. You looked down to see his face as he came. He went cross-eyed. Wow, you wished you had taken a picture.

He stayed with his arms around you for a bit, breathing heavily. You caressed the top of his head.

“Come up, give me a kiss,” you said softly.

He complied, moving his posture to face you. A gentle kiss, just lips, after which you both smiled.

“I really liked that,” you reassured him before he could apologize for anything.

“Me t-too. But…”

You covered his mouth with your hand.

“Are you about to put yourself down in any way?”

He raised his eyebrows, then shook his head. You moved your hand away.

“I just wanted to say… Well, I think it’s a bit unfair that I, uh, I came one more time than you did, so…”

“The score doesn’t always have to be ‘settled’,” you chuckled.

“I! I know that! But still, I want to… Y-you said yourself that… About me t-talking a lot…”

“You wanna eat me out that badly, huh.”

He flushed. Somehow he remained easily embarrassed.

“I’m curious to know how you taste.”

Maybe not that embarrassed.

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue,” you nodded at him.

Confused, he followed your command. You spit. He closed his mouth, shocked. He acted offended, but you saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed it.

“That’s how I taste,” you laughed.

“Not- That’s not-! You know what I meant!” He huffed, the grip around you getting a little tighter.

“Hahaha, okay, okay, just teasing you. By all means, go right ahead. I would never say no to being eaten out.”

With your permission, he released you and pulled out, his dick now soft. He got up to throw away the condom while you positioned yourself on the bed, legs spread for him, pillows stacked under your upper back and head.

He crawled back on the bed and lied down on his stomach, face between your thighs, eyes darting wildly at the display before him. Seeing it was different from feeling it.

“Will you guide me like you did before?”

“Yeah, of course. Get a feel for it first, though.”

He nodded and swallowed.

“I didn’t expect you… To be… So wet…” His fingers traced your inner lips.

“I told you before.”

“Sure, but- I thought it was an exaggeration…” He licked his finger. No discernible reaction, until he realized you had watched him do that, then he turned redder.

“What’s the verdict? Do I taste good?” You smirked.

“A-ah, well- I didn’t really- I have to try more.”

“Smooth.”

This time he stuck out his tongue, flat, and licked up from your entrance to your clit. You trembled involuntarily.

“Like that?” He repeated the action.

“Y-yes, but, it’s not just that, you aren’t a dog-,” you gave him a look, but discarded the thought. Pet play might be too advanced for his first day. “You have suck, too. You can kiss if you want. Don’t bite, unless it’s on the thighs. And don’t focus on one specific spot, but every now and then you should definitely hone in on the clitoris,” you paused, “Is that confusing? Did I explain it more or less okay?”

“I’ll try to follow what you just said, but correct me if I do anything wrong.”

His arms wrapped around each of your thighs.

“Oh, and,” he kissed your clit, “that’s the clitoris, right?”

“Yes,” you smiled proudly at how far he’d come.

That smile faded fast as he dove right in and started sucking and licking like a starved man, running his tongue up and down, your expression morphing as your brow furrowed in pleasure.

His head moved up and down, lips pressing against every part of your cunt, tongue parting your folds. Just like you had told him, he made sure to stop at your clit, suck it and swirl his tongue around it before dragging it away and poking at your entrance, drinking all he could taste.

You bucked your hips towards him, gripping his hair with one hand and the sheets with the other. Your thighs pressed against his cheeks.

“Y-you can… Hahh… If you- Your nose-”

He understood what you meant, rubbing his nose to your clit as he sucked lower. His glasses fogged up at the heat. He took them off and threw them away to get a better angle.

They landed on the carpet, undamaged, but neither of you really cared.

His eyes moved up to you every now and then, though blurry, he tried his best to gauge your reaction, along with the little trembles of your legs. It was getting easier to understand what he had to do.

Still, he had some improvements to do. He pulled away for a moment to catch his breath, lips red and moist, a web of saliva connecting his mouth to your cunt. He licked his lips.

“Don’t stop,” you breathed.

“Sorry, sorry,” he quickly muttered before diving back in.

This time his movements were faster, his tongue flicking in all the right spots. One of his hands moved up to squeeze your breast, fondling it, small sounds of pleasure vibrating from his mouth to your core.

You grinded your hips back and forth, hissing. Nero was doing something similar against the mattress, his dick probably hard again.

He sucked your clit sharply, and you threw your head back with a moan.

“Fuck… Yes…”

He did it again.

“Mmnn! Nero, I’m so fucking close- Don’t slow down- ah!”

Far from it, he kept up the pace with heavy breaths, the hot air hitting your skin. Your fingers tightened their grip on both his hair and the sheets. Which, if it weren’t for the fact that he was neatly licking everything up, would have been stained with your wetness long ago.

“Yeah yeah yeah-” Your vision began to cloud as that familiar numbing sensation spread, almost, almost, right there.

Uncontrollable shivers ran along your body, your expression locked in a continuous gasp as you looked up, at the mirror, seeing - more than feeling - Nero kissing your inner thighs and up your stomach.

You slowly came down from the high. By the time he buried his face in your neck, you had regained control of your body and could wrap your arms around him.

“I have my verdict now,” he said with a cocky edge, “you taste good.”

You chuckled and patted his hair, ruffled from your grabbing and pulling.

“That means you’ll eat me often, then?”

He lost his cockiness, “I-If you want me to.”

You held him for a bit while an idea cooked in your mind. Would he be opposed? He didn’t seem very thrilled when he saw the strap on…

“Hey, are you up for one more thing? I know you were all about ‘settling the score’ or whatever, but I want to do something… It’ll be the last, I promise. We can go to bed after.”

“Uhm… Anything and everything you want to do is fine by me…”

“Riiight…” You gently pulled away from his embrace and got up.

As he saw you walk towards the basket, he felt a slight nervousness well up, but he calmed himself by believing you were just going to grab another condom. On the way there, you tossed him his glasses.

His vision now clear, he saw how wrong he was.

You lifted the strap and his face went white.

“You can’t be serious…”

“I am. You see, you were such a good boy eating me out and you did so well, that I think you deserve a prostate orgasm,” you said with a smile.

“I don’t- I don’t think I can, I’m able to… I…”

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine. We won’t! But if you’re just saying ‘no’ because it’s a new, weird experience, I’m asking you to be open minded.”

“Have... Have you done this before…?”

“What, peg a guy? Yes,” you shrugged.

He shook off the feelings of jealousy to instead focus on the fact that you knew what you were doing.

You picked up the lube - also in the basket - and walked up to the bed to sit next to him.

“Look at it. Your dick is a lot bigger and I can take it no problem.”

He turned red, “Well! That’s! I mean!”

To be fair, there were actually more sizes available, this one being the smallest, but you had buried them under the condoms and lube bottles so he wouldn’t see. A small mercy from you.

“Are you up for it or not?”

“Uhhh… Maybe I can, just like, try it for a second,” he avoids your gaze, fidgeting with his hands.

“Sure! Of course. If it’s uncomfortable, we stop.”

You pat the bed, “Get on all fours.”

“What!? Right away!?” He lowered his head.

“...I mean, what did you expect to happen first?”

“I don’t know! Can I get a kiss first.”

You giggled and leaned to kiss him. His hands cupped your face, and you felt him smile into the kiss.

“Better?”

“I guess.”

“Alright, I’m going to lube you up. I’ll use my fingers, so don’t get scared.”

“You’re gonna… Ah… Mhm…”

He positioned himself on all fours as you indicated, slightly relieved that at least he didn’t have to face you.

You squeezed some lube out on your fingers and took a gander at what you were working with. Okay, he was definitely tense.

“Breathe, Nero. My gosh.”

“Right, right, mhm.”

He wasn’t going to calm down much more, it was obvious, so instead of dragging it out, you simply decided to circle your finger around his hole and slowly push it in. No more than an inch deep.

The foreign sensation made his breath hitch.

“Am I hurting you?”

“N-no.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No…”

You pushed your index a bit further, coating his inner walls with the lube. You stopped once you figured you were deep enough.

“This is what I was talking about,” you warned him, before pressing down right on his prostate.

You saw his hands clutching the sheets as he gasped, then looked back over his shoulder.

“That’s…”

“Feels good, right?”

“Yeah…”

You retracted your finger and picked up the strap on to lube it up as well, coating its black silicone with your hands. Nero watched the whole process with his mouth dry.

“It’s about to feel a lot better than ‘good’, trust me.”

He nodded noncommittally, but deep down he was very curious after having felt just your finger.

You fastened the strap to your waist and thighs, making sure everything was properly tightened, and turned your attention back to him.

“You can still say no.”

“No, I, I’m okay.”

“Alright.”

You aligned the tip of the dildo with his hole, kneeling behind him. He looked away, heavily in disbelief that somehow this was happening - and worst of all - he was eager for it to happen.

The tip slid in easily thanks to the lube, a soft muffled sound coming from Nero, who now had one of his hands covering his mouth. You pushed a bit deeper, tentatively. Your hands found perch on each side of his waist, the touch causing goosebumps along his skin.

“You’re doing so well,” you praised.

Another inch. It was almost fully in. His posture was so rigid that he might as well have been a statue.

The final bit disappeared inside him, and you took a moment to let him adjust.

“How is it? How are you?”

He moved his hand away from his mouth, propping it against the mattress again.

“It’s a lot… But… It doesn’t feel bad, just weird.”

“That’s good. Can I move?”

“Yeah…”

With his permission, you slid it halfway out, and back in. Slowly.

“H-ah-”

One more time.

“Mmg-”

Faster.

“Oh-”

From tip to base.

“Ah!”

Seeing he could take it, you set the pace. In and out, every single hit dragging a new noise out of him.

Your hands on his waist, you began pulling him against you at the same time, lewd noises each time your hips met his ass. His knuckles turned white.

“Look at you, being so good,” you said in a singsongy voice, “arch that back for me.”

He did, whimpering at the way the strap felt in that posture.

“Good boy. Are you enjoying being fucked like this, Nero?”

“Y-ye-sssssgh…”

He was so far gone, and having done so little, too. It was going to be a delight when you used a bigger strap in the future.

Your thrusts turned harder, opting for impact instead of speed. Broken moans and whimpers fell from his lips. His arms trembled.

“You look so cute like this,” you leaned forward, wrapping a hand around his neck to make him face you.

He turned to you with half-lidded eyes and a permanent flush. You could practically see the heart-shaped pupils in his eyes, dazed and drunk. He felt like he was about to die from pleasure.

You felt him back up on you since you had stopped moving. You raised an eyebrow.

“What’s this, getting greedy?” You smirked.

“Pleaseee…” He whined, voice cracking.

“That good, huh,” you let go of his neck, “and you were so reluctant before.”

Both hands back on his waist, you rammed yourself inside him. He moaned loudly, but the sound got cut by yet another thrust, his voice carrying on and getting cut off repeatedly as you picked up the pace.

Precum dripped on the mattress. You intended to jerk him off at the same time, although it didn’t seem necessary, so you focused on hitting his prostate at the right angle.

His arms gave out under him, barely holding himself together as he now lay face down and ass up - drooling.

“Hey,” you called out, “look- at- your- self-” you pointed up with your chin.

His eyes wandered up to the mirror, where he saw the utter mess he was, and how the strap slid in and out of him. The sight made his body tremble. You looked so hot.

“I’m gunn- gonna- aah… mmmh… going to- nngh! C-cum…”

“Yeah? Show- me. Cum- for- me,” you punctuated your words with thrusts.

He babbled incoherently, his legs shaking. His sounds got louder and louder, until he started pleading in broken syllables, and then- release.

Spurts of cum shot on the bed, his face buried against the mattress as he bit the sheets.

You moved for a bit longer to let him ride it out. When the whimpering turned into heaving gasps, you stopped. Gently, you pulled the strap out.

He collapsed on his side, fully spent.

“Very good. You did such a good job,” you leaned over and kissed his cheek.

He mumbled a reply.

You took off the strap and attempted to clean as much of the mess as you could. At that point it was better to change the sheets entirely, you realized.

Well, you weren’t a Hunter for nothing. You scooped Nero up bridal style and let him down gently on a chair while you changed the bed. He was flustered by the action, but not in the right state to complain.

After changing the sheets - there was a spare set in the closet - you went to the bathroom to grab a damp towel. You cleaned yourself first, then sat down next to Nero and helped him.

“Thanks…” Was all he could say.

You scooped him back up and laid him down on the bed before climbing in yourself.

“Want some water? Or anything?”

“No… I want… Sleep and cuddles…”

You chuckled, “we can absolutely do that.”

You turned off the lights and cozied up to him, gently taking his glasses and putting them on the nightstand. His arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in the crook of your neck.

The skin-to-skin contact, once arousing, now soothing, helped him drift off quite fast. You didn’t take much longer, sleep taking you in minutes.

An alarm woke you up the next morning. A song from the Super Hunters show. Nero’s alarm.

“Mmmh… Oh, no…” He got up, untangling himself from your warm embrace and running to turn it off.

You stirred, rubbing your eyes. Opening them, you saw him standing next to the bed, looking down at you.

“Hm? What…?” You said in a sleepy voice.

He chuckled and climbed back in, hugging you.

“Nothing. I just think my girlfriend looks very cute when she’s sleepy,” his voice was a little deeper in the morning.

You could already tell he was going to be the type of guy that showed off his girlfriend a lot. It made you smile, really.

“I think my boyfriend should have turned off his alarms,” you countered, poking his cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” he kissed right below your ear, “I forgot we were sleeping here together instead of being alone back home, and it slipped my mind.”

“Oooh, right, because we would have to drive all the way back from Linkon to WandererCon…”

“Yeah…”

“Do you have a lot planned for today?” You caressed his cheek, which he leaned into.

“I… I had plans… But… Uh…” His usual blush tinted his face.

“But?”

“We… The documents said we… Uhm, so, the room… Is booked until 5PM today… And I don’t feel like going to the convention today…”

Unbelievable. He wanted to spend the day here with you rather than gushing about Wanderers? Was he sick?

You blinked at him. He was a bit confused about your shocked reaction.

“Or, do you want to go?”

“No. No. I want to stay, I’m just surprised you want to stay. Are you sure? It only happens once a year, and I’m still going to be your girlfriend tomorrow.”

You knew this was important for him, so you wanted to make sure he knew what he was doing.

“Yes, I’m sure. Wanderers are still going to exist tomorrow, and I have you here now. It would be a waste not to enjoy your company.”

He kissed you, and kissed you, deep and loving, over and over.

“How was the weekend?” Asked Tara when you arrived at work.

“Oh shit, I forgot to buy you something,” you palmed your forehead, “I’ll treat you to dessert for the rest of the week,” you sat on your office chair.

“Hahaha, it’s okay, but I’ll take you up on that offer,” she clapped giddily.

She rolled her chair closer.

“It must have been really interesting to attend, if you forgot about it. Was it cool?”

Just then, Nero arrived at the office. He walked up to your desk and placed a cup of coffee with a shy smile.

“Good morning, Tara!” He greeted, walking to his desk.

Tara scrunched up her brows in shock and leaned to whisper to you.

“Tell me what’s going on. Has reality been altered? I didn’t see this in my cards…”

“Uhm… Let’s just say… It was a busy weekend.”

Thank you for reading! Here's a little meme:

#(happy bday to me)#(all dividers made by me)#loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #lads #lnds #nero #nero love and deepspace #nero lads #nero lnds #love and deepspace nero #lads nero #lnds nero #nero x reader #reader x nero #x reader #smut

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confiaenanaa · 3 days ago

Note

Hi!! Could you do one in which Em meets reader's parents and he's nervous they won't like him and keep asking reader how to dress, what to say or do??

nervous - eminem

fem!y/n x Marshall Mathers

masterlist

synopsis: Marshall's nervous about meeting Y/N's parents.

A/N: had a lot of fun writing this one! I know my chapters are short and stuff, but I hope that soon I'll be able to get one out that's super duper long for you guys!

Marshall had never imagined he’d be sitting on his bedroom floor, surrounded by piles of his best clothes and shoes, all for a girl. Well, not a girl; the girl. Y/N was his diamond, his crown jewel. He adored her in every way possible, which is why he was stressing so hard over meeting her parents. This was a very big deal to him; if her parents didn’t like him, what would come of the relationship?

-Fuck it.

That’s what he kept muttering to himself as he dialed Y/N’s number in his phone. It rang once, twice, three times, and finally…

-Hello?

-Hey baby.

-Oh, hey, Marsh! What’s up?

-So, I was picking out what I was gonna wear tonight when I realized that I have nothing!

-You’re so dramatic, you have a huge closet! You’ll find something in there.

She was right. He had a plethora of clothes in various styles. There had to be at least one decent outfit somewhere among the mass of fabric tainting the cleanliness of his bedroom. Sadly, he still thought none of it was good enough.

-I actually don’t. Nothing here is nice enough to wear to meet your parents.

-Marshall, my parents aren’t some strict, stick-up-the-ass, crazy people. They don’t really care about what you’re wearing as long as you don’t look homeless.

-Have you seen what I wear? I do look homeless!

-No… you look like a classy homeless man. There’s a difference.

-Baby, I’m serious. I’m real stressed here.

Y/N sighed at his apprehension. He truly was ridiculous at times.

-What do you want me to do about it?

-Well, can you come over?

-Fine. Be there in 10.

Y/N hopped in her car after throwing on some clothes and took off. She herself needed to get ready, but that need not be mentioned. She’d figure it out. Once she pulled into his driveway, she saw him standing at the door, visibly anxious. Y/N stepped out of the car and greeted Marshall.

-Hey, baby.

-Hey. Help me please.

He sort of jogged up the stairs and led her to his bedroom. Y/N audibly gasped at the mess he’d made. Clothes strewn all over the floor, shoes on the table, perfumes thrown on his bed, the man was a wreck.

-Good god.

-I know. I have a bit of a mess. But, ignore that. Can you help me pick everything?

-Yeah. Yeah, okay.

Marshall went through the mess finding outfit after outfit. Y/N said all of them were fine, but he wanted his outfit to be great. At this point, Y/N was saying they were great just to get him off her ass. She was running out of time to get ready.

-Baby don’t lie to me! Tell me if the clothes are actually good, please.

Y/N groaned and stood up from her spot on the bed. She went over to the pile farthest from them and grabbed a nice shirt. Then, she went over to a pile of jeans on the other end of the floor and picked up a pair of jeans that were nice and hadn’t touched the floor yet. Next, she found the shoe pile and grabbed a matching pair of nice jordans and a nice smelling perfume in the pile next to them. She put it all together in front of Marshall and his jaw dropped slightly.

-Wha… how did you…?

-Magic. Y/N shrugged. She finally went over to the closet and grabbed the nicest clothes she could find from the small and, quite frankly, lacking collection of clothes she kept at Marshall’s house.

-Wow, baby. You look… great.

Marshall looked like a man reborn; a phoenix reborn from the ashes. He was a new man. He looked classy and spiffed up. He wore nice jewelry and a nice watch, but not so nice as to draw attention or to gloat upon his success.

-Thanks, you don’t look too bad yourself.

Y/N smiled as Marshall grabbed her hand and guided her to his car. She knew that her parents would love him no matter what, but she still liked teasing him and making him work for it.

-Well, are we going?

#masterlist #new writer boost #writers on tumblr #eminem imagine #eminem x reader #eminem #marshall mathers #50 cent #dr dre #eminem fanfiction

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lokideservesahug · 2 days ago

Text

Old Habits Die Hard

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Pairing: Jenson Button x reader but focuses on Mark Webber x reader

Warnings: Bit of sexism (because that's reality of women in motorsports), pining, I get to revel in dramatic irony but I'm curious as to what conclusions you draw. Speculation about having children but only a dog is confirmed. One swear word, innuendos.

Notes: I wrote this yesterday + today so it's probably very bad. It still isn't the one I started with but I thought that if Jenson doesn't know events then neither should you just for now! But please let me know what you think of this! Also, this is my 1000th post I believe, so 🥳!

Summary: You and Mark are finally reunited when you're hired as a Channel 4 reporter, Toto Wolff begins to cook up a plan to get everyone's favourite Mercedes driver to return in 2025 and Jenson still doesn't know what these bloody page things are.

Series Masterlist

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

~Late 2023~

You take a deep breath before knocking on the door in front of you. You shake your head, you're a multiple time Formula 1 world champion, knocking on the door to the Channel 4 CEO shouldn't faze you. You raise your first but at the slightest touch, the door swings open. You cautiously lean forward and stick your head in the door. "Hello?"

At your words, a young, blonde woman, sat behind a desk shoots up. "Hi, Y/N right?" You smile at the woman and nod. "Hi, I'm Rachel." You hold out a hand which she eagerly takes and shakes. "Lovely to meet you, I hope I'm not too early." She shakes her head. "No, you're perfectly on time. Mr Jefferson is ready to see you now I believe." You nod and thank the woman, and head forwards the door to the left of her desk.

The first thing you notice when you open the tall mahogany door is how bright the room is. The tall floor-ceiling windows allowing a lot of light to be cast on the desk and the three chairs sat around it. As you enter the room, the bald man at the far side of the desk meets your eyes and stands up, gesturing to one of the armchairs opposite him. "Hello, Mrs Button. Lovely to meet you." You sit down and shake the man's outstretched hand." Smiling at the pleasantries. He sits down and adjusts his crisp suit jacket, allowing you to take in more of the surroundings. One key thing that you hadn't noticed yet is the fact that someone is occupying the other armchair. Someone very familiar to you.

You look away, desperate to not meet Mark's eyes. You hadn't seen him in a few years and even though you'd been fine after... that night, the relationship hadn't been the same. What was once a relationship you held so highly, became an existence where you kept to minimal contact after he left the grid, that turned to occasional birthday wished to nothing at all. You focus on your breathing, desperate to not get lost in your thoughts about the Aussie. You don't need to think like that, you've moved on and you assume he has; besides, he was the one that let the contact between you drift away despite your best efforts.

You can all but feel his eyes pulling you to pieces and when he talks in an all to friendly tone, you whip your head towards him. "Hello Y/L/N. Lovely to see you again." And as you look Mark Webber in the eyes for what must be the first time in years, you almost forgot how well you could read him (and how good he looked). You curse yourself for picking up the hurt twinge in the end of his words, hoping that it doesn't plague your mind at a later date (you know it will).

Yet still, you smile at the Aussie to your side, after all this time still finding that his presence brings you some semblance of comfort. "Hey Webber. Gosh I haven't seen you in what? Three years?" He nods, voice still holding a view into his feelings "Something like that. But uh- time flies when you're having fun, doesn't it? Uh, congratulations by the way... On the family." You roll your eyes and try and ignore his voice crack, clearly showing his emotion. "The media love to go wild with that one. No one's confirmed anything. I could have a million cats for all they know and they'd still claim what they currently are."

Mark smiles at the familiarity of speaking to you so freely once again and tries not to notice that you didn't directly adress the family. He decides not to ponder on it too much, the thought of you having such a domestic life with or without the "perfect family" with someone that want him, making him feel a familiar sickness to the stomach.

"What have you been up to then?" You glance at Stan once again, who is sorting through papers, and decide to oblige Mark in the small talk for a little bit longer. "Oh you know, same old really, a bit of racing and testing here and there, travelling, getting older, nothing too exciting." Mark laughs at your words. "I feel that..." Silence envelopes you once again and you're brought back to the memory of the two of you. A place that probably isn't too far from here, 11 years ago. You interrupt the pregnant pause. "Look, I really don't want things to be awkward between us. I know we were fine on the race track after...... that evening but this is different and I don't want things to be uncomfortable."

He nods. "Yeah I dont want things to be awkward. I mean we are both grown adults, I'm sure we can handle working together." You let out a sigh of relief and go to respond but the clearing of a throat draws your attention. You turn to Stan. "So Y/N, let's get straight to the point, there's no need to mess you around. I called you in here because I want to offer you a position to become one of Channel 4's presenters for the upcoming season." Your eyes widen for a moment before you furrow your brows taking his words in. "We need someone that knows the ins and outs of Formula 1. What makes it tick. Someone that can provide insightful commentary and accurate analysis. And we all think that you'd be perfect for the job."

Well talk about an ego boost...

You let his words sink in for a moment before you point to the man on your right, slightly confused. "What about Mark?" Stan lets out a hearty chuckle and grins. "Actually, if you agree, we plan on pairing you up with Mark. Our social media team say that you've been a historically good pairing and will fair well on camera. And having both a former driver and a former WAG's perspective will really make for thrilling entertainment." His words make you freeze.

It's as if you've been submerged by a giant bucket of ice water. Former- you don't don't want to think of what he said. You feel the old media training (or lack thereof) clawing inside you, begging to escape. It would be so easy to just put him in his place... To tell yet another ignorant, knowledgeless power exactly who you were. You breathe in slowly. No, that'll be no good and he's probably confused. Heck he's the CEO for for of Channel 4, who's to say he's even watched F1 before. You try and play his words off with small chuckle - that comes out a bit too dry for your liking -. "I uh, hope I'm not reduced to that these days. I won six times the amount if championships as my husband, if anything he's the WAG." You see Mark shift in the corner of your eye, covering his grin with his hand.

Stan just waves his hand. "Oh well you know, its just a label. It's a selling point, being a former WAG gives you a certain type of insight if anything." You furrow your brows, this time in rising frustration. Is he being intentionally dense? "But I'm a former driver not WAG." You realise how harsh your words come out and try and real your hostility back a bit. "But you are right about other aspects." Stan though, finally cottons on to your growing frustration and holds his hands out in surrender. "Alright no more of that WAG talk, whatever that means." You nearly laugh at the irony but he continues "We value you for your experience and accomplishments, not just your marital status. But that and the clear drive and passion you have for the spirt is why we want you on out team."

You hum, thinking over his words. Well it would be nice to be back in the paddock, however, Jenson would also be there, is that a good thing, who would look after your dog if you were both gone? You shake your head. "How often would I appear, do you know?" "We'd like you to appear on all of our live broadcasts. However, we understand that you do have other commitments so what we usually do is put people on a trial period of six months. You do it, tell us what you think and you can decide the further steps to take from there based on your feelings but also with audience feedback as well." You nod at his words, them seemingly making sense and seeming to be a fair offer.

Well, returning to the paddock doesn't sound all too bad. You'd pretty much ignored its existence since you left, desperate to not get to attached once again and long for the feeling of going 200 mph once more. Your eyes flicker over to Mark. "How often would he appear?" Stan glances at Mark who up until this point had been quietly observing the conversation. "We'd like Mark to appear with you on all if not the large majority of broadcasts. Your individual, personal touches?" He leans back and beings his hand to his mouth in a chefs kiss, making you and Mark chuckle. "You'd have an extra something our competitors don't and we need that."

You nod at his words, well you've always pleased the Mercedes media team in the past content wise so clearly you have something there. "What about Coulthard?" Stan nods, clearly used to being asked this many questions in matters like this. "David is a valuable presenter but after working with us for so long, he wants to take a step back and have a bit less involvement this year. He's not getting any younger."

He holds his hands up in defence "His words not mine." You nod "Well can I think over things? Jenson has his own job at Sky Sports so as appealing as the offer sounds, I'll have to talk to him about it." Stan nods and stands. "Of course, take your time and think about it over the next few days." He hands you a card. "Once you have your decision, we'll be on the other end of this line." You take the crisp card and run your finger over the edge as you say goodbye to the man and give a small nod to Mark.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

~March 2024~

The familiar smells and sounds invade your sense as you make your way to the Channel 4 group in the media tent. You show your media pass and the security guard who clearly recognises you. He nods "Welcome Miss Y/L/N." Your eyes widen slightly as you smile at the man. "Thank you and it's Mrs Button but you can just call me Y/N." The security guard looks down bashfully for a moment as he expression turns more friendly. "Off course and have a nice day Mrs Button." You wish him well and carry on into the media pen. You mutter a short "Miss Y/L/N? Haven't been called that in years." But find yourself bumping into someone's side. "Oh my gosh I'm terribly sorry." A familiar chuckle makes your cheeks warm as Mark just rolls his eyes and guides you to the briefing area. And for the first time in years, it feels like old times.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

The camera man gives you a two minute warning as Mark turns to you. "I'm curious as to how you fare in front of the camera Y/L-Button." You giggle at his words "Oh shush you." Mark just shrugs "What? Old habits die hard, I called you Y/L/N for years, Button is going to take some getting used to." You grin at his words (and ignore the voice in the back of your mind asking if it would take time for Mark to adjust to calling you Webber instead). "You've known me long enough to not need to call me that Webber." He just leans on a nearby pillar and grins. "Well some things don't change whether you like it or not and deep down, you're still the same Y/L/N after all of this time."

You tilt your head and respond in a playful manner. "I hope so. You still as bad at racing as you once were?" Mark feigns being hurt as he clutches his left breast. "You wound me." A distant call for the start of filming cuts across your moment and you take a deep breath in. You turn and face the camera. "I'm ready." You assume that Mark takes his place beside you because when the camera starts a few moments later, you're both ready to go.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

"Now enough of us talking, let's cut to David Coulthard who's currently walking down the pitlane." You breathe a deep sigh of relief as the light of the camera stops. "You alright there, Button? You look tense" You nod. "Yeah, that was just a bit more stressful than I thought it would be... and I thought you weren't calling me that." "Ah you know I'm just teasing. You were great out there, you looked like a natural." You turn to him and are suddenly hit by the realisation of how close your faces are. "Oh, thank you!" Mark notices the closeness as well but doesn't pull away. Instead opting to lock eyes with you and extend the moment further. "Any time. And if you ever need any advice on how to charm the hearts of the viewers. Don't be afraid to ask the master." Mark's smirk makes you roll your eyes. "Oh yeah? And who might that be?"

And not that your proud of it, but old habits really must die hard, especially when you find yourself glancing down at Mark's lips. Mark leans a forward a fraction more as he responds. "Why me of course!" You just raise an eyebrow but the sudden realisation of where you are and how intimate the moment is crashes into you like a ton of bricks. The thought of people looking and the memory of... that evening making you turn towards the camera, ignoring Mark.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Now the last thing you expected to do on your first day at the team was interview your old boss but you can't say you're surprised. At least it's nice to see your old team principal. "Toto!" You call his name and he turns to you, eyes widening before he hugs you. "Oh hello you, I didn't know that you were doing this now." He gestures to the microphone in your hand. "Yeah, it's a new addition." He grins as you turn to speak to the camera man, his usual strictness being put to one side for a moment, replaced with a hint of warmth and fondness at seeing his favourite driver again (not that he'd ever admit that of course).

"Well it's lovely to see you and you look lovely as usual." You scrunch your nose at the towering team principal, used to his antics over the years. "Oh shush you, I'm not here to talk about joining Mercedes or anything interesting I'm afraid." Toto chuckles but unbeknownst to you, your throwaway comment has just sparked a genius idea inside of Toto's mind that he'd determined to put into action.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Jenson stands across the paddock, just finishing one segment of the sky sports coverage for this weekend. Gosh it's already a lot and it's only the first weekend of the season. He lets out a sigh and all too easily accepts the welcoming arms enveloping him from behind. Wait- he sharply turns only to be met with your familiar face. He lets out a small sigh of relief and wraps you in a hug of his own. "Hey sweetheart." You breath in the familiar scent of him and mumble into his shirt.

He pushes you away from his chest slightly, careful to still keep you close. "Say again sweetheart, I didn't get a word of that." You roll your eyes. And pick up his hand, playing with his fingers. "I said that I just interviewed Toto and its a weird feeling. Being back in this environment in a completely different way." Jenson just nods and squeezes your hand, understating exactly how the inner conflict feels. "But I'm sure you were incredible at it, as you always are." And as you clearly appear to be excited excited the matter, it just makes the Brit grin. You meet his eyes and sigh, winding your arms around his neck. You tilt your head "Who turned you into a sap today?" Jenson just chuckles yet remains cool. "Well I can't help but also feel happy when I see you feeling so overjoyed." You chuckle and look down, the proud look in his sparkling eyes making you feel a bit shy.

You connect your lips with Jenson's (and silently thank him for stopping in such a secluded place). However, unbeknownst to the both of you, it wasn't secluded enough to shield you both from the eyes of a certain jealous Aussie.

Jenson responds to the kiss by putting his arms around your waist and you feel yourself get lost in the moment. You moan Jenson's name as you become aware if the fact that you should probably be finding your way back to the Channel 4 group but you ca6n seem to pull yourself away.

And in the same way you feel unable to pull away from Jenson's embrace, Mark feels unable to tear his eyes away from the pair of you. Jealousy and hurt bubbling in his get like a hot storm.

You finally pull away and litter a few kisses around Jenson's face "Right, I have to go but I'll see you later and I love you." Jenson grins and pulls out towards him once again. "I love you too but why the rush? Can't stay and spend a few minutes with your favourite driver." You wriggle out of his hold and leave him with a sweet "Oh I didn't know Nico Rosberg was here. Guess I have to find him now!"

Jenson just chuckles and grabs your arm as you try and walk away. The both of you ignoring the influx of sky sports and other media personnel setting up not far from you. "Not so fast sweetheart. I thought I was your favourite driver. Should I worry about being demoted?" You let out a thoughtful hum, the sound making your lips buzz for a moment. "Well, it depends... There is this one old racing driver. He's long retired now. But gosh, he's he's incredibly dashing and handsome. He commentates now but he just gets me so flustered!"

Jenson's smirk parts as his lips breaks out into a toothy grin. "Oh really? He sounds like quite a bloke! Do I need to be jealous?" You raise your eyebrows and nod "Oh yes, I'd leave my husband for him any day!" Jenson looks down in a deflated act. "Oh darling, how could you break a man's heart?" You can't control it any longer and you feel a laugh bubble out of your chest. You try and speak in between laughs but aren't too successful. "Just- If you see him, let him know that I'd love to give him a massive kiss." Jenson, fakes wiping a tear which makes your laugher turn into breathless cackles. "Such a lucky blo-" Jenson can't manage to get much more out before you're smashing your faces together once again. Desperate to not hear his band attempt at a witty come back.

You pull away and look into his eyes, the blue of them catching the light in Such an angle that it makes them glisten. "Oh look." Your soft words make his expression become more lovestruck. "There he is." Jenson grins before you reel back. "Shit... I need to be broadcasting. Now!"

You give him a quick peck on the cheek and rush away. Jenson finds himself grinning and letting out a small laugh as he watches you trail away. Suddenly, a nearby Sky Sports person laughs loudly and at the sharp sound Jenson turns to look at the man. And he could have sworn he hears the worker mutter your name under just breath. His curiosity and desire to defend you get the best of him and he taps the man on the shoulder. "Excuse me, what did you say?" The worker turns, baseball cap on his head casting a shadow over his eyes that is fixed when he looks up to meet Jenson's eyes.

Jenson's tone is firm yet still polite as he continues. "I heard you mentioned someone's name. Who were you talking about?" Now Jenson will be one of the first people to admit that he was good at jumping the gun in his youth. But when someone mentions his wife's name? Well he won't allow anything but praises to be spoken about you and as it stands, the worker might as well be slandering you.

And the ground must be especially interesting because the capped man is finding everywhere to look apart from Jenson's eyes as he mutters a quiet "Mark." Jenson's eyes widen a fraction, not quite what he was expecting but he continues, trying to deem more friendly than confrontational as it stands. "That's a bit random. What about him?"

The worker now picks up on Jenson's interest and lack of ill intent and so continues. He grins slyly and the look makes Jenson feel a bit unwell "Oh I was just making a joke about how I thought your girl was talking about Mark earlier that's all. I thought she had a thing for him" Jenson's eyes widen, that's the last thing he expected the worker to say or for other workers behind the man to hum in agreement with. Jenson tries to keep his expression neutral but he crosses his arms, almost feeling a bit defenceless. "What makes you think she has a thing for him?"

The man opposite Jenson just shrugs nonchalantly. "Well she looked all excited and flirty with him earlier. They were really close and whispering." Jenson feels his heart sink for a moment. He trusts your loyalty of course he does. And he's certainly aware that you're an adult woman with your own autonomy.

Blimey, you were close with Mark first, if anything, Jenson should be happy that you're finally becoming friends again. He ignores a small nagging feeling in the back of his head, knowing full well it's only there because of other people's gossip and falsities. Jenson tries to get an answer pinpointing exactly when only to get another shrug and a generic answer claiming that it's been a regular occurrence over the past few days, in response.

Another man behind the main worker suddenly laughs. Jenson looks at the shorter, clearly younger worker and instead addresses him, head tilting once again in curiosity and confusion. "What?" The younger man just smiled "Nothing! Well I just- I grew up on you lot and for the longest time thought that Y/N and Mark were married so this is just a bit funny."

Jenson just shakes his head, the exchange seeming more and more bizarre as it continues unfolding. Gosh a few minutes ago he was just happily having a quiet moment with you and now he has to put all of these misconceptions about you to rest. Gosh this day is already tiring. "Well Y/N already talks highly of him and when you announced your engagement, like everyone else, I was shocked. I mean at least half of the Internet thought you had a polyamorous thing going on or at least a ménage-trois thing." The first man chimes in again "I mean I don't think Webber would be oppose enough having a piece of th-."

Jenson's glare could kill. Silencing all the other workers that choruses similar sentiments of rumours about Mark objecting at the wedding and other preposterous gossip. He's never known anyone to halt in their words so quickly but at his angry look, the worker realises his wrong and bows his head. Jenson tries to contain his anger at the objectification of you and instead focuses on his breathing (something you've encouraged him to also do in moments of high emotion). Jenson takes a deep inhale through his nose.

"Now if you're done talking about Y/N like that, I hope you can realise how preposterous those lies are. They're just things spouted by people with too much time on their hands and I don't appreciate you feeding into such bad words about my wife like that." As if following choreo, the sky workers nod. The main one holding up his hands, clearly quite ballsy as he adds. "Look I'm sorry man. But you have to admit you'd make a pretty attractive threesome." Jenson just raises an eyebrow and tries to ignore his warming cheeks, not even willing to entertain the thought... Not even for a moment... No, not in the slightest... Well if his brain thinks about it, its just because the worker mentioned it... He shakes his head.

Jenson speaks in a tone that'd be used to scold a child. "And no talk of that please. I'm more than happy with my girl." The man just nods again. Another worker, this time a much taller one puts a hand on the workers shoulder and addresses Jenson. "Sorry man. We'll leave all the stirring to Channel 4." At Jenson's furrowed brow he continues. "Not anything serious, they're just using Mark and Y/N's relationship as a selling point." Jenson just nods his head. Finally feeling more secure in the conversation now. "Yeah, well they love to make stuff up out of nothing."

The group lets out a collective laugh and if you were here, you'd you'd Jenson's look one of a lost puppy. "Oh you poor innocent man." One of the workers laughs "Sorry. You must have never heard of the 'Deleted Pages' that's all." Jenson shakes his head. "The delete- what are you talking about?" Hearing the sincerity of his words, the worker straightens up. "Oh, you really haven't? Uh nothing then..." The camera man calls for the workers to start filming in two minutes and the group begin to scatter. "Wait no, don't give me that. What are you talking about? What are those deleted pages, why are you all acting so weird?" Jenson doesn't have much time to get an answer though before a microphone is being thrust into his hand and he's being forced to film yet another segment.

Now you'd spoken to Jenson before about... that night. Not the ins and outs but now he's left curious. What happened and does it truly mean more than you let on but more importantly, does it have anything to do with these blimmin' "Deleted Pages."? Pages that everyone seems to know of but no one seems to know anything about. Jenson just huffs. Gosh this season really was going to be the end of him, especially if he doesn't find a way to satiate his curiosity.

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

As always, likes, comments and especially feedback is always welcome! And I'd love to hear what you think!!!

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee @thatgirlmj

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #jenson button x y/n #jenson button x you #jenson button fanfic #jenson button x reader #jenson button #mark webber x y/n #mark webber x you #mark webber fanfic #mark webber x reader #mark webber

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darlingshane · 2 days ago

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Rocking your f-me pumps

Shane Walsh x F!Reader

Summary: You're out on a Friday night and meet a certain deputy who can't stop flirting with you at the bar.

CW: +18, explicit, smut, pwp, p in v, flirting, dancing, horniness, drinking, semi-public sex, crack, pet names, making out, foreplay, some sort of roleplay.

Word Count: 3,1k

— Links: AO3 // Shane Masterlist

With the impossible mission of not falling on your face in the process, your feet dangerously rush across the uneven concrete sidewalk that takes you from the parking lot to the bar. Maybe you’ve gone too far with your outfit, but it’s Friday night, after all. You’re looking to make an impression, and the dress you’ve picked to go along with the uncomfortable pair of fuck-me pumps you’re rocking for the occasion will definitely take care of that part—you’re sure.

When you cross the door into the bar, it’s as rowdy as usual on a night like this. Loud and crowded— most seats are taken, people are dancing at the back below the glow of a red neon sign, others play pool while waiters haul trays left and right. You find a few heads turning at your passing, as you expected. This is probably the wrong dress for a hole in the wall like this, but you had put it on to cause a reaction of one person in particular.

You glance around one more time to find that special someone who’s sitting at the end of the bar.

Biting your bottom lip, you stare at him like prey, sharpening your teeth and claws before approaching him with caution.

“Mind if I sit here, handsome?” you ask the man, pointing at the empty stool beside him. He’s a deputy from the Sheriff department. He’s wearing his uniform, but his tan shirt is completely unbuttoned, showing a black tee underneath.

“It’s a free country, darlin’,” he says without glancing at you.

The deputy tilts a beer bottle up to his lips, taking a generous gulp of as you study his profile and his rough, defined features. The angle of his jaw is something to admire. He’s clean-shaven, but there’s still a faint shadow of a stubble, matching the thick black of the curls that adorn the top of his well-shaped head.

“Thanks, Deputy,” you carefully take a seat on the bar stool, crossing one leg over the other, and wave at the bartender.

“Call me Shane, I’m off duty, sweetheart.”

“Thanks Deputy Shane.”

He scoffs, and it’s then that his eyes finally turn to the side to gaze at you for a split second before noticing that ridiculous dress you’re wearing.

When his neck swivels again, he darkly stares at you, head to toe, like he wanted to eat you alive. His jaw slacks, almost hitting the counter and if you look closely, you can see his mouth watering taking in the full sight of you. The cleverly exposed skin, the way that dress hugs your figure in all the right places, the sheer fabric of it revealing more than it needs to; more than you're even used to.

“Anything wrong, Deputy?”

“Hm? No. Everything’s perfect,” he drawls before tearing his eyes away from you.

Pleased with his reaction to your outfit, you bat your eyes, glancing over the subtle shrug of one of your shoulders. “That’s what I thought.”

Then, you wave your arm a second time at the new bartender, but he ignores you again. He saw you both times, and he’s not even serving other patrons, he’s just staring at the game playing on mute on the TV.

“Can you believe this fucking asshole?” You slightly bang your fist on the sticky bar counter to express your frustration. “Is this kid new here or what?”

“Hey, buddy!” Shane raises his voice over the music to call his attention. “C’mere and serve the lady.”

The guy barely nods at you to acknowledge your presence or ask what you’re having. You just order an old-fashioned cocktail and hope he doesn’t screw that up. You also order a beer for the deputy as a thank you.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s fine. Next one it’s one you, Deputy.”

“Thought I said you can call me Shane.”

“I know, but the whole uniform thing is really… imposing. And I’m a good girl. I wouldn’t like to disrespect the authorities. It’s ingrained in me.”

“Good girl?” he scoffs, glancing at you sidelong, using the bottle in his hand to point at your body. “Don’t take this the wrong way, sweetheart, but good girls don’t usually dress like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he remarks that word with a casual shrug, silently implying what you both know, that your full get-up doesn’t scream—I’m about to leave for church. It only says—I’m driving directly to hell to pay for all my sins.

“I don’t like what you’re suggesting, mister,” you mutter as the bartender finally brings your drinks.

“I’m just saying. Look around and check out the sophisticated clientele of this fine establishment.” He says with mockery. “There’s a guy by the slot machines in a greasy, leather vest that’s looking at you like you’re a porterhouse steak. He’s practically drooling all over the floor. He's one minute away from putting his hand in his pants and rubbing one to your name. I’d be careful walking to your car if I were you.”

You can’t help but snort before checking out the guy he’s referring to. The guy in question shifts on his boots and draws a lewd smile at you when you briefly look at him.

“Ugh, you're right.”

“I told ya. Nobody comes into this hellhole looking like you if you weren’t looking for trouble or soliciting, darlin’.”

“Maybe not.” You press your teeth to your bottom lip for a second. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m sitting next to a cop.”

“That's right. As long as you stay by my side, you have nothing to worry about.” Shane locks eyes with you. “You still haven’t told me your name, sweetheart.”

“You can call me whatever you want, darlin’.” Your eye flirts with a cheeky wink.

“Yeah?” He pauses for a second to think. He glances at the cherry adorning your drink and asks, “how about Sherry? Would you like that?”

“Sure, I like that. “You lift the glass in your hand to take a sip. “I’m not soliciting, by the way. Just so we’re clear.”

“Didn’t think you were. Prostitutes don’t usually take that much time and effort to fish for a client.”

“Are you talking from experience?”

“Maybe.” His lips form a downward curve as he scratches his jaw with the tip of his thumb. “So, tell me sweetheart, if you’re not soliciting, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m in a band.”

“A band, huh? Like a rock band?” His eyebrows arch a little higher.

You shake your head. “No, not a rock band. I'm in a concert band.”

“Hm, with saxophones, flutes, and all that shit?”

“Uh-huh,” you take a bigger sip of your glass.

“What instrument do you play?”

“The clarinet.”

“You any good?”

You half shrug. “Let's say I have a natural talent.”

Then, you pick up the cherry from your glass and slowly suck it between your lips as a double-entendre, putting him under a spell as you rip off the stem in one swift motion.

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“I’d love to, Deputy.” You grin as he shifts on his seat. “That is, of course, if you have a good instrument. I won't just take the first one that comes around. I like to take my time picking a good one.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he answers quickly, boasting, “let me assure you I have a fine, tuned instrument. It has never disappointed anyone who's ever got the pleasure to play it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” With a quick flick of your tongue on your lip, you gaze shamelessly at his crotch to make an initial assessment. It's hard to tell by the way he is sitting. The folds of his pants makes it harder to see an outline.

“Can I ask you something now, Deputy?”

“Shoot.” He tilts his beer to his lips.

“Let’s say, hypothetically, if I was a prostitute, would you arrest me?”

“Told you I’m off duty.”

“So… If I were to do something illegal right now, would you turn a blind eye? Is that what you’re implying?”

Pausing, Shane puts down the bottle, sending his opposite hand to land in the middle of your thigh as his face leans in closer.

“For you? I’d do anything you want, darlin’. Even turn a blind eye or both. I'd even turn in my badge if you asked me to. I'd kill any guy who'd dare to look at you with so much of a stink eye.”

“Interesting…” You shorten the distance to his face, your nose nudges the tip of his own, “who’s the bad boy now, huh?”

“I never claimed I was a good boy.”

“Hmm, no, I suppose you didn’t.” The tip of your tongue juts out, and you slowly lick his bottom lip before firmly planting your lips against his mouth.

When you can’t hold up the charade any longer, you laugh against his lips and pull back slightly as Shane laughs along with you.

“Hey, baby,” you reach with your hand to cup his jaw, and wipe the spit you left on his lip with your thumb.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You finally greet each other as usual. You’ve been going out for a while, but from time to time, you like to play a little and pretend you don’t know each other. You’re not sure how it started, all you know is that you both clearly enjoy this pretense as a form of foreplay, even if it’s a little silly at times. The only downside is that neither of you can hold the fantasy for too long. Eventually you always start laughing, but you're getting better at it. And it doesn't matter if it's not perfect, cause it works like a charm.

“You’re late,” he says, his warm hand squeezing your leg.

“I know, I’m sorry. My car was acting up again. I could’ve texted you, but I didn’t wanna mess up our pregame”

“It’s alright. I’ll check it out this weekend, yeah?” He brings his face closer so he can kiss your lips again. “You know, next time… do call me. It’d be fun to do this on the road. You could be a damsel in distress and me, an asshole who would only help you in exchange for certain favors.”

“That sounds kinky. I love it.” Scrunching your nose, you seize his mouth once again. This time, your lips part, and you invite him for a deeper dive into your mouth that he quickly takes over with the delicious swirl of his tongue that firmly plays with yours.

The hue of your advertised make-out proof lipstick ends up smudged on his lips when he pulls back.

“You know, that color looks good on you. It brings out your eyes.” You use your thumb to wipe the stain from his mouth.

“I should kiss you more often then.”

“I’m not opposed to that,” you pull his face closer so you can continue peppering his mouth with an endless amount of kisses. It’s hard to stop. He tastes and smells so good you can’t help yourself.

With music playing in the background, when the mood shifts to something slower, Shane drags you to the dance floor. You anchor your arms to him, trying to balance yourself on your impossible heels as you sway together to the melody of the song playing. You adore the way he stares at you when his forehead leans on top of yours. One of his fingers traces the shape of your jaw. A second later, your face is held inside his palm as an inescapable wave of desire forces him to conquer your lips again, as if his life was on the line and the only safe haven was your mouth. Your head spins with the dizzying swirl of his tongue that leaves you breathless over and over. The tone of the music changes to something sexier, and so does the rhythm of your bodies that follow suit. You part from his kiss as the heat rises, and spin around in his hold to press your ass against his bulge. His mouth latches at the crook of your neck, viciously printing a love bite as a reaction to the sensual swaying of your hips, making him harden behind his uniform slacks. You throw an arm back and place your hand blindly on the back of his head, making a fist with his curls.

“Everyone is looking at you, darling’” he purrs in your ear, clutching his hands to your waist, following your moves.

“Yeah? Let ‘em.” Your cheeks feel like burning when you say that. You avoid at all costs looking around to see anyone staring. Instead, you gaze over your shoulder to focus solely on him. “Bet they're jealous I've already picked my guy for the night.”

“You bet this sweet ass they are,” he squeezes your backside firmly as you find the soft skin of his earlobe and suck it between your teeth. It makes him lose his mind when you do that, but not as much as when you're sucking his cock. He becomes a feral creature when you take him fully between your lips.

You press your teeth a tad harder on his lobe, and he pulls back at once. He retaliates by biting your neck with the same force.

Letting out a gasp, you close your eyes and let Shane and the music take over your body. His hands roam your body anxiously to touch every part of your skin, covered or not. The sultry neon lighting of the dance floor acts as cover for you and other couples around.

There's something that has risen to rock-hard perfection, rubbing at the curve of your hips as the song comes to an end. During that transition, you suddenly feel your hands propped against the paneling of the wall, and him completely pressed against your back. One of his hands slips under the hem of your skirt at the front as he drags his hardness over your ass while his fingers play over the thin lacy fabric of your underwear, stirring your arousal.

Your panties are soaked by the time he manhandles your body so you're facing him again.

With glaring lust spilling out of the wildness of his gaze, he now shoves your back against the wall with little care. He's the hunter now, and you're the prey, and you can tell he's not looking to go easy on you.

Shane licks his lips, and without warning, he seizes your mouth once more with such vehemence, it makes your center send a jolt of electricity across every cell of your body. With teeth, tongue, and hands, he devours every bit of you as if you were made out of his favorite food. It's violent and delightful to have him all over you like that. It’s easy to get lost in that cloud of ecstasy when all your body craves nothing but being taken by him. Shane is firmly pressed against you. His rough hand lifts one of your thighs over his hip, forcing the skirt of your dress to fold up your leg, so you can feel the outline of his erection when he fits his crotch between your legs.

“Shane… Shane, baby,” you moan unintelligibly in his mouth, slightly coming to your senses. “Maybe we should do this somewhere else?”

“Hm? I thought Sherry was more adventurous.” His lips are automatically drawn to your neck once again.

“She is.” You hold his head between your palms and straighten his neck so you can look at his eyes.” But that doesn't mean she wants to basically copulate in front of all these people like fucking animals.”

“I don't think they’d mind.” Shaking his head, amused, he nudges the tip of this nose against yours. “It would be the first time these walls have seen some copulation happening.”

“Well, I do mind.”

When you're done protesting, you head out the bar to drive home, but you don't make it farther than the parking lot.

Unable to keep his hands off you, by the time you've reached his truck, he's practically ripped off your panties. There's barely a thread holding them together when your favorite deputy opens the door to the passenger seat to his truck. Without bothering with climbing inside, he bends you over that same seat, removing the remains of your underwear completely so he can collect your arousal in his fingers.

Much like the inside of the bar, there’s no doubt the parking lot at the back has seen its fair share of action, but out here, the difference is that there's practically anybody.

Either way, you leave the car door open to shield your dirty deeds. While Shane stands behind you, you look over your shoulder after hearing the clinking sound of his belt unbuckling, just in time to see his raging erection being released. Biting your lip, you watch him spit on his hand and spread it all over his shaft to have an extra layer of lubrication. He leans forwards and whispers in your ear to stay quiet before shoving his cock bluntly into your dripping cunt. You gasp and close your eyes, feeling every thick inch of him stretching you up nicely. His warmth breath bathes the back of your neck while he quickly picks up the pace. Right off the bat, his thrusts come sharp and hard to have you clenching around him before everyone even notices what you’re up to. This is about a fix, a quick release to quench that fire burning at your core. Pleasure ripples through your body with each push. You have to press your teeth harder on your lip to keep you from crying out. Shane coos your ear with encouragements mixed with a fair share of fucks and other curse words.

The grip of his hands tightens at your hips when he’s about to come. You can tell by the way his cock throbs and the erratic push of his hips searching for that sweet release. Your legs are about to give up when you feel the fire in your center expanding outwards, making you contract harder around him in one tight squeeze that earns you a good grunt out of him. A second later, his warm, sticky substance comes out in quick spurts, coating your walls, filling you up like a cream puff.

“Fuck, Deputy, you really know how to make a girl's legs shake.”

“You're not the only one with a natural talent, darlin’.”

— Credits: stunning divider by @firefly-graphics

#bernthirst tv tribute #jon bernthal #shane walsh #shane walsh x reader #shane walsh fanfiction #jon bernthal fanfiction #twd fanfiction #twd #smut #darlingwrites

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nislost · 12 hours ago

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bae where you at😞 | chapter 5

warnings: suggestive

🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼

as you are walking to class you make sure to take quick glances searching for a recognizable face of a certain person. with no luck of finding said person and the sight of your classroom coming into view you sigh and decide you’ll check after class ends.

walking out of class with jeno next to you, the conversation between you both is lively, but you make sure to pay attention to the people around. “y/n.” you hear a recognizable voice that stops you in your tracks. turning around you see intak with a frown on his face. sensing that jeno was going to do something you grab his wrist and smile “i’ll be fine, you can head off without me” your words cause jeno to frown even more “are you sure” he says raising a brow. all you do is nod, he sighs and tells you to text him if you need him before walking off.

looking at the tall man in front of you who just so happens to have gotten closer you raise a brow “what do you want?” the curiosity and anxiousness filling your voice. “we gotta talk.” intak says in a stern voice that you aren’t surprised by. next thing you know you’re in a verbal arguement in the middle of the hall with intak. passerby’s look at you two with annoyance and confusion.

“fuck you intak!” you yell out and turn away, but intak grabs your wrist and yanks you back to him. “don’t you dare turn away from me.” anger fills his voice and you can tell he’s absolutely fuming which causes you to get nervous. while the both of you continue to stand in the hall arguing two figures are walking in the same hall.

“markkkk just help me find her” haechan pouts holding onto marks arm. “dude i don’t even know what she looks like” mark says obviously annoyed and rips his arm away from haechan’s hold. haechan whips his phone out, goes to your twitter, and shows mark a picture of you. mark’s eyes widen “no way she wants to date YOU?!” he yells out grabbing haechan’s phone to look closer. “what is that supposed to mean.” haechan raises a brow as mark opens his mouth to say something his attention is directed to two figures arguing ahead of him. “what’s going on over there?” haechan asks curious, as they walk closer he recognizes the girl. “MARK THATS HER” he whisper yells grabbing mark tightly.

“intak let go!” they both hear you yell watching as you struggle to get out of the taller man’s grasp. before mark can even open his mouth haechan is already walking over there “w-wait..haechan!” mark whisper yells slightly freaking out ‘he’s gonna get his ass whooped..’ his thoughts already playing out a scene of haechan getting pummeled.

haechan comes up from behind you and grabs intak’s wrist “hey when a lady asks you to let go of her you should” haechan pouts. intak shakes haechan’s grip off which means he finally let go of your wrist. “and who are you?” intak questions with attitude “her boyfriend” haechan smiles as you turn around and gasp “you’re here…” you say quietly under your breath. haechan looks down at you and smiles sweetly “you okay?” he asks tilting his head slightly all you do is nod too speechless by how gorgeous he looks in person.

intak scoffs “yeah right” he rolls his eyes “look dude you don’t gotta pretend, she’s not even good at girlfriend shit.” you look at intak annoyed “if you’re talking about what i THINK you’re talking about then you better shut your mouth quick, because i have no problem telling people how you’d call me mommy in bed” you scoff placing a hand on your hip. intak’s jaw drops and he looks around at the people who are watching. “it’s not true!” he yells out running off.

you giggle and turn around to a shocked haechan. “nah that’s some freaky shit” he mumbles causing you to scoff “oh please you look like you’d call me mommy too” you pat his chest “thanks by the way” you place a kiss on his cheek and walk away.

mark comes up from behind haechan and wraps a arm around his neck “dude.” he says obviously shocked, but no one is more shocked than haechan. he deadass looks like this emoji 😧.

notes: i hope my writing is okay😞

previous / next

taglist: @t-102 @ypoom151999 @snoopyjimin @elsbunny @mr1833 @stqrgr7 @injunnie-lemon @theandypark @defzcl @yewshi @dudekiss3r @rihaee @multifandomania @iamsimplyasimp @antosaurius

if your user is bright that means i couldn’t tag you💔

#haechan #haechan smau #haechan x reader #haechan x y/n #haechan x you #kpop fic #kpop smau #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct smau #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #nct fanfic #kpop

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laurenairay · 2 days ago

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A reason to start over new - T. Jost

Summary: It’s been five years since Lucy has seen her ex-boyfriend Tyson. Can his grandparents’ Christmas party fix their broken hearts?

Happy birthday @senditcolton! This is my fic for your birthday bingo – I had a lot of fun with this one! I chose The Hand Touch, Exes to Lovers, Free Space (Resolved Angst), “You’re Too Good for Me”, and Winter Romance, making it a full bingo! Hope you have a wonderful day Nicole.

A massive thank you to @jostyriggslover96 for reading through this!

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: angst, flashback to breakup, some bad language, self-deprecation.

Title from The Reason, by Hoobastank

I've found a reason for me, To change who I used to be, A reason to start over new, And the reason is you.

“Oh wow, Val and Jim have really outdone themselves this year, haven’t they?”

Lucy glanced around at the Christmas decorations surrounding them, smiling at her mom’s words.

“Full of holiday cheer, as always!” she nodded.

She took off her thick coat and gloves, glad to be out of the icy air, hanging them up on the rack put out for guests.

“Now honey, if it’s too much, you can slip out back and head home, okay?” her mom said seriously, albeit quietly.

“You said that last year. And the year before that. For the last five years, actually,” Lucy mused.

“And I’ve meant it every year. They might be our neighbours, but you are my baby. And my priority, always,” her mom said seriously.

Not for the first time, Lucy was thankful to have the mom she did.

“And I appreciate it. But I’m going to be fine,” she said, smiling fondly.

“Alright, if you’re sure. You just send me a sneaky text if you change your mind though, yes?”

“Yeah, thanks mom,” Lucy beamed.

The Christmas Eve Party thrown by her neighbours was a tradition she’d attended her entire life, and even though she hadn’t dated their grandson in half a decade, Val and John had always insisted that she still came along. A lingering effect of being childhood sweethearts, she supposed.

“Amy! Gary! Lucy!”

The welcome from their neighbours was warm and effervescent as it always was, and soon enough Lucy found herself swept in by conversation and catching up. She may have gone to college in UBC Okanagan in Kelowna for both her degrees, barely away from home, but she’d lived in campus residence for all four years of her bachelor’s degree and moved out of her parents’ house properly into a small apartment near campus for her master’s degree. It would’ve been easy to move home after guaranteed accommodation ended, but Lucy had wanted to keep the independence she had grown to love, and it wasn’t as if she didn’t visit her parents at least every other weekend.

But it was still nice to be able to talk about her accomplishments with the people that she’d grown up alongside, especially now that she was in the final year of her master’s degree and looking like she was on track for starting the PhD she’d always aimed for.

After a couple of hours, she escaped the crowds in the living and dining areas, grateful for the sanctuary of the kitchen. There were a few plates of cookies and other Christmas treats laid out, and Lucy couldn’t resist reaching out for a snickerdoodle…

…at the exact time as someone else.

She jumped in surprise as a large hand rested on top of hers, not realising anyone was next to her, but as she looked up, she couldn’t but to freeze despite the warmth of his touch. Tyson. It was Tyson’s hand touching hers.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry, I…Lucy?”

“Hey Tys,” she managed to breathe.

The familiar curls, the big beautiful eyes, the sweet smile, and now a little bit of stubble? He looked good. Of course he looked good.

Tyson quickly drew his hand away from hers, breaking her out of her thoughts.

“Uh, you have it, I shouldn’t be eating baked goods too much anyway,” Tyson said, rubbing the back of his neck a little sheepishly.

Lucy pursed her lips and broke a third of the snickerdoodle off, handing it to Tyson with a raised eyebrow. Tyson huffed out a laugh but accepted the offered treat, sending her a small smile of thanks. Fuck, it may have been five years since they broke up, but he really hadn’t changed, had he?

“So, uh, you still come to these parties?” Tyson asked.

Lucy bit her bottom lip but nodded.

“Yeah, your grandparents insist. I hope that’s okay,” she winced.

“Of course it is,” Tyson said quickly, “They always loved you.”

Well that was something at least. Why did this feel so awkward? Sure, it had been five years since she’d seen Tyson, but they dated from eight years – surely they had more than this?

“I don’t usually come to these. Well, I guess you already know that, if you come every year. I, uh, I have the 24th to the 26th off this year, so I didn’t want to miss another Christmas with my grandparents,” Tyson explained.

“I bet Val and Jim were over the moon when you told them,” Lucy mused.

Tyson laughed softly, nodding. “They were. Mom and Kacey didn’t hesitate to come to Kelowna to join us, so it’s a big family Christmas this year.”

“That’s great, Tys. Really. Spending Christmas with your loved ones is important,” she said softly, smiling.

His smile dimmed a little, but he nodded.

“How’s, uh, how’s your degree going? Gramps said you’re doing a master’s now?”

He knew that? Did he ask? Or did Jim just tell him?

“Uh, yeah. I graduated my bachelor's degree magna cum laude back in 2020 and went straight into starting my graduate program there. I’m a paid teaching assistant for my supervisory professor too.”

“That’s incredible, Luce. Still doing Earth and Environmental Sciences?” Tyson prompted.

He remembered? After all this time?

“Yeah, yeah it is. Focusing in on environmental impact assessment for my master’s thesis,” she nodded, a little stunned, “I didn’t think…I didn’t think you’d remember.”

“Of course I remember. You were always so passionate about your studies – it was one of the things I loved most about you,” he said softly.

“Tyson…” Lucy said faintly, trailing off when no words would come.

He smiled sadly at her, shaking his head.

“Sounds like…it sounds like everything was worth it for you,” Tyson murmured.

2019

“So you can’t make it over?”

“No, Tys, I can’t, I have labs to do,” Lucy sighed.

“We haven’t seen each other in so long!”

“I can’t just not go to my classes because you want me in Denver! You know this!” she groaned.

“I know, I know, but it sucks.”

Lucy frowned, even though he couldn’t see her. “You’re the one who didn’t come home for Christmas, remember?”

“The schedule didn’t make sense, and I offered to fly you down?”

“Tyson!” she groaned.

He stayed silent on the other end of the phone, a silence that sent an ominous shiver down her spine.

“So where do we go from here?”

“W-What?” she said, confused at the dull tone of his voice.

“Your priority is college, my priority is hockey, and neither of us can compromise. I would never ask you to compromise, just like you wouldn’t ask me. We have different priorities, clearly. So where do we go from here?”

“Tyson, are you really saying what I think you’re saying?” she whimpered.

“Yeah, I think we should break up.”

“We’ve been together for eight years! You’re the only boyfriend I’ve ever had, the only guy I’ve ever wanted. And you want to break up, just like that?”

“I don’t want to break up, Luce. But what other option do we have? Neither of us can give the other what we need right now. We have to focus on ourselves, don’t we? For our own careers? You have so much ahead of you and I can’t be there to celebrate it. And you can’t be by my side cheering me on from the stands. I love you, Lucy. But this isn’t working anymore.”

“Tyson, why would you say it like that? You think it’s been easy for me?” Lucy asked, throat a little choked.

“No, no, of course not,” he groaned.

“Then what do you mean?”

“Look, forget I said anything, okay? It was really good to see you, Luce.”

Before Lucy could say a word, Tyson walked away, leaving her alone in the kitchen with her head spinning. What the hell was that?

For the final few hours of the party, Lucy indulged in a couple more glasses of wine than she intended, sticking solidly by her parents’ sides. She did her best to keep a smile on her face and ease into the Christmas festivity, even when Laura and Kacey said their hellos, but her mind just kept going back to Tyson.

“We’re going to start saying our goodbyes, okay honey? Why don’t you find all our coats.”

Lucy just nodded at her mom’s suggestion, grateful for the opportunity to escape the crowd. Well, she was grateful, until she saw Tyson sitting on the bench next to the coat rack, face flushed and eyes glassy. He was drunk, at least moderately so.

“Ah, fuck, I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he said, voice slurring.

What did he mean by that?

“I’m just getting our coats. We’re heading out,” she murmured, trying to ignore the whoosh in her stomach.

“Already?”

“It’s nearly midnight, Tys,” she said, smiling wryly.

“Well, fuck. Time flies when you’re having whiskey, I guess,” he groaned, putting his empty glass on the bench next to him.

She huffed out a laugh, unhooking the coats when she finally spotted them.

“You look good, Luce,” he murmured, looking up at her through his eyelashes.

“I do?” she blurted.

Damn it.

But Tyson just grinned. “Yeah, you really do. You always looked good, but damn you’ve really settled into your own skin, eh?”

“I love who I am, yeah,” she nodded.

She wasn’t lying, or even placating. Her studies in environmental impact had opened up a whole new side of her she hadn’t even realised was there, and she loved everything about the person she’d become through it. She just hadn’t realised it was obvious on the outside.

Then again, if anyone was going to notice something like that about her, it was going to be Tyson, wasn’t it?

“You’re too good for me.”

Oh fuck.

“That’s not true. Not even slightly,” Lucy said, frowning.

“No? I can barely get a team to keep me, and you’re soaring ahead with your academic career, just like you deserve,” Tyson scoffed.

This was just the alcohol talking. It had to be.

“Tys, those teams are the ones missing out. You’re amazing,” she said softly.

He paused for a moment, before shaking his head.

“If I’m so amazing, why did we break up?”

Because he had to put hockey first.

Because she had to put college first.

Because neither of them were each other’s first choice.

“That’s not fair, Tyson. We were kids when we first started dating. Barely 13 years old. And we were together for eight years! We had an incredible relationship! It just…we wanted different things. Our priorities were different, our passions were different – we might have grown up together, but we’d also grown apart. Your life is hockey and my life is academics, and that’s okay! That doesn’t mean we didn’t have love, yeah?”

The way that Tyson’s eyes filled up with tears made her own eyes water, dangerous lump rising in her throat.

“If I could go back and change it all, I would. I’d choose you. I’d always choose you.”

His soft words tore a sob from her throat and she shook her head. How could he be so cruel?

“Don’t say that. We made the right decision five years ago and you know it,” she whimpered.

Tyson’s face fell at her devastated expression, and he staggered to his feet.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry,” he said sadly.

And yet here she was, broken hearted all over again.

“I should go. I need to go,” was all she could manage to choke out.

“Lucy, baby, please…”

But Lucy just shook her head, clutching the coats in her hands, shaky smile on her lips as the tears finally fell. “Merry Christmas, Tyson.”

“So what happened at the Christmas Eve Party that has you all torn up like this?”

Lucy flinched at her mom’s voice, turning her head to see her standing in the doorway to her bedroom.

“Nothing,” she said quickly.

“Uh huh, and I’m a fairy princess,” her mom snorted.

Lucy couldn’t help but giggle, earning a fond smile as her mom walked into the room and sat down next to her on her bed. Lucy placed a bookmark in the book she’d been reading to give her mom her full attention. She’d needed a little respite from all the preparations to hold her dad’s family for a late lunch, after all the intensity of having her mom’s family over yesterday on Christmas Day, but she’d found herself reliving her conversation with Tyson over and over.

“Sounds like…it sounds like everything was worth it for you.”

“You’re too good for me.”

“If I’m so amazing, why did we break up?”

“If I could go back and change it all, I would. I’d choose you. I’d always choose you.”

So really, her mom coming up to talk to her was a welcome break from all of that as well.

“If you know it was the Christmas Eve Party then you can take a guess,” Lucy said, shrugging.

“I’d rather hear it from you, when Tyson’s involved,” her mom mused.

Well at least her mom was blunt about it.

“We had a couple of conversations, and it stirred up old emotions, old drama. He…mom, he said he’d go back and change it all if he could. That he’d always choose me. What am I supposed to do with that?”

Her mom blinked a couple of times, lips parted in a surprised, before she coughed out a laugh.

“Well I could never accuse Tyson of being subtle.”

“Mom, seriously. This is stressing me out. I can’t stop thinking about it,” Lucy groaned.

“I think that’s an answer in itself, sweetheart,” she said softly.

“What?”

Her mom stayed silent, just nudging Lucy with her shoulder, and Lucy nudged back out of habit. What did she mean, that was an answer in itself?

“Lucy, honey, if you can’t stop thinking about Tyson choosing you above everything else, that means something,” her mom eventually said with a huffed laugh.

“But how can it? He still has his hockey, and I still have academics. Neither of those are going to change any time soon,” Lucy said sadly.

Because at the end of the day, that was the bottom line of it all. Their priorities haven’t changed.

“Just because your both still have your passions doesn’t mean that they have to be your only love. You can have both,” her mom said firmly.

What?

“How can I have both?” Lucy asked, confused.

“Do you love him?” was all she said.

“What?” Lucy said, surprised.

“Do you love him?” her mom repeated.

Lucy opened her mouth, shutting it again before huffing out a laugh. There was only one answer to that.

“Yeah, I never stopped,” she replied.

“Then you can have both. You spent the last five years missing him, and I know damn well that that boy missed you too - neither of you deserve that for another second. You can have both,” her mom said decisively.

She could have both?

How could she have both?

“You love him.”

“I love him,” Lucy whispered.

“Go get him.”

Lucy whimpered as she looked into her mom’s eyes, but she only saw warmth and encouragement. Her mom was right. She loved Tyson. She loved Tyson and if seeing him again this Christmas had taught her anything, it was that she was stupid if she tried to deny how much she missed him. If she didn’t tell him now, when would she?

“He leaves today. I need to go now,” she said suddenly.

“Well damn, okay then. Put on a sweater and I’ll find your snow boots,” her mom grinned.

Lucy felt like she was in a haze as she walked as quickly down the street as was safe, heart pounding as she spotted Tyson loading bags into his grandpa’s car.

“Tyson!”

His head whipped around at her shout, eyes going wide as he saw her walking towards him. Tyson shuffled down the driveway, missing Jim’s fond smile as he himself went back into the house, and the moment that she was standing in front of him, Tyson cupped his hands over her elbows to steady her.

“What are you doing here?”

“I love you,” she breathed.

Tyson whimpered, but Lucy wasn’t discouraged, not when she saw the wonder that filled his expression.

“You love me?”

“I love you. I love you so much and I can’t stop thinking about everything you said the other night,” she blurted out.

“Luce, I’m sorry, I know I upset you but…”

“No, Tys, it’s okay,” Lucy said, shaking her head as she interrupted, “While I stand by what I said, that we made the right decision at the time, maybe we could make a different decision now?”

“What are you saying?”

She could understand his hesitation, really she could. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t coming out with this out of the blue, after five years of nothing at all. After five years of heartbreak and heartache. But her mom was right – she missed him so fiercely and she couldn’t bear the thought of him not knowing that.

“I want us to start over new. I never stopped loving you, not for one moment. We could have both. We could have our passions and our love, and I hate that it’s taken me this long to even consider that? I miss you and I love you and I know you’re heading to the airport to fly back to Raleigh, but tell me I’m not crazy for thinking we could do this?”

Tyson’s jaw dropped as he processed her long rant, and it was only his firm grip on her elbows that stopped her from giving up hope.

“That was a lot,” Tyson said.

She winced. “I know, but…”

“And you poured out a lot of emotion there,” he interrupted.

Lucy kept her mouth shut this time, as much as she wanted to beg him to say more.

“It’s been agony for five years, for so many reasons, but hearing you say that you love me and you want to give our relationship another shot? I just…”

Tyson trailed off, letting out a long breath.

“I understand if I’m too late,” she murmured.

But Tyson huffed out a laugh, raising one hand from her elbow to cup her face in a gentle motion that had her breath hitching in her throat.

“There is no world in which you’d be too late,” Tyson said softly.

“Really?”

“I love you too, Lucy. I never stopped either,” he murmured.

She couldn’t stop the incredulous laugh that tumbled from her lips, smiling back up at Tyson as he smiled at her.

“We’re really doing this?” she asked, giddy.

“Yeah, baby, we are. I don’t know how we’re going to do this, or what it’s going to look like, but we’re both adult enough to know how to put in more effort this time round right, yeah? I’ll fly home for the all-star break, and I’ll fly you out for spring break, and we’ll have video calls that neither of us are going to miss. And everything else. We’re going to make it work this time,” he said, tone serious but face grinning.

“And we’re going to communicate, yeah? When one of us is finding it hard? We’ll find little compromises, as we can’t do the big compromises. We’re worth it,” Lucy added, not caring that her cheeks were aching with her smile.

“Yeah, we are. I love you, so much Lucy,” Tyson grinned.

“I love you too.”

Tyson didn’t waste any time in leaning down to press his lips to hers, their last first kiss.

#my writing #tyson jost fic #nicole's b-day bingo #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost fanfic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey fanfic

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