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narryffdreaming · 2 months ago

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lia and harry's story (one)

summary: harry is a bartender and lia lives right across the street. rating: +18 || warnings: mental health (anxiety) and smut (here and there) || word count: 14,7k

some scenes are different. some scenes are still the same. but here they are again.

“Rohan isn’t working tonight.”

The toneless, husky voice echoed in the dim lights, and Lia’s heart skipped a beat as she whipped her head to her left.

Harry walked past her and towards the sink, too occupied carrying a box under one of his arms. When he stopped, he turned his back to where she was and placed the item on the laminated counter, then put his free hand into his pocket and pulled a utility knife, not wasting any other second before using it to tore the cardboard in half.

Lia’s belly fluttered.

White t-shirt, black pants. Sleeves short enough for her to admire the multiple tattoos covering his arms, and fabric tight enough for her to follow the movements of the muscles on his back as he pulled a few napkins and straws out of the box.

She only needed a second for things to click inside her, and for her to remember why she decided to go to The Wandering Triplet in the first place.

Harry’s unkempt dark brown hair curled on top of his head and also a little bit to the sides, but it seemed shorter on the back. He had clearly gotten a haircut since last week, when she last saw him at the bar, and even though Lia couldn’t see his face, she already knew that it suited him.

She knew that he looked good.

Really good.

No, she knew that he looked great.

Unfairly and painfully handsome.

Like a dream.

Like he always did.

Lia sighed.

Harry grabbed the box with one hand and turned around, briefly glancing at her. He didn’t say nor did a thing, seemingly completely unamused by her presence as he looked forward and headed back towards the black curtain.

And that’s exactly when it hit her: she still hadn’t said anything to him.

Nothing.

Not even a word.

Oh my God.

A flush of heat creeped up through the back of Lia’s neck, and her belly turned into knots.

She shifted on her feet, straightening up and pulling her elbows closer to her body as she watched him disappear behind the thick black fabric.

Rohan isn’t working tonight.

Lia frowned.

Why did he even… Ugh.

Of course Rohan wasn’t working that night. It wasn’t something hard to figure out—she had been to The Wandering Triplet more than enough times to realize that on Wednesday Rohan always started his shift later at night, meaning that Harry always opened the bar by himself.

Besides, why did he have to start a conversation with her like that? Why couldn’t he just have said something simple like… Hello?

She pulled the loose sleeves of her cardigan and covered her fingers, then crossed her arms against her stomach and scanned the three shelves at the back wall. Honestly, entertaining any useless thoughts was better than overthinking Harry’s actions. She didn’t have the strength inside her to try and understand his dislike for her. Not anymore. She had already given up on that a long time ago. All she wanted was to get something to drink, get comfortable on a table, and daydream a little before going back home and dealing with all the very real consequences of that pathetic and useless day.

Lia shook her head.

Ugh.

White rum… White rum… Where’s the white rum?

Since she’d walked into The Wandering Triplet for the first time, Lia had stared at those shelves long enough to realize they had a system to place everything. The one at the bottom was filled with different types of glasses, all upside-down, while the other two above were used to perfectly organize rows of many different types of alcohol.

When it came to the bottles, the still unopened ones and also the most expensive brands were at the top, while the most commonly used were in the middle, closer to their reach. From left to right, they were also careful, matching not only by type, but also organizing by brands and colors.

Another sigh left her mouth, and Lia dropped her shoulders. She knew she’d agreed with her psychiatrist that she’d wait until her body got used to the new medication, but she could’ve really used a drink that day. Not just any drink, but a mojito—it was her favorite, and Harry always made the best one.

“Ok, then. What can I get you?”

Lia jumped slightly, batting her eyelashes and shifting her arms on the counter.

Harry stood next to her, cleaning the already-clean-bar.

She recognized his white t-shirt as one of her favorites. The design, mixing palm trees and searchlights with shades of blue and green, reminded her of one summer she’d spent in Los Angeles with her family, and the faded orange words around it made her think of an old record store.

Harry always looked cool with that t-shirt, especially when he matched it with those black wide-legged pants he was wearing right then. He looked like someone who could be in a band, like someone who could hold a guitar in front of a crowd and make people faint at the sight.

Not a popstar or rockstar, though. Nuh-uh. He was too snappy for that.

If Harry were a musician, he would probably be part of an indie band. Or one of those groups people never heard of until they randomly shuffled through a rainy and foggy playlist on Spotify.

And he’d definitely be the moody and mysterious bass player, bothered only by doing his own sound and ignoring all the screaming girls at his feet.

Bass guitar player. Yes. That would be for sure—he had great hands, and they looked perfect for the four-stringed instrument.

Harry wiped the surface forcefully, then tightened his long fingers around the light-brown towel and threw the item over his shoulder. As he held it there with one hand, he finally faced her, grasping the edge of the counter with his other hand and stretching his arm.

Leaf, intense, green eyes stared into her boring brown ones, and Lia’s heart skipped a beat.

He was so pretty.

So, so pretty.

And to daydream and imagine things was fun, but Harry wasn’t in any indie band, nor even a musician. He was simply the sulky, pretentious bartender who worked across the street from her apartment. And the guy who she had the biggest and most stupid crush on.

Harry cleared his throat, raised his eyebrows, and flinched his chin down.

Damn.

Lia shifted on her feet.

“It’s—I—I mean…” She shook her head and cleared her throat, too. “Sorry. Just water, I think? I—Yes. Water. Please.”

Harry rolled his eyes and turned around, scoffing quietly as he walked to the shelves. “Of course.”

Lia furrowed her brows and held her breath, watching him take his time while he put some distance between them. As if having to get her a simple glass of water was the most boring thing he could do. Or maybe the most annoying thing he could do. Or maybe the most tiring thing he could do.

His reaction felt out of place, but she couldn’t be surprised, could she? After all, she was used to his awful mood, and she’d gotten really good at pretending it didn’t bother her—to the point where she almost believed it herself.

In fact, to be honest, had it been any other day, she probably wouldn’t have even minded his behavior. She would’ve probably just accepted it and added it to the countless humiliating moments she’d lived so far.

But it was the last thing she needed on that particular Wednesday evening, when everything had already turned out so shitty that she was both mentally and emotionally exhausted.

Lia exhaled through her nose and clenched her jaw.

In less than eight hours, three people had already treated her with disdain and condescension, and four had made her feel inferior and weak. All she had done was to work on herself and try to step out of her comfort zone, like she promised Dr. Reisman she would do, and all she had gotten in return was… Nothing.

So shame on her for needing some distraction, right? Shame on her for thinking that silently watching her crush from far away would help her forget about her stressful and dreadful day. Shame on her for believing that she would be able to feel at least slightly better after spending five minutes at the bar.

A glass full of water emerged in front of her, and Lia blinked.

“There you go, princess.” Harry smiled, as blatantly sarcastic and careless as he could be, then turned around and walked back to the sink.

Lia glared at him, tightening her hands into fists and letting her body be consumed by her heavy breathing.

She hated when he looked at her like that. And she hated when he made her feel like a child. Harry almost never talked to her, but when he did, he seemed to always find a way to make her feel mocked or challenged to say something. Challenged to be different. Challenged to speak up. Challenged to react quicker.

And Lia hated it.

She truly hated it, because she wasn’t good with words. At all. And she was well aware of that. She was getting treatment because of that, for fucks sake!

So she didn’t need anyone pointing out the obvious for her. And she didn’t need anyone making her feel even worse for not being able to actually get better. Or for constantly messing things up even though she desperately tried not to.

Why…

Why did it have to be so hard for her?

And why did it have to be so hard all the damn time?

Why couldn’t she get things right? At least once in her life?

And why on earth did she insist on nurturing that fruitless crush, anyway?

Huh?

Why did she care about someone who didn’t know her at all? Someone who had never even tried to get to know her?

Huh?

And also, why couldn’t Harry just let her be?

Why did he have to treat her that way?

What had she even done to him, huh?

What had she done, besides moving across the street and being a regular customer at the bar?

Huh?

Huh?!!

Lia grabbed the glass in front of her and took a sip of water. Then another one, and another one. Desperately gulping down three quarters of it before putting it down on the counter again.

Harry was unbelievable.

Unbelievable!

The judgment behind every action and every word was completely unnecessary.

So what if she was drinking water? Huh? Why did it matter? What difference did it make? She could drink whatever she wanted to, right?

And why—why—calling her princess? What was the point? What did he even mean by that?

Huh?

Huh?!?!

“Ok, look,” Harry said, standing in front of her with a frown on his face and arms crossed on his chest, “are you just going to stand there all night? Because I told you Rohan isn’t—”

“Oh my goodness!” Lia laughed, uncrossing her arms and taking a step back from the counter. “This is… I… You… I’m just… Ugh!”

She shook her head and looked down. Reaching for her bag, she watched her own movements as she put her hand inside it and rummaged through her things.

“I’ll go, okay? I’ll go,” she said, fishing around for her wallet. “But you know what, Harry? Considering I’ve been around here for almost a year now, and that so far you’ve never even cared to… I don’t know… At least know my name, you don’t need to try so hard to be an asshole to me all the time, y’know?” She found some cash laying around, then grabbed the notes firmly between her fingers and slammed them on the counter. “You’ve already earned the title.”

She turned around and gritted her teeth, feeling the heat reverberating through her skin as she mumbled, “Asshole.”

And then, she walked away, finally removing herself from the unneeded interaction and not even once daring to look back at his face.

For the next three weeks, Lia didn’t go to the bar.

It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t intentional. She was busy, and life was happening. She went back to her parents house for a weekend, enjoyed the quietness of hometown, worked some extra hours, had dinner with her friends, took some alone time for herself, and then… Well, and then she also didn’t make any effort to go.

Because why would she, anyway?

“Excuse me.”

Someone shoved her, causing Lia to stumble on her feet and snap out of her mind. She looked to her side, apologizing for standing in the way while shuffling on her feet to keep her balance.

Nobody seemed to care about her presence, though. Nor to have the slight idea of how much wondering it took before showing up again. Or to know that the last time she’d been there she’d called a bartender out for not knowing her name—and that she might’ve used the word asshole, too.

Lia let her hair fall on her face and sighed.

Things inside The Wandering Triplet were… Different.

Really different.

For starters, it was way more packed than usual, more crowded than what she ever expected it to be. People stood everywhere, talking and laughing even louder than any other time. And she wasn’t sure the place had at least once smelled that much like beer and perfume.

On top of that, two guys seemed to be playing live music, something she had definitely never seen there before. Just like a lot of the faces surrounding her right then and there.

She swallowed, then rubbed her neck.

It was hard not to notice the way her body heat had risen. Or how her entire outfit suddenly seemed like a bad call—because, honestly, how was she supposed to not sweat under that black turtleneck? Or under the tight fabric of her jeans? Even her feet were burning up, buried in those damn leather boots.

And it wasn’t like Lia was incapable of dressing according to the situation. It was just that, well, how was she even supposed to imagine that the place would ever be so crowded?

Especially on a Monday night!

C’mon!

Monday nights were always their quietest nights. So much so that they didn’t even require two bartenders working at the same time.

And Lia knew that. It was exactly the whole reason why she had chosen to go back on that particular night: because Monday nights were Harry’s nights off.

Or, well, at least they used to be Harry’s nights off.

Shit.

There was absolutely no way Rohan would be able to handle that chaos all by himself, right?

So…

Oh God.

She was going to see him… Wasn’t she?

The whole therapy session, with all the planning and thinking about how she could go back there without actually having to face him, had been a complete waste of time. Right?

It had been for nothing.

And a complete failure.

Right?

Right?!

Her stomach fluttered, then shot a soft tingling to her chest.

Shit.

She didn’t want to see him, though. Of course she didn’t. Not after she’d humiliated herself.

So… She should’ve turned around and gone back home, right? Try it again on a different night, maybe. Or just find a different bar.

Right?

Lia sighed, heavier this time.

She couldn’t run away, though. The whole point of going to the bar again was to challenge her own thoughts and beliefs, so she couldn’t give up now. She had to try.

Right?

Oh God.

Sliding her tongue through her lips, Lia put her hair behind her ears and focused on her destination, then squeezed her way in to make it to the counter and order herself a drink—just as she promised Dr. Reisman she would do.

To navigate her body through so many strangers wasn’t an easy task, that’s for sure, but she eventually managed to push herself all the way across the room. Once she found herself closer to the counter, a man walked backwards, holding three beers between his hands.

Lia turned sideways, giving him more room to walk without dropping anything. It also turned out to be the perfect opportunity for her to place one hand on the edge of the wooden bar, hold herself, and step onto the new empty space.

After that, everything felt mostly like a blur.

Rohan was there, but he wasn’t alone. There was also a girl helping him out. A girl she hadn’t seen there before. Short, blonde hair. Long legs and arms. Tattoos on her shoulder and piercing on her nose. She handed him empty glasses and chatted excitedly, while he grabbed each with a smile and put them all back on the bottom shelf.

And then a tattooed arm abruptly flashed in front of her, and Lia lurched back. Barely catching the color of the towel being yanked in circles right next to her.

Someone yelled an order, another person called someone’s name, and another one shouted an ‘excuse me’ a couple of steps to her side. Pop acoustic covers were still playing in the back and someone dropped a couple of spoons behind the bar.

Everything was happening at the same time. Right where she was. And yet all she could pay attention to was Harry’s figure coming to a stop in front of her.

Harry blinked once, then turned his head slightly to the side, shouting the words without removing his sea-green eyes from her. “Rohan! Lia is here!”

And just like that, Harry turned around and walked away.

And she was all by herself all over again.

Lia frowned.

What…

Did he…

Had Harry just called her name?

Lia is here.

That’s what he’d said, right?

Lia is here.

Her stomach fluttered.

Considering how the last thing she had said to him—besides calling him an asshole, of course—was that he didn’t know her name, that couldn’t be a coincidence… Right?

Right?!

“Lia, heyyy!"

She lowered her gaze to the counter and furrowed her brows.

How the hell had Harry been able to do that? To disconcert her in a matter of two seconds?

Four words. That was it. That was all it had taken.

All because he had said her name.

After three weeks of not seeing him.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Rohan stood in front of her with worried eyes and puzzled face, and Lia blinked.

It took her a moment to realize she was still frozen in place, but she finally shook her head and looked up.

“Uh, yeah… I… Yes. Oh my God. Sorry. Yes.” She chuckled and waved her hand. “I just... Long day today. Sorry.”

Rohan nodded and smiled, too. “Gotcha. No worries! It’s nice to see you again! You look taller today.”

“Oh.” Lia leaned back and looked down at her feet, wiggling her toes inside her high heel leather boots. “Must be the shoes.” She shrugged. “Don’t wear them often.”

“You should. You look nice! So, what can I get ya? Let’s cheer you up after a long day, huh?”

Lia sighed, then cleared her throat.

Rohan’s energy was always loud. His brown eyes always sparkled with joy, and every time he smiled his entire face lit up. It definitely made it really easy to talk to him, mostly because he never gave her too much time to speak and be awkward. He moved forward, simply worrying about doing his job and constantly making sure everyone was having a good time.

“Actually,” she said, “I don’t... I don’t know what I want. Maybe a cocktail, please? Nothing strong, though. I just… Yeah… I haven’t been drinking for a while, so... I think I’d rather be careful? You know? Sorry.”

Rohan tilted his head and grinned at her, watching her for a brief moment before he shook his head and chuckled.

A flush creeped across Lia’s cheeks, and she bit the inside of her bottom lip.

“Of course!” He nodded, watching her as he took a step back and winked at her. “One minute, yeah?”

Rohan turned around and walked away, and Lia let the air out through her nose.

Always the same thing. She just had to find a way to embarrass herself, didn’t she?

Dropping her shoulders and peeking at her sides, she found Harry standing by the other end of the counter, chatting with the new bartender while they mixed a couple of drinks.

He hadn’t changed much—or at all. The hair had probably been trimmed and he had clearly shaved at some point just to let his facial hair grow again, because his scruff looked just the same as three weeks ago.

Even his t-shirt seemed to be the same one—until Lia noticed it actually had different writing and design.

Her belly fluttered, just like it always did when she looked at him. And then, when she couldn’t decide if the fluttering was a good or bad feeling, her chest always tightened as well.

It tightened with a mix of amazement, delight, frustration, and sadness. All at once.

Because no matter how oblivious Harry was to it, he was the whole reason Lia had slowly become a regular at the bar.

Sure, a great therapy session had led her to challenge herself and get a drink by herself. And then, that spur of the moment decision had taken her to the bar across the street—the only one that was open that night.

But walking into the bar and meeting someone who would make her insides blaze wasn’t on her plans. And even considering challenging herself for a second time just a few days later definitely wouldn’t have happened if, that exact same night, she hadn’t met him.

Eleven months had gone by since that night, and yet Lia still winced every time she recalled it.

Harry had taken her order, but hadn’t even smiled politely when doing so. He also hadn’t looked at least one bit excited about making the mojito she’d asked for (which later Lia thought tasted delicious, anyway).

Even after that, no matter how many times she had stepped into the bar, he never even flinched when looking at her. Never.

It was as if she didn’t even exist to him.

So Lia had a crush on him, yes, but she wasn’t stupid. Harry had never hidden his lack of interest in getting to know her, so she knew he wasn’t into her. And she was fine with that. Really.

She was fine with it. And she was more than used to it by now. Even if—

“That’s Sage.”

Lia turned her head and straightened her back, only then noticing she’d been openly staring at the interaction between the two bartenders.

“She just started, so Harry’s going over our signature drinks with her,” Rohan added, shrugging and smiling. “I know it can be hard to believe, but he’s pretty patient. A great guy once you get past the frown on his face.”

Lia smiled. She actually didn’t find that hard to believe at all, but she didn’t want Rohan to know how she really felt about his co-worker, or how much she had watched all along, so she didn’t share the thought with him.

Instead, she glanced at the cocktail glass he’d placed on the counter and asked, “A martini?”

“Right!” Rohan slapped his open hand on the counter, as if bringing himself back to the conversation. “Apple martini, to be precise. Or, as some would say, appletini.”

Lia chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve had one of these before.”

“Hope you enjoy it, then.”

“I’m sure I will. Thank you, Rohan.”

He curled his lips into another bright and cheerful smile. “My pleasure. If you don’t like it, next one’s on me, yeah? So lemme know.”

“Okay.” Lia smiled and nodded, wrapping her fingers around the glass and pushing her weight off the counter. “I will.”

— — — — —

Sitting by herself, Lia took the last sip of her melted apple martini just as the two young boys finished playing another pop song from their acoustic set.

People clapped next to her, and she left the glass on the table to do the same, tilting her head and smiling at how cute and shy the pair looked on the stage. Despite the obvious age difference, they somehow reminded her of her students when they had to perform for the first time in front of an audience, which was probably why she kept feeling the need to pay attention to them and reassure them with her eyes—a way to let them know how well they were doing up there.

They thanked politely and introduced the next song, and Lia rested her chin on the palm of her hand, paying attention to the first few chords of a song she couldn’t recognize.

Truthfully speaking, Lia was proud of herself. Even though the place was way more crowded than she was comfortable with, and even though she’d thought about leaving multiple times, she survived the thirty minutes she’d promised herself she would try to stay.

So she knew she had already made some good progress, and that she could now go home without feeling guilty.

She hadn’t failed. Not that night, at least.

As a gift to herself, she allowed her eyes to wander around the bar, trying to get a glimpse of Harry before she officially left.

She found him behind the counter, of course, all focused while chatting with his two coworkers. He listened to whatever Rohan was saying, nodding along while pinching his bottom lip between his fingers. But then, something in the story caused him to widen his eyes and drop his hand to Sage’s shoulder, holding the shock on his face firmly for a moment before he finally threw his head back and laughed. Loudly. Bringing his free hand to his chest while his entire body seemed to shake.

Lia’s belly fluttered, and she was pretty sure both of her lungs had stopped working.

He was just so… Attractive.

So hypnotizing. It was like she couldn’t take her eyes away from him.

And she knew how silly she was for it. For wanting him that bad.

She knew it. But she couldn’t help it.

She just couldn’t.

A group of people approached the counter, and Rohan automatically got back into work mode, walking towards them. Harry and Sage were left behind, then, but they quickly seemed to engage into more conversation. Happy, interesting conversation.

Jealousy sparked in her chest, but Lia still watched him with nothing but fascination. She watched the way he crossed his arms on his chest, and also the way he kept raising one of his hands to gesture whenever he talked to Sage.

Lia is here.

His words echoed inside her mind, and Lia knew, right then and there, that later at night she’d be in bed and think about the way he’d said her name. Over and over again.

She’d think about the way he treated the new girl, and she’d dream about him treating her like that, too.

She knew it, because she’d been there before. Because after that first night at the bar, watching Harry became like a hobby to her. And because in the eleven months she’d been there, even though it hadn’t been that often, there had been a time when Lia used to see him with a woman at the bar. A girlfriend, perhaps. Someone who was obviously older than him, but just as tall, and had shoulder-length, perfectly straight, dark auburn hair. Someone who’d always seemed too elegant and sophisticated for The Wandering Triplet, and yet had never looked out of place. Effortlessly delicate and powerful at the same time. Someone who carried herself in a way that screamed confidence, as if she’d never known what it was like to feel insecure about herself.

During those nights, when that woman used to be at the bar, Lia always stood a little bit afar, not wanting to be disrespectful to them, but still allowing herself to catch some glimpses of a completely different version of him.

A more natural, vulnerable version. Where Harry would laugh so loud he would drop his head back, or peck her lips multiple times, and even caress her cheek in between customers. Where he would whisper in her ear, make her smile, and stare deeply into her eyes when she did all the talking. Where he would also walk her out of the bar holding her hand, or hug her waist when guiding them to his car.

It was obvious to Lia — and probably to anyone who looked at them, to be honest — how much they appreciated each other’s company, and how much he cared for her. It was also very clear how much Harry enjoyed the affection. How much he enjoyed being touched and taken care of.

And embarrassingly as it was, more than once Lia had woken up highly aware of dreaming about him. Recalling false, vivid memories of her replacing that woman, and of Harry touching and kissing her, instead.

Lia shifted on her seat, withdrawing her chin from her hand and rolling her shoulders. Hoping to push those thoughts away, but also praying people never find out they even existed in the first place.

Focusing her sight on them again, Lia caught Rohan walking back to Harry and Sage. He stood with his back turned to her, and the other two resumed their attention on whatever he had to say.

She watched a little bit more, just to enjoy those couple minutes before she left. Music played in the background, and people chatted jazzily all around her. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, though. She just couldn’t.

So handsome.

Harry lifted one hand, pulling his short hair back and out of the way, and then crossed his arms again. He listened to Rohan, and to everything he had to say. He focused, nodded, and offered his own comments from time to time. Giving his co-worker all his attention, solely and purely.

Until he drifted his sight to the side and met her stare.

Lia held her breath and gulped down, freezing as his eyes settled inside hers.

Oh God.

Her heart palpitated. And her breathing sped up.

It was hard to be one hundred percent sure of what was happening when he was so far away, but it was also hard to have any doubts when he was so intense that she could feel him all through her body. And when he didn’t seem to make any attempt to avoid her gaze. Or move. Or look away.

Oh my God. Oh my God.

Oh my God!

A heavy and empty feeling spread in her stomach, and Lia looked away.

What the hell was even happening?

What was she supposed to do?

Why was he looking at her?

Was he actually looking at her?

She glanced back at him, and their eyes instantly met again.

He was still watching her.

Lia closed her hands into fists, then forced herself to breathe. Deeply. Heavily.

Harry lifted his eyebrows and tilted his chin down.

It was an expression she’d seen before, and that it was enough to make every single one of her muscles quiver.

She darted her eyes back to her empty drink and blinked.

What the hell?

To have him staring back at her felt even worse than him saying her name or her calling him an asshole. It was like breaking the fourth wall. It was like acknowledging her existence. And Lia didn’t know what to do with that.

She rummaged for something, but it was as if her thoughts weren’t there anymore. As if her brain stopped functioning and she went completely blank.

And just like that, before she could give herself a pep talk and calm herself down, Lia had already pushed her chair away from the table and ran to the door. Stepping outside and away from the bar.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Or at least that was what one of Lia’s teachers always used to say. And also what crossed her mind on Friday night, when she walked into The Wandering Triplet followed by Jillie and Molly.

“Ohhh, I like this place,” Molly said, coming to a stop right behind the other two.

“Yeah!” Jillie nodded, then linked her arm with Lia’s. “I can see why you like it here. Feels kinda cozy. Intimate.”

Lia’s mouth twitched with a smile, and she took one hand up to put her hair behind her ear.

Dr. Reisman was so right about it.

Going through life without opening up and sharing things wasn’t working for her. Not anymore. And yeah, it sucked that she had needed a push from her therapist and the assignment of a new task to do it, but at least she’d told them about it.

At least she wasn’t keeping it all to herself anymore.

“I’m glad you like it,” Lia offered, looking around and taking the place in.

It didn’t feel too crowded this time, not yet at least. On her left side, most tables were occupied, and an older man was performing on the same tiny stage the two boys were playing the other night—his low, raspy voice blending with the soft chatting and laughing of customers.

To her right, though, only a few people stood near the counter, giving her the perfect view of the three bartenders working behind it.

Lia cleared her throat and diverted her eyes back to the stage.

“I guess it’s usually like this,” she added, ignoring the fact that her belly was suddenly turning upside down. “But it also depends on how crowded the other two bars are.”

“Hmm… Well,” Jillie said, turning her head to look at them, “should we get a table, then?”

Lia nodded and stepped forward.

“Sure—”

“Wait!” Molly placed her hands on Lia’s hips, forcing her to stay in place. “Let’s get a drink first.”

“A—Already? You sure? Now? Right now?"

“Yes.” Molly smirked. “Right now. C’mon. Wanna see that bartender of yours up close.”

“Oh God…”

Lia chuckled, mostly because she didn’t know what to say. Or do.

Of course they wanted to see him, though. After all, it was the whole reason why they were there that night.

At first the excitement and curiosity had happened through texts, when Lia got the courage to tell them about Harry. Their reaction had been instant, and it’d brought so much joy to her body that Lia ended up spending way more time on her phone than she should have.

Despite letting them know it was only a crush, and that he didn’t really care about her, they both entertained the subject, asking details about the way he looked or how she’d met him. It was easy to get carried away with them, because they didn’t make it seem that deep, treating the topic lightly. Treating it as a joke.

They also didn’t make her feel guilty or out of her mind for being attracted to him. And when she explained to them how she worried about being inappropriate for fantasizing about him, they both shared their own stories of moments when they’d fancied someone they probably shouldn’t have, and even of things they’d done with people that they probably shouldn’t have.

It brought some sense of imperfection to her, and of humanity, and it made her breathe better. So before ending the conversation, when they asked to meet him, Lia didn’t want to say no and go back to her lonely and quiet bubble, so she agreed with them.

And that’s how they ended up there.

On Friday night. At the bar.

“Oh, yes! I wanna see him, too!” Jillie let go of Lia’s arm and turned around. “C’mon.”

The idea of her gorgeous, tall, cheerful friend reaching the bar first and alone was enough to get a reaction out of her.

“Okay, okay!” Lia looked at the floor and closed her hands into fists, then stepped forward and led the way.

She had no idea what would come out of that night, but she knew it didn’t make sense for her to run away or avoid the situation—not even if it made her stomach swirl and turn. After all, telling her best friends about Harry and The Wandering Triplet had felt like a bold move, but also like a step she needed to take.

And one she hadn’t regretted so far.

"Heeyyy!” Rohan’s cheerful voice greeted as soon as Lia reached the counter, and she immediately glanced up. He approached them with a grin and open arms, easily leaving his co-workers behind. “Look who’s here!”

Lia curled her mouth into a closed-lip smile and cleared her throat.

“H—Hi…”

“You good? It’s nice to see you! You almost never show up on Fridays.”

“Oh…” She chuckled softly, placing her hands inside the pockets of her jacket and shrugging. “I just… Yeah. I’m with my friends tonight, so… I wanted to show them around? I guess…”

“Of course!” Rohan widened his eyes, but his smile never faltered. He shifted his sight to the other girls and stood up straighter, then stretched his arm and offered his hand for them to shake. “How rude of me. Hello there, I’m Rohan.”

“Molly.”

“Jillie, hi.”

“Welcome to The Wandering Triplet, yeah? Hope you enjoy it. Any friend of Lia is more than welcome here.”

Lia shifted on her feet, then caught a glimpse of Harry moving towards the shelves.

She hadn’t seen him again, but the intensity of his eyes was still engraved inside her mind. It had induced the most vivid dreams for the last couple of nights, and it brought a fluttery to her belly every time she thought about him.

And she really didn’t know what to think about it, or if she even should think so much about it, but it was nice to see him again. It really was.

He looked good, as usual, and even though she couldn’t see his face, she could see enough to know he was already frowning. Also as usual.

For a change, though, Harry was wearing a black t-shirt. Black t-shirt, black wide legged pants, and black shoes.

Black, black, black.

Lia sighed. She wished he could be the one taking their orders and chatting with them. Him, instead of Rohan. At least once.

Jillie elbowed her side, and Lia shook her head. Clearing her throat, she looked from Rohan, to Jillie, to Molly.

They were all watching her.

She forced a chuckle out of her mouth and faced Jillie again. “What?”

“Nothing.” Jillie shrugged. “Rohan was just saying how you’re one of their favorite regulars. That’s all.”

“Oh.” Lia laughed—or tried to laugh—and shook her head again. Vehemently, this time. Almost desperately. “I don’t… No… Yeah, no… I don’t think I am.”

“Of course you are,” Rohan said, drawing all the attention back to him. “I mean, I know you’re my favorite customer, at least.”

Rohan winked, and Lia’s brain froze. Her stomach rolled before heaviness settled in, and her senses seemed to catch every detail around her: her friends coughing next to her, Sage patting Rohan’s shoulder as she walked past him, and Harry snorting and shaking his head behind him.

Heat creeped up through her neck, face, and ears. And all she wanted was to get away from there. To be swallowed by the ground. To vanish from air.

“Oookay…” Molly laughed, throwing her arm around Lia’s shoulder and pulling her close. “So what about getting your favorite customer and her friends two mojitos and a beer, huh?”

— — — — —

“Your little shit!” Jillie hissed, sending her a glare and a laugh from across the table. “You’ve been hiding all this from us? I can’t believe you!”

Next to Lia, Molly laughed and shook her head. “Me neither.”

“And this Rohan guy? Oh my God! Lia! He’s so into you! What the hell?!”

“Yeah. How come you didn’t tell us about him?”

Lia shrugged.

Rohan had always been nice, and maybe he had said a few things here and there that had made her blush before, but he had never been so straightforward with the flirting.

Besides, she didn’t care about Rohan, so she never thought about mentioning him. Why would she?

The girls talked and laughed about her apparently “secret life”, but there was nothing Lia could think to say to them, so she listened.

And as she listened, she hid her face behind the rim of the glass in her hands, then took the first sip of her mojito.

Mint and rum went down her throat, and she pursed her lips.

It was good, but it wasn’t as good as Harry’s.

She twisted her neck and tried to catch a glimpse of the bar, but there were too many people in between.

Her shoulders dropped, and she sighed.

Was there even a way for her to interact with him again?

Should she walk in early on a Wednesday evening again?

What if Sage was there, too?

Would he take the opportunity to ignore her, like he normally did?

Ugh!

See?!

Harry was the one she wanted to talk about, not Rohan.

Why was Rohan the topic of conversation?

Lia faced the table and cleared her throat.

Both Jillie and Molly looked at her, and she shifted on her seat.

“Uh… So… What did you think of Harry?”

Eyeing one girl, then the other, Lia sipped her mojito again.

Jillie shrugged.

“I was so focused on Rohan that I didn’t even pay attention to Harry, to be honest.” She stretched her neck, lifting her head towards the bar’s direction.

“I think… Damn he’s hot,” Molly admitted.

Lia’s lips curled up. “Yeah? You think?”

“Oh yes.” Molly nodded. “The tattoos, the clothes, the hair... And not shaving but also not actually having a beard? Pft. The guy definitely knows what he’s doing.”

Lia’s smile turned into a grin.

She had always been so afraid of her friends (and people in general) judging her, or making her feel embarrassed, that she never allowed herself to just share and enjoy things with others. And in that moment, sitting with them at the bar and gossiping about Harry, as ridiculous as she knew it would sound, she felt less alone.

Damn! She just couldn’t wait to tell Dr. Reisman all about it. She would be happy to know that Lia was finally considering her words to be correct: living outside of her tiny safe bubble could, in fact, be so good for her.

— — — — —

A couple of hours later, Molly and Jillie hugged Lia goodnight and shared an Uber back to their homes.

Lia stood near the bouncer and watched the car drive off, meanwhile tried to find her keys inside of her bag.

She really needed to bring something smaller for those kinds of situations, especially considering she was only across the street from her own apartment.

Why did she even need that much stuff?

She had never stopped to journal in the middle of a drink. And she had never done her nails outside her home. And she had never needed—

“So she has friends, after all.”

Lia jerked her head to one side, and then to the other. It took her a moment to see him, standing alone in the darkness of the tiny alley next to the bar.

Harry was leaning on his right shoulder against the wall, his arms crossed on top of his chest and his head slightly tilted to the side.

He smirked, and Lia’s chest tightened.

“You thought I didn’t have friends?” she blurted out, her tone softer and lower than she had intended to.

Harry shrugged, and his shoulders went up and down theatrically — dragging his crossed arms along with him while his lips curved down.

Lia blinked and looked at the floor.

She was convinced Harry didn’t care about her. A fact that implied he didn’t think about her, nor make assumptions about her.

Thinking again, though, she knew that wasn’t the truth.

Because Harry made assumptions about her. For instance, he constantly assumed she went to the bar to see Rohan. He also tended to scoff and roll his eyes at her, as if she was too predictable.

He didn’t know her, but he acted as if he did.

But... What kind of person he thought she was, then? What kind of person didn’t have any friends?

Did he actually think that low of her?

She was aware of how hard it was for her to be social, to feel comfortable around people, but she had never thought she could be perceived as someone who wasn’t capable of having any friends.

Did that even make sense?

Why did his comment make her feel so… Sad about herself?

So... Lonely?

So insufficient.

So out of place.

Damn.

What was she even feeling?

Her chest ached, and her throat felt sore, but she couldn’t point out exactly what any of that meant… How would she be able to control her emotions, if she couldn’t tell what emotions she was dealing with in the first place?

“Oh c’mon…” Harry scoffed, and even though she wasn’t looking at him, Lia could hear his eyes rolling in his voice. “I was just saying. Don’t be a baby about it.”

He sounded annoyed.

Or maybe disappointed.

Or maybe bored.

Lia looked up and to the left. She focused on the bouncer sitting on the stool and took a deep breath in. Watching him scroll through his phone without a single care about their interaction.

Or maybe pretending not to have a single care about it.

Maybe he was internally laughing about the whole thing. Ready to pat Harry’s back and agree with him. Ready to admit he had no idea why Lia kept showing up over and over again.

Another deep breath in, and Lia looked at the ground, finding her own feet.

Her boots were dirty with beer. She needed to clean them up as soon as she got home. She also needed to wash her hair, because she could definitely smell cigarettes. Were people smoking inside? Was that even allowed?

“See!”

Lia jumped. And looked up again.

Harry snorted and turned to the side, leaning his back completely against the wall and shoving his hands inside of his pants’ pockets. Shaking his head, he murmured, “I knew talking to you was useless.”

Lia’s heart shrunk.

Harry looked defeated. And maybe he really was, because apparently he had finally noticed how boring it was to have an actual conversation with her.

God, he made her feel so, so small.

“You—” Lia closed her eyes. She needed to speak, or she would regret it the next morning. She batted her eyes open and took a couple of steps forward, stopping only when she was in front of him. Closing her hands into fists, she breathed in, and then breathed out. “You need to… Stop.”

“Stop?”

“Yes. Stop! Stop acting like you know a thing about me, because you don’t, okay? If you… If you don’t want to know me then… Then fine. Just don’t. But stop… Just stop being such an asshole to me.”

He took his hands out of his pockets and crossed his arms on his chest.

“Stop calling me an asshole.”

“Then stop being one!”

For a second, it seemed as if Harry’s lips twitched upwards, attempting to smile.

But then he licked his lips, and shrugged.

“How am I being an asshole? We don’t even talk.”

“Well… We… You… We clearly don’t, but…” She sighed and looked at the end of the alley, searching for a safe place to put her eyes and crossing her arms under her chest before she poured her honesty into him. “But when we do, you make sure to point out only the things I hate the most about myself, and that sucks.”

There was silence. A lot of silence. And if she hadn’t heard him sigh, or if she couldn’t see him through the corner of her eyes, she would’ve thought he had left.

Breathe in, Lia.

Breathe out.

“I know I am awkward, okay? And I know I am not fun to talk to. I know it takes me some time to answer, and I know people don’t want to be friends with me. I know all that. Trust me, I know. I know, and I hate that I am this way. But you… You have no idea how hard I try anyway. How hard I keep trying to step out of my comfort zone and just… Be different. Be better. So there’s no need to make fun of me, okay? Just let me be and I won’t bother you anymore.”

“Lia—”

“Don’t. Please. Just… I already hate myself for telling you all this. God… I—I haven’t told these things to anyone besides my therapist. And caring so much about it is another thing that I hate about myself. I know it’s stupid, I know I am old enough and shouldn’t care. I wish I didn’t but… It’s just… Anyway, I don’t need you being mean or making fun of me about it, okay? Finally talking to someone about this it’s... It was supposed to be good for me. It was supposed to… I don’t know… It was supposed to feel good and not... Not like this.”

“Listen—”

“No. Let’s just… Leave it like this, okay? Forget about it. It’s not like you ever cared about me anyway.”

There was a reason why Lia spent most of the time inside her head: it was better than facing the reality of her life.

And for the last twelve months or so, her mind had created a very nice and safe bubble for her to distract herself with. A bubble where she lived happily and unbothered. Where she didn’t embarrass herself. And where she didn’t mess things up.

Her bubble was hers and only hers, but she wasn’t alone in it. Of course she wasn’t.

Since she’d met him at the bar, and even though he had no idea about it, Harry had been there as well.

Lia liked to look at him, she liked to wonder about him, and she liked to fantasize about him. Because Harry was hot. And sexy as hell. And because although she wasn’t into the “dark and mysterious” vibe, she couldn’t deny that Harry made her insides come to live.

He really did.

In her dreams, Lia was sure he was everything she always secretly wanted but never had. Especially in bed.

He looked like the type of man who wasn’t nice, because he didn’t give a damn about being nice. He looked like the type of man who didn’t get attached, who was just after having a good time. Who would sleep with her, send her home, and roll his eyes at her the next time he saw her around.

He looked like the kind of man who could have any woman, at any time, without even having to try.

And Lia had always wondered how it would be like to have sex with someone like that, but she always knew it was a dangerous path to actually walk through. So when he brushed her off, or rolled his eyes at her, or didn’t even acknowledge she was there, she fed her fantasy up. But she wouldn’t be that into him if she didn’t know that’s all it was—a fantasy.

A fantasy that kept her company in her nice and safe bubble. That distracted her. That allowed her to stay by herself without losing her mind.

And a fantasy that ended up nowhere to be seen, because the bubble in which she had been happily living and nurturing all those dreams about him had burst right in front of her. And even though she’d been stupid in the past, there was absolutely no way she was ever going to allow herself to even think about something happening between them again. Nuh-uh.

Not at all.

Not anytime soon.

Not ever again.

Only hours had gone by, but Lia was already all over the place.

She hadn’t slept at all, too busy crying and catching up her breath.

She didn’t think it was fair that Harry had been the one who she’d opened up to, especially because it didn’t feel like opening up to someone. It felt like begging for him not to be mean at her because she was too insecure about herself. It felt like not being strong enough to just let it go. It felt like not being confident enough to act like a woman next to him. It felt weak. It felt sad. It felt awful.

Lia had never been so vulnerable to someone. Not besides Dr. Reisman, at least. So at that moment, when it finally happened — when she finally let it all out — all she had wanted and needed was a hug. And she couldn’t ask him that.

Of course she couldn’t.

So she had to go back to her place and go through all of it all by herself. All alone. Just like she didn’t want to be.

Damn. Her brain hurt from so much thinking. From all the embarrassment, all the judgment, all the regret.

She was spiraling, all over again. And because of a man, all over again.

Another man.

Again.

No. No, no, no. She couldn’t go through all that again. She really couldn’t. She needed to do something. She needed to handle the situation. She had to stop it before she ended up losing herself again.

And she was going to do it the only way she knew how—creating a new, nice, and safe bubble for herself. A bubble that could be her only world for a couple of days.

Or for as long as it took until she felt brave enough to step out of it again.

One day.

Two days.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

A week.

And another one.

“They are all delicious.” Lia crossed her arms on the counter and smiled. “But yeah, Snickers was definitely my favorite one so far.”

“Really?” Cece smiled. The wrinkles around her face doubled, and her hand shook slightly as she handed Lia the card reader. “Thank you, dear. Will you be here tomorrow?”

“Hmmm… I don’t think so.” She waited for the confirmation that the payment went through, then added, “But I’ll definitely be here on Friday.”

“Good. I’ll have a slice of your favorite ready for you then. On the house.”

Lia’s smile got wider, and she was filled by this sudden need of giving that sweet lady the biggest and warmest hug.

She couldn’t believe how long it had taken her to discover CC Tearoom, especially since it was right around the corner from her place. Cece’s hands truly turned ingredients into magic. So far, there hadn’t been a flavor that hadn’t made Lia close her eyes and hum to herself. This time, it was the Roasted Strawberries & Cream Cheesecake that had sent her over the moon, but on Monday it had been the slice of Chocolate-Peanut Butter, and the week before three other different ones.

So yeah, she should’ve been there and incorporated it into her routine a lot earlier.

Coffee and pies were so much better than mojitos, anyway.

Besides, she obviously felt way more comfortable sitting on the corner of a welcoming and homelike coffee shop than surrounded by loud and drunk people. And the way Cece and the other baristas treated her? Wow. It only highlighted how stupid she had been going to that bar, pinning over a guy that gave her nothing but coldness and rudeness all the time.

The mere thought of him brought a weird feeling to her belly, and Lia tried her best to push his presence out of her mind. She was getting better at it. Faster. Which was good, because it meant she suddenly wouldn’t even remember about him anymore, right?

She stepped into the summer night breeze and crossed her arms under her chest. Another day had practically gone by. Another Wednesday. Meaning it was almost the end of the week, and then a new one would start. And she would get to repeat everything all over again.

Wake up, go to work, go home, clean up or go out for a coffee (and a slice of cheesecake), get ready for the next day, and go to bed. From Monday to Monday. With an exception here and there — like grocery shopping and doing laundry on the weekends instead of going to work, and also going downstairs and visiting Mrs. Jones for some knitting or a few rounds of card games.

The latest activity had happened for the first time only last Saturday afternoon, but Lia was keen on the idea of making it a habit. Mrs. and Ms. Jones had been living on the second floor of her building for years. They were known by most neighbors as the couple who was always bickering, but could never stay away from each other. And despite Ms. Jones’ explicit complaints about everything and everyone, everybody seemed to like them a lot—probably because no-one took his grumpiness very seriously.

She turned around the corner and looked down at her feet. Her hair blew across her eyes, blocking her view of the black sneakers her parents had given her last Christmas. They were kind of loose on her feet, but at least she wasn’t wearing those white shoes anymore. Or any other color, for that matter. At least she’d gone back to her black neutral low-key outfits.

Taking one hand up, she pulled her hair over her shoulders, then tucked some strands behind her ear.

She focused on the way her legs carried her back to her building, tracing the well-known path her steps absently followed everyday.

There was nothing like a safe, quiet, and laid-back routine, was it?

No, there wasn’t.

It was all she needed.

All she had wanted.

To be okay.

And she had finally achieved it, hadn’t she?

“Lia!”

Out of nowhere, the voice hit her like thunder. Her body staggered for a moment, and the sound lingered inside her.

It was Harry, wasn’t it?

Calling her name?

Her heart raced, and a flush of adrenaline tingled through her body.

No. Of course not.

How could it be?

Why would it be?

“Lia, hey!”

Shit.

Another thunder, and another shock to speed up her heart. Except this time she didn’t stop moving — she walked even faster.

She was afraid to be right, she didn’t want to be right, but deep down she had no doubts. She knew it was him.

She also hoped it would be.

“Wait!”

He sounded louder, and Lia knew that when thunder got louder, it meant lighting was getting closer.

Her heart pounded inside of her chest, and a low buzz rang in her ears.

She closed her hand into a fist, tightening her fingers around her keys. Maybe she could get away with pretending she didn’t hear him. Maybe, if she just walked fast enough, she would reach the door and get inside before he called again. Maybe she could run up the front steps. There were only six of them... Or were they seven? It didn’t matter. Once she got inside her building, she would be fine.

“Lia, please! Hey!”

Just get the key and open the door, Lia. C’mon… C’mon! That’s it! Now, just get inside. Go, go, go!

With shaking hands, she pushed the front door of her building and took a step inside.

“Lia, c’mon! Just, please—Hey, stop!”

Harry’s hand banged against the door, and his heavy breathing echoed between the four walls of the tiny lobby.

Lia turned on her feet with a gasp, finding Harry with his mouth open and one arm stretched out, leaning his weight on the still open door while catching his breath.

Not fast enough, Lia. Not fast enough.

“I just—Fucking hell…” Harry breathed out, chest going up and down densely. He looked down and shook his head, then faced her again. “We need… We need to talk."

Lia crossed her arms and stepped backwards. She pulled her eyebrows together as she looked at him and took her very own version of shaky breaths.

Exact eighteen days had gone by since she’d last seen him. She knew it, because she’d been counting them — as embarrassing and ridiculous as it sounded.

She had been counting them because she was determined to make the number get higher and higher.

So, so determined. So careful, and so mindful of everything.

That’s why she walked her own street with her head down — to avoid even getting a glimpse of him walking in or out of the bar. She lived as if the place didn’t exist anymore. As if she’d never stepped in there. As if she didn’t even care about what the place could be past the door.

She hadn’t counted on the possibility of Harry running after her, though.

After all, why would he?

Why did he?

He was there, flesh and bone, in the lobby of her building. Trying to talk to her. To her.

And just like any other time before, Harry looked just… Stunning.

Absolutely and unfairly stunning.

Wearing all black, just like the last time she’d seen him. Just like when she’d snapped at him and made a fool of herself. When he’d made her realize she needed to take a step back from him.

A tingle spread on her stomach.

She swallowed down, then tightened the grip of her crossed arms.

Under the black fabric of her plain t-shirt, Harry’s body seemed thick with muscle. His arms looked too big for those short sleeves, something she’d already noticed and thought about before. Something she usually enjoyed paying attention to.

Breathe in, breathe out, Lia.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Her stomach tingled again, except this time it heated all over her body.

His strong, imposing figure had always sparked inside her a flush of craving for him. It had been the reason for so many of her not-so-innocent dreams, and the encouragement for so many of her hidden fantasies. She couldn’t recall a time in her life when she had desired a man like that, and it saddened her to think there was nothing she could do about it.

“Please?” Harry insisted, sliding his hand down through the thick wood, but still holding the door open.

Great. She had forgotten to speak. Again.

Lia blinked. And swallowed. “W–why?”

Her voice was shaking just as much as her hands had been seconds before, but she couldn’t allow herself to think too much about that. She didn’t even care, to be honest. All she wanted to know and all she cared about was why.

Why was Harry there?

Why did Harry want to talk to her?

Why couldn’t she just forget about it?

Why couldn’t she just move on?

Why couldn’t she just be different?

Why couldn’t her life be different?

Why couldn’t things be different?

Why couldn’t they be easier?

Why?

Why?!

“Because you deserve an apology.”

Lia blinked again. Once, and then a couple more times.

His words not only didn’t answer most of her questions, but also created a bunch of new ones.

What was he even doing?

Was he being serious?

Or was it all just a joke to him?

“I just—I don’t—” She drew her eyebrows closer and closer, until her forehead creased and wrinkled.

"Look,” Harry said, pausing only to take a deep breath in and pull his hair back. “I know I don’t deserve it, and I get that you don’t want to listen… But I just need a minute, that’s all. Just give me a minute and I’ll be out of your way. I promise. Please.”

Lia bit the insides of her bottom lip.

Generally speaking, Lia didn’t think she would’ve been able to say no to him, because she honestly didn’t want to say no to him. Still, any doubts that could’ve dared to cross her mind and make her second guess her decision disappeared as she looked at him—as she truly looked at him.

Because everything about Harry looked just the same as always, but somehow he looked completely different from any other time before.

Maybe it was because she’d never seen him in such a casual context—after all, they had never met or talked to each other in any circumstance that didn’t involve the bar.

Shit.

Would she even be able to hold a real conversation with him?

A sigh left her mouth, and Lia dropped her shoulders.

It wasn’t even about that, was it? That is, what felt different. It wasn’t about the context or the place. Right? It was something else… Something about the way he looked at her, perhaps… Something about the way he seemed to carry softness and worry in his stare. Two things she hadn’t seen on him before. Not aiming towards her, at least.

“Okay.” Her voice was soft, and it took her by surprise — she definitely hadn’t planned on speaking up.

And apparently it took Harry by surprise, too, because he widened his eyes and asked, “Okay?”

Lia swallowed, and nodded once.

“Really?” he insisted.

“Yes… Okay.”

“Ok,” he repeated, mimicking her previous nod. He stared inside her eyes for a moment, then glanced down to the floor. It was hard to tell what was crossing his mind as he silently shuffled on his feet, or when he took his free hand up and pulled his hair back. “Right. Yeah, ok. Let’s talk, then.”

Lia pressed her lips together and waited for him to speak up first, mostly because she couldn’t think of one single thing to say to him.

Harry, on the other hand, stood there with furrowed brows and puzzled eyes, as if he was going through his own personal battle inside his own mind.

Until, eventually, he shook his head and cleared his throat.

“Sorry.” He stepped forward, and as he walked inside, he let the door go and looked over his shoulder, watching until it fully closed behind him.

There was a pause, in which he took the time to face her again and shove his hands inside of his pockets.

And then, serious and determined, Harry spoke again. “To be completely honest, I didn’t think this through. I’ve just been thinking a lot about what happened, so I wanted to apologize to you. Because I’m really sorry for the other night. And also… Well, for everything else.”

“You don’t have to,” Lia said, and she hated how she sounded way more fragile and unsure than she wanted to. “Apologize, I mean. It’s fine.”

Harry squinted, and his forehead wrinkled.

“Of course I do. Everything you said the other night was—”

“Please.” She shook her head and looked away from him, tightening her arms around herself. “I—I don’t…”

Her mouth was incredibly dry, and there was an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach that was getting hard to ignore. It was heavy, and it hurt.

She closed her hands into fists, then dug her nails into her palms to prevent herself from getting lost inside her mind. She focused on the mailboxes on the wall to her left, looking for her name that had been printed and attached under the number of her apartment so many months ago.

“I don’t want to talk about what I said. Like, I really don’t wanna talk about it.”

Harry sighed.

“Lia…”

“It’s fine, okay? Let’s just forget about everything.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

The front door opened, and Lia turned her head to the new movement.

“I said I don’t care,” Mr. Jones’ said, his unmistakable voice reaching her ears before she could even see him. He walked in with a frown, but stopped to hold the door open for his wife. “Told you I don’t like the boy.”

Harry looked at his feet and took a step to the side, getting away from the entrance.

“You never like them, Walter,” Mrs. Jones replied with her sweet and shaky voice, walking slowly right behind him. “You’re being worse than—Oh.”

As soon as the woman met Lia’s eyes, she curled her lips into a sweet, wrinkled and excited smile.

“Good night, sweetheart! Didn’t see you there!”

“How?” the man muttered, closing the door while his wife walked a few more tiny steps forward. “They’re standing right in the way!”

Mrs. Jones kept smiling and rolled her eyes, waving her quivering hand in the air.

“Forgive my husband. He finds pleasure in being rude. And grumpy."

Lia forced a polite chuckle out of her mouth, aware that the few hours she’d spent with them over the weekend had been enough to reveal how behind the grumpiness there was a very funny and very caring man.

“‘M just telling the truth,” Mr. Jones muttered again. “Are they or are they not in the way?”

“Of course they aren’t, Walter.” Mrs. Jones dragged her feet through the lobby, right towards Lia and Harry’s direction. “There’s more than enough space for all of us to stand here.”

“But I don’t want to stand here, Mora. I want to go upstairs.”

“You can go ahead if you want. I still need to check the mail.”

Lia stepped backwards, giving the elder lady more room to cross between them and get to the mailboxes.

Mr. Jones grunted at the same time Harry sighed, and Lia pressed her lips together to hold herself back from laughing—or even smiling.

“I finished the scarf we started the other day,” Mrs. Jones said. “You should drop by for some coffee and see the result.”

Lia nodded. “Of course. This weekend, maybe?”

“Sounds good, dear. Do you like apple pie?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll make some, then.”

Mrs. Jones was sweet, she truly was. But as much as Lia didn’t want to admit, they were the worst neighbors that could’ve shown up at the lobby and interrupted them. Because she knew how unhurriedly they lived their lives, and she knew how long it could take them to finally go upstairs.

Besides, she didn’t think they were even aware they had interrupted something, so she also didn’t think they were aware that their presence was holding a conversation back.

Mrs. Jones hummed to herself while finally going through the same mailbox she opened everyday, and Harry cleared his throat.

When Lia looked at him, she found his eyes already watching her. He stood with his hands still inside of his pockets, but the previous softness on his face had been replaced by a clenched jaw and lips pressed together into a line.

“I think I should go back,” he said.

“Oh. O-okay.”

“Yeah. This isn’t—”

“Walter, look!” Mrs. Jones blurted out. “We got another grocery coupon!”

Harry shut his mouth, rolled his eyes, and looked up at the ceiling.

“Those sales are garbage,” Mr. Jones mumbled, standing near the stairs.

“Of course they aren’t,” the woman scoffed. “We get some very nice meals out of them.”

She opened the magazine, eying the content on the first two pages.

“Let’s see what we find today,” she added. “Maybe they’ve got some apples. For my apple pie.”

“Ugh. I wanna go upstairs, Mora…”

Harry rolled his shoulders and faced Lia again, instantly locking his green eyes with hers.

He looked frustrated, or maybe annoyed, and somehow she understood the feeling. Because she was frustrated, too—she didn’t want Harry to leave yet, and she more than definitely didn’t want to miss the opportunity to spend a few more minutes with him, or to listen to what else he could have to say.

So whilst he had been interrupted, she had been denied the opportunity to be around him. And all she could think about was how much she wanted for him to stay around. How much she wanted to keep listening to him, and how much she wanted for him to keep talking to her.

Lia’s fingers twitched, and her heartbeat sped up.

She loosened up the grip of her fists, opening and closing her hands a few times. Then, still stuck inside of his green eyes, she took a deep breath in through her nose, licked her lips and voiced quietly, “We can… I mean… Do you want to go upstairs? We can talk there… Y’know, if you want to.”

Harry widened his eyes.

“You sure?”

“Y-yeah. But it’s fine if you have to go. I just… I mean…”

“Upstairs sounds great.” He nodded. “Thank you.”

Lia nodded, too.

She didn’t give herself time to think about what her words could imply.

She couldn’t allow herself to think about what Harry being inside her apartment would mean, because if she did, she would send him away.

And after everything she’d been through, there was absolutely no way Lia would ever forgive herself if she just sent him away.

— — — — —

The walk upstairs was awfully silent, but Lia didn’t know what she could say to him. She wasn’t good at small talk, and she didn’t want to be the one to bring up their previous conversation. So she distracted herself by fidgeting with her keys, cursing when she dropped them, and blushing when Harry picked them up for her.

“Shit.”

“Here.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Those were the only words they spoke, then everything went silent again.

Breathless and with a pounding heart, Lia couldn’t tell if it was from walking too many flights of stairs or from the fact that she was about to take Harry inside of her apartment.

The moment she didn’t give herself to think before inviting him, hit her between the first and second floor, and it was only downhill from then on.

What was wrong with her?

What was she even thinking?!

Well, actually she wasn’t thinking. Of course. That had been the whole point, right? She didn’t think, because if she did, she wouldn’t have invited him. She knew she wouldn’t. Of course she wouldn’t! Because she shouldn’t have!

How could she be so freaking stupid?

It’s just… She didn’t even know him! And in the few and short interactions they’d shared in the past several months, he had been nothing but rude and unfairly mean to her.

So, yeah, that was such, such a terrible idea!

She’d just spent days—weeks—deeply regretting sharing her insecurities with him. Pondering about how it was time to finally move on and forget about that crush. And yet there she was again: about to let Harry burst another one of her tiny bubbles. About to open up the front door of her tiny apartment and let him in; then turn on the lights and allow him to see the insides of her safest and most personal space.

So, so stupid!

Lia reached the landing before the last set of steps and exhaled slowly, letting the air out of her mouth as if she could also release all the tension out of her body.

They were almost there.

It was getting real. It was about to happen.

And she’d have to deal with the situation.

There was no going back anymore.

Or, well…

Maybe there was, but…

Did she really want to go back?

No. Of course she didn’t.

She lifted her arm and pointed her keys ahead, aiming at the second door.

“We’re—” Her voice faltered, and heat spread through her cheeks. “Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “We’re here.”

She walked forward, then focused on putting the key in the lock without trembling. Once she succeeded, she pushed the door open and stepped inside, then reached for the switch and turned the light on.

“Sorry for the mess,” she said, hanging her keys on the wall.

Lia wasn’t a messy person, but she hadn’t bothered with cleaning up her apartment in the last two days.

In her defense, though, she wasn’t expecting any guests. Wednesday or not, people never showed up at her place out of nowhere. She didn’t invite anyone she didn’t feel comfortable with, and those who visited knew her well enough to always give her a heads up.

Two things Harry hadn’t done.

He seemed an exception to absolutely everything in her life so far.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said. He kept his distance, but still stood close enough for her to feel his presence behind her. “You should see my place.”

There was a playful scoff at the end of his sentence, and Lia knew he was only being polite by insinuating how messier his own place was, but still, the prospect of visiting Harry’s home made her insides twinkle.

She had absolutely no idea where he lived, or who he lived with—was it a house? An apartment? Did he live with his family? Did he have any roommates? Did he live by himself? Did he have any pets?

Did he have a girlfriend?

Harry had never given Lia the chance for her to ask anything about his life. He had never given her the chance to get to know him.

If he had, Lia liked to believe she would’ve been brave enough to ask him everything she always wanted to know about him—about his family, his hobbies, his childhood, and even about his dreams.

He had an accent, so was she correct by assuming he was British? Was his family from there, too? Why did he leave the UK? Did he have any siblings, or was he an only child? Did he see them often? If not, did he miss them?

“It’s really nice here,” Harry said.

“Um… Yeah.” Lia shrugged. “It’s a good place to live, I guess.”

Up on the fourth floor, her rented apartment wasn’t big, nor fancy. To be honest, she’d always found everything about the place normal and simple, which felt more than enough for her. The space was limited, but it had never felt cramped. A living room and an open-concept kitchen, with only a counter setting the limits between them, and then a tiny hallway that led to the bedroom and the bathroom.

And that was it. That was all she had to offer.

“You should… I mean,” Lia said, walking further into the living room. “Make yourself comfortable, and all that…”

She walked past the coffee table and the messy remains of her laziness from the night before. After the dark gray counter, she rubbed both hands against her jeans, then turned another light on. Just at the same time, the front door clicked, and she jumped around.

Harry stood awkwardly by the dark wood, his hands hidden inside of his pockets, just like before.

“Sorry.” She leaned her side against the end of the counter. “I’m not… I’m not used to having people over, so… I’m not good at this.”

Harry shrugged, curling his lips up just slightly. “I think you’re doing great.”

Lia snorted and looked down at her feet, then crossed her arms under her chest. “Sure.”

“Look, about the—”

“Who’s at the bar?” She blurted out. “Shouldn’t you be there?”

“Uh, yeah… I should, but Sagey is there. She’s covering for me.”

Lia nodded.

“Right.”

Sagey.

The way the nickname for his coworker rolled so easily out of his tongue made her want to crawl into his arms. It screamed affection, and trust, and for a moment she envied the fact that someone could so easily be part of his life.

She closed her eyes for a second, then looked over her shoulder and back to the kitchen.

“Do you want some coffee?”

“No, thanks. Actually—”

“Tea?”

“I—”

“You’re British, right?” She faced him again. “Do you really drink tea or is that just a myth?”

Harry tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips, watching her. And then, after a moment, he just dropped his head down and chuckled.

The joyful, beautiful, and yet discreet sound that came out of his mouth was unexpected, and it once again made Lia’s heartbeat get faster and louder.

“I am British, yeah,” Harry finally said, then looked up at her. The remains of a smile still dancing through his lips. “But I’m good, thank you.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Maybe some other time, though?”

The chances of her and Harry ever meeting at her apartment again didn’t seem likely, let alone for them to have a coffee or tea together. But she wouldn’t tell him that.

Instead, she nodded, and looked down at her feet. “Sure. Another time.”

“Good. Now, do you have any other questions, drinks to offer, or…”

Lia widened her eyes and darted her sight back to him.

She had been rambling a lot, hadn’t she? Not letting him talk and interrupting with awkward and stupid questions and… Shit.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, shaking her head and straightening up her body. That had been so rude of her! “Really, I… I didn’t mean to keep interrupting you. Sorry.”

“C’mon, it’s fine,” Harry said, taking a step forward and closer to the couch. “I’m just teasing you.”

“It’s just... I’m—I’m nervous, I think? I mean, usually when I’m nervous I just shut up? So I don’t… I don’t really know why I can’t stop talking right now, but... Maybe... I don’t know. I guess… I guess this is a different kind of ’nervous’? I mean… I don’t… Yeah. I—I don’t know. Sorry. Shit. I’ll just shut up now. Sorry.”

She chuckled, but quickly regretted it, letting the sound fade in the silent air around them. It felt awkward, as if she was forcing the fun out of her body. And maybe she truly was, because she didn’t feel like laughing—she just thought it would be polite to do so. That it would be better if she looked happy, instead of insecure. Or nervous. Or sad.

“Lia, I don’t…” Harry looked down, took a deep breath in, and shook his head. When he met her eyes again, his tone—along with his actions—was clearly softer, careful. Almost afraid. “Look, I’m the only one who should be apologizing here. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? And I am sorry Lia, I really am. Those things you said the other night were—"

“It’s okay.” Lia shook her head and stepped towards the couch. “Like I said, I really don’t want to talk about any of the things I said.”

She grabbed the blanket she’d left there the night before, wrapping it as best as she could and holding it onto her chest.

“But I—”

“Those were very personal things for me to share okay? And I just— Please… I mean… I can’t—I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Ok. Yes. Of course. I shouldn’t… I don’t want to force you to talk about it. I just need to make sure you know how sorry I am for making you feel that way. Because I really am.”

Shit.

She turned around, dropping the cozy and warm fabric on the armchair.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, c’mon. I was out of line and shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

Lia sighed.

What did he want her to say?

Yes, he’d hurt her, but she was trying to move on. So relieving the whole situation wouldn’t help her.

Besides, it wasn’t Harry’s fault if she didn’t know how to talk or interact with people.

“Lia…” he called.

She dropped her arms to her sides, then turned to face him once again.

She really didn’t want to talk about it.

“Can you please let it go? It’s just… I shouldn’t have said anything. And I’m really embarrassed about the whole thing.”

He hid his hands inside his pockets and shrugged.

“I’m embarrassed, too. Acted like a proper… What was it? Oh right, like an asshole.”

Lia’s mouth curled up into a smile, and she bit her bottom lip to hold it back.

Despite the embarrassment, a part of her felt proud of herself for calling him out that night. Both nights. Standing up to people was really hard for her. She almost never cursed out loud, nor disrespected people in any way, so calling Harry an asshole—more than once—had felt like crossing a bridge.

Still, it didn’t mean she thought it was a nice thing to do. Or that he couldn’t have found it offensive.

“Sorry… For calling you an asshole.”

Harry curled one side of his mouth up. “I totally deserved it.”

There was a playful tone in his voice, but the way he was suddenly looking at her made it impossible for Lia to react.

Dark green irises fixed on her, they drifted all over her face.

Even standing on opposite sides of the living room, Harry focused on her in a way he hadn’t focused before. Giving her all of his attention. As if he was studying her every detail. Or as if he had never seen her before. Or as if he was mapping every left and right to remember a path he’d trail later in time.

To be honest, it would be difficult for Lia to explain, but something about his stare made her stomach flutter. It caused a flush of shyness to spread from her shoulders to her neck, and all over her face.

At the same time, though, his gaze comforted her. It made her feel like he was trying his best to be gentle to her. It made her feel like he was being honest with her. Like he somehow cared for her.

“Shit,” Harry murmured, breaking the moment and looking down to his pants. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, staring at the screen as it flashed between his fingers. “It’s Sagey.”

Oh.

He sighed, yet didn’t make any effort to act on it.

“I should go back.”

Lia cleared her throat, then crossed her arms under her chest.

“Right. Of course.”

“I wouldn’t, but…”

“You have to work.”

“Yeah.”

Time froze as they silently looked at each other.

It felt exciting, even though at moments it took everything inside her not to run away from the intensity of his gaze.

“Sagey is still getting used to everything,” he suddenly added. “And I know she can handle it, but I don’t wanna leave her by herself for too long. Can be kind of hectic sometimes.”

Lia shrugged, pulling her lips into the most genuine smile she could find inside her. “You don’t need to explain yourself.”

“I know, yeah. I just…”

Harry looked down, and Lia tilted her head to the side.

What, Harry?

You just... What?!

He sighed.

“You believe I’m sorry, right?”

Lia didn’t have to force a smile after his words—it came out naturally as she nodded.

“I do, yes.”

“Ok. Good.” He looked over his shoulder, towards the door. “I’ll get going, then.”

“Right. Let me open the door for you.” Lia walked around the coffee table, as fast and as far away from him as she could.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t mind the fact that she wasn’t going to walk him downstairs—she didn’t think she would be able to handle any more awkward conversations with him.

Harry followed her lead, taking a few steps closer to the door before he cleared his throat.

“You should come by tonight… If you’re free, of course.”

As she opened the door, Lia furrowed her brows. She stepped aside, then faced him again.

Harry chuckled, shrugging lightly and walking outside.

“To the bar, I mean. Feel like I owe you a drink.”

Oh…

Lia rested her temple against the frame, half-smiling at him. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Yeah, I do. For being rude to you.”

“Harry, stop. I—”

“Look,” he said, raising both hands in the air and showing his palms to her, “all I’m offering you is a free drink. That’s all, ok? No pressure.”

There was no way she was going to walk into the bar that night, or any other any time soon. But he didn’t need to know that, so Lia bit back a smile, and nodded.

“Okay. Sure. Thank you, then.”

“Ok.” Harry smiled. “Great. Then… I guess I’ll… Well…”

“Yes?”

“Bye, Lia.”

“Bye, Harry.”

“Have a good night.”

Lia chuckled. “Thanks. You too.”

“See you soon.”

“See you.”

“Bye.”

“Goodbye, Harry.”

“Actually…”

He ran back up, and Lia laughed.

“Oh my God.”

“Sorry.” He smiled. “I was just wondering, and you can say no if you want, of course, but… Would it be okay for me to ask your phone number?”

(TWO)

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles au #harry styles writing #wish i had something to say but i dont #my only hope is that at least some of those who started reading the story back in 2022 and wanted to see the ending are still around #bc i'll get there now #if they're not... then i'll be posting it for myself <3

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ireneispunk · 5 months ago

Text

Just a Taste

Moder AU Aemond Targaryen x female coworker reader smut (requested)

request: 'Hi Irene! Can I request a lovely smutty modern aemond x reader where they're friends but not quite. Reader thinks aemond is annoying and aemond thinks reader is cute so he teases her a lot. They're at a work party and Aemond gets annoyed when others tease and flirt with her so he drags reader off to another room and marks her as his. Thank you thank you!'

w.c: 3278

c.w: SMUT 18+, frustration to lovers (??), oral f receiving, unprotected p in v sex, aemond and reader work together in modern au, me not knowing how grown up office jobs work :)

a.n: thank you so much for the request! sorry it too me so long but i hope you love it!

i'm starting an aemond and jacaerys perma taglist cus of my inconsistent positng teehee, let me know if / which you wish to be on!

You groaned taking a look at the time on your monitor, it was somehow only halfway through the day. You typed away endlessly, watching as the minute ticked to 1pm. You exhaled, before making your way to the break room, greeting the few other members of staff in there. You heard the shuffling as some people made their way in or out, clicking on the kettle for your tea. You felt a presence behind you, and you already knew who it was before looking. “What do you want Aemond? Just to admire the view?” You spoke, throwing a teabag in your mug. He scoffed lightly, stepping to the side of you and leaning his palm against the counter.

“I came to offer my condolences,” you turned your head to face him and raised your eyebrows. His light hair tied back in its signature bun, shirt sleeves half rolled up. “I heard Robberts accepted my proposal over yours.” He spoke so smugly, begging for a reaction out of you. You turned to the fridge, pulling out the milk and rolling your eyes once he couldn’t see you.

“Yeah, I did hear about that unfortunate slip in his judgement.” Your fingers tapped upon the countertop, waiting for the hot water. “Though I do recall it was my last four? Was it? That beat out yours.” A small chuckle left his lips as his arms folded across his front.

“I do love when you bare your teeth and indulge me.” He said lowly only addressing you.

You puffed out a sigh, turning to put the milk away. “If you spent half as much time on your research as you did being insufferable maybe you’d have a better shot.”

“You wound me.” He dramatically placed his hand over his heart.

“Mmm, that’s the idea.” You spoke almost absent mindedly, opening the cupbpard above you to find the sugar jar empty. You let out a frustrated groan, tilted your head back and closing your eyes.

“Are these something you’d want?” You turned to face Aemond, his large hands holding out small sugar packets. Your eyes went wide, noticing it was the good brand too.

“Where did you get those!” You exclaimed, a smile reaching your lips.

“Linda’s desk.” He replied, smirk across his face. Yours dropped slightly. Linda.

“Linda from accounting?” You groaned remembering the time you used the unassigned parking spot she claimed was hers. “I think she might actually spill blood if she notices them gone.” He laughed and as you reached for the packets he pulled his hand back, you furrowed your brows and looked up at him before trying to grab them from him again. He lifted them up above his head, the movement untucked the front of his shirt slightly. You couldn’t even fight the immediate urge to look at the exposed skin, his toned stomach and light happy trail brought a warmth to your face. You tore your eyes away returning them to Aemond’s, he eyed you with a small smirk playing at his lips.

“Give me the sugar Aemond.” You tried to speak in a stern manner but found it hard to considering the heat across your cheeks. He tilted his head to the side slightly, looking expectantly. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms leaving your palm open. “Please?” You questioned. He smiled widely place the packets in your palm, his fingers grazing over yours ever so slightly. He made his way out of the breakroom as you tried to simmer your racing heart. You watched as he paused for a moment, turning back around to you and resting his palm upon the door frame.

“See you Saturday.” He said with a smirk. You shot him a puzzled look, before realisation washed over you.

You grimaced lightly, “Wouldn’t miss it.” You said flatly. He poked his tongue into his cheek in amusement before disappearing off behind the wall.

You cursed under your breath as you made it back to your desk. A hand slamming down on your desk made you jump and look up. Your office friend stood above you looking expectantly. “A little birdy told me you haven’t made some boring excuse to miss the party tomorrow!” Her excitement reverberated through your cubicle. You shot her a ‘keep it down’ glare as she threw her hands up and squatted next to where you sat.

“I forgot to orchestrate a family emergency, but there’s still time break a bone.” You took a sip of your drink. She huffed, pushing your arm lightly.

“The financial year ends on the same day every year… I think you just wanted the excuse to see Aemond again.” She giggled watching your eyes go wide.

“Absolutely not! He is the bane of my existence, I’m pretty sure he is punishment for whatever I did in a past life.” You couldn’t lie to yourself though, ever since Aemond joined your firm it had made things more entertaining at some points, if not a whole lot more frustrating too.

She raised her brows, peering over the top of your desk slightly to ensure the coast was clear. “The punishment could be a little less delicious don’t you think?” You scoffed, trying to become absorbed in your work. She rose to her feet and was a few feet away from your desk before turning back to exclaim, “Ooh! Wear something sexy!”, Your jaw hung open, but no words fell out. Your colleague beside you raised a brow at you as you face flushed.

It felt as if hours had passed as you sat upon your bedroom floor upon a mess of clothes. You watched as the clock ticked, you were technically already running late to the “it’s not mandatory but we’d love each and every one of you to show up and celebrate with us!” party. Your head looked between two dresses laid out in front of you, one black and the other in your favourite colour. The black was the obligatory ‘there but unused funeral dress’ you had, the other verged on being the perfect dress. You put it on one last time and looked in the mirror, it was tighter than what you were used to, short but not so short you had to worry, and the colour complimented your complexion perfectly. You felt beautiful in this dress and glanced back at the black one once more deciding whether to play it safe. You phone chimed upon your bed, and you opened the message from your friend.

It was a mirror selfie in the bathroom with a drink in hand. ‘Don’t pussy out.’ The message read. You rolled your eyes before another message chimed through, ‘ps. bar has free drinks’. You laughed lightly before sliding your heels on and grabbing your jacket. You replied back with a short ‘on the way’ before climbing into your taxi.

You arrived at your office building, the height seeming daunting all of a sudden. You passed a few faces you knew, smoking besides the entrance, and exchanged a few hellos. Your shoes clicked across the marble floors as you made your way to the lift. A nervousness bubbled within you as it went past the floor you worked on up to one of the top floors that served as a function room. The doors opened and to your relief, revealed a bustling party. You stepped out paused at the top of the small set of stairs that led down to the main floor and eyed the room. You vaguely remembered the layout from your first week and tour of the building, but you had never seen it in action, and you couldn’t deny it looked good. The one empty bar was replaced with two mixologists pouring various liquids, the lights were dimmed, with lamps and string lights casting a warm glow upon the room. The music was loud enough to engulf the room but did not deafen you. You fiddled with your sleeve for a moment, scanning the room for your friend, before pulling your jacket from your shoulders and leaving it with the others. Your fingers grazed against the cool metal banister as you stepped down the stairs. Your heart pounded in your chest, feeling it click with every step of your heel. Maybe it was your late arrival, your dressed up look, the lull in music as it changed tracks, or a combination of the three but you caught the attention of a few pairs of eyes on the floor beneath you. Your eyes looked towards the floor before a loud voice calling out to you made you jump. You looked up to see your friend with a wide grin across her face waving out to you, her exclamation had attracted the attention of a few of your coworkers as they glanced between the two of you. You quickly stepped down the rest of the stairs to meet her and shushed her, linking your arms. You both made your way over to the seating at the bar as she rambled incessantly about all the unmissable things you had missed.

You pushed yourself up onto the barstool and smiled at the bartender as your drink of choice was slid towards you. You watched as your friend laughed through her stories before quickly exclaiming she needed to use the restroom again. You smiled to yourself, you were glad she was here or else you’d find it harder to be comfortable. Just as quickly as she left, another presence joined you. You looked up, seeing Aemond leaning with his back against the bar. His eyes shamelessly scanned your body, appreciating the parts he had never seen before, and admiring how your dress fit you. His eyes met yours, his signature smirk plastered across his lips. “Can I buy you a drink?” he questioned.

“It’s an open bar?” You retorted; brows furrowed.

“Then I can buy you two.” You laughed at his ridiculousness but nodded your head. Aemond smiled to himself, he earnt a genuine laugh from you, and it was the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. You took a moment to take in his appearance, a dark shirt covering his chest with the top button undone, his long silver hair cascading over his shoulders instead of thrown into a bun. A faint blush painted your cheeks as he caught your eyes on him, yet he did not taunt you as he usually would. The conversation flowed between you, about work, shows, both of your overly competitive sides showing at times. Your head threw back in laughter at one of his remarks, your hand gripping his forearm as you laughed. As soon as you noticed you removed it and placed it back around your drink. Aemond watched you intently. You never wanted to give anything away, never reveal that you wanted him too, yet your body betrayed you.

Your time was interrupted as one of your colleagues joined you on your other side. He addressed you directly, then nodded his head towards Aemond who merely rose a brow. “Hi Alex.” Your response was blunt, this was the first time he’d spoken to you in months. Unlike Aemond, you felt disgusting under his gaze, his eyes never met yours, opting to settle on your breasts even as you spoke.

“Is there something you need?” Aemond spoke, a hint of annoyance in his voice. You looked towards him, fingers digging into the edge of the bar.

“Oh, yeah. Big boss wants you. Something about the appraisal on your report.” Alex grinned, he seemed happy to watch Aemond curse under his breath and walk across the room towards your boss. You smiled flatly taking a large sip of your drink. He continued to talk at you, not realising your disinterest from your ‘oh really’, ‘wow’, and ‘cool’ roster of responses. It felt as if hours passed but in reality, it had only been a few minutes. Never so badly had you wanted Aemond glued to your hip.

Aemond stood talking to his boss, trying to hurry the conversation along so he could return to your side. Every time he looked back to the bar, anger bubbled from within him. “So by next Monday?” Snapped him from burning holes into your back.

“Yes, Monday.” He answered immediately catching a few people off guard. His boss thanked him and Aemond shook a few hands before making his way back to you. His fists clenched beside him as he weaved through the huddles of people. He knew you didn’t care for Alex. He listened to your laugh; he knew it was your fake laugh because he had made you laugh properly all evening.

You jumped slightly at the sudden feeling of a hand upon your shoulder. You looked up to see Aemond with a look on his face you had never seen before, pure anger. His fingers burned into your flesh. “I need to borrow you for a moment.” He didn’t allow you to respond before he had pulled you by your hand from the bar stool and back towards the stairs. You struggled to keep up with his long strides in your heels as you called his name. He pushed open a door to a room you had never been in before to reveal a dark desolate meeting room. He swiftly shut the door and clicked the lock on it, turning to face you.

“Aemond what-“ He cut you off with a kiss, his hands reaching the sides of your face. As you registered what was happening your pressed both hands against his chest and pushed him away. You watched his face, your chest rising and falling at a quick pace. You felt hunger take over your body and stepped back towards him. “Kiss me again.” You whispered. Moments as the words left your lips his hand returned to your cheek and his lips brushed yours before kissing you deeply. His lips fit against yours in a perfectly satisfying way. His body pressed against yours, pushing you until the backs of your thighs hit the cool table. He pulled his lips from yours as they found your neck, tongue running across the softness beneath your ear. You let out a gasp as his teeth grazed across your throat, biting slightly and kissing every mark he left.

“Sit for me.” He spoke between kisses. Aemond’s tone spread a heat in your lower stomach. The sound of champagne popping snapped you out of your haze, eyes shooting towards the door.

“But what if someone knows.” You whispered. You bit your lip, as Aemond’s fingers brushed the hem of your dress and against your thighs.

His lips left your neck as he looked you in the eye. With nothing but the moonlight glowing up the room, he looked angelic, with a devilish smirk upon his lips. “The music is loud enough. Sit.”

You nodded, sitting upon the table, the cool lacquered wood hitting your thighs. He placed one more kiss upon your lips before sinking to his knees in front of you. He pushed your knees apart, settling between your thighs. Chills ran over your body as he peppered kissed from your knee to your upper thigh. You watched him, nervous look on your face. His hand reached your lower stomach and pushed against it slightly, “Lay down, you’ll enjoy it more.” He mumbled against your thigh. You swallowed, laying back against the table and trying to ignore the thudding in your chest. His fingers hiked the edge of your dress around your hips, a small groan escaping his lips at the sight of your clothed pussy. He placed kisses at your inner thighs before placing an open-mouthed kiss over your clit. You felt a jolt travel through your body as he slid your panties to the side. He hummed, his middle fingers grazed upon your pussy before delving inside, slowly bottoming out within you over and over. A gasp escaped your lips as you felt Aemond’s tongue latch upon your clit, circling it softly. You propped yourself up on your elbow, you free hand making its way into Aemond’s silver hair. Your fingers gripped the strands, pulling him closer to you. His tongue responded by picking up the pace as he angled his fingers upwards, grazing that sweet spot inside of you. Your stomach tightened as Aemond raced you towards your peak. You looked down between your legs to meet his gaze already watching you, causing your orgasm to wash over you. It took all of your strength to not clamp your thighs shut, letting him coax a final few moans from your lips.

You watched as he rose to his feet, towering over your body splayed out upon the table. You sat up, hand snaking around his neck to pull him back into a kiss, much hungrier than before. Your hands ran down his chest, the softness of his shirt hiding the strength of his chest. Your fingertips untucked the shirt from his trousers before you felt Aemond’s hand across your cheek, his thumb resting upon your chin. Pulling back from the kiss, you watched as he undid the buckle on his belt, pulling it from his waist in a way that made your cheeks flare. It clanked to the ground, as he pulled his trousers down enough to expose his cock, your jaw going slack at the sight of it. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His lips found yours as he lined himself up with your pussy. You jolted slightly as he inserted himself, a loud moan leaving your lips as he filled you up. His thrusts started slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size before you brought your legs up and wrapped them around his waist. His forehead rested against yours, as he hissed slightly at the new angle. Aemond’s pace quickened as your relaxed into his arms, moans leaving your lips that delicately grazed against his.

Your nails dug into the top of his back, eyes screwing shut as a flurry of praises escaped your lips. Aemond groaned, pulling you impossibly close, your breasts pressing against his chest and his head finding the crook of your neck to torment again. You dropped your head to the other side, allowing him to explore your neck as he fucked you. As another orgasm approached you, your fingers found his hair once again, pulling lightly as pleasure took over your body. Your legs crossed behind him as his thrusts repeatedly edged you closer. A final scream of his name and your pussy tightening in pleasure caused him to curse and bury his hips deep into you, filling you with his seed. His breathing was raggedy as his head rested upon your shoulder, lazily kissing it.

You adjusted your dress, eyeing your dishevelled reflection in the reflection of the window. A familiar pair of hands met your waist, sliding around to your front. You sighed as his chin rested upon your shoulder, turning your head to face him. You admired the way the moon illuminated his light hair, the faded scar that ran down his cheek framing his beauty. “I can’t think of anything worse than going back out to that party.” You hummed, placing your hands over his.

Aemond laughed lightly, turning you to face him and weaving his fingers between yours. “What if we didn’t?” He questioned, his usual smirk finding its way back to his face. You hummed inquisitively. “There’s no party at my place.” He shrugged lightly. You thought for a moment, before grinning and pulling him by his arm, a genuine smile of adoration planted firmly upon his face as you did.

694 notes · View notes

cherigu · 1 year ago

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— ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ All Mine!

Paring: dom!jk x sub!reader Genre: smut, ex2l Word Count: 4.7k Warnings: f*ngering, orgsm denial, praise, finger scking, unprtected pnetrative s*x, very jealous jk

The hardships of adulting have yet to receive their justice, as people only ever tend to talk about the good parts. Everyone deals with it differently, whether by coping healthily or downright ignoring it. Maybe that’s why no one ever talks about how hard it is, they’re too busy coping to warn you.

Your friend group was an exception of some sort, choosing to land right in the middle of the two options. Their idea of unwinding was a night out with a side of drinks.

You knew that joining them wouldn’t be the best option for your well-being. He always knew how to get on your last nerve without even speaking to you.

The shit-eating grin he’d throw you across the club because he knew you were eyeing him down. It’s not like you had much control over what caught your attention.

That stupid Calvin Klein shirt, you had once loved so much, the brand also peeking out from his baggy jeans on the waistband of his boxers. Sleeves folded upward to expose more of his tattoos, dark ink contrasting with the dark fabric of his clothes.

And finally, the curly locks of fluffy brown hair that fell atop his face, slightly covering those big, bright doe eyes that would darken in jealousy as the night went on.

“y/n, baby, you’re here” Jennie called out as you made your way to the full table, watching her stand up to greet you with a quick hug. You waved to everyone, saying a quick greeting before Jennie stopped you from going towards the seats.

“Not too quick, give us a spin” She held your hand and turned you, whistling as you gave her a 360 of your look.

“So beautiful, it’ll be a shame if no one takes you to their place tonight.” she winked, making you giggle at her compliment. You didn’t dress up for anyone, in particular, tonight but rather took the opportunity of a night out to put the club dresses to use.

The skimpy black dress did a poor job of covering anything up, from the low v-neck that showed off more than enough cleavage, to the backless cut that exposed the small of your waist from behind.

Your plump ass was threatening to spill from the glittery material, thick thighs out on full display for everyone. You’d for sure steal hearts tonight, and maybe a one-night stand if you had just enough liquid courage.

“The only person I’d let take me home is you, Jen” You teased back cheekily, finally following her to the sofa seats circling the table. “Don’t play, ‘cause you know I’ll do it” She half-seriously warned, dropping back onto her seat and picking up a shot from the table.

You scanned the seats around the table for a vacant spot, not only landing your gaze on Jeongguk’s scrutinizing stare but also on the only two empty seats.

One is next to Jeongguk, and the other is next to Hyunjin. To protect your peace tonight you’d choose the latter, although you knew there was no way to guarantee that as long as Jeongguk was present.

But you were petty after all, and you loved to push his buttons just as much as he loved to push yours. Hyunjin was an attractive dude, not as hot as Jeongguk, but he’d do it for the night, especially being in the same friend group.

Looking past his great looks, he was annoying and too far up his ass for your own good. Absolutely not your type of man, but definitely someone that would grind Jeongguk’s gears.

The two of you had a long streak of being on and off, currently broken up after a stupid argument you quite frankly don’t remember how it started. At least you knew it ended in you storming out of his apartment and swearing you’d never speak to him again.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ୨୧ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

“You always fucking do this Jeongguk” You raised your voice, walking out of his bedroom into the kitchen for some space. You might as well have stayed in the room, though, as he followed right behind you anyway.

“And you don’t? The only reason you don’t realize it is because I never bitch and whine about it, unlike you” He stared at your frame as you quickly turned around, walking towards him with your finger pointed in his direction.

“Because there is nothing to bitch and whine about, anything I do will never be nearly half as bad as the shit you always pull on me” Shoving your finger in his chest, you hear him scoff.

“Why don’t you leave then? If you think I’m such a horrible person why don’t you get your shit and get out of here, huh?"

“Y’know what, I will!”

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ୨୧ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

And with that, you turned towards the living room. Anger flooding the room and making its way inside your system, turning every moment after that into a blur. From the rapidness in which you snagged your keys off the keyholder, to the loud bang of the door as you slammed it shut.

You don’t even remember how you got to Jennie’s house after that, all you know is that she nervously stood outside the guest room in confusion at the lack of sobs coming from your side.

She would’ve expected to hear a few cries, especially after how angrily she had heard you tell her he was dead to you. But this had become a normal experience, not even worth the tear-shed at this point.

So here you were now, only 2 shots into the night and already flirty for a reason. Your sweet giggles at Hyunjin’s compliments had him pulling you close enough to have you practically sitting on his lap. Normally, you’d be rolling your eyes and walking away at this point, but you had an unofficial mission.

You took advantage of the situation and increased the skin-ship between the two of you. A delicate hand grazing over the undone buttons of his exposed chest and your body leaning towards his own just enough to be in his embrace.

Given the woozy state of the two of you, both had grown bold throughout the night. “You’re so sweet” You fake-smiled at him as his hand trailed further up your thigh, resting right where your dress ended to rub his thumb along your soft skin.

“It’s true, you look gorgeous tonight. Bet it was all for me, hm?” He asked with the familiar cockiness in his tone.

You responded with a coy smile, slowly inching towards his ear, “That's for you to decide, are you worthy of it?” you whispered, dropping a daring kiss to the side of his neck.

You felt his hand drop to the side of your thigh and travel upwards, landing right on the swell of your ass before giving it a tight squeeze. “Let me prove it to you.”

If you weren’t so caught up in your act, you would’ve noticed the flare in Jeongguk’s nostrils as he downed another shot. He didn’t care that the two of you weren’t technically together, you were only his to have.

He’d be damned if another man did so much as look at you a certain way, so for Hyunjin to have you the way he did right now, you might as well take him right in front of Jeongguk and it’d have the same effect.

Rage coursed through his veins, traveling up to his brain and consuming every last of his emotions. His clenched jaw matched his balled fists as he fought the urge to just get up and rock his shit in front of everyone. That way, anyone who even planned to speak to you would know the consequences.

“Yo” Mingyu nudged him, “Can you make it any more obvious?” He teased, nodding his head to where you and Hyunjin were, only to drop the smile quickly when he realized Jeongguk didn’t laugh. His burning stare never left the two of you, shamelessly feeling each other up without any regard for the rest of the table.

Jennie was quick to catch on, not really paying any more attention to her conversation with Wendy anymore. After overhearing Mingyu’s comment, she turned over to Jeongguk who looked like he was ready to jump out of his seat.

“Alright enough drinks, let’s go dance” She got up, motioning her hands for everyone to get up onto the dance floor to which everyone complied. Except for an obvious one, Jeongguk, who strayed from the mob and ran off to a place only he’d know.

The dance floor was packed with hot bodies secreting the gross stench of sweat mixed with alcohol. The crowd left no room for proximity, forcing your body to press up against Hyunjin’s. Without Jeongguk in sight, you couldn’t even force yourself to keep up the act.

But after a few dances and what felt like forever, you finally located his tall frame amongst the sea of people. As if on cue, you pressed your black flush against Hyunjin’s chest, loosely enveloping your arms around his neck. You moved your hips to the beat, softly grinding yourself in contact with his body.

The sensuality of your moves made him grip your waist and match your movements, gaze entirely fixed on you and unaware of the burning eye contact you held with Jeongguk across the club.

It was like seeing a direct reflection of yourself, replacing Hyunjin with Jeongguk and you with a random girl. An arrogant smirk grew on Jeongguk’s face when you dropped your vision to the blonde girl, shooting daggers when she annoyingly arched her back against Jeongguk’s body.

Truth be told, he couldn’t care less about who was pressing their ass against his crotch right now. If it wasn’t you, he wouldn’t react. All he wanted to do was chip at your walls, and see how easily you’d crumble when you catch him playing a fair game.

Suddenly not in the mood, you pause your movements when the song comes to an end, quickly excusing yourself from Hyunjin and heading toward the bathroom.

Jeongguk wasted no time in departing from the girl, eager to chase after you but quickly losing you after the obnoxious voice and short frame obstructed his path.

“Where are you going?” She whined while pouting, making Jeongguk’s nose crinkle in disgust. “Bathroom” He dryly responded, eyes scanning the room for any sign of his pretty, but oh-so-bratty girl.

He attempted to move, only to end up in the same place as before since the girl refused to move, tugging on his arm. “Can you at least give me your number, in case I lose you?” She batted her eyelashes in a failed attempt to charm him.

“Like hell, I would. Move lady.” He quickly responded, slightly pushing her aside once she didn’t bother to resist. No other girl other than you would ever have his phone number, you’re the only one who would ever need it, and the only one he’d respond to.

He freed himself from the situation and rapidly approached the bathroom hall where he spotted you disappearing into. Once caught up, he followed you into the bathroom, swiftly pushing both of your bodies inside and locking the door with a hurried motion to avoid anyone noticing.

“Jeongguk what th-” He cut your question short by pressing his long digit against your lips, emitting a demanding shush before departing from you to check the stalls.

Once confirming it was empty, he leaned back against the wall, slightly chuckling at your angry stance with your arms crossed over your chest.

“So, are you done with your whole theater?” He asked smugly, watching a wave of panic flash through your eyes, leaving just as fast as it came.

“Are you drunk? What are you talking about?” You huffed defensively.

“You seemed pretty bored dancing with him when you thought I wasn’t watching” He paused, “Then all of a sudden you throw yourself onto him when you saw me, gonna tell me tonight isn’t an act?”

“You’re fucking crazy. I don’t know what you’re talking about, just let me go”

Despite the blaring music outside, the bathroom fell so silent you’d be able to hear a pin drop. Your eyes met his face before switching to his arms, and then to the door next to him.

The air that came out of his nose resembled a laugh, a mocking one at that when he noticed you connecting the dots.

“ ‘M not holding you back, or blocking the door. The only grasp you’re fighting against is your own, baby” And just like that, every wall you worked so hard to build tonight, came crashing down like a ton of bricks.

You could lie to yourself and be in denial all you wanted, but at the end of the day, there was a reason you only put up the act while Jeongguk was looking. You wanted him to feel jealous, to make him miss you as much as you did him.

Despite the petty arguments and fights, Jeongguk would forever be the man you are willing to come back to a million times over again. And each of those million times would always be worth it.

He began to step closer to you, “I’ll give you an option right now. You can either choose to leave,” His body was centimeters away from being fully pressed up against you, making you feel the heat radiating off of his body on your exposed skin.

He brought a gentle finger up to your chin, lifting your face to look up at him as he spoke his last words, “Or stay”

Your voice failed to reach your throat, parting your lips only to hear nothing come out of them. The scent of his cologne filled your nostrils and vanished every last bit of sanity you had in you. Your voice was barely audible, coming out as a whisper at best. “Wanna stay.”

The two rings on the corner of his mouth danced as his lips curled into a devilish grin, bringing the pad of his thumb to brush your bottom lip.

“That’s a good girl” He whispered. His words entered your system and wasted no time shooting straight to your core, dissolving into pure arousal that dripped from your empty hole.

He pressed his body onto yours, making you lean back into the sink that dug into your back. He positioned his knee in between your legs and pressed against your core, making you mewl at the much-needed friction. You instinctively leaned in to kiss him, furrowing your brows in confusion when you felt the lack of warmth on your lips.

“You think you deserve my lips after yours were on someone who wasn’t me?” He tutted, raising his knee farther up to raise your dress. You weakly moved your head from side to side, suddenly feeling extreme regret for all of your senseless acts tonight.

“Do you think you deserve my touch at all..?” He asked as he felt your hips slowly begin to grind down on his thigh, feeling a slight dampness soak through his jeans.

“N-no, but I wan’ it”

“Then beg for it, princess”

You whined in a complaint, “Can’t always give you everything you want. That's how spoiled brats are made, you gotta use your manners” He hummed to quickly shut down your protests.

“Please, gukkie, p-please touch me”

His hand trailed lower down your body, landing his large hand on your thigh. “Where do you want me to touch you?” He teased, moving his hand involuntarily when you took it upon yourself to pick it up and place it over your clothed core, “Here..”

He groaned at the feel of the drenched lace. He rubbed the sticky fluids over the soft material of your panties, gaining a high-pitched moan from you as the pleasure began to travel throughout your body. His fingers rubbing circles on your clothed core combined with the friction of your panties to make your tummy grow ablaze.

The heat was quick to cool down momentarily when he halted his movements to peel off the underwear from your body, letting it pool around your ankles.

“Be good for me and don’t cum til I say so, yeah?”

“Mhmm” you hummed in agreement.

You watched as his tattooed hand dipped between your thighs, connecting the pads of his middle and ring finger against your puffy clit and beginning to rub figure 8’s on the swollen skin. The glint of the silver band wrapped around his digit glowed underneath the light, making you inevitably look down.

Desperation to feel him overcame your body, biting down on your cherry lips to hold back from catching an attitude with him, knowing he’d be cruel enough to leave you hot and bothered for the rest of the night if you didn't take what he gave.

He swiveled his fingers further down and prodded your aching hole with a finger to tease you, circling your entrance before moving inside.

He started with lazy movements to prep you for the second finger he wasted no time in adding once your body was relaxed enough.

His fingers slightly curled inwards as he fully entered your core, pulling a soft whimper out of you when you felt the coolness of his rings come in contact with your hot folds.

“Sensitive, hm?” He smiled and watched you nod, too needy to even speak. You felt full from two fingers already, and you knew it’d be nothing compared to his cock.

You pushed your body further down to help his fingers reach impossibly deeper inside you. The desire to feel every part of him fill you up was overwhelming, causing your hips to begin feverishly grinding down on his fingers.

“Mmm,” you moaned out, “Feel so full, wan’ feel good.”

Jeongguk’s pupils dilated at your neediness for him. You were already submitting yourself to him so well after only having used his fingers, which was the most exciting reminder that you did in fact love the way he made you feel. No one would be able to compare to how good he was with your body.

“Be patient, love. I’ll take care of you”

He began to set a stable pace while watching his fingers pump in and out of your leaking hole, creating a squelching sound due to the fluid fighting against his fingers to roll down your thighs.

“So wet baby..” He groaned.

“Just for y-you” You heaved, heavily exhaling from your mouth from the pleasure as you continued to rock your hips back and forth to match the speed.

“Yea?” He smugly smirked as he picked up the pace, scissoring his fingers to stretch out your plush walls and find the gummy tissue inside of you, “This pussy’s all for me?”

“Oh fuck— yea! All for you, just for you” You babbled.

The mix of his rapid movements and the repeated stimulation of your sweet spot had you rolling your eyes back, tightening your grip on the porcelain sink behind you as you fought to keep your wobbly legs from giving out.

He watched as you threw your head back and tightened your thighs around his moving hand. Your walls pulsed around his curled fingers as you felt your high rapidly approach you due to his relentless movements. The knot in your stomach was dangerously close to bursting, so much so that you even began to hear the ringing in your ears.

“Shit— ah, gukkie! ‘m so close” Losing all composure, you began to mindlessly beg for release while you barely held on to hold it back as per instruction.

And just as you were on the verge of tipping over, Jeongguk seized his fingers from your body completely, eliciting a loud whine from your swollen lips.

The protest was short-lived as Jeongguk was quick to raise his fingers to your mouth, tapping twice and leaving the residue of your fluids on your lips.

“Suck” He ordered, pushing his fingers inside of your mouth as he felt your tongue roll around them. Once sucked clean, he pulled back his digits with a small pop of your lips that quickly melted back to an upset pout.

“Want you to cum around my cock, princess” He manhandled your body on top of the sink counter and landed a slap to the side of your thigh, helping you sit comfortably because he knew the last thing you’d be able to do is stand after he was done with you. “You gonna let me?” He asked, to which you quickly responded with a yes.

You admired his physique as he worked quickly to unzip his jeans once he heard your answer, pulling his underwear along with the pants in a quick motion. His painfully erect cock stood tall and proud with drops of precum sitting prettily on the slit, ready to bury itself inside of your heat.

Your eyes fought to decide what to focus on as you watched Jeongguk’s inked hand snuggly wrap around his cock, fisting it a few times to coat the shaft with his natural lube.

On the other hand, his beautiful face was slightly scrunched in pleasure, knitted eyebrows sitting atop his shut eyes as he concentrated on pumping himself in preparation.

“Shit” His parted lips allowed the quiet puffs and hisses to escape from his mouth, quickly pressing it shut once he was ready to be inside of you.

You parted your legs slightly in eagerness to feel him inside of you, letting him align his engorged tip on your hole. “T-too big” you whined when he pushed in.

“ ‘s only the tip, baby” He never stopped sinking himself deeper, “I know you can take it, my sweet girl” And with that, he bottomed out, enjoying your beautiful moans as you adjusted to his girthy size. Your legs wrapped around Jeongguk’s waist not only for support but to pull his body closer to yours.

His hands formed a steady grip on your thighs and began to move his hips rhythmically, soaking in the growing sound of skin slapping as well as the feel of your juices coating his flexed thighs.

His breathing grew shaky when he decided to look down at where your bodies met, his cock perfectly fitting into your tight and pretty pussy. “Oh, yes, yes, yes” Your lips trembled as the string of yesses spilled from your mouth.

“Fuck” He tugged on his bottom lip with his teeth. “Such a perfect cunt” His voice is heavy with lust, working the obscene words towards the heat pooling in your belly once again.

“Mhmm, you fuck me so good- ahh” Your voice got stuck in his throat when he delivered a particularly hard thrust. “Yea? Only I can fuck you like this, hm?”

By this point, he was now pounding into your pussy mercilessly, almost as if he was trying to get his point across. “Say it baby, say ‘m the only one who fucks you this good”

It was hard to speak when Jeongguk was drilling his dick into your insides, rubbing all of your sweet spots at once and successfully knocking all of the thoughts out of your head. “O-only you… Fuck me t-this good, only you Jeongguk”

You felt his dick throb inside of you in satisfaction with the words that came out of your mouth, motivating him to further defend his point. “Princess like you needs a man to fuck her right, yea? Not a little boy.”

Your orgasm was approaching quickly, as was his. “Tell me, would Hyunjin fuck you silly like I do? Hm? Tell me, baby” His tone was soft, not comforting soft, but more like the calm before a storm.

He expressed his underlying anger through his movements, becoming more erratic at the thought of any other man having you spread out for them.

“ ‘m yours gukkie, no one else’s ” The pain of holding back your orgasm began to become unbearable, causing your eyes to screw shut to avoid the tears falling.

“Thats right, no one else can know your body like I do, touch you like I do, have you all spread out ‘n pretty like I do” His hips began to stutter in movement but never failed to deliciously stimulate your insides, “No one– fuck, can love you like I do”

Your eyes shot open at his foreign-feeling words after not hearing them for a while. Tears from the stimulation fell from your glossy eyes onto your pink flushed cheeks, and even with mascara running down them, Jeongguk still thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world. He’d die before he’d ever lose you without a fight.

“Can cum now baby, cum with me” His breathy voice lingered in your ears, feeling his hips ram into your own one last time before his thrusts became slow and sharp.

“Look at me when you do” He used one of his free hands to gently wipe away the hair that stuck to the thin layer of sweat on your forehead.

He stared deeply into your eyes lovingly, letting you know how much you truly mean to him despite the obstacles that come across too often. “I l-love you, love you, so much” you whispered through shallow pants.

“Don’t stop— ‘m coming Jeongguk, please, right th-ere, Oh fuck” You finally relaxed your tense body and allowed yourself to tip over the edge, feeling Jeongguk pound himself into you as he pumped his long ropes of white cum deep inside. “That’s right, princess. Cum for me, shit”

The white light consumed your entire vision, being able to see nothing but Jeongguk’s adoring gaze as you fell apart beneath him. His whiny groans went up a few octaves in your ears as his own high washed over him.

Your orgasms came in sync, allowing the two of you to experience an elevated state of euphoria together. Your heat swallowed his twitching cock repeatedly into your throbbing hole while you rode out your highs.

He admired the way your pretty face melted into pleasure as you came, mouth agape and so inviting for him to press his lips against, and he just couldn't hold back.

He caught your plump lips in his, taking his time in savoring your taste while he slowly began to decrease the speed of his pumps before softly pulling out.

The post-orgasm haze began to hit you hard, making your limbs feel like jelly and giving you the extreme desire to hold Jeongguk close.

You knew that if you held him now, you'd stick by him all the way to his apartment. While it didn't seem like a bad idea at the moment, you knew that you needed to be more level-headed to begin approaching this situation.

While you caught your breath, he took a second to admire the collective mess the two of you had made, a combination of your fluids pooled at your entrance and threatening to spill.

He used a single digit to push the mix of release back inside of your abused cunt, earning a small no more Jeongguk, before retrieving it.

“Just making sure nothing goes to waste” He bent down to wrap his fingers around the thin lace material of your panties, sliding them back towards your hips to cover you up.

“It's gonna run down my thighs, gukkie” You jutted out your bottom lip slightly, “At least everyone will know you have someone who fucks you right” He cockily smiled, landing a kiss on the crown of your head.

“Not funny, 's not like anyone would want to approach me while I look like this anyway” You pointed to your sex hair and smeared mascara. “Bet that guy Hyunjin would anyway, probably still waiting on you right now too”

“Quiet” The sound of skin-on-skin contact mixed with the sound of Jeongguk chuckle, earning a slap to his bicep at the Hyunjin mention. As much as you’d like to forget and move on, you knew he was most likely still waiting for you.

“Hmm, y’know what?” He looked down at his spread-out hand, sliding off the band of silver from his pointer finger, reaching out to take your hand in his. “What are you doing?” You questioned only to earn no response as he simply continued to transfer the jewelry onto your ring finger.

“There you go, now he’ll even know you already have someone who loves you right too.”

And if it wasn't the disheveled hair or slight sheen coating your inner thighs, it’d be the JK initials that sit so perfectly around your ring finger that’d let anyone in the club, especially Hyunjin, know that you weren’t alone.

“You’re all mine.”

A/N: who caught the seven references 🙈

1K notes · View notes

kurocamille · 11 months ago

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❝maybe frat boys aren’t so bad (aka cars are meant for driving!)❞

Frat!Bakugou Katsuki x reader (except he’s not stereotypical and mean) mdni

part 2

4.1k+ words

you attend your first frat party and run into a familiar flirty face. he offers to drive you home from the party, the empty parking lot outside your dorm building definitely seems like the perfect place to get down and dirty…

warnings

part 1 of 2 (2 will have full smut..) 1 oc who’ll come into play later…., car sex, fingering, handjobs, heavy makeout, hickeys/neck kisses, dry humping/grinding kinda, female/afab reader, no pronouns used, inexperienced reader, “baby” as a pet name

It was your first time going to a college party, miraculously enough. This year, you had met a group of girls who had quickly invited you into their friend group. Somehow, despite you refusing over ten times, they had managed to drag you to a frat party.

After getting yourself a cup of mysterious red punch, you stand in the crowd of people. Bodies brush against you—intentionally or unintentionally, you don’t know. You’ve seen a few of your friends since arriving, but it seems like most of them are off doing God knows what with some drunken frat boy.

You can feel the beat of the music in your chest, as if it’s pumping your heart for you. The strobe lights flash around you. Sipping away at your drink, you go wandering in search of someone you know.

When you exit the common room, you float down a hallway with fewer people. Despite fewer people being there, the hallway is stuffy, and you can barely walk through without knocking shoulders with someone.

You aren’t watching where you’re going, and suddenly you trip on the bunched up carpet beneath your feet. The half-full soda cup goes flying, and so do you. It spills on the front of your shirt and down the back of a nearby couple who, until now, had been in the middle of making out,

“Ugh!” the girl shrieks, and you look up to see her glaring at you. She comes out from under the guy caging her, and you realize it’s the girl Mika from one of your classes. As always, her hair is perfectly coiffed, and she’s wearing a dress that barely covers her ass.

The girl shakes her hands of the sticky liquid that spilled on her, but seeing as she had previously been caged under that other guy, she had barely gotten wet. Meanwhile, the guy stands in a sopping wet shirt. You also recognize him; Bakugou Katsuki. He’s in another one of your classes, one of which you had been paired up for a partner project. Unlike Mika, he doesn’t look like he’s trying too hard. A white short-sleeved band t-shirt complements his black jeans, something you wouldn’t have expected a frat boy like him to wear.

Despite being in the same fraternity/sorority group, Mika and Bakugou could not be more different, and you can’t help but wonder how they ended up together. While Mika is extremely stereotypical and, if you might say, annoying, rude, and a bitch, Bakugou is really nice. That one project had taught you that not every frat boy is a shameless womanizer and prick. Although he’s a definite flirt, he’s always been respectful and acknowledged you as an equal—opposite of what Mika had done to your friends, and now you.

“I’m so sorry,” you say hastily.

“Don’t min-” Bakugou starts, but he’s cut off by Mika.

“You better be sorry!” she all but screeches at you. “This is a brand new set of nails. They’re completely ruined. You better repay me for this. It cost 10,000 yen, you know that? Can you even fucking afford that”

“Look, I’m sorry I did that, but I don’t know if I can repay tha-” you start. The look she gives you is incredulous as she snarls before interrupting you.

“I actually can’t believe you. You must be a dumb slut dying for Bakugou’s attention. Imagine sabotaging me just because he chose to be with me! And you’re so poor you can’t even afford to fix your mess… Ridiculous,” she huffs, pressing a pointy finger into your chest and probably expecting you to bow down and beg for forgiveness.

You try to apologize, but Bakugou steps in before you can say anything.

“Mika, who cares,” he sighs. He looks at you with a silent ‘I can’t deal with this face.’

The silence that follows feels like an eternity, but it really only elapses the half second before her hand makes contact with Bakugou’s face.

The sound from the slap resounds in the small hallway. You stare wide-eyed at the growing red spot with matching nail marks on Bakugou’s face.

“You should fucking care. We’ve been together for, like, a month already, and you still won’t stand up for me?! I’m done, don’t call me,” she seethes before pointing at you. “And you, you better hope we never see each other again.”

After that, Mika storms off in a fit of rage and disappears into the crowd.

“Dating on and off for a month, and she pulls that. Psychotic bitch,” he mutters before turning to you. “Hey, Sorry, I didn’t know you were coming, you should’ve told me.”

“I’m so sorry, for all of that. I’ll just get going and pretend I never saw that.” You turn on your heel to dash out, but a hand grips your shoulder and turns you around.

“No need to apologize, she gets crazy when she’s drunk, and I was planning on breaking up with her,” he shrugs. “Anyway, I’m just gonna head upstairs and shower this stuff off. You can come up too, if you want, Y/N.”

You raise a brow at his suggestion. “You want me to come shower with you?”

A look of confusion and surprise crosses his sharp features before a smirk breaks out. “There are multiple bathrooms up there, but you know, if they’re all taken, you can always join me.” He sends you the stupidest wink that still sends your stomach into frenzy.

“You bounce back too quickly,” you groan. “Whatever, I’m coming up, but not with you.”

Bakugou reverts to his uncaring self and has you follow him. You follow Bakugou, slowly making your way up the rickety house stairs. When you make it around the corner, Bakugou points you in the direction of an ensuite washroom, and disappears into the room across from you. “Just take a folded towel, and I’ll deal with it. If you need anything, just come and get me.”

In the quiet of the bedroom, you lock the door and undress. You make your way into the connected bathroom and strip down in the low light. The shower has terrible pressure and doesn’t heat up, but it does the job of cleansing the sticky punch off your skin.

You finish your shower within five minutes and step out to grab a towel. It’s surprisingly clean, but the pile of your clothes on the counter are still dripping with liquid. That means you’ll either have to walk around in a towel for the rest of the night or muster up the courage to ask Bakugou for some clothes.

You opt for the second option, seeing as you won’t have to walk through a drunken frat house in a towel that barely covers your “good bits.” So, you head back to the door where Bakugou was, rolling your clothes into a ball and tucking them under your arm. When you get there, the door is still closed, as you expected, but there is no sound of running water coming from the room.

“Bakugou, sorry, I need some extra clothes,” you say after knocking on the door.

As if it isn’t embarrassing enough, Bakugou takes his sweet time getting to the door. When it finally opens, he stares at you, his eyes unashamedly trailing up and down your body. He, similarly to you, looks to have just gotten out of the shower. Water droplets fall from his hair and fall down his hardened chest, which he doesn’t bother to clothe. The only thing keeping his from being stark naked in front of you is the towel sitting low on his hips, low enough that you can see his v-line drifting below.

“Clothes?” he asks after an awkward pause, and you flush.

“Yeah, anything will do, I just need it to get home in them,” you reply.

“Alright, come in.” He beckons you with his hand to follow him.

The first thing you notice when you enter is that his room is far different from the other one. While the first bedroom, whose you can only assume is his frat brother’s, is standard for a male college student—clothes strewn everywhere, an only half-made bed, and suspicious posters. Bakugou’s room is the opposite, the bed made, shelves tidy, and everything in order.

Bakugou coughs and breaks you out of the spell you’re under. He’s holding out a crumpled plastic bag, with some grocery store logo on it. “Here, for your wet clothes.”

You quickly snatch the bag and stuff your clothes into it. As you struggle to fit them inside, the towel hugging your body slips from its hold and drops below your nipples. From your peripheral vision, Bakugou freezes ever so slightly, and you hear an awfully loud swallow.

As soon as you notice him, however, he averts his eyes and pretends he had been looking for clothes the whole time. The outfit he chooses for you isn’t half bad, a hoodie and drawstring sweatpants, but they look so big they could drown you.

You take the two garments from him, accidentally brushing fingers in the process. He pulls away from you and heads back towards his ensuite bathroom. “Don’t worry, I’ll be in here. I won’t peek. You can get changed in the bedroom.”

With that, he closes the door and cements a divide between the two of you. Quickly, you change into the clothes he gave you, having to roll up the cuffs on them multiple times. You look like a blob of fabric, but it’ll have to do. Hopefully Bakugou won’t notice that you’re not wearing your bra and panties.

Knocking on the bathroom door, you meet face to face with Bakugou one last time. He’s fully clothed now and gives you a smile.

“Looks like it fits,” he says sarcastically.

“For sure,” you joke, flattening out the garments awkwardly. “I’m planning on heading out now, by the way. I think I’ll just catch an Uber, I’m pretty sober now, and my friends will probably be here for a while longer.”

“Don’t take an Uber,” he replies suddenly.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he corrects himself. “I mean, it’s not safe to take one right now. Let me drive you, I didn't drink tonight.”

“No way!” you retort. “I couldn’t bother you with that. I’ll be fine, anyway.”

However, Bakugou, being his stubborn self, does not relent until you agree to let him drive you all the way back to your dorms, only a stupid 30 minutes away.

Normally, you wouldn’t risk going with someone in his frat, but you have enough trust in Bakugou to keep civil. So, after a moment of contemplation, you accept his offer and follow him to the adjacent parking lot. Multiple people stare as you walk past them, but you pay them no mind, seeing as you’re practically unrecognizable in your new outfit.

“Yo, Bakubro, good for you!” a redhead yells from the doorway as you leave, whooping in a supportive, you suppose, manner.

“Ah, shut up, don’t spread any rumours, Shittyhair.” Bakugou groans, but you don’t miss the way his ears turn pink.

You’ll have to forget about that, though, because the lights of a black Jeep Wrangler flash on, and Bakugou escorts you to the passenger seat.

“I didn’t know you were this much of a gentleman, Bakugou,” you giggle in an embarrassingly girly way.

“I’m always a gentleman.” He winks and walks around to his side of the vehicle, leaving you feeling hot in the face.

He swings into the passenger seat, and puts the car in motion. You can’t help but notice the way his arms grip the steering wheel, the veins from his strong hands trailing up his forearms in a way that makes you unconsciously bite your lip.

“Put the address into the GPS,” Bakugou interrupts, and you notice his eyes force themselves away from your lips.

You deny whatever you just saw and punch your address into the screen. The machine takes only a second to bring up the route home, which, at this late hour, will actually only take 15 minutes.

After pulling out of the lot, Bakugou heads down the street following the indicated yellow line. He drives smoothly and professionally, as you expected he would. He maneuvers the car with expertise, and you can’t help but think he’s showing off when he steers with an open palm and an arm on the back of your seat.

For most of the ride, you guys are silent. Other than the faint whirring of the air conditioner, the only sounds to be heard are made by you and Bakugou. His by his slow, peaceful breathing, and yours by the beating of your heart—something which betrays you by getting louder and faster with every minute.

Luckily for you, the drive is soon over and Bakugou’s car is parked right outside of your dorm building. For the most part, the lot is empty, and the lights from the windows are off. It makes sense, most people in your extremely small building are out partying at 9 o’clock on a Friday, and the homebodies you’d normally associate with are already in bed.

Your specific block seems to be completely dark, seeing as you left your friends behind at that party… Whoops. It’s no matter, however, you’ll just be the first one in your complex to get back.

You unclick the belt from your waist, moving up on the seat to grab your things off the floor.

“This is you, right?” Bakugou questions.

“Yep! Thank you so much for driving me. I’ll text you later so you can have your clothes back.” You smile at him and go to open the door, but he lightly pulls you back.

“Wait. Y/N, you can keep them, actually. ” He chuckles, but it has an awkward tone to it. “You look better in them than I do”

Wait, what?

You always thought Bakugou was just flirty by nature, which to some extent he is, but you could see it now. Whatever you two had going on was certainly out of the ordinary. From what you could tell, Bakugou wasn’t half as teasing towards Mika as he was to you.

Ever since that one project, he had always made it a priority to sit next to you in class. You had assumed he was there for your notes, not that you minded, but could it actually have been for another reason altogether?

“Well, I would bet you look pretty good in these too, not that you don’t always look good,” you giggle, testing out the waters.

Bakugou’s eyes widen in surprise and soften under the pale light of his car. You stare at him fondly, accidentally letting your eyes flicker to his lips.

“Y/N, I-“ he starts but can’t seem to find the right words.

“I know you just broke up—literally tonight, but, Bakugou, gosh, I really want to kiss you right now,” you speak for him.

Maybe that punch was more potent than you thought. Good thing Bakugou drove you all the way here…

Instead of replying, Bakugou places a tender hand on your cheek and pulls you in. Soft lips meet your own, and you smile. You move to his lap where the seat has suddenly been rolled back.

Ah, it’s his frat boy car seat trick.

Your kisses continue slowly, and you can tell Bakugou wants to deepen the kiss when his tongue brushes against your lips. Upon first contact, you freeze in place. Before this you’d only ever been with one guy, one that you hadn’t even gone far with. In the moment now, you can only hope and pray that he won’t notice your inexperience.

However, you completely forget whatever worry you had when Bakugou starts to go into your mouth. His large hands pull you flush against his body, grabbing at the flesh right above your ass.

When you finally pull back, Bakugou’s eyes are blown wide, and he looks lost to lust. The lips that had previously been on yours now have a cute pout, having puffed up from your kisses.

Bakugou’s lips move down and pepper chaste kisses along your jawline. Even with his light and seemingly innocent pecks, you’re still softly moaning under his hold.

Bakugou switches focus to your neck, licking and sucking a hickey into your skin. After nipping at you for a while, Bakugou lifts off of you, and you can tell with his smirk that he left a massive bruise blooming on your skin.

“Bakugou, let me touch you,” you whisper as he moves to kiss the other side of your neck.

“Call me Katsuki… Please. “ He groans when you slightly grind against his groin.

You shift down on your hips and look down to see a thick boner growing in his pants. Curiously, you press it softly with your fingers and give it a light squeeze.

Katsuki looks down at you, his face quickly turning red. Silently, you reach into his pants, looking at his gorgeous ruby eyes for any sign of contestment. Katsuki stays quiet but gives you a small nod in approval.

Finally, you get to the moment you’ve been waiting for. You press your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, sliding your hand across the top of his cock. Then, with one movement, you free him from his confines, and his dick stands proudly in front of you.

Any expectations or preconceived notions about what Katsuki was packing were shattered. Painfully hard and dripping tiny amounts of precum, his cock is a beauty. The dark pink tip invites you in, begging you to give it one moment of reprieve.

When you nervously stroke the shaft, Katsuki’s reaction is instantaneous, his hips lurching up against yours.

“Fuck, keep going,” he hisses, his breath already laboured.

With more confidence you wrap your fingers around him and give his cock a few quick pumps. Your sudden change in tempo makes Bakugou’s cock twitch in your hold and release a bead of white precum. You remove your hand, and Katsuki’s eyes meet yours with a pleading look.

Carefully, you push your thumb against the slit of his dick and lubricate him with his own pre-cum. As you swirl the substance around the head, Katsuki buries his face in your shoulder.

“Oh my God, I’m about to cum,” he gasps. “Fuck, it’s like I’m a virgin again.”

Bakugou’s chest heaves as you work him to his high. With every light touch or squeeze of his dick you make, it twitches and throbs in reply. You decide to help him finish, doing the same fast strokes that make him groan lewdly in your ear.

Then, all of a sudden, Bakugou reaches out and stops your hand in the middle of its movements. You eye him, confused. “You into edging or something?”

“Not quite, I wanna get you off, too.” He surprisingly lets out a hearty laugh.

“Sit up, baby,.” You follow his instructions and he picks you up with ease.

Katsuki flips you over so you’re no longer sitting on top of him, rather lying caged underneath him. His body is so close to yours that you can’t look down to see what’s happening when you feel his hands moving against your clothed pussy.

“May I?” he asks, tugging at the edge of your panties.

“Still such a gentleman,” you giggle embarrassingly.

“Breaking the frat boy stereotypes as we go, I suppose.” He laughs with you, before turning his attention back to your body.

His adept fingers pull your soaked panties to the side, revealing your equally glistening cunt. Katsuki nimbly dips his fingers in your wetness with a soft hum.

“So wet, baby,” he grins, and you blush in embarrassment.

Bakugou skillfully captures your attention by pressing the pad of his thumb against your aching sex, as if to test the waters. When he hears your soft moan in response, he takes it as an invitation to keep going.

Slowly, Katsuki’s thumb plays with your throbbing clit, brushing it in teasing circles. A whine escapes your mouth, and he chuckles upon hearing it, knowing how needy you feel. “You want my fingers inside of you?”

You gasp out a ‘yes,’ and his fingers are immediately prodding at your entrance. Then, you feel the stretch your hole makes to accommodate his intruding finger. Although you’re not used to such a feeling, you easily adapt to the length of his digit, which pleasantly curls into your depths.

Bakugou starts fingering in and out of you, and the pleasure increases. Previously soft moans and whines turn into cries against his shoulder. Despite your embarrassment of being oversensitive, the flush on Bakugou’s face proves he’s just as affected, without you even touching him.

As Katsuki continues to slip inside your wetness, you feel the pressure building in your stomach, much differently than it ever has before. One more finger squeezes into your tight cunt and presses against your pleasure spot. You cry out, and his hands continue to brush against that sensitive place.

“Fuck, that feels good, please don’t stop,” you babble mindlessly, barely even registering Bakugou’s reply of, “Course not. Wouldn’t dream of it.’

To your blissed out surprise, the pleasure gets stronger. The sensation on your clit returns, and your body uncontrollably arches into Bakugou’s above you. With every calculated movement against your bundle of nerves, you’re worked closer to orgasm.

Then, all of a sudden, the angle of the thrusting fingers changes. Bakugou changes his position to be closer to you, somehow managing to reach further than before. With every new touch to your g-spot and clit, you feel yourself being pushed to your high.

In turn, you grasp a hold of Katsuki’s twitching cock. His hiss in reply shows you just how sensitive he is from before. Your hand moves up and down, matching the quick strokes of his fingers. Just as quickly as he had gotten you to the peak of your orgasm, his body convulses, signaling his is soon to come, as well.

Your moans crescendo and bounce off the walls of the car, and Bakugou can't help but be spurred on by them. The speed of his hand gets faster, still very much calculated in its movements, your hole fluttering around his digits.

After swiping your thumb across his leaking tip, Bakugou’s body seems even more sensitive, if it’s even possible. His cock violently throbs in your hand, begging to spill its seed. You oblige its wishes and continue your pumps up and down his hard length.

You can feel yourself almost cumming, on the brink of losing your mind. Similarly, Katsuki’s body, his higher-pitched moans, twitching shaft, and milky tip, tell you he’s extremely close.

Then, taking you by surprise, Bakugou cuts off your moans with a hot kiss. Immediately after you make contact, his tongue sweeps against yours in a passionate dance.

“I’m gonna cum!” Your voice gets muffled by the tongue pressing against your own.

The addition his mouth was to your pleasure plunges you right into orgasm. Your body convulses, pussy tightening uncontrollably, and you wail into his mouth. Anything you had ever expected of sex is automatically blown to bits when this atomic force hits you.

You feel your eyesight black out, as if you’ve been hit by a truck. You subconsciously grip harder around Katsuki’s dick, causing his orgasm to come shooting out of him. Long strings of his pearly cum cover the palm of your hand, his cock still moving to let out the last bits of his seed.

The bliss that follows is calming. Bakugou finally pulls out of you, his face coming off of yours to reveal his dazed eyes and flushed cheeks.

You doubt you look appealing, but Bakugou looks at you sweetly and more kindly than you can assume he does with anyone else.

“You did so well, baby,” he whispers to you after leaning down to your level.

You give him a quick peck on the cheek and slowly untangle your limbs from his. Bakugou helps you up and grabs your (borrowed) clothes that had previously been strewn across the other seats.

After dressing yourself and saying a quick goodbye to Bakugou, you slip out of his car and head back into your dorms.

You smile to yourself as you lay in bed alone. On your bedside table you notice you’ve received a new notification, a message from an unknown number. What you see makes you smile and blush.

‘That was such a great night, let’s do it again sometime. - Bakugou’

a/n: hi guys. i’m back for the holidays and i hope to put out part two soon (let’s be honest, i never write things on time). i tried writing something more plot heavy… hope you enjoyed🫶 also, sorry for the edging joke. i think i’m funny.

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hussyknee · 1 month ago

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Made in the USA: Wage Theft, Fraud and Hidden Sweatshops

Unrolled twitter thread by derek guy (@dieworkwear)

4 Oct 24 • Read on X

ALT enabled on all images. Video has closed captions but is not transcribed.

Not trying to create a pile-on here. But let's talk about why something might still be made in unethical conditions even though it bears a "made in USA" tag. 🧵

The first thing to understand is that not all workers are covered by US labor laws. You might assume that workers get paid a minimum wage (after all, it says "minimum"). In fact, many garment workers in the US toil under what's known as the piecework system.

Piecework means you get paid not by the amount of time you work but the number of operations you complete. This system should be familiar to many of you. As a writer, I get paid per word. The pay is the same whether it takes me 100 or 10 hours to write a 1,000 word article.

My situation is fine bc I get paid enough to eat. But for a garment worker, the pay structure can be peanuts: three cents to sew a zipper or sleeve, five cents for a collar, and seven cents to prepare the top part of a skirt. These are real numbers for LA-based garment workers.

Piecework is how companies skirt minimum wage laws. Among labor organizers, the term "wage theft" refers to the difference between what a worker should have earned under min wage laws and what they actually earned through the piece rate system.

This system is incredibly common. A 2016 UCLA Labor Center study showed the median piece-rate worker in Los Angeles scrapes together $5.15 per hour—less than half the state’s mandated minimum wage. Labor conditions are also very bad: poor ventilation, dusty air, rats and mice.

A Federal Department of Labor investigation the same year found that 85 percent of Los Angeles garment factories were breaking labor laws. In 2016, these violations amounted to $1.3 million in back wages owed to 865 workers in a sample of 77 factories. This is wage theft.

In 2021, labor organizers won a fight to get piecework banned in California. But two years later, it's still incredibly common. I interviewed an LA-based garment worker who toils 12 hrs a day for $50. She sleeps in the corner of a kitchen. From my article in The Nation:

Currently, there's a new fight get piecework banned nationwide through the FABRC Act. I would link, but Twitter throttles threads that have outbound links, so I would prefer if you Google how you can support this legislation. Or follow @GarmentWorkerLA for more info.

The other reason why a "made in USA" tag may not mean much has to do with how the label is applied.

When you see this label inside your garment, what do you assume? Think about this before moving on to the next tweet.

The Federal Trade Commission has pretty strict rules on who gets to apply that label. For clothes, the item has to be cut and sewn in the US using materials that were made in the US. The FTC tries to match its rules with the common understanding of what "made in US" means.

If you're a giant company like Levi's or LL Bean, you may have lawyers who are advising you on these rules. This is why you see labels like "imported," which means the item was made abroad. Or "made in the US from imported materials" when they can't meet the MiUSA standard.

But it's incredibly common for companies to violate FTC rules. In 2022, the FTC fined the pro-Trump brand Lions Not Sheep $211k for labeling their t-shirts "made in USA" when the shirts were actually imported from China and other countries.

The company was basically importing blanks from China, ripping out the "made in China" label, screen printing the shirt in the US, and then applying a new screen-printed "made in US" label. CEO Sean Whalen claimed he was being persecuted for his pro-Trump views.

But the whole thing started bc Whalen made a video about how his customers are price sensitive, so he imports blanks from China. That's what kicked off the FTC investigation. So while this mislabeling is common, it's hard to get caught unless you make a video about your crimes.

The truth is that making a t-shirt in the USA according to FTC standards will result in a relatively expensive garment. Heddels and Velva Sheen both produce shirts in the US from US grown cotton. The first is $26; second is $90 for a two-pack.

Once you add things such as screenprinting—or if you want a more unique cut and not just basic blanks—the costs go up. This is why Bikers for Trump sourced their merch from Haiti. They knew their customers would not pay an extra $8 for true made-in-USA production.

Today, there are countless companies that make merch for other organizations. They source their t-shirts from a variety of places—some made in the US, most not—and then screenprint a design and fulfill orders. This way, the other org doesn't have to do any work but marketing.

When you see a screenprinted t-shirt for $20, ask yourself: Where was the material grown? Where were the yarns spun? Where was the cutting, sewing, and finishing performed? Where was the screenprinted done? What were the wages and labor conditions along these steps?

I'm not a nationalist, so I don't prioritize American jobs over foreign ones. But I do care about fair wages and labor protections. Just because something was made abroad doesn't mean it was made in a sweatshop. Just because it was made in the US doesn't mean fair wages.

Paying more for a garment is also no guarantee of ethical manufacturing. But when the price of a garment is so low, you leave little on the table for workers. Just because you see a $20 t-shirt that says "made in USA" doesn't mean it was made fairly.

Please don't harass the person who posted that original tweet. My intention is not to cause harm or stress for anyone. Only to help shed light on what goes into garment manufacturing, fair labor, and labeling. Hopefully, you will consider these issues when shopping.

For the inevitable question: "How do I make sure my clothes were made ethically?" This is very difficult to answer in a thread. My simplest answer is that we should elect pro-worker politicians, fight for pro-labor laws, and empower unions so workers can advocate for themselves.

--------------------End----------------------

TL; DR: Doesn't matter if it's the US, if it's not union it's probably a sweatshop. And not all merch is priced high because of fair labour conditions (looking at Taylor Swift and Beyoncé). Look for supply chain transparency.

#sweatshops #fashion #american sweatshop #chappell roan merch #sweatshirt #chappell roan #merchandise #made in usa #garment industry #fast fashion #worker rights #labour rights #labour unions #capitalism #worker exploitation #us politics #us law #knee of huss

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yurozo · 1 month ago

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resident evil — vape shop au

this overtakes restaurant au for the dumbest thing i've ever written. i work in a vape shop, and this has been a month-long conversation between the coworkers on what each resident evil character would smoke.

18+ only, because smoke stuff, don't do it kids. contains: carlos, leon, chris. please let me know if you want other characters, i am at your humble service.

as customers:

carlos: this man isn't much of a vaper, but he smokes weeds like nobody's business. every two weeks he comes in looking for a new bong (usually small, and needs to have some sort of cool decoration on it. if it has something pink, the man is handing over his credit card) because he keeps breaking his. either he drops them or one of his pets knocks it over. he also never goes through the process of cleaning them, which inevitably leaves jill the burden of having to buy bong cleaner for him in hopes that one day he will use it. it will collect dust with the rest of the bottles somewhere in his room, laying dormant on a shelf.

the employees are all horrendously down bad for him, mostly because he always comes right after the gym in muscle shirts and a tight pair of shorts. the whole work groupchat is filled with carlos smiled at me today, he wants me so bad.

not that it's necessarily their fault, he's annoyingly chivalrous and has a litany of pickup lines at the ready. you need a ladder to reach something? carlos is behind you and ready to grab it at a moments notice.

leon:

a firm man of routine-- buys the same flavour, same brand, every time without fail. peach blue razz, low puff count because he likes a small device. no, he does not want to try something new. you're wasting your time offering it to him. by the time a couple weeks roll around, you know exactly what to grab the moment he swings open the door.

he's embarrassed he's gotten into this whole thing honestly. hit luis' once after a stressful shift, and it was hook line and sinker. he calls them his shame vapes, and hides it in his sleeve so no one he works with will ever know.

god forbid if an employee ever flirts with him. he tried once to say something flirty back and got so embarrassed he didn't show up for two weeks, nicotine addiction be damned. if you can convince him into trying something new, he's not gonna tell you if he doesn't like it. he'll nod and walk out with his tail between his legs.

and honestly? he just kinda looks like a cop. younger people know to pull out their id when he's browsing, assuming he's undercover. ask him how his day is? he will respond "it's going." every single time.

chris:

tobacco flavoured vapes only. "what tastes most like a cigarette" type motherfucker. he'll try whatever cotton candy vape claire has, claims he hates it, and then take multiple puffs anyways. he really only got into it because claire claimed it was better for him than smoking a pack every day. he buys a vape and then proceeds to smoke a cigarette outside the store anyway.

his routine entirely depends on how stressed out he is, and this shop is both his nicotine hookup and his social outing for the week. it takes him a while to open up beyond the typical customer interaction, but once you get him out of his shell, there's no putting him back in it. bring up sports or something else he's interested in, and he's giving you a long lecture.

hitting on him will entirely depend on his mood and your approach. going in strong by complimenting his arms will only get a half-sheepish response, but gently nudging him into talking about himself is what will get you the full chris redfield experience. sometimes he forgets that these people live relatively normal lives, and will pull some batshit insane lore with the casualty of someone who has forgotten that most people have never even held a gun.

#the dichotomy of the monomyth and this being written three days apart #resident evil #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy headcanons #chris redfield x reader #chris redfield headcanons #carlos oliveira x reader #carlos oliveira headcanons #resident evil headcanons #ali writes #carlos oliveira imagine #chris redfield imagine #leon kennedy imagine

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udaiporeonlinef · 11 months ago

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kingofthecotas · 1 month ago

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road to ruin (we’re starting at the end)

soulmate au, phillip island 2014, same universe as this fic | let’s call this explicit | ~2k

aka marc is having the time of his life while valentino is trying to escape the cosmic saw trap he’s invented in his head

——

Valentino wins in Australia.

That, and the champagne, does nothing to temper the twisted knot of panic that his stomach had wrenched itself into when he saw Marc sliding off the track.

It’s—

This is still new, to him.

(It’s been over a year.)

Uccio has been with him for so long that he can’t remember life without him. Marc is new, and he’s terrifying.

When Valentino had turned seventeen, he’d drunk some shitty beer and thrown up and then pressed his forehead to Uccio’s. I didn’t choose this. You’re my best friend. You can’t ever leave me.

Marc, by contrast, is sold on the romanticism of it all, of fate and destiny. He has his brother, his brother who he loves more than life itself, etched on the inside of his wrist. He’s stark on Valentino’s arm like a fresh tattoo.

The thing is—Valentino had been orbiting towards him anyway. Marc is young, talented, really fucking hot, and he looks at Valentino like a revelation. But they’d gotten too drunk in Laguna Seca last year, had fallen asleep wrapped up in each other, and woken up in the middle of the night to the marks burning into their arms like a brand.

And—how much of it was the universe telling Valentino what he should do, what he should feel?

It had stopped mattering, just for a moment, when he saw Marc’s face in the dark.

But now—

Marc is a selfish bastard. It’s gnawing a hole in Valentino’s stomach, because Marc has him. Fate reached out and dropped him into Marc’s hands without warning, without permission, and Marc still insists on riding like he’s trying to die. Like that wouldn’t half-kill Valentino too.

Marc has him. Valentino never had a chance.

He never had a choice, either.

And sometimes, somehow, it doesn’t matter, because they’re good, they’re really good. He can make Marc laugh like it’s nothing. Marc watches him, brightens when their eyes meet. Sex with Marc—he goes half-mad on it, on fucking into him with a thumb pressed on Marc’s shoulder, while Marc gasps his name into the piece of himself in Valentino’s skin in return.

Perfect. Like they were meant to be.

And then Marc will get on his bike and crash, and Valentino’s stomach will turn every time. He’ll press a fingertip into the mark, the blunt edge of a nail, and try not to think about clawing Marc out of him. It’s not fair, it’s not fucking fair: that Valentino likes him, that Marc adores him back, that they could have just fallen together without the tide-pull of being soulmates. With all the joy of choosing each other. Without the constant drumbeat of what losing him would be.

Marc being in Tavullia had been an adrenaline shot, straight to the chest. Taking him out of the familiar collage of racing, motorhomes, press rooms, podiums, and pasting him so very much in Valentino’s life—real, suddenly. All too real. Permanent soulmarks and Marc in a house Valentino calls home and forever.

Because the stars said so, or some shit like that.

——

It’s dark outside when Marc knocks on his hotel door.

He must have had a long debrief, must have spent even longer sulking, sharp and pissed off, but he smiles at Valentino and slips inside. Valentino rubs his right arm as he passes, making sure to push under his T-shirt sleeve and brush across his mark, and watches as Marc practically melts into him.

God.

“Beer?” Valentino offers when he pulls his hand away. Not really allowed, but. Well. He’s Valentino Rossi.

Marc shakes his head, face serious. Valentino would think he was punishing himself if he didn’t know how Marc is when it’s about racing. “Well done,” he offers instead.

With a sharp grin, Valentino reaches out for the bottle opener and pries his own beer open. “You were two seconds ahead.”

Smile completely gone, Marc narrows his eyes, bites the inside of his cheek, like Valentino is a journalist pushing for a punchy quote.

“You’re already the champion,” Valentino continues. He lets the words hang between them. “No need to push.”

Marc shrugs. “I still want to win.”

“Hm.” Of course he does. Valentino takes a sip. The beer is Australian, of course, and he twists his lips when he swallows. It lingers in his mouth.

“What?”

“You didn’t need to crash.”

“It’s not like I’m trying to.”

The burning pit is back in Valentino’s gut. For a second, he forgets he’s not talking to Uccio. “I didn’t ask for this, but the least you can do is not try to kill yourself every weekend.”

Marc blinks, recoils.

Too much, Valentino realises, too much, too far. Shit.

“No one asks for their soulmates,” Marc says slowly.

I bet you did. It washes over him, the shadow of it; if he didn’t know that Marc didn’t make this happen, couldn’t, any more than Valentino could stop it—if he didn’t know that—

He swallows the ghost of resentment down, because he does know that. Marc may have wanted it—clear in the way he hung on Valentino even before they found themselves twisted together, clear in the wondrous disbelief that night in California—but he could never have made this happen.

He’s watching Valentino now, something like hurt dancing in his eyes. “But you still—” He’s so young, face open and wanting. “You still want me. Right?”

“If I didn’t want you, you wouldn’t be here.”

Marc blinks again. Then he tilts his head, expression slanting into something else. “Prove it.”

And now—now they’re wrong-footed, because Marc is the one who comes to his motorhome, to his hotel room. Valentino calls; he answers. Not now.

Valentino puts the bottle down, takes him in: arms folded, jaw set, halfway across the room now. Marc narrows his eyes—come on then—and it’s two, two and a half steps to stand in front of him, to reach for him like a memory, to find, even under Honda colours, the part of Marc’s body where Valentino lives.

It works like a charm, of course, like pushing a button to say here I am. Marc inhales, loosens, and then he’s reaching too. When his thumb dances over the mark, Valentino’s eyes nearly roll back in his head.

It’s smug, Marc’s smile, as he drops his hand. He has his answer. He has Valentino.

Just like he wants. Valentino swallows. If he didn’t know better—

He almost jabs his nail into Marc’s arm this time, earning a sharp gasp for his efforts, and the Honda cap has to come off then, so he can kiss the sound out of him, so he can dig in again and feel teeth on his bottom lip for it. Marc pushes forward, hands grasping at him, and they’re back, order restored, points proven.

How could he not want this? How would he not have chosen this, if it had been up to him?

“That beer is shit,” Marc hisses into his mouth. It startles a genuine laugh out of Valentino just as the backs of his legs hit the bed and he pulls Marc down into his lap.

Marc, once again, looks satisfied at the reaction, like he’s cataloguing it. Like he still can’t believe, more than a year later, where he is.

Valentino busies himself with pulling Marc’s shirt off, which is infinitely easier than confronting that. His own shirt follows, discarded at their feet, and he looks up at Marc, presses a kiss to his soulmark.

He thinks Marc sobs, half-bitten-off and swallowed. His palm is hot when it lands on Valentino, on the mark, and holds, desperate. “Vale—”

“Mm?”

When Marc kisses him this time, it’s enough for the knot to untangle and slide away, because he’s here, he’s alive, he’s an idiot but he’s Marc, and that’s all it takes to forgive him for now.

“Happy?” Valentino murmurs.

Marc hums. Clearly, Valentino is forgiven too.

If there had been anything left of their posturing stand-off, if it hadn’t already been blown away by Marc’s devastating unspooling whimper, it would never have withstood the moan Valentino lets out when Marc slips a hand inside his waistband and leans down to scrape his teeth over soulmarked skin at the same time. It’s liquid gold, coiling through his body, starbursting behind his eyes.

They’re good together. Really fucking good.

He pulls free so he can shift up the bed until he’s against the headboard; Marc comes with him, willing, slides into the space between Valentino’s spread legs and kneels there.

“Marc,” Valentino breathes.

“Mi marca,” is what he gets back in Spanish, because—

Because.

“My Marc.” It’s the only time he comes close to allowing it to be part of him, when Marc is here in front of him, warm spun-gold breathed to life. His.

Marc’s fingers are on his dick again, moving with a purpose that tells Valentino exactly what he wants. Fine. No complaints.

He slides both thumbs around Marc’s waistband to the front of his jeans, fumbles the fucking button when he gets there. Marc cackles—yeah, haha, hilarious—and moves his hips up so Valentino can get better purchase, so he can pull denim and boxers down in the same yanking movement.

Right hand on Marc’s thigh, left one clasping his shoulder, that thumb brushing over his soulmark again and again—Marc closes his eyes, breaths shuddering out of him, and they sit in it for a long moment, on the blissful cliff edge, before Valentino squeezes his thigh, squeezes his arm, and moves his right hand to brush over Marc’s cock.

They’re good together. They’re so good.

——

Reality sometimes for Valentino is tinged with warmth and golden smiles and Marc. More often, it finds him with a cold dread at the base of his skull, even with Marc’s body twisted around his. Wound together: it’s a little on the nose. The starburst fades.

“You need to stop crashing,” Valentino says, because he can’t leave it alone, can’t turn it off. Picking at the scab.

Marc only rolls his eyes, but it’s all fizzling out like someone’s thrown the sparkler in a bucket, heat and light gone.

“I am serious. Look. Here.” He lets his hand rest on Marc’s arm, just below the shoulder.

You have a piece of my soul in your body, is what he doesn’t say. A part of me would die with you.

Their lives are not their own, after all. He swallows back a scream.

“I don’t try to crash,” Marc whispers back instead of promising anything, because he is Marc, and he will hurtle headfirst into a highside if he thinks he might win.

Valentino sighs and lets his hand drop away. Marc catches it, pushes closer until their chests are pressed together with their twined fingers in between. It’s as good of an apology as either of them are going to get.

Then Marc yawns, cracks the tension with the click of his jaw. Valentino’s sharp laugh jolts out of him, sending pulses through their bodies where they’re touching.

“Long day?”

“Long fucking day,” Marc grumbles, and he’s rolling off, out of the bed, stumbling to the bathroom.

Valentino, suddenly strung out and weary with it, cleans himself with the tissues on the nightstand, and presses the back of his head against the headboard. He’s still sitting there, sitting up with the weight of forever in his hands, when Marc emerges and climbs back into bed beside him.

“When is your flight?” Marc asks through another yawn.

“Not until the afternoon. Sleep as late as you want to.”

He doesn’t move, only shifting his right arm to let Marc curl in, head turned towards him. Towards the mark. It’s not long before he’s asleep.

And Valentino doesn’t move. His stomach knots: a familiar hurt this time, years of it.

This is—it’s forever.

Marc has him, palm of his hand. Sometimes it’s as if he doesn’t even feel it, he doesn’t know—the weight of it.

It’s almost like being seventeen again, nauseous twist in his stomach, shit beer staining his tongue. I didn’t choose this, he tells Uccio in his memory. I couldn’t choose this, he cries to the uncaring night.

Valentino doesn’t move, but Marc does, tucks his head further in, nose catching the mark and sending warmth flooding through Valentino’s veins. In return, he drags his knuckles over Marc’s arm, smiling despite himself at the content, deep-sleep sigh.

I wish I had.

#lore dump? lore dump #Valentino getting mad about things in his head? it’s more likely than you think!#rosquez #motogp #motogp rpf #cara.fic #ptsftp #marc marquez #valentino rossi #soulmate au #don’t ask me to explain how this universe works i don’t know

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ultravionna · 2 months ago

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rascals, saints, & inspirations ୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ

𐙚 matt dillon x younger.ᐟreader꒱

warnings: age-gap relationship, smut, swearing here and there, painter references (i'm such a geek), um can't think of any other warnings so that's it ig.ᐟ

a/n: first ever smut fic so go easy on me, i kinda like it it's cute lmao

⤷ *based on request linked here* ༉‧₊˚✧

the air in matt's studio was thick with the smell of paint and varnish, the kind that stuck to your clothes long after you'd left. it was a quiet space, hidden away in the upper west side, where the noise of the city barely reached you could hear the faint hum of traffic, but in here, it was just the two of you. he was working on something when you walked in, his back to you, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing those forearms you loved. his hair was slightly messy, and the focus on his face made you hesitate to disturb him. almost.

"you've been at it all day," you teased, stepping closer, letting your fingers glide along the edge of the wooden table covered with brushes, palettes, and half-finished canvases.

matt turned to you with a half-smile, but his eyes had that look-you knew that look well. it was the same one he gave when he'd pick you up from the airport, that quiet hunger hidden beneath soft chuckles and smooth words.

"could say the same about you," he muttered, eyes flicking to the phone you'd left on the table. you rolled your eyes, leaning against the table, crossing your arms. "i don't spend all my time editing."

he didn't reply, at least not with words. instead, he crossed the small space between you with a few easy strides, his hand finding your waist, pulling you closer with a gentleness that didn't match the heat in his eyes.

without warning, his hand slid under your shirt, fingers tracing your skin like he was painting something only he could see.

"matt-"

"c'mon…" he smirked, pulling you closer. "y'know i could use a little inspiration."

you groaned, feeling his cool fingers brush the small of your back as he looked down at you, eyes narrowed. "just don't get paint on my shirt, i have to film a brand deal before noon." you said, earning a sarcastic exhale and raised eyebrow from matt.

"uh huh." he dismissed, his arm wrapping around your waist, his right hand lifting to gently cradle the side of your face as he leaned in.

"matt, i'm serious.." you warned softly, but he kissed you before you could finish, his lips gentle but familiar, the kind that made you forget whatever you were going to say next. you melted into him, your hands resting against his chest.

he grumbled at the feel of your hands on him, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, keeping it slow, deliberate, and full of need. his hand moved to the side of your neck, gently holding you in place as the kiss grew more passionate by the second.

he could feel your body yielding against his, and it only fueled the heat between you. he deepened the kiss further, his tongue exploring your mouth with a slow, sensual hunger. his hand held your neck as he pulled you flush against him, guiding you back toward the sink, his other hand resting on your hip. breaking the kiss, his warm breath mingled with yours as he spoke.

"turn around for me."

turning around, your hands found the edge of the wooden table, fingertips grazing over the scattered art supplies. his current canvas lay just in front of you, half-finished, as if it were watching the scene unfold.

matt's eyes darkened with hunger as you followed his lead. he stood behind you, his chest pressed against your back, his hips aligned with yours. his hands roamed your body, exploring your curves with a slow, deliberate touch as he leaned in, his breath hot against the nape of your neck. he planted a soft kiss there before murmuring in that low voice.

"my good girl…"

you hummed softly at his praise, a small smirk tugging at your lips as he kissed your neck again. you shifted just slightly, pushing back against him, making matt chuckle against your skin. one of his hands left your waist, and the sound of him undoing his pants filled the quiet studio.

his breath hitched when you pressed into him, heat rising between the two of you. he chuckled again, lips still grazing the back of your neck as he teased, "eager?"

his grip on your hip loosened as his hands worked to undo your jeans, fingers tracing the soft skin of your thighs as he pulled the fabric down, letting it rest just above your knees. he left them there, enough to get what he wanted.

"maybe if you were free earlier like you said, i could've given you all the inspiration you needed," you quipped slyly.

your body moved beneath his touch, and matt growled softly against your skin, nipping at your neck as you spoke.

"teasing me, hm?"

his hands continued exploring your exposed skin, fingers brushing lightly over the sensitive spots on your thighs. he leaned down, his mouth close to your ear, breath hot against your skin. "i should punish you for that…"

you placed a hand on the table, looking back at him with a smirk. "punish? you think rembrandt had time to punish his muses between all those self-portraits? i bet he was more disciplined than that." matt smirked, pressing his body closer to yours, his hand sliding over yours on the table.

"oh, you think rembrandt controlled his muses? the guy dressed up in costumes just to amuse himself. trust me, he'd have taken a break for you." as he spoke, his other hand slid your tiny thong up to rest above your jeans. you leaned back against him, a quiet laugh escaping your lips.

"yeah? well, he was meticulous, wasn't he? you're always telling me how much he paid attention to the details. can you really call yourself an artist if you're not doing the same?"

matt pulled you closer by the hip, raising an eyebrow, "details, huh?" he murmured. his hand skimmed over your hip bone, voice low in your ear.

"let's talk about how rembrandt layered his oils, slowly, with patience. think you can handle that kind of pace?"

with that, matt took hold of himself behind you, lining up at your entrance, pressing just enough to slip in slightly before pulling back, teasing you with the slow rhythm.

you let out a little hum, fighting the grin that always seemed to come so easily with him.

"i'd say i'm more of a van gogh-impulsive, erratic, cutting right to the heart of it…" matt growled playfully, tightening his grip on you.

"careful, i might end up painting you like he did — bold, wild, unapologetic… unfinished." he quipped, pressing the tip of himself against you again, this time pushing in deeper with a force that made you hum, your body welcoming him easily.

"unfinished? you really think van gogh would've left his muse unfinished?" you teased, adjusting to the familiar stretch of him inside you.

matt pressed you further into the table, sinking deeper as his breath caught in his throat.

"van gogh might not have, but i'm not him. besides… i don't have to finish right away-fuck… i like taking my time."

the curse slipped from him like a low growl, and it sent a shiver through you, your body reacting instinctively, tightening around him as he started to move with slow, deliberate strokes.

he withdrew partially, then pushed back in, his grip on your hip tightening as he set a steady pace, each thrust deep and measured.

you let out a soft, breathless sigh, one hand gripping the edge of the wooden table while the other found its way to his face, your fingers brushing against his jaw as he breathed heavily against your neck. his breath was even, save for the little hitches when you clenched around him, reminding him of just how good you felt.

"mmh… guess i should thank you for not being as busy as picasso… he'd have me waiting… days just… for a sketch," you muttered between breaths, a soft hum escaping as matt placed a series of open-mouthed kisses along your neck.

his lips trailed toward your shoulder, and you felt the corner of his mouth curve into a smirk as he let out a small, amused breath. "nah, you'd be his masterpiece… but trust me, i'm a lot better at finishing what i start."

his words were accompanied by the gentle squeeze of his hand as it slid from yours up your arm to your shoulder, holding you firmly, while the other hand stayed gripping your hip, his hips pressing against you with a steady determination.

matt's pace picked up gradually, each thrust driving deeper, more deliberate, the sound of skin against skin filling the studio as he pulled you closer with every stroke. your fingers gripped the edge of the table harder, your breath coming out in shallow pants as the pressure built inside you. he groaned softly against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin between kisses, the warmth of his breath sending chills down your spine.

"you feel so good," he murmured, his voice a low rasp, rougher now with need. his grip on your hip tightened as his other hand moved to your stomach, pulling you back into him with each thrust, making sure you felt every inch of him. your body responded in kind, arching back into him, seeking more, wanting all of him.

your head fell back slightly, resting against his shoulder as his movements became more insistent.

"matt" you breathed out, your voice barely audible, but you knew he heard you. he always did. he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your neck.

"you like that, don't you?" he asked, his tone teasing, but his hips never faltered, keeping the rhythm steady, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

matt's hands slid from your waist up to your shoulders, pressing you forward, your chest now flush against the table. his grip tightened as he pushed down slightly, creating that delicious tension in your body. your hand, searching for balance, knocked over a few brushes in the process, and they clattered onto the table, landing on a nearby flat surface.

before you could process the mess, matt's thrusts grew more intense, forcing your body to press harder against the table-and more specifically-his painting. wet paint smeared across your shirt, and his canvas, hours of his careful work, was smudged in a frenzy of color and texture.

"matt.." you whispered, your eyes darting to the ruined painting beneath you, but the word was barely audible, drowned by the moan that escaped your lips as his movements deepened. the sensation of being so thoroughly claimed by him overrode everything else, and your voice trembled as you gripped the edge of the table.

he pulled you back against his chest, a low, guttural sound escaping his lips. "that's it… oh fuck, that's it…" he groaned, his voice strained and desperate, as though he was teetering on the edge of losing control. what the fuck?

you furrowed your brow, a brief thought flickering in your mind. "matt… you're coming that fast?" you asked, your voice breathless, genuinely curious how he was so close already when it usually took more time.

he chuckled, though his breath was ragged, his words coming out in a heated rush. "god. no. the painting… it's beautiful… fuck… maybe." his chest heaved as he fought for control, hovering on the verge of completely unraveling.

you turned your head, glancing down at the painting, now a blur of colors and shapes. where your chest and hands had smeared across it, the once-detailed image had become something abstract, chaotic-but somehow… stunning. you couldn't help but let out a breathy laugh, caught between the mess you'd made and the pleasure building in your core.

matt's hands roamed your body again, one sliding down to grip your waist while the other found its way to your lower back, adding more pressure as he thrust deeper into you, your top, completely ruined by the wet paint, clung to your skin, and each motion smeared the vibrant colors further across your chest. his hips collided with yours, the intensity of his pace increasing, matching the heat between you both.

you were practically melting under his touch, but you couldn't stop staring at the canvas beneath you. the accidental smears and handprints somehow made the piece look… alive, raw, like it held a kind of reckless beauty you'd never seen in matt's work before.

he pressed his forehead against the back of your neck, his breath hot and uneven. "fuck… look at what you've done," he whispered, his tone almost reverent, a mixture of awe and desire. "it's like… you were supposed to touch it."

you moaned softly at his words, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you looked at the painting again, the messy beauty of it sinking in.

"maybe i should ruin your work more often…" you teased, but your voice faltered as matt's hand moved from your back to grip your shoulder, pulling you even closer.

he let out a low growl, his hips driving into you with renewed fervor. "don't tempt me," he breathed against your ear, his grip tightening as if he was trying to keep control, though you could feel him unraveling with each thrust.

the rhythm between you quickened, and with every thrust, matt's hands tightened on you, as if he were trying to hold onto this moment forever. the world outside faded away, the only sounds filling the studio were the slapping of skin against skin and the breathy moans escaping your lips. you could feel his heat, his urgency, and it sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, drowning out everything else.

with one final, deep thrust, matt let out a low groan, his body shuddering against yours as he reached his peak. a moment of bliss washed over you both, the culmination of passion and art merging in a way that felt almost transcendent.

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youruser soo la voo or whatever

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yourfriendsuser ugh so hot

youruser wth watch the reels i sent u

mattdillon ma belle

youruser mon beau ;)

randomuserone hello???

randomusertwo matt's comment is cute why is everyone pressed omg

the next following thursday arrived with a buzz of excitement in the air. the gallery was set for the opening day of matt's exhibition, the walls adorned with his masterpieces, each canvas telling a story. the vibrant colors and intricate details sparkled under the gallery lights, drawing in the crowd eager to experience the world he had created. you stood beside him, your heart swelling with pride as you watched people admire his work, a bittersweet smile playing on your lips as you recalled the chaos that had led to this moment.

your phone buzzed again in your lap, but you barely glanced at it. the car rolled through the streets of paris, the gray buildings towering above, casting long shadows in the late afternoon sun. outside, the city moved at its usual pace-tourists snapping photos, locals rushing by with their coffee cups and baguettes, unaware of the little moment you were in.

after a whirlwind of brand deals and meetings, you finally had a moment to breathe. this was your first time in paris, and you wanted to soak in every bit of it. matt had sent a car for you, of course, because he wouldn't have it any other way. you smiled, remembering the way he insisted on it, as if you couldn't have figured out how to get to the gallery on your own. but that was just how he was-always making sure you had everything, making sure you were taken care of.

the car pulled up in front of ruttkowski;68, the art gallery's sleek facade reflecting the light in a way that made it almost glow. you thanked the driver, stepping out, your heels clicking softly against the pavement.

inside, it was quieter than you expected. a few people mingled around the pieces already on display, talking in low voices as they sipped champagne. but you barely noticed them. your eyes were scanning the room, looking for him.

and then you saw him, standing near one of the larger pieces-one of his, of course. he was mid-conversation with someone, but the moment his eyes met yours, he smiled. it was that quiet, knowing smile that said everything without saying anything at all.

you made your way over to him, weaving through the crowd, your heart picking up speed just a little. when you reached him, he greeted you with a soft kiss on the cheek, his hand resting lightly on your waist.

"you made it," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "of course i did," you replied, looking up at him with a grin. "you flew me out, remember?"

you and matt snickered softly, sharing little inside jokes as he led you around the gallery. he pointed out various pieces, some that you'd seen many times before and others that were new to you. each painting had a story, and you loved hearing him recount them with that passionate spark in his eyes. the way he talked about his work, how he poured his soul into every stroke, made you feel even more connected to him.

as you made your way back toward the front of the gallery, light small talk flowed naturally between you. you asked him about the inspiration for one piece, and he playfully bantered about how it was "just a phase" he was going through. you chuckled, rolling your eyes at his modesty, and he grinned, clearly enjoying the moment.

then, as the evening progressed, the speakers began to introduce him. you stepped back, a few feet away, wine glass in hand, watching as they handed him the microphone. he took a deep breath, and the room fell silent, everyone's attention on him. your heart swelled with pride as he spoke passionately about his exhibition, "rascals and saints." you couldn't help but admire the way he commanded the room, his words weaving a tapestry of emotion that resonated with everyone present.

after the applause faded, you made your way back to him, feeling a warm buzz from the wine. "i loved your speech," you said, a genuine smile spreading across your face.

“it’s the audience that deserves the credit," he replied with a wink. in a swift, discreet motion, he lightly tapped your bum, making you laugh. he leaned in, planting a quick kiss on your temple before holding your hip gently, guiding you toward a small group of people engaged in conversation.

"matt, who is this?" a woman asked, her eyes flicking to you with thinly veiled curiosity.

"this is my girlfriend," matt said, his tone casual, as if it wasn't a big deal at all, even though you could feel the slight tension that followed his words. a few of them exchanged looks, one man even smirking slightly, but matt just gave them one of those take scoffs, like he found it all amusing.

one of the older women spoke up, her french accent steady and posh as she lifted a hand to lightly touch matt's shoulder. "oh, she's lovely, dear. quite lovely indeed… yes," she praised, her eyes drifting as she scanned you from head to toe.

"just a tad bit young, i'm afraid. how old are you, dear?" she questioned, her voice low as her sunken blue eyes traced your face.

pardon my french, but what a nosy bitch, you thought to yourself.

"twenty-five, madame," you responded gracefully, giving the older woman a brief smile.

she looked shocked, appalled almost, covering up with a small laugh and placing a hand on her heart.

"oh, good heavens, she's still a baby," she joked, her tone light, but you could see matt's jaw tighten slightly as he tried to remain polite.

"it's about more than what meets the eye, for me," he said, his tone light, matching hers, but there was a sharpness there that you couldn't ignore.

then another person spoke up, a man who pointed his thumb toward the large painting hanging in the center of the wall. it was a striking piece-dark, grunge-like colors smudged with bright strokes that drew the eye in. you felt a flush of embarrassment remembering how you'd accidentally ruined it.

''the pulse of the city' is spectacular. what's your inspiration behind that?" the man asked.

matt let out a huff of a breath, bowing his head sheepishly as he thanked the guy for the praise.

"thank you, i can tell you in one simple word-chaos. let's go take a look at it, shall we?" he said, walking over to the painting, pointing out certain elements and key points that he described with an enthusiasm that was infectious.

as you stood there, fancy champagne in hand, matt's eyes met yours in the crowd, and ever so slightly, he winked and flashed you a knowing smile.

just like that, the tension shifted to something lighter as the conversation moved on to pieces in the gallery. you could still feel the weight of his words, the way he looked at you. it wasn't just about your age or what people might think. for him, it was more than that. and in that moment, you knew you wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

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writingthroughmyass · 3 months ago

Text

Service Animal (Part Three)

Logan Howlett X Reader (afab)

Part One here

Part Two here

CONTENT/WARNINGS: Get ready for smushing ya'll. Nothing especially kinky, just your average pp 2 pp sex as a result of all that foreplay in the first two parts lol. This fic doesn't really follow the logic of the movies, just warning you, cos let's be real there is no logic in the movies so I kinda combined it with the OG comics.

Enjoy!

You're pushing Logan backwards to your bed, kissing, licking and biting at his lips the whole way. The back of his legs come in contact with the mattress and you push him so he's sitting on the edge.

You climb on top of him, your knees are on either side of his thighs, never breaking contact from his mouth. You grind your hips down into his erection and moan into his mouth from the exquisite friction.

Your mouth moves to his neck, sucking and biting as your hands roam his broad chest, moving under the hem of his tight, white t-shirt to feel his firm flesh.

He's panting heavily, chest heaving with each breath, hands fisted tight into the fabric at your waist. You can't help but smile at his moans as you nibble the skin under his ear.

“Fuck, darling, where is this coming from? You could hardly even look me in the eye before,” he says breathlessly.

“I've been wanting this for a long time,” you murmur into the thick hair on his cheek.

“Well fuck, wish you'd told me. I've been dreaming about this from day one.”

You pull his t-shirt up his torso and he removes his arms from the sleeves so you can pull it over his head.

You sit back so you can look at him in all his glory. His hair is a mess from your wandering hands, pretty mouth hanging open so you can see his perfect, white teeth and pink tongue. His skin is flushed and you can see the marks you've made on him healing before your very eyes- which is a bit disappointing as all you want to do is brand him as yours.

He's looking up at you through half lidded eyes, the desire he feels is on full display, as evidenced by his mountain of an erection. Even through his jeans you feel how big he is, causing your mouth to salivate in excitement.

He's helping you to pull your own top off, throwing it carelessly across the room. Your breasts are at his eye level. He eyes them in awe despite still being covered with your bra. He leans forward and kisses them, starting at the middle of your sternum to your right breast then your left. His hands are so tight on your waist you're sure your skin will bruise.

He looks up at you as his hands move to your back, his eyes asking for permission before expertly unclipping your bra from your body. His eyes rove over the image of your bare breasts. He sits for a few moments, just looking.

Suddenly you feel a bit of shyness creep up on you at how he's staring so intently.

His right hand moves from your hip to gently trace the curve of your breast, running his fingers across the swell of it. You watch as he cups it, as if to test the weight of it before he grips your breast roughly in his palm. His other hand moves to your free breast, taking your nipple between thumb and forefinger and giving it a firm twist. Your back is arching, pushing your chest towards him as he watches his hands explore you.

“Perfect,” he whispers under his breath. “So fucking perfect, so pretty.”

“I could say the same,” you murmur.

Your hands are wondering over his stomach now, feeling how firm and broad it is under your comparatively small palms. Your fingers trace the shape of his abs, running through his lovely happy trail, letting the curls catch at your fingers. You make a sound at the back of your throat in ecstasy, delirious with excitement that you're finally able to touch him, to kiss him, to make him yours.

You moan when you feel the wet heat of his mouth over one of your nipples, his teeth grazing the tip.

Your fingernails run along the lines on his hips that lead down to his throbbing cock, which is hopelessly straining upwards to reach you.

His hands move to the middle of your back as he flips you over so your back is on the bed. You whimper in disappointment.

“What's wrong, darlin’?” he asks with a furrowed brow.

You distractedly think that you could get used to him calling you darling in that gravelly voice of his.

“I wanna play with your cock,” you whine. “Wanna touch you.”

“We'll get to it eventually, okay? I need to taste your pretty pussy. Please, let me.”

Logan? Begging during sex? Oh… your mind reels at how delicious it is.

“Well, what are you waiting for then?” you quip with a smile, your body almost vibrating with excitement.

Without further ado, he's unbuttoned your jeans and has his fingers hooked into the waistband, lifting your hips as he yanks it from your pelvis then your legs. He's hovering above you now, hands on either side of you. He dips his head so he can kiss you deeply. You feel yourself melt into him.

Fuck, he hasn't even touched you where you most need him, yet you feel your entire body coiling, preparing for what he's about to give you.

He mouths sloppily along your neck, down your chest and stomach. He spends a few extra moments enjoying the skin of your hip on his mouth before continuing his journey downwards until he arrives at your clothed pussy. He kneels on the floor and pulls your body closer to him by the thighs.

You realise he's playing with your body, teasing you, as a single finger gently prods at your soaking underwear.

“Fuck, darling's so wet already,” he murmurs.

You feel a little jump behind your ribs that travels to your core when his face moves to your pussy. His nose is flush with your entrance as he inhales deeply. You feel yourself squirm, his touches only causing your carnal itch to worsen instead of giving relief.

“This scent has been driving me crazy for too long,” he says, voice muffled from your pussy.

“W-what do you mean?” you ask, your head spinning.

His eyes rise to meet yours as his hands readjust your thighs, spreading them further and pushing forward so your knees are pointing to your shoulders.

“Remember when I told you I could smell if you're about to have an episode?”

“Yeah…” you say hesitantly, feeling your stomach drop.

“Well… I can also smell it when you're aroused,” he murmurs into your entrance, nose nudging against your clit in the most perfect way. “And wouldn't you know it… you're always aroused when you're around me.”

Your hands come up to cover your face.

“Well, fuck, that's so embarrassing,” you whine.

You already feel so exposed, spread out like this before him, his face full frontal with your pussy. Then he has to go and say that. There's something so wonderfully humiliating about it that has you clenching on nothing.

You feel his broad hands on your wrists, gently moving your hands away from your face.

“Don't hide. I wanna watch you,” he says in a low voice.

His eyes return to your pussy, moving forward so his lips are pressed to it, mouthing at you through your underwear.

It's so unfair. He's just playing with you, drawing this out. You need him to take you, ravish you, use you. But instead he's so slow and methodical about it, such a stark contrast to his everyday behaviour.

When you'd allow your mind to wander and fantasize about what he'd be like in bed, you'd always imagined him as feral, wild, selfish and unyielding. But you have to admit… this is so much better, even if it is frustrating and borderline painful as you feel the heat licking fervently in your belly.

You feel his hands pulling at the waistband of your underwear at your hips, two fingers tapping on one side. You take the hint and lift your pelvis so he can pull the fabric over your legs and feet, planting kisses sporadically from your hip to your ankle.

It occurs to you that he's practically worshipping your body, savouring each touch so completely that you're turning into mush beneath him. Again, it's incredibly frustrating, but you're enjoying the slow build.

His hands push your thighs forwards again, making you small.

His plush lips are running along one thigh, hands massaging your flesh as he takes his sweet time.

You begin to whimper impatiently but the sound only makes him chuckle darkly. He pulls back a little and blows gently onto your pussy. Your entire body gives an involuntary spasm at the sensation, a pathetic mewl sounding from the back of your throat.

“Fuck, you're a rat bastard, y’know that?” you grind out, not even trying to hide how you're panting desperately.

“Am I now?” he almost purrs.

You feel your body spasm again as his tongue finds your clit, lightly tracing it before pulling it into his mouth. The wet heat of it is so startling that your body is vibrating. You feel the slight graze of his teeth as he sucks and you feel your eyes go cross with pleasure.

You whimper as he pulls away, only for his hand to gather some of the juices from between your legs to swipe it over your clit. Then his index and middle fingers are pinching at it and rolling it, causing your hips to thrust towards him in desperation.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he breathes, staring at you. “Does darling like this?”

His fingers begin to get more rough with you as he listens to the sounds you're making. You lift your head to look at him and his eyes are glazed over as if he's drunk on your pleasure. You feel the coil in you tighten once again at the sight of his lips and chin, slick with your wetness.

“Fuck yeah, darling likes this,” you manage to squeak out. Your voice is higher than usual, trembling and fragile. “Now, get back to work, puppy,” you demand, pushing his head into your pussy.

You can feel that you're getting close, a slow impending tidal wave, still gathering speed. His hot mouth on you has you begging him, don't stop, please keep going, you're so fucking good at this, puppy.

You feel him hum into you as a single digit enters you, working its way inside you, giving you the delicious stretch you were craving so badly. But it’s still not enough.

His hazel eyes are still fixed on you, paying attention to your reactions, gauging how to make you feel as good as humanly possible. As you look at him, you're suddenly struck with the realisation that this is your friend with his head between your legs, eating you out desperately like a man starving. Your service animal, serving you as well as he could.

You feel the beast in you continuing to compress. You're so, so fucking close, but he's got you on the edge, keeping you there, wringing the pleasure out of you without giving you the release you're chasing.

His thick digit crooks inside you in the direction of your belly, exploring, searching for your sweet spot. You cry out a quiet sob when he finds it.

“Close,” you strangle out. So close.

Your moans spur him on to move his mouth more vigorously against you, his mutton chops scratching so good against your thighs.

Then suddenly your body is floating, the wind is knocked out of you as your entire being seems to be suspended in mid air. You don't breathe, you don't think, you don't make a sound. Then all at once the wave crashes into you hard. You're trying to move away from Logan's mouth but at the same time seeking it out, feeling the overstimulation wreak havoc on your body as his hands hold you down as you ride out your high.

“Fu-uck,” you moan.

It fucking hurts but it hurts good.

He continues to lap at your pussy even after you've come back down, tongue gathering up the slick around your thighs. The sensation is soothing as you settle back into the bed, feeling your body turn boneless.

You hear him chuckle quietly and the sound makes you frown at him.

“What's so funny?” you slur, still in the process of coming back down to earth.

“You're just so hot. I love it. Your moans are driving me crazy over here,” he groans, and you feel pity for his poor jeans, doing their best to restrain his cock.

“Where'd you learn how to do that anyway?” you ask, incredulously.

“I just do what your body is asking me for,” he explains simply, planting a wet kiss on your thigh.

You jolt when he slowly pulls his finger out from inside you. You almost whimper at the loss.

“Logan,” your lips and tongue fit around his name, like a prayer.

“Yeah, what is it, sweetheart?”

“I need to fuck you,” you state simply.

You watch as that familiar line forms between his brows. You get the urge to press your lips to it to kiss it away.

“You're sure about this?” he asks you seriously. You try not to get distracted by his heaving chest as it rises and falls with his breaths.

“More than anything,” you assure him. “If anything I'm wondering if you are sure about this.”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

You sit up and take one of his hands in yours, fingers running across his knuckles where his claws come out.

“Your heart belongs to Jean, doesn't it?” you say, trying to ignore the dull ache behind your ribcage.

He's silent in thought for a few moments, gaze averted.

“With Jean… it's… complicated,” he says slowly. “I've loved other women before her and after as well. It doesn't mean I don't care about you. But… it seems to be a trend where the people I care about get hurt.”

“I'm alright though, I can look after myse-”

“But the day will come where you won't be,” he interupts. “I've been around for a very long time, remember? But Jean… the Phoenix… I don't have to be afraid of losing her. I know it's fucked up, but that's how it is. And, she knows me like no one else does. When she enters my mind…” he trails off.

“I get it,” you say softly, laying a kiss over his knuckles. “You've spent a lot of your life not knowing who you are. It's important for you to have someone who knows you fully. “

His hazel gaze looks deep into you, that wrinkle still marring the space between his brows.

“Yeah… that's exactly it. M’sorry, but I can't control how I feel.”

“Logan, please don't apologize. I'll have you any way I can. It means a lot that you're talking about this at all. You're so emotionally constipated it scares me sometimes.”

That makes him laugh. He gets up from his kneeling position and removes his jeans, keeping his briefs on. Your eyes stray to his groin, relieved to see he's still hard despite the tough topic you were discussing.

You grab his hand again and pull him so he's sitting on the bed with you, pulling him into a deep kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue and you note that your flavours combined are quite complimentary, if you do say so yourself.

He pulls away slightly and looks at you.

“Are you really sure?” he asks quietly. “I'm… I'm fucked up. Plus the whole thing with Jean- I just want to make sure you really understand what you're getting into. Because I feel like if you knew, you wouldn't want me.”

“Hey, I know you're like a thousand years old, but I'm not a kid. I know what I'm doing and I know what I want. And I want you,” you smile at him.

“I'm going to ignore your jab at my age.”

“And I’m going to fuck you now,” you say, pushing his chest so his back falls into the bed.

“Wait, do we need a rubber? I mean, I’ve had a bisalp but-”

“Oh, you’ve had a bisalp, have you? I missed it the first couple hundred times you danced down the hall singing about it,” he teases.

“But,” you continue, as if he never spoke, “I mean, there’s still STDs.”

“I’m invulnerable to diseases,” he frowns at you. “You don’t know me all that well, do you?”

“Huh? Since when?”

“Since always. It’s part of my healing factor.”

“But, that’s not healing, that’s curing a fucking disease,” you say incredulously.

“Are you going to fuck me or what?” he grunts impatiently.

“Oh, right, right,” you say quickly, not wanting him to change his mind. ��We’ll explore that later, I guess.”

You straddle his waist, hands still on his chest. You bend to kiss his neck and work down his chest, nails lightly scratching his nipples, causing him to groan in pleasure.

The sound is music to your ears. You want to hear him more.

Your mouth trails down his firm stomach, your fingers tracing every line, every curve. His torso twitches with your touches, craving more.

You arrive at the lip of his underwear and absentmindedly take note of the wet patch on the fabric there.

You wish you could make him suffer like you did, but you don't have the patience for it. Not when you can see how his curls adorn his chest and stomach, leading down to where he needs you the most.

Gently, you touch your lips to where his cock is leaking through the fabric, hands massaging his muscular thighs.

Your gaze meets his and the expression on his face gives you pause.

He almost looks like he's in pain…

You can't help the feeling of awe that comes over you. Awe that you're the one doing this to him. Turning him into putty in your hands. And you'd barely even touched him yet.

Your hand slips past the waistband of his briefs to grip his cock. A hiss escapes his lips as your fingers brush against his tender head.

“Fuck, you're killing me here,” he grunts. You watch as his pecs flex with the sheer effort of withstanding your teasing.

Slowly, you peel his underwear back so you can get a peek at his cock.

You stare at it, slack-jawed.

He's not only girthy but long. With little dark curls climbing up the base, the skin a few shades darker than his own bronzed skin, the head, so full of his arousal, a lovely rouge colour.

He's packing a beautiful dick.

Your hand can barely encircle his full girth and it feels heavy in your fingers. You note the thick veins running up his length and feel your mouth watering just looking at it.

“Dude, your dick is gorgeous,” you state matter-of-factly.

He rolls his eyes.

“How romanti-” his words are cut off with a gasp as you take his head into your mouth, tongue dipping into the slit to collect the moisture building there.

He tastes strangely good, considering how much he smokes and drinks. Like salt and a tinge of sweetness.

There's no way you can take all of him in your mouth, so you pull back to spit on his cock.

“Fuck, you are a nasty girl,” he smirks at you.

With his cock lubed up with your saliva, your hand begins to stroke him and you sit up to kiss him on his mouth, wanting to shut him the fuck up.

You concentrate on his head, fist squeezing to overstimulate him and you get the reaction you wanted.

“Mmh-h-hey, wai-ait,” he's moaning into your mouth, body squirming beneath you. “Fu-uck, th-that’s… sen-”

You put your mouth over him again, your fist moving up and down, wrist twisting expertly. Your other hand dips down to cup his balls.

His hands are in your hair, both simultaneously pulling you close and pushing you away.

You feel pride at how speechless he is.

Your cheeks are hollowed as you stroke up and down his length with your tongue. One of his hands comes to rest on your jaw, feeling his own cock through your cheek.

You feel his cock twitch on your tongue and then he's spilling his cum into your mouth.

Oops.

You do your best to swallow it all but there's so much.

When he's finally spent, you release him from your mouth, some of his cum dripping from the corner of your lips.

“It's been a while, huh?” you chuckle, your cheek resting on his hip as you continue to cradle his cock in your hand.

He doesn't say anything. Just grabs your head in both hands, eyes half-lidded, as he pulls you up to kiss your mouth clean of himself.

You can't help the moan that escapes you at just how dirty it is.

Finally you pull back for air and he's shuffling underneath you, removing his briefs completely.

You look down and notice with shock that he's still as rigid and tall as the pyramid of Giza.

“Regenerating factor,” he explains simply, reading the look on your face.

“I'm learning so much about you today.”

You climb up his body so you're hovering over his cock, feeling a bit of apprehension due to his size.

“Just take it slow. And you've already come once so you should be ready,” he says gently. Again, he's reading the look on your face.

You nod and look into his face, wanting to see his expression as you sink down on him. There's an unmistakable heat in your belly, an excitement to have him inside of you.

Slowly, you bear down so his tip is at your entrance, stretching you open. Your pussy is still sensitive from the mind blowing orgasm you had before, so even just the very tip has you rolling your eyes back.

A moan escapes you. You can't even seem to keep looking at him, everything is blurring together as you lose yourself in the bliss of his cock pushing inside of you.

“Fu-uck, Logan,” you whine.

“What is it, darling?” he pants.

“You feel… so good,”

“You… Ah… you haven't even-even taken all of me yet,” he says, struggling to string a sentence together.

His hands are on your hips, not guiding your movements but just holding on. As though he needs to ground himself.

You feel his own hips move up into you impatiently, his cock spearing into you and you hiss. It's painful, but it's a strangely good pain.

You feel that familiar tightening in your lower stomach and marvel at how quickly you're coming undone again.

You roll your hips as your cunt hugs and squeezes him, trying desperately to swallow all of him. Finally, you feel him bottom out and the both of you moan at the same time with the relief of it, feeling his head fitting snugly and wonderfully so deep inside of you.

You lean your upper body over him so you can kiss and bite at his neck, needing to keep your mouth busy so you don't say anything stupid. Your hands are at his shoulders, nails digging in.

Vaguely, you can hear him grunting with the pain of it but he doesn't ask you to stop.

“Sit up for me, darling, so I can see you,” he says breathlessly.

You don't want to, so you ignore him.

“Sit up,” he demands again.

When you ignore him the second time, his broad hands move from your hips to your shoulders, forcefully pressing so you have to sit up.

Your hands move to his thighs and your back straightens, continuing to roll your hips, chasing your high.

You're almost there, you can almost taste it.

“‘M close,” you manage to get out. “Fuck, I-”

His eyes are following your breasts as they bounce with your movements. His hand moves to connect with your clit, pinching and rolling the bud, causing your moans to turn desperate because you are so close. It's gathering and picking up speed and it's about to steamroll you over.

“Logan,” you moan, feeling the heat build and build. You need it. You need it.

“S-so-good-Logan- you… ah… I-” you’re jabbering, but you can’t stop yourself. “I love-I love- y-your cock- I-”

I love you.

Then he's pulsing inside of you, his own moans joining yours. You feel him spill himself inside of you, the twitching of his cock is so intense it's giving you extra pleasure. You watch as he punches his fists into the bed and you hear a tearing sound.

Then he's flipped you over so you're on your back and he's above you. He grabs at your legs clumsily, delirious with his orgasm, and he lifts them up over his shoulders, sloppily pressing kisses to your calf muscle.

Then he's moving. And the angle hits something especially heinous within you. You feel like you need to pee. You try desperately to hold it in, but everything within you is screaming to let go.

“Relax, darling, let it come,” he's telling you. But he sounds so far away yet so near, as if he's speaking inside your mind.

You don't want to allow it to happen, but your body betrays you and it hits you with an explosion that scares you. The dam has crumbled with a bang and you feel something gushing from you and it almost feels painful but oh so good.

You have your eyes screwed shut as it wracks through you and you're almost sobbing. You could swear it's a religious experience.

You slowly come to, only to realise that Logan is chanting your name. Not to get your attention, but just to have it on his lips.

Your eyes open and the first thing you see is Logan, your legs still over his shoulders and his hands are gripping your thighs so hard you're sure it will bruise.

He's staring at you with wonder.

That's when you notice the liquid dripping down his chest and stomach.

“Darlin’, that was so hot,” he gasps out with a tremble at the back of his throat. “You did so good. Oh my god, darling, you did so good, fuck.”

“What… did I do exactly?”

“You squirted all over me, was the hottest fuckin’ thing.” His eyes are ablaze with awe.

You didn't know you could do that.

“I… didn't know I could do that,” you say, your mind and mouth lagging behind each other. “Wow.”

You feel dumbstruck. You both laugh a little bit, basking in the afterglow.

“Are you going to keep going or are you done? Because I am done,” you sigh dramatically.

“Mmm… yeah I'm done,” he grunts. “Sorry about your bed by the way.”

“Huh?” you say dreamily, still not completely present.

“Nothing-never mind, just relax.”

You feel Logan slowly slip himself out of you. You feel bruised inside so the movement is more jarring than you were expecting. Once he's fully pulled out of you, you feel the loss of him instantly and even though he's still in the room with you, you miss him.

You feel a wet gushing between your legs.

“Jesus, Logan, how much did you come?”

“Uh… a lot. I did tell you I was pent up. Now get up, you better go pee. No girl of mine is getting a UTI.”

You groan and sink yourself further into the bed, only to feel a rough texture behind your shoulder. You turn slightly and that's when you notice the torn sheets.

You bolt upright.

There's three tears clean through the sheets and into the mattress. And on your other side are another three tears.

“When… when did you even do that?” you ask hesitantly.

“When I came the second time,” he says sheepishly.

Fuck.

“Next time, we're using your bed,” you grumble.

“I'll get it fixed, promise.”

After you pee and remove the torn, wet sheets to place a towel over the partially destroyed mattress, you both settle back into the bed together. You’re snuggled up against his side as he lays on his back.

“I can't believe you're such a freak,” Logan says in wonder. “Here I was, worried I'd done something perverted to you, but in reality it's you who's the pervert.”

Silence.

“You had a boner against my ass, Logan.”

A/N: I hope the Jean thing is okay, I know the fanbase isn't the biggest fan of her lol. I just feel like she plays a pretty big role in understanding Logan as a character and his traumas. I feel like another part of his attraction for her also has to do with the fact that she's unavailable. Hurt that you're expecting is better than hurt that you're not expecting, if that makes sense.

Plus, let's be for real, this fella is poly. Just kinda funny he keeps falling in love with so many women but he still has no bitches.

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x you #logan howlett smut #x-men #xmen #The prayer thing was an accident i promise it just came out #I meant to post this earlier #but health issues and general lack of me time #ass writes stuff

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woongisi · 10 months ago

Text

Brand New God // Choi Jongho

sub!Choi Jongho x dom!fem!reader // SMUT

WC// 3.2k

Synopsis// Jongho was the perfect son in the eyes of the church. It was your mission to change that. Opportunity comes once he consumes you with a particularly sinful confession.

Warnings// blasphemy, corruption, angst for a bit, oral (male receiving), no protection (pls use it even for oral), improper use of confessional booths, dacryphilia if you squint

Author's Note// This has been a long time in the making. Hope my other religious trauma mfs enjoy it as much as I do. Title is an iDKHOW reference. ☺︎♡

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Jongho wasn't the preacher's son, but he may as well have been. Never late to mass, always helping the elders, scolding the children, the whole lot of it. Sung in the choir. Formerly an altar boy. The envy of every parent's eye.

He was always excited to see you even if he had to preface his greeting by asking why you missed mass yet again. Despite his general duties and all he was never much of an extrovert. You always felt the air of awkwardness that hung around him when he approached you. If anything gave away that he was happy to see you… it was his glossy eyes and trembling smile that he tried so hard to suppress.

Being the son every parent wanted had its perks but many downfalls in the end. Most of the other people your age had largely abandoned the strictness of their faiths. Many still kept their beliefs but no longer felt such pressure to be perfect. In turn, they tended to find Jongho annoying.

You, however? Something about him was cute. Just how nervous he was to speak to you. The deep blush that he tried to hide whenever he told you that you looked pretty. You told yourself you only really went to church out of obligation, but now you'd begun to think you were there for him more than anything. You knew he was perfect. You knew almost for a fact that he'd never touched anyone else or even himself. You'd love to ruin him but at the same time you'd accepted you'd never get to.

Right?

Something about today was different. Jongho's face was red the second he saw you, red before he'd so much as stood up to greet you.

“Miss! You look pretty as always.” He piped up and almost immediately turned to skitter away. Only stopping once you grabbed the sleeve of his shirt.

“Thank you, Jongho. Always the gentleman. You look quite handsome today yourself.” You smiled and ruffled his hair a bit. “You seem nervous. Are you alright? Are you sick?”

“N-no I’m ok!” Jongho avoided your gaze like his life depended on it. “Lying is a sin, Jongho, lying is a sin.” He whispered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Ok, look! Can… Can I ask you something?”

“Anything you want, sweetheart.”

Jongho swore he'd just passed on. There was no way. No girl his age had ever called him that before… only the little old ladies.

“You- What- Ok, ok come on just follow me, alright?”

Jongho led you back to the confession booths. They were somewhat secluded, given the nature of their use. Standing with your back pressed against the wall, Jongho couldn't even hold eye contact as he stood sheepishly in front of you.

“I- Last night-” Jongho huffed and hid his face. “Stop looking at me like that!”

“Like what?” You smirked. “I'm not here to judge. It's just kinda cute seeing you so nervous.”

“Cute…? Anyway! Gosh! Last night I…” One glance at the low hem of your shirt had shut him down. “Never mind. It's ok! I don't wanna talk about it anymore.”

“Get in the goddamn booth.”

“W-What? First, don't use the Lord’s name in vain. Second… what?”

“Just pretend I'm the priest, k? You wouldn't lie to me, would you, Jongho?”

“This feels wrong, but… fine.”

Jongho sat in the booth and closed the curtains with trembling hands. He'd sat in this exact spot so many times and confessed to so many little sins. Little white lies, things that weren't even necessarily sins that he simply felt guilt for. This time he couldn't shake the anxiety.

Situated on the other half, you slid the small wooden door to the side to reveal the rectangular screen that kept you both apart.

“Right. Now tell me what's got you so bothered?”

Shame devoured Jongho from head to toe. He couldn't even believe he was sitting here letting you play priest. Why the hell was he doing this? Couldn't he just tell the actual priest when it was time for confession?

“Well, last night I had a dream.”

His voice has gotten low. You could tell he was trying hard not to stutter and could almost picture his eyebrows furrowed as he picked at his nails.

“I had a dream about a girl.”

“Mhm? What's odd about that?”

“She…” Jongho sighed. “She was touching me.”

“Like a hug?” You caught on to the fact it wasn't anything innocent in an instant but took any chance you could to hear Jongho confess. This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience after all.

“N-No. She was on her knees, she was dragging her nails along my thighs.”

“Ah, those thick thighs of yours? I see.”

Jongho chose to ignore that charged comment.

“She leaned down and put her mouth on my- uh- privates. And… why am I telling you this?!”

“Just relax. Let it out.”

“Ok…” The memories from the night before raced through the boy's brain. He felt like he might faint. “She bobbed her head up and down. Told me I looked handsome. Looked up at me with those shining eyes… didn't stop until I… you know.”

Jongho had slumped against the backboard of the booth, evident by the creaking. His hands nervously fidgeted with the hem of his striped wool sweater.

“She was just so beautiful, y/n… she looked like a dream.” A moment’s silence. “I mean I guess she was a dream. I just feel so filthy. I've never had a dream about that. I've never thought about someone like that. I've never even-”

You cut his rambling off. “Kissed someone? Touched yourself?”

“Both of those…” he murmured. “The worst thing about the dream is that we weren't married.”

“Jongho?”

“Yeah?”

“Was this girl me?”

“Yeah…” Jongho’s head hit the wall with a light thud.

The next thing he heard was shuffling, the cracks of old wood, and the curtain being shoved to the side.

“W-wait! I'm sorry… just… don't go.” He shot to sit straight up. “Forget what I said. Please, you're my only real friend.”

You swore you heard his voice crack at the end.

“The others our age aren't kind to me. I pretend it doesn't bother me and remember the Lord has a plan for me, but… you can only take so long of being surrounded by old people and little kids before you start to wonder what's wrong with you.”

He was undoubtedly crying now.

“You're probably already gone. Great job, Jongho, you ruined the only thing you had. Loser.”

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach. Unbelievable. He was what the kids wanted to grow up to be like, yet he had such a low opinion of himself?

He about jumped out of his skin once you pulled his curtain away just enough to look in at him. Though it hurt to see him like this, he did look gorgeous. His full cheeks were a rosy pink, his lashes clumped together by the big wet tears that rolled down his face. You hated how it turned you on. Just a bit.

“Y-you didn't leave?”

“Oh, Jongho…” You pouted and extended your hand out to him. “No, I wouldn't leave without a word. I wouldn't leave, period.”

When he took your hand into his you could tell his body was shaking. Though he moved to stand up, it didn't last long before he was dropped on his knees, hand still on yours. You found yourself following shortly behind.

Jongho was properly sobbing in every regard, chest heaving, his mouth babbling nonsense to beg you for forgiveness. You shook away his hand and knelt to one knee. Placing a hand upon his shoulder was the only act it took for his arms to reach around your waist and pull himself against you, his face buried in your neck, his hands gripping the fabric of your shirt like you were going to disappear.

“Jongho…”, You rubbed circles on his back. “Come on. Look at me.”

Jongho obliged with hesitation, still avoiding looking into your eyes. You, of course, followed his eyes.

“I'm no prude. You can't get rid of me that easily. I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. I didn't know you felt so alone, but, honestly… words aren't enough right now.”

You leaned in and placed a kiss on Jongho’s cheek. It was salty, but his skin was smooth against your lips. He flinched in shock but once you pulled away, he found himself wanting more.

His voice was barely above a whisper. “Wait. Can you do that again? Please… this time on my-”

You didn't let him finish his sentence before swooping back in and taking his lips into your own. He gasped so sweetly into your mouth, he tasted like honey and hints of sweetened coffee. Undoubtedly his breakfast.

“Follow my lead, okay?” Jongho was quick to agree.

Based on watching him suck on his bottom lip when he was nervous, you'd figured they'd be soft. They were pillowy, warm, and tasted like vanilla chapstick. His large hand had a death grip on your wrist and you could tell he was riddled with anxiety.

“Jongho, fuck. You taste so good.” You sighed deeply back into the kiss. Jongho's returned advances were shy but undoubtedly needy. The kiss was broken only long enough for you to take his ear lobe gently in your mouth, exercising care not to catch on his studded earring.

Jongho flinched and whined before melting into your touch once more. His mind felt hazy, sluggish, but oh so happy. He’d never dreamed of feeling this way. He didn’t expect to feel any kind of sexual gratification until he was married… whenever that may have been. The guilt he felt for letting you go at his neck in the middle of his lifelong church was immense, but part of him found it unbelievably hot.

“Mmh, please,” Jongho’s hand rested on the back of your head. “Don’t stop.”

“You can touch me, honey.” You smirked and shimmied your jacket off your shoulders. “Wherever you want. I’m yours to explore.”

Jongho was nothing short of eager, with his hands starting to roam the shape of your body. Every stripe you licked down his neck and every sloppy kiss brought forth unholy noises from his throat. His warmly tinted skin blossomed in shades of purple and blue with your manipulation. You’d just have to give him some of your concealer.

“Jongho?”

“Yes, dear? His head slumped forward with a pant.

“Your dream. Wanna make that a reality?”

“What? Isn’t that a-”

“Sin? Mhm. If you don’t sin a bit then Jesus died for nothing.” You giggled. “Besides, it can’t get much worse than what we’re doing already.”

Jongho thought for only a moment before whining and nodding eagerly.

You removed yourself from Jongho and leapt to your feet. “Ok, well we shouldn’t do that right here on the floor. Come on, get back in the booth.”

Jongho leaned back against the wooden wall with his hands bracing himself on the railing.

“Gonna unbutton those pants, alright?” As usual, Jongho was outfitted in slim-fitting black dress pants and a white button-up, complete with a black tie. He truly did look stunning even if you’d never be able to get him to accept it.

Jongho inhaled deeply, watching your every move as you dropped to your knees and fumbled with the clasp of his belt. Undoing it, you waited a moment to fully pull his pants down.

“You’re hard, Jongie~.” You cooed and rubbed the back of his thigh. “Have you ever been hard before?”

“Not outside the ones you get through puberty… or when you're scared for a presentation… well, not until that dream.” One hand brushed your hair out of your face.

“Oh? Sweet boy. I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

Soon enough, Jongho had shrugged his neatly ironed slacks to the floor. Your intuition told you he’d be big… But fuck. He really was. His boxers weren’t tight-fitting in any regard, but the tent formed in them was considerable.

“Oh hell, Jongho! Seriously?! This is what you’ve been keeping from the world all this time.” You groaned and fidgeted with the rim of one of the legs of his boxers. You glanced up long enough to catch his deep brown eyes staring down intently. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you a bit antsy to be under his gaze like this.

“I got you, ok?” Jongho hummed nervously at your words.

Your hand moved across the form of his dick just enough to give him an idea of what to expect from this. The way he jolted was enough to let you know he enjoyed it. You rubbed your hand over him with a flat palm and relished in the girth you could already tell he possessed underneath the fabric.

“You’re so fucking big, damn, did you even realize that?” Jongho shook his head feverishly.

“N-no… am I really?” Jongho felt his heart skip a beat, his hand hovering over you.

You could feel his presence over you and grabbed his hand, moved it to your hair, and gave it a reassuring pat. His fingers scratched at your scalp as if on instinct, soothing himself to the feeling. Every movement of your palm sent electric shocks up his spine.

Deciding it was due time for more, you inquired as to whether you could remove his boxers… met with an overwhelming agreeance. His cock sprung from under the confines of his underwear, causing him to wince at the newly cold air. His length was nothing to laugh at, you’d be a fool not to note the considerable circumference and upward curve as well. He was unshaven as you expected with curly black-brown hair over the expanse of his balls and above the base of his dick. He had a rather prominent happy trail which, fittingly, made you incredibly happy. He was circumcised with the skin around the head a shade lighter than the rest. The tip glistened with pre-cum in the dim light. Jongho squirmed under your watch.

“I-is something wrong? Do you not want to anymore…?”

“I… I’m kind of in shock honestly. Your dick is almost as pretty as you… almost.”

Jongho whined and gripped your hair lightly in response. Your free hand caressed the expanse of his firm thighs, the other encasing the head of his dick.

“A-ah, careful!” Jongho resisted the need to buck his hips against your touch. “I-I’m sensitive. Really.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, gathered a considerable amount of drool in the space of your cheeks, and let it run down onto him. The warm sensation melted the boy’s mind. You gave him a few languid strokes to spread the makeshift lube along the length of his shaft. Using three fingers, you rubbed a deliberate line up the prominent vein situated on the underside of his cock. Jongho’s labored breathing filled the confined space with need.

“Such a pretty thing, you are.” You purred and left a quick peck just below Jongho’s navel. “Such a needy boy.” Your movements matched up with your strokes and fondles.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Don’t worry about replying, babe. Just listen to me.”

Jongho stroked your cheek with trembling hands. “You’re so beautiful.” His words almost carried a pout and made your heart melt. They felt sincere. Like you could trust them. He meant it outside the heat of the moment.

You met Jongho’s gaze tenderly. “So, you meant it all those times, didn’t you? All the times you greeted me before mass?”

Jongho’s voice was velvety smooth in his response. “Of course I did. Even besides lying being a sin… I’ve always thought so from the first time I saw you. Always…”

“Oh, Jongho… Jongho by the time I’m done with you, you’re only going to want to worship to me.”

Feeling you’d worked him up enough by now, you took his cock into your mouth, giving him time to adjust to the new feeling. You hollowed your cheeks and sunk your head further down around him, embracing the struggle once his length hit the back of your throat. Your gag panicked Jongho, urging him to nervously make sure you’re okay. You lent him a reassuring rub to his thigh, taking his cock back into your mouth with a hum.

Jongho’s grip on your hair tightened in congruence with his loudening moans. He felt as if he might die. He felt he might’ve already died because could heaven be any better than his current situation? He wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Feels so good, y/n, so good.” Jongho’s voice broke toward the end of his statement. You took into consideration how he wasn't used to this, planning every ministration carefully to ensure he enjoyed each moment that he lasted.

Introducing a hand to the mix, you wrapped your hand firmly around the base of his cock. This gave you a bit of stability in leverage so that you could swirl your tongue all over. Around the tip, tease the slit of his head, gently over the thin band of skin below it. You pulled back from his cock with a pop to catch your breath.

“Doing ok, Jongho?” You sighed and rested your cheek against his thigh for a moment.

His head was thrown back to rest against the wood of the booth, forehead damp with sweat. He granted you a thumbs up which you found incredibly in character.

“Cum whenever you're ready, alright? Just let me know.” You lowered yourself down a bit further in order to take one of his balls into your mouth. With one hand twisting and tugging at his cock, you knew he wouldn't take much longer to bust. It seemed you were right, whimpers filling the space around the two of you.

“Close-” Jongho groaned and desperately reached for your hand that was grasping at his toned thighs. You accept his advance, intertwining your fingers with his and squeezing reassuringly. His nails digging into the skin of your hand and his breath fully catching in his throat was the last sign you needed.

Swiftly, your mouth sank back around Jongho just in time for his climax. White hot cum coated the inside of your mouth, plenty of it, that had undoubtedly been waiting since his dream. You wondered briefly how uncomfortable it was for his balls to have been so full. Once Jongho came back down to reality enough, the gravity of what you'd done set in on him.

“You… you swallowed it?!” He gasped, shocked that was even a possibility.

“Mm,” You popped off of his length and shook your head. Opening your mouth wide so he could see his load pooling on your tongue, you made a show of swallowing every last drop. “Now I did.”

After a moment of silence Jongho cocked his head to the side. “Does it, uh, taste good?”

“Only because it's yours.”

Helping Jongho clean up with tissues you kept in your purse, you let him buckle his belt and help you to your feet.

“Don't you want anything in return?”

“Only for you to be mine and only mine.”

“O-Oh, I can do that. But what about your…?”

“Let's wait ‘til mass actually ends. They're gonna wonder where we've been. Come on, Jjongie.”

Anticipation shivered up his spine, taking your hand into his own to lead you to the doorway that opened to the main hall of the church.

Jongho took the initiative to kiss you tenderly. “I'll make up some excuse on the spot.”

“Deal.”

#jongho smut #ateez smut #choi jongho smut #ateez jongho smut #ateez imagines #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #jongho imagines #jongho fic #jongho fanfic #ateez scenarios #[jo fucks ateez 🏴‍☠️]

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