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pedgito · 5 months ago

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𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘 | Joel Miller x reader

summary | you've got an issue and joel's willing to solve it. after all, what are neighbors for?

author's note | this was a prompt from a meet-weird thing i saw ages ago that was originally supposed to be javi, but jo (@undercoverpena) gave me the beautiful idea of making it joel and it spurred this monster.

content warning | established friendship, caught during sex, does the apocalypse having working appliances? probably not, but for the sake of this fic distend belief i beg. oral (eating out from the back), unprotected piv, subtly cocky!joel miller, he's a good ass neighbor, okay?, unbeta'd.

word count — 5.6k

Joel’s fixed this damn machine seven times, convincing himself every time that it was the last time. Shocker, it wasn’t. This time didn’t even last a month. He’s desperate now.

He would usually haul the load all the way to the communal laundry house closer to the group of joined townhomes that housed most of the younger adults—the spry and bright-faced ones who sprung up at the mention of patrol or work, any prospect of toting a gun around with any sense of leadership. They were eager, he couldn’t say the same for himself.

He was old, weathered—years of routine he had created to get the job done and get the hell home.

And truthfully, as he tapped the wrench against the metal machine, chin tucked into his palm as he scratched at his beard, he almost complied with the idea that he would just have to tough it out. Scrounging for parts was nearly impossible—dumb luck, really. In the past several years they’ve picked this town clean, bone-dry.

He’s elbow deep inside the barrel of the dryer when he hears the knock at his door, bumping his head against the rim of it as he exits and cursing under his breath as he pushes to stand, joints creaking and popping in disapproval.

He can smell you before he sees you, the familiar scent of fresh-baked goods following you everywhere—Joel couldn’t feel guilt for being one of the folks addicted to your cooking.

Grains had been hard to come by since the epidemic hit, everything was tainted on a global level. It took years and years of Jackson growing its own stock of wheat for things like pie or a nice, gooey cinnamon roll to even be plausible anymore. But, they were managing well so far.

“Saved ‘em for you and Ellie,” You tell him, a small plate of still hot brownies covered with parchment paper, dawning that trademark smile that Joel has come to love, tapping his fingers against the door frame as he passes the plate off to a quickly approaching Ellie.

“Girl’s got the nose of a basset hound,” Joel looks on in amused bewilderment as Ellie throws a mouth-stuffed thanks over her shoulder, “sorry ‘bout her.”

You wave her off whole-heartedly, taking in his sweaty appearance and casual attire. You were used to him in jeans and thick flannels, not a graphic tee and pair of sleep pants. He’s almost always dressed like he had to run at a moment's notice, you weren’t even sure he owned anything different until now.

“Everything good?” You question him, a small laugh escaping your throat.

“Damn washer and dryer is out again,” Joel explains, throwing a hand vaguely over his shoulder.

“Both of them this time?” You ask, “Damn.”

“I can fix ‘em, just a matter of finding the right parts,” Joel tells you, “ looks like I’m gonna have to hand wash again.”

Joel was a friend. You helped friends. It seemed like a no-brainer really, opening your mouth without thinking it through, the kindness tumbling out despite yourself.

“Oh, you’re welcome to load yours up at mine,” You offer and Joel looks immediately apprehensive, the southern charm and well-mannered tone gearing to creep up on you.

“Now, I don’t mean to make you feel like you have to—”

“Joel, I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t feel comfortable with it,” You remind him, “seriously—anytime, just try and bring your own detergent—and for the love of god, empty your pockets before you put ‘em in.”

Joel chuckles tiredly at that, rolling his eyes as he nods in agreement.

“Got it, of course, sweetheart.”

“I leave an extra key under the rug, so if I’m ever not home just come in,” Given that Joel was Tommy’s brother, you knew he wouldn’t be up to any trouble, “sound good?”

“Yep. Anytime—just make myself at home.” Joel confirms and you nod with an even wider smile, waving a pleasant goodbye as you trailed down the stairs and made your way to the house you inhabited next door.

Right, anytime.

Unfortunately, Joel took that a little too literally.

Joel managed to scrounge up the courage a day later, tumbling into his house on tired legs after a lengthy patrol up at the cabin lookout, scooping the basket up in his arms and heading out his front door, taking the short walk to your house.

The lights were off, but that wasn’t unusual. Joel knew you liked to stay late nights in the town’s mess hall, often working on prep for the following morning to make the load a little lighter and sleep in a while longer, so when he fishes under the doormat for the key he thinks nothing of it.

And as the door swings open, it is still fairly quiet. Though, he can hear your own dryer running upstairs. He’s got the layout down too, having shared more than a few nightcaps with you. Friend to friend and nothing more, even if you had always felt a little more strongly toward being affectionate. A hug or a kiss on the cheek from time to time, he never pushed you away. Joel never seemed like the type of man who openly showed affection, even toward a friend. But, he was good, reliable–most of the time.

He reaches the stairs with trepidation as the sounds grow louder and part of him wonders if by some uncanny coincidence your dryer might be growling and rumbling on its own final leg.

The moment his hand reaches that doorknob and turns he realizes he’s made a mistake.

He’s caught you at a…bad time. Head thrown back with your mouth hung wide, whatever noise you’re making was mostly drowned out by the nagging sound of the dryer as it tore through the spin cycle but he hears the tailend of it, a soft moan of pleasure from the man who’s buried inside of you right now, both of you naked from the waist down but your breasts on full display with your shirt tucked under your neck.

“Benny?” Joel asks, slightly amused.

You lift your head at the sound and spot him, your feet nearly slipping out from under you as you scramble to push Benny away, who perks with an even more perplexed, “Joel?”

“Goddamn it, Joel,” You curse behind gritted teeth, furiously readjusting yourself, pulling your sweats back on and over your ass and your shirt down, “What are you doing here?”

Joel looks down at the basket still clinging to his hip before back up at you, wordlessly.

You sigh through your nose with a tight lipped frown, cheeks puffing out as you brushed your fingers through your hair and down—Benny was still scrambling to redress behind you, unable to pull his gaze away from Joel.

“Benny?” Joel mouths at you quietly, eyebrows raised curiously.

You walk toward the now open door slowly as Benny buttons his pants and you shoot Joel daggers with your stern gaze.

Cut it out.

Joel smirks slightly, cheek dimpling with the action as he side-steps Benny, who leans around you and kisses your cheek—it was a kind gesture but given the situation, in horrible taste. You force a polite smile and once Benny is a far enough distance you hit Joel firmly in the arm as he passes by you and into the laundry room.

You walk Benny to the door with a million thoughts racing through your head, offering a distracted goodbye before you’re locking the door and racing back upstairs with determined footsteps and Joel has already loaded his clothes in the washer, turning the knob to set the load size and time.

“Benny?” He echoes his earlier questions, “Really?”

“What? Are you judging me?”

“No—just, that kid’s had quite an obsession with you for some time now. Just…surprised is all.”

Your lips pull together in a disapproving but nonchalant frown, taking his words for the bullshit they are.

“When I said anytime that did not extend to the middle of the night, Joel.”

“You’re usually still at work,” He supplies—and really, he’s not wrong, “M’sorry. I mean that.”

“Well, now I’ve gotta deal with the fact you’ve seen me naked,” You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the doorframe and Joel’s eyes track you for a moment, smiling with amusement at the thought.

“What? You want a fair trade?” Joel teases, “‘Cause, darlin’. I don’t mind—but it was an accident. Besides, ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

He means it in a broader sense, but you can’t help the eye roll it induces.

“No, no,” You chew at your bottom lip, watching Joel place the empty basket on top of the washer, “I can finish that up if you want to get some sleep. I know you had a long patrol today.”

“Oh, did you?”

He’s teasing you.

“Don’t push it, old man,” Joel shakes his head at that jab and chuckles, “Ellie clued me in when she picked up some sandwiches for her and Dina earlier.

He’s not going to pass on the offer, though. He nods, rubbing a hand over his tired face.

“Jesus—just…Benny?” Joel reiterates again, “Didn’t think the kid had it in ‘em.”

“Out,” You say with an over-pronunciation as you drag his slow and progressive steps further out of your laundry room and into the hall, “or you’re off my dessert list for a month, Miller.”

Joel smiles at you knowingly, “You wouldn’t dare,” He retorts, knowing you too well.

You wouldn’t make him suffer like that. Or Ellie, who wouldn’t hesitate to murder Joel if he robbed her of that pleasure. Not literally…but, she would carry a few choice words for him.

“Seriously, though, thank you,” He nods, leaning down to press a kiss into the crown of your head—an often familiar gesture when you parted after a long night of nonsensical talk and a couple glasses of wine or whiskey, depending on how hard the day had been, “I appreciate it, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, yeah—”

“And I do apologize for…not knocking and showin’ up at such a weird time.”

You shrug, “You’re forgiven. Just…don’t give Benny a hard time. He’s a good guy.”

“You’ve got my word, darlin’.”

Joel was determined to be on his best behavior, clearly.

It takes Joel a couple weeks to find the parts he needs and luckily there are no more run-ins on your midnight sex-scapades, still feeling the embarrassment from the first one. Joel doesn’t even seem to remember it after a couple days, thankfully. He was bypassing it for your own benefit, truthfully. And you knew that.

Selfishly, you're glad to have your appliances back to yourself.

They’re good, solid, reliable—until they aren’t.

Your washer shits itself mid-load and you can hear it from downstairs. A loud screeching noise before an even louder pop that has you groaning loudly because you know. You can feel it.

You can’t even bring yourself to go check, peering through the window of your kitchen and catching a fresh pot of coffee in the house across from yours, a man coming into view and his stark white shirt contrasting the black coffee cup in his hands. He catches you out of the corner of his eye and looks at you with a quizzical amusement, smile tugging at his face.

Joel was always up before the sun rose, so with the sun just creeping into the sky you’re sure that’s his third or fourth cup of coffee. He reaches over his sink and fiddles with the latch on his window before heaving it up, watching as you struggled to do that same but eventually managed.

“You run outta coffee again?” He asks, sipping at the bitter, black coffee in his mug.

“No,” You reply quickly, slightly exasperated as you chew at your bottom lip, debating how to pop the question and feeling nervous under Joel’s intense gaze, curiously wondering if he’s still picturing you naked. He’s never explicitly mentioned it since, but you have caught him in the act.

Wandering eyes, gazes catching when your back is turned for half a second as you bend down or move in a way that exposes too much skin.

“My washer broke,” You cut to the chase and Joel chuckles at how comical it is, in hindsight.

Was this karma? It was definitely karma.

You’ve never asked Joel for anything—despite your often bouts of kindness toward him you never expected anything in return, not even a favor.

“Doors open,” Joel nods toward his front door out of view, an invitation like you offered him.

You didn’t even hesitate, pushing the window close and bounding up the stairs.

You’re already loading your things into his washer before he appears around the corner, peeking his head in, coffee cup still in hand as he takes a few more steps and leans against the wall beside the washing machine and your eyes glance at him briefly before you continue moving the clothes, watching him watch you from behind the rim of his mug.

“I can start them and come back,” You tell him, “so I won’t be lingering around here all day.”

“No Benny?”

You stand up as you close the washer, deadpan stare pointed in his direction.

“You can be such a nosy neighbor, you know that?”

Joel shrugs, a smug smile covered behind his sip of coffee.

“It was just a few times. Besides he’s…too much for me.”

You turn the dial to start the load and it rumbles to life with a simple press of a button.

“You wanna talk about it?”

It wasn’t completely unnatural for you two—you knew quite a bit about Joel now: his life before, his work, his daughter…all things that come with trust and time. He’s waited patiently for you and you’ve given him peeks into your life, but nothing like this.

“It’s a long story, Joel.”

“Got time,” He smiles slightly, “I’ll go grab you a cup of coffee—sit down.”

You look around briefly, not a chair in sight. So, you raise yourself up just enough that you can slide your ass over the top of the washer, bare feet dangling off the floor and you wait, the subtle and quiet shake from the beginning of the load process keeping the awkward silence at bay.

Joel turns the corner a few minutes later with your cup, made up just to your liking and you nod with a gentle smile, taking the cup from his hand and allowing yourself a few generous sips.

“So—that night, you caught us,” You can laugh at the instances now, so you do in a soft, clipped manner, “it wasn’t the first—it had been a month by that point and he just caught me by surprise, showed up that night and things just got a little out of hand.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise in interest but he urges you to continue, leaning against the wall in front of you now, resting his mug on the shelf just above his head as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“He’s a good guy, don’t get me wrong—but I don’t do serious…I can’t, now with how things are. And I know a lot of people think the opposite, seize the moment and all that shit,” You sigh, a deep and heavy sound that expands and releases from your chest, “he was already talking about moving in, the idea of us having kids—so that night I just tried to distract him.”

“With sex? Seems a little…counter-productive, don’t you think?”

“Don’t judge me, Joel,” You warn him but it’s edged with a playfulness that Joel recognizes. You didn’t have a mean, deceptive bone in your body and Joel knew that from the first conversation he had with you.

“I needed him to shut up,” You groan at the thought of the conversation as it replays in your mind, “I’m trying to wash my clothes, he’s talking to me about babies. I do not want kids, Joel. Ever. At least none that are biologically mine. Who would want to bring a kid into this world?”

Well…Tommy. The thought comes to you after the words have already left your mouth and your heart sinks into your stomach, looking at Joel apologetically.

“Sweetheart, don’t even try to apologize. Ain’t nothing wrong with it.”

“It makes me sound horrible, I know but—”

“I’ve done my time—it’s none of my business how others choose to live. Besides, I’m pushing sixty, I don’t have to worry about all that…sorry, I’m not trying to be crude here.”

You nod knowingly with a smirk tugging at your lips, taking another sip of coffee before handing the mug off for him to place it next to his own, ready to slide off of the washer before Joel interjects with another question that catches you off guard.

“He treat you right, at least?”

You tilt your head with that same knowing smirk, pushing Joel away at his hip with your foot as he leans up from his position against the wall—Joel’s never flirted, always promptly skirted around the issue and went about it more gentlemanly. He’s not abrasive and straightforward like most of the men in Jackson, but damn did he know how to make you feel special.

Undivided attention, constant subtle compliments, giving up some much-needed sleep for a simple late night drink with you—part of you was too terrified to make your own move and make it clear just how badly you wanted just a small taste of him.

You’ve heard whispering, minimal talk from a few of the women in town. Joel didn’t often make his rounds but when he did, he left an impression. And you had every right to be jealous, because with him standing in front of you now—you knew it would be easy to say no and he would fix you right up, finally crossing that line that he’s been carefully dancing around for a few years.

“He’s a bit…timid,” You shrug, “and he doesn’t really…”

The air lingers and the side of Joel’s mouth pulls up—you don’t have to say it.

“Joel, don’t do that,” You shove at his shoulder as he approaches you, his hands pressing into the contraption you’re on, curled around the metal, “—he’s just…eager, but not in a good way.”

There’s a glint in Joel’s eye that leads you to believe he’s not thinking about Benny’s less than experienced sex life, feeling the sudden jitteriness from the coffee as your chest rises with a deep, shaky breath and Joel eyes the time over your shoulder.

Forty-five minutes and some change, plus the time to dry because Joel already knows you aren’t going to trouble yourself with walking the damp laundry through this cold, muggy weather.

“So, no then?” Joel asks.

He could have treated you better, sure. But, he wasn’t the worst.

But, the way Joel is staring at you knows makes everything and everyone dull in comparison.

You shake your head in agreement, chewing at the inside of your bottom lip as your hands fall to your lap, his hands ncreasingly closer to the tights covering your legs, suddenly feeling his thumb graze your hip. You both glance down at the action and your breathing halts, watching as his right hand slowly engulfs your thigh, fingers digging into the soft material and dimpling your skin underneath, his thumb only a few centimeters from dipping into the inside of your thigh.

They part on their own, welcoming Joel in wordlessly and his left hand echoes the other. His face is level with your own, staring down at your lips briefly before meeting your eyes and you’ve seen that look before—the adoration when he thought you weren’t watching, secretly you had become good at catching those glances, but Joel wasn’t trying to hide it now.

And it quickly dawns on you in the moment—he was jealous. Of Benny. Or really, any man that had come before him. But, he was using him as the scapegoat.

Honestly, you couldn’t even care.

“You want someone to treat you right?” He speaks softly and if you weren’t so close you wouldn’t have heard him, “I got you, sweetheart. I swear.”

He’s not looking at you anymore, eyes dragging down the bridge of your nose to your lips again. But, you are looking at him, flooded with that tricky feeling that creeps up on you when you want things you know you shouldn’t.

“Joel, I told you—I don’t do serious,” And you hold your breath for the response, wondering if that would send this moment crumbling to dust, but Joel doesn’t miss a step.

“Good for you,” Joel dotes, “neither do I.”

Then he’s on you, the press of his lips in a heated kiss sends you tumbling back, caught by the warm slide of his palm over your back to pull you in, throwing your arms over his shoulders as he pulls back briefly, just enough for you to open your mouth to speak, but his tongue finds its way inside and the words fade away.

Just friendly, my ass—you think.

If you had known he kissed like this—you would’ve jumped at the opportunity months ago; a night spent drinking too many glasses of wine and laughing over some movie far before your time, but not his.

He was so entranced, giving you all the details, but you couldn’t help giggling over it, too touchy to be considered friendly.

You’d both cut it short quickly when Ellie popped in halfway through the movie, and beyond that, it never grew.

Until now.

“Sweet,” Joel notes with a subtle smile, his hand dwarfing the size of your neck as his fingers wrapped around the column of your throat, holding you firmly in place as he maneuvered you toward and away from the kiss as he pleased, swallowing every tiny moan that escaped your lips when his other hand squeezed at your thigh just a little too hard.

“All that sugar,” In your coffee, the taste lingering on your lips and he licks around them teasingly, pulling away briefly to look at you, your eyebrows raising in question as the gears turn in his head, “—you still with me?”

“I’m just wonderin’ if you’re okay with this,” Joel speaks candidly, his eyes trained on his thumb as it rubs against the middle of your throat, traveling up under your chin and tipping your head up slightly, watching as you swallowed, “before I take this further, jus’ need to know.”

You nod jerkily, not even a second of hesitation.

“You would have known the moment you kissed me, Joel.”

In turn, Joel nods slowly before he speaks, stealing the air from your chest.

“Alright then, pull these down for me,” He tugs gently at the material clinging to your thighs before both of his hands find the spot behind your knees and tug until your feet hit the floor, “and push that pretty little ass out for me.”

The absurdity of this language on his tongue makes you giggle but abide in an instant, struggling slightly as the material bunches at your ankles and Joel helps you the rest of the way, tossing your pants aside before he’s kneeling despite how his body protests, too eager to give you a taste of the pleasure you deserve and he’s grabbing the cheeks of your ass and squeezing them between his hands before he’s leaning up to bite playful at the soft flesh.

He groans quietly against your skin, the press of his aquiline nose against your ass as his fingers fold around the string of your underwear and pull, dropping them down to your ankles and off and then his tongue is flat against the seam of your cunt, gasping as you fall forward and your own fingers clawing against nothing.

“Joel!” You squeak out as his fingers dig hard into your ass, forcing you up on your tiptoes as devours, licking into your cunt as it quivers around his tongue.

Your hand pressed against the wall in front of you to keep your chest from hitting the washer, feeling your pussy tighten around the finger that enters alongside his expert tongue, a soft groan erupting out of him from behind you. That smug motherfucker was attempting a teasing huh under his breath as he busied himself with the task of eating you out from the back and you couldn’t even think straight.

‘C’mon, baby,” He coos between his alternating licks and slurps of the heady slick that dripped from your cunt, “come all over my mouth, let me taste that sugar.”

It’s absurd, the way he’s speaking to you now. Your eyes squeeze shut as his thumb finds your clit amongst the chaos of his tongue and fingers, face heating up at how noisy your cunt sounded over the dull shake of the washer and Joel’s satisfied moans, occasionally massaging at the back of your thigh when your legs shake with the creeping feeling of your impending orgasm.

“Oh,” You squeal, reaching behind you to dig your fingers into his hair, panting out in desperation, “—fuck, don’t stop! Joel, right—right there,” and then glance you take back at him, his eyes peeking open from his position below, on his knees and dutiful to you and you alone, well…

It sends you tumbling over the edge as his thumb rubs over your clit quickly, soothing you through the aftermath as he laps up the mess you’ve made all over yourself, dragging his tongue along the inside of your thigh because if you knew anything about Joel, he didn’t waste a meal.

And you were just about the finest he’s tasted.

You clear your throat as you rest your feet flat on the floor, feeling the faint quake in your legs as Joel rises slowly, forcing you to swallow down a giggle as he winces and he can see it on your face.

“Worth it,” He excuses himself, “don’t look at me like that.”

“No old man jokes?” You sound sad and Joel can’t believe it.

He shakes his head.

But, the smile that breaks out on your face quickly diminishes any comeback he has.

You begin to push him away with a hand gripped in his shirt, carefully avoiding the obvious bulge in his sweats as you reach for your tights, ready to redress and drop to your own knees as a favor but his fingers are wrapping around your wrist, pulling your attention back to him.

“I meant it,” Joel tells you, tilting his head to catch your gaze.

You smile wide and tilt your head to mirror him, “I think you proved your point—Benny is a pathetic man who doesn’t know how to make me come, blah blah…”

“My job ain’t done if you’re still thinkin’ about him, darlin’.”

His eyebrows raise in challenge.

Okay, you’re game.

Wordlessly you allow the hands at your hip that guide you toward the front of the joined appliances, his fingers sliding under your top until you get the hint to pull it off, your breasts bouncing free from the shirt—the few bras you had were already in the wash, big deal.

Joel chuckles and stops for a moment, admiring the sight of your breasts for the second time that month, albeit more openly this time. He reaches forward and rubs his thumb along your nipple, watching the nub harden under his touch and you bite at your bottom lip, eye fluttering closed at how sensitive they were to touch, something other men never took the time to notice.

“You like that?” Joel asks with a creeping grin.

You nod, watching as he squeezed your tits in his hands, showing your nipples ample attention as he circled them with his thumb before leaning down slightly and swiping his tongue over the hardened nubs, sucking your breast into his mouth and his eyes peer up, gauging your reaction which quickly developed from a soft giggle to a loud moan.

“Clothes,” You breath out, “off—if you still have a point to prove.”

A point that you wanted proven. Hard.

Joel pulls away and yanks his shirt over his head, allowing you an unobscured view of the mix of muscled shoulders and his softened stomach, running your hand over the patch of hair at the center of his chest and down, right along his hips until his own fingers hook around the fabric and pull his sweats and boxers down in one motion, his cock catching against the edge of his waistband before it bobs back up toward his stomach.

You find yourself smiling despite yourself, forgetting for a moment that Joel was standing there and watching you, feeling your mouth water at the sight of him hard and leaking at how just getting a small taste of you had turned him on that much, precum leaking slowly from the tip and he wraps his hand around himself, other hand tapping at your chin to drag your attention back up to his face, reminding you he was still there.

“Got somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?”

You shake your head furiously, “No, no—no, nothing. Just, uh—”

“I’ll start slow,” He tells you and with the size of him, thick and girthy in ways you’ve only imagined or pictured in your head, it’s daunting, “are you still alright with all of this?”

Your face softens and you nod, appreciating the repeated check-ins, the need for confirmation, but it pulls at your heart as you wonder why he feels the need to ask so much. As if he was fearful you would change your mind on a dime—Joel was fine with that, but he was more worried about the change in dynamic. Thankfully, you were determined for that not to be the case.

“I’m pretty tough,” You shrug, a playful smile gracing your face.

Joel nods absently as his fingers drag along your waist before catching behind your knee and pulling it up over his hip, both of your eyes dragging down to his cock as he tugged at himself a few times, his brow furrowed as he spread your lips apart with the head, dipping his hips down slightly to catch against your hole before he pushes in slow, one solid stroke that steals the sound from your throat and transfers to his own. Joel groans out softly as he pushes into you, his hands gravitating toward your face and wrapping around the sides of your neck, tilting your head back to mouth at your skin, his tongue dragging along your collarbone before sucking and nipping gently at your skin.

“Don’t I know it,” Joel responds after a while, “find something to hold onto.”

Your soft giggle of excitement shoots down to your core and your fingers wrap around the edges of the washer and Joel pulls back swiftly before he’s snapping his hips back into you before repeating the process several times, the jolt of the machine hitting the concrete wall behind you drowned out by your loud moans, quickly swallowed up by Joel’s lips as he pulls your mouth to his, breathing into it with every sharp snap of his hips.

“Harder,” You beg, biting at his bottom lip as he groans, using his fingers intertwined into the hair at the nape of your neck now to pull your head back and he pulls his hips back quick, bottoming himself out inside of you so forcefully you feel like your legs might give out, his cock rubbing against your already too sensitive g-spot and continuously finding a way to bring you closer and closer to the edge, “fuck—yes, yes. Joel, oh my god—”

“Yeah,” Joel goads you, his eyes drawn closed as he tries to keep his own orgasm at bay, “give it to me, baby—wanna watch you make a mess on my cock, alright?”

Easy, you laugh airily and feel the instinctive squeeze of your walls around Joel’s cock as he pulls your face to his, foreheads pressed against each other as he angles his hips back and slams into you one last time before you come undone, head falling back in a similar position to how he caught you a few weeks ago, this time for him.

Your grab for his shoulders suddenly, blunt fingernails digging into his skin and he takes a few harsh breaths through his nose before he’s pulling out, hand grasping his cock as he jerked himself a few seconds before he comes in thick, short spurts against your stomach, squeezing at the head of his cock as he drags it through the mess he’s made.

His expression is nothing short of mesmerizing, mouth hung open just enough that his tongue can drag over his bottom lip before his teeth are taking its place, eyes drawn to your skin.

Wordlessly, he pulls away on his own pair of shaky legs as he reaches for his wrinkled, worn shirt and brings it to your stomach, cleaning up the mess with a faint smile on his face.

“You know, I think it might take me a bit to fix my washer,” You tease, “so—I might be over here bothering you for a while.”

Joel peers up at you, his head still tucked down as he wiped at your stomach.

“Fine with me.”

Then he’s peering over your shoulder, watching as the washer time inched toward zero, dinging behind you. You turn around, letting your leg fall from his hip finally, ass brush against him in the process and Joel can’t help the way his eyes refuse to leave the sight of it.

Only feeling slightly guilty when you catch him this time, not giving him the pass you usually do.

“We’ve still got about an hour left if I dry them here,” You tell him, “anything else you wanna prove?”

Joel’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, eyes dragging up toward the upper level of his house before flicking back toward you, a smile plastered on your face.

“I can think of a few things.”

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x f!reader #my writing

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ckret2 · 3 months ago

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Chapter 65 of human Bill Cipher still being stuck in the Mystery Shack but currently fearing back pain more than execution: it's Day 1 of Bill being off death row, let's see what everyone other than Soos is doing with their day.

When Fiddleford answered the door to Ford and Stan—Stan with the Quantum Destabilizer's case slung over his shoulder—the first thing Fiddleford said was, "That demon's still alive, isn't he?"

"Demon's still alive," Stan confirmed.

Ford let out a long sigh. "I was afraid we'd have to break the news."

"I figured when the power here flickered during your shot." He planted his hands on his hips. "You didn't use the NowUSeeitNowUDontium, did you?"

Ford shook his head.

"Well?" Fiddleford fixed Ford with an angry squint, lips pursed. (Maybe it wasn't an angry squint, Ford told himself hopefully. Maybe it was just because Fiddleford didn't have new glasses yet.) "Why didn'cha shoot him?"

"I couldn't. He escaped," Ford said. As panic began to bloom on Fiddleford's face, Ford quickly added, "But he's back! That's why I used the wrong fuel. Somehow he overheard that we'd made enough Dontium for one shot, and he—tried to persuade me to cover his escape. Firing a blank made him think I'd used the Dontium up and he was safe—"

"—So's he'd come back and you could get a proper shot at him! Ha!" Fiddleford jumped up, kicking his heels in the air, hollering, "Stanford Pines, you clever sonovagun!" His hooting and hollering died down as he realized, "So... why're you here with the destabilizer instead of shooting him?"

Ford and Stan exchanged a glance. Stan said, "Well—He—He's pretty harmless right now, really—And he's great with the kids—"

"Not with Dipper," Ford muttered.

"He's great with one of the kids."

Ford said, "And he's..." It would be a lie to say improving, wouldn't it? "He's... got the potential to improve. And we— We thought— If there's a chance he could do better..."

Sternly, Fiddleford said, "You let him get into your head again, didn't you."

Ford sighed. "I let him get into my head."

Stan held out the Quantum Destabilizer's case. "Which is why we're here. He's not in your head. You won't hesitate to pull the trigger."

"I getcha." Fiddleford accepted the case grimly. "You need me to finish the job."

Ford hastily added, "If—if it becomes necessary."

Fiddleford gave him a hard look.

Ford swallowed as he realized—as always, a moment too late—just what an enormous thing he was asking of Fiddleford and his fragile nerves. "But if you don't think— I mean, if you'd rather it stay in our hands—"

Fiddleford held the Quantum Destabilizer away from Ford. "No, no—you're right. It's safer here," he said. "You oughta shoot him. I'm never not gonna think you oughta shoot him. Especially now we know he knows how to escape. But, if you won't—better that this is in my hands than with the fellers what let that devil sucker 'em into thinking he deserves to live."

Ford wanted to say I'm sorry. If he was so sorry, why had he chosen to let Bill live? It seemed like his problems always became Fiddleford's problems—yet the only times Fiddleford's problems became Ford's was when Ford caused them. "Well—the good news is, even if he does escape, he can't get far. He's trapped inside Gravity Falls' weirdness barrier."

"Well, that's somethin'," Fiddleford muttered. Then he frowned and gave Ford a sharp look. "Wait," he said slowly. "Are you sure he can't get out?"

"I—" Ford tried to remember when they'd learned that. "Sure, we—found out that first night, didn't we?" It had been a very long night.

"Yeah!" Stan laughed. "Almost accidentally killed the guy by driving him into it."

Fiddleford nodded, his expression faraway and thoughtful. "I need to run some calculations," he said. "I'll let you know what I find."

He turned away, muttering to himself. Just before he shut the door, Ford saw Tate at the far end of the great hall, arms crossed, watching the proceedings sourly.

And then the door was shut without so much as a goodbye.

"Huh," Stan said. "Ominous!" He clapped Ford on the shoulder. "Welp, let's get home!"

####

Tate leaned into Fiddleford's lab. "Dad?"

Fiddleford was sitting at a space he'd cleared at a worktable, hunched forward and squinting to see his work as he ran through a towering stack of calculations, using a calculator to double-check his math and a second calculator to double-check the first one. As he often did, he'd put on an old record to help block out distractions; and an old country song was blasting at top volume as Fiddleford sang/yodeled along: "I haaate Bill Cipher more'n I looove my son! How I looong to shoot that sonuuuvaguuun. I'll seeee my boy when that triaaangle's done—cuz I haaate Bill Cipher more'n I looove my son—"

"Dad," Tate said louder.

"Tater!" Fiddleford sat up, automatically reached to adjust a pair of glasses he wasn't wearing, and just bumped the bridge of his nose. "What is it, son?"

"Couldja turn the volume down?"

"Turn th—?" Fiddleford looked at his record player, started when he realized what was playing, and quickly took the needle off the record. "Sorry, Tater, I—"

"It's fine," Tate said glumly.

"Didn't even realize which song'd come on. They're just words to sing along to. You know I don't really feel..."

"Just don't like Pluckin' Jim's yodeling style, that's all."

Fiddleford dropped his gaze. "All right, that's fine. I'll keep it down."

Tate stuck his hands in his pockets. "Might oughta be careful with that album, anyway. If any guests overhear it talking about the triangle and call the police..."

"Oh, I know, I know. You're right, I'll be careful. It's just..." He reached under his hat to scratch at his head like he was trying to massage his brain into working. "When it feels like the whole darn world's gone crazy, it's comforting hearin' somebody sing something sensible," he said. "I—I don't mean Jim's attitude toward his family. Just the rest of it."

"Mm." Tate nodded.

Fiddleford sighed and shook his head sadly. "I don't know—maybe I'm the one who's going crazy."

"Naw," Tate said immediately. "You're not. You're the sanest I've seen you since I was a kid, dad."

"Well—thank you, Tater. That means a lot."

"You're just stressed, that's all." Tate nodded toward Fiddleford's stack of calculations. "Don't overwork yourself, all right?"

"I won't, I promise."

"If you need help with all that math..."

"No, no, that's all right." Fiddleford waved off the offer. "It's got to do with Stanford's weirdness thingamajig." For the past few months, Fiddleford and Stanford had been working on a paper about the Law of Weirdness Magnetism—although that had seemingly ground to a stop at the start of summer.

Tate paused. "Okay, but I'm dragging you out of there for meals."

"Heh! I won't fight you."

As Tate left, Fiddleford set the needle back on the record, starting the next song: "The Three B's Poisoning Your Children (Booze, Bebop, and Bill)." Tate shut the door and let out a long sigh.

####

"I'll get it!" Dipper doubted anyone else could even hear the phone; Abuelita was asleep in the living room, Soos was upstairs hammering on something, and Bill and Mabel were at the far end of the house playing the piano and singing.

Dipper jogged into the office. "Hello?"

"Dipper!" Wendy said. "Dude! Just the man I wanted to reach."

"Wendy, hey! What's up?"

"Are you still looking for the Nightwigglers?"

"Yes! Why, did something happen?"

A couple weeks earlier, Wendy had shown him where her brother had seen the Fremont Nightwigglers; but by the time she showed him the path, they'd already come and gone a couple nights earlier. They'd found footprints and followed them to what looked like a campsite—there were odd empty burrows in the ground and traces of ashes—but when Dipper had tried to figure out where they'd gone after leaving the campsite, he'd lost their trail in the underbrush.

"Gus says he saw them on the same trail again last night," Wendy said. "Which means, if they were going back to that place we found with the burrows, and it was a campsite—"

"—then that's where they're camping today. So they'll still be there tonight!" Dipper laughed. "That's perfect! I can stake them out and watch when they wake up! Hey, do you wanna come along for a stakeout?"

Wendy groaned. "I wish. Gus freaked my dad out talking about the Nightwigglers. He says we have to stay home after dark and he's actually been checking our rooms."

"Aw, man. That stinks."

"But hey, tell me all about it at work, okay?"

"You got it! Oh—I could make a Guide to the Unexplained episode! I'll show you the whole thing."

"Oh, awesome. I can't wait to see these things," Wendy said. "Head's up, you probably wanna be quiet to avoid spooking them. Gus said they looked super skittish last night. They're probably wigging out because of gravity disappearing for a couple of days, lots of other wild animals are. I don't blame them, I'm still wondering what was up with that."

"Giant invisible flying axolotl from another dimension."

Wendy laughed in surprise. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah! I'll tell you about it at work too." Probably leaving out Bill's involvement. Speaking of Bill, where had he left Dipper's backpack? "I've gotta pack for the stakeout. Thanks for the tip!"

####

Gideon knocked on the shack's back door and waited anxiously, tugging at his sleeves and shifting from foot to foot.

The door opened to the sound of distant piano music. Dipper stood there holding a heavy backpack and a box of granola bars. "Gideon?" He didn't sound thrilled.

"Well, hey there, Dipper!" Gideon tried to sound more chipper than he felt. "I don't suppose Mabel's ar—"

"Nope," Dipper said. "What do you want?"

Gideon took a deep breath. "It's about Bill—"

"Shhh!" Dipper cast a nervous glance back toward Soos's grandma asleep in the living room. "Keep it down. Only Mabel and I know you know about Bill and no one else can find out."

"Why not?"

"Because... Mabel and I will get in trouble for not telling them sooner?"

Fair enough. Adults didn't need to know everything, Gideon thought. Voice lower, he said, "I didn't notice him with the others at Rainbow Club this week, and I saw that big laser thingamabob at the shack,"—and the next day received a panicked call from a cultist who couldn't reach Bill—"and... well—I need to know if Bill's dead, or—"

Over the piano playing, an off-key voice sang at top volume: "AND IIIIIIIIII will never HATE yooOoOOou—!" In the living room, Abuelita started from her nap, blinked sleepily, turned up the volume on the TV, and fell back asleep.

Gideon's shoulders sank in disappointment.

"Still alive," Dipper said. "He has a really bad backache, though."

"Well, dang it!" Gideon kicked at a twig on the porch. It didn't move.

"Yeah, I know," Dipper said. "But... I kinda think Bill has to stay alive? I heard this prophecy that I think is about Bill saving everyone? Probably not voluntarily—he actually really didn't want me to hear about the prophecy—so... yeah, we might just be stuck with him. At least for a while."

"Well," Gideon said sourly. "Isn't that just wonderful."

####

As he trudged home, Gideon tried to think of a way out of this. For one day, he'd thought he was blessedly free of Bill; finding out he was wrong felt like getting hauled back to prison.

If the adults didn't know he knew about Bill, maybe he could tell the Stans that Bill had been using him—surely they'd forgive Gideon for using a little dream magic to brainwash the town, right? Stan understood the lengths a businessman had to go to to advertise his business, and Ford was apparently the one who'd recorded the spell in the first place—and maybe the two of them could prevent Bill from spilling his blackmail to the rest of the town; or maybe Gideon could arrange for the Stans to "accidentally" find out Gideon had been working for Bill, and then Bill couldn't blame Gideon for spilling the beans...

Or maybe he could just stop helping Bill. Simple as that. He knew he'd been helping Bill arrange escape plans. Bill had promised he'd keep quiet about Gideon's crimes as long as Gideon didn't pick up dream magic again; but he'd never required Gideon to help him. The only issue was what his contact in Bill's cult might do and whether she might out him as one of Bill's allies; maybe he could just tell her that his parents were getting suspicious and he couldn't be a go-between anymore...

When he got home, as soon as he opened the front door he could hear his father excitedly talking in the kitchen: "It's the darnedest thing! I don't know where they came from—must be tourists, I suppose..."

Gideon followed his voice into the kitchen. "Daddy? What's all this fuss?"

Bud was grinning from ear to ear; even Joy was faintly smiling, a half-washed dish forgotten in her yellow-gloved hands. "There you are," Bud said. "Son, I've got the most terrific news! I just sold the three most expensive cars on the lot, all on the same day! Can you believe that?!"

"Well, hot dog!" Gideon grinned as well, relief washing over him. "That oughta keep us going for a while, shouldn't it?"

"It sure will! I guess you were right—we never needed any magic hocus-pocus, just good salesmanship!" Bud beamed. "But it's just the darnedest thing," he said again, "they all said they'd been referred to the dealership by a Mr. Locke."

Gideon's smile froze and his stomach flipped.

"I don't remember any Mr. Locke passing through town."

"Oh," Joy said, "there was one a—a week or two ago. Some sort of talent agent, I think? He came to see Gideon."

"Did he," Bud said, clearly a bit deflated that it wasn't his prowess as a salesman that had lured these customers to town; but he quickly recovered, "Why, that's wonderful! Maybe looking to line up another television appearance?"

"No no no," Gideon said quickly, "no, it was—it was purely a social visit. I-I knew him last summer. I'm not doing that sort of... television thing anymore."

"Ah, well. Still! Having connections pays off," Bud said. "If all he wants to do is send customers our way, I'll be mighty happy! If he comes by again, invite him to stay for dinner, it's the least we can offer him as thanks."

"I think that's a—a wonderful idea," Joy said, voice even softer than usual. "He was very friendly."

"Son?" Bud called. "Where you headed?"

"Just upstairs, I remembered I need to make a call," Gideon said. He had to ensure Sue knew Bill was alive.

Seemed like he'd be working with her and Bill for a while yet. His family couldn't afford for him not to.

####

Dipper pounced the Stans the moment they entered the shack. "Hey! Great Uncle Ford!"

"Dipper? What—"

"Grunkle Ford, remember you promised that as soon as we weren't dealing with any Bill bull, we could go on an investigation—?"

"Hey," Stan said sternly, "any Bill what?"

"Bull... soup?" Dipper tried.

Stan nodded, satisfied. "That's right. And if your parents ask, that's exactly what you think it means." At Ford's look of amazement, Stan said, "What! Last year the kids' parents said if they came home swearing, I couldn't take 'em over the summer again."

Dipper resumed his attack: "Well, we're not dealing with any Bill bullsoup today! Come help me track the Nightwigglers!" He held up his journal, proudly showing off his unfinished spread. "Wendy told me where they're camping today! If we're there before they wake up, we can finally see them in person!"

"Really? Tonight?" Ford asked. "We just had a late night yesterday."

"Can't we have two late nights and sleep in tomorrow?" Dipper pled. "They might not be there tomorrow night! What's more important: sleep, or seeing the Nightwigglers?"

"Yes, I see your point. You're absolutely right," Ford said. "I could take a nap now and we can leave after dinner."

"Yes!"

Stan groaned, "Great—the insomniacs are enabling each other." He shook his head and started upstairs, muttering, "I'm gonna see what Soos is hammering on."

Dipper said, "I've already packed my camping supplies! Do you need help packing? I can help you pack! Come on—I can show you where we're going, too!" He impatiently led the way to the elevator.

####

This weekend, Bill had escaped the shack, faked his death, and proven that the whole Pines family actually wanted him alive; and yet, for all that, Mabel thought he seemed pretty down in the dumps today. He'd been kind of off since the eclipse.

Actually, now that she thought about it, he'd been off since before the eclipse, ever since the day he'd been grumpy to her about the glass pyramid "Mysteries." She was pretty sure he wasn't mad at her about that anymore; so she didn't know what was wrong.

But even though Mabel could see him wince when he leaned certain ways or moved his arms too quickly, he was trying to hide that he was in pain and he was trying to hide his gloomy mood. He grinned when he played the piano, and he alternated between popular songs that she knew and could sing along with and a bunch of old boring things like jazz and opera. (Bill tried to sing along to everything, even when he shouldn't. Mabel was pretty sure he was the worst opera soprano in the world.)

She didn't know how to fix whatever was actually bothering him. She could hang out with him and sing and talk—that seemed to make him happier. But Bill needed more than that.

He needed more friends.

Bill attempted a run, one hand crossing over the other and back as he rolled up the keyboard; his hands tripped over each other and stumbled across several keys at once.

Mabel laughed. "That sounded like a musical fart!"

Bill blew a raspberry. "I'll show you a musical fart." He attempted the run again, and messed up again.

Mabel laughed again. "I don't think you've got that part."

"Hey! I'm usually great at that part. It's this body—I'm used to playing it with flat fingers, I haven't practiced it with an extra dimension before," said Bill, who was lying, and had never been good at that part, and truthfully was pleased he now had an excuse that let him pretend he was actually better than he was. "Playing piano in a human body really holds me back. It takes nine hands to play my favorite song." That wasn't a lie.

He started the song over and elbowed Mabel. "Hey. Something's eating at you. What's up, kid?"

She hadn't realized she wasn't hiding her gloomy thoughts well enough. "Uuugh, I want you to meet my friends, but this morning Grunkle Ford said I still can't invite them over even though you're off death row. I guess he and Grunkle Stan are still worried you'll brainwash them or something?"

"Pff. We're still—renegotiating the terms of my imprisonment."

"Oh yeah? What have you renegotiated so far?"

The corners of Bill's mouth turned down. Mabel suspected that might have something to do with his foul mood. "Hey, I've got an idea to get your friends over here."

"Yeah?"

"Tell your uncles that the girls' parents are starting to wonder why you haven't been inviting them over like you did last summer. Say they're beginning to think that something is going on over here, and they're worried you're not in a safe environment—buuut if their kids can come over and see everyone's just been adjusting to a new guest, maaaybe their parents will calm down, right?"

Mabel shot Bill a dirty look. "Bill! That's a complete lie."

"But it's the kind of lie that could easily be true, and might even be true in the future, so is it really a lie?"

"Yeah it is."

"No it's not! Besides, it'll get your friends over here and it won't hurt anything, won't it?"

Mabel grimaced. "Okay, I can try—but if I try it and it works and I bring my friends over, you've got to make friends with them."

"Hmm!" Bill's face twisted up. "I like Candy's taste in art. And her bloodthirst."

Mabel elbowed him. "What do you have against Grenda?"

####

Eight-year-old Grenda sat at her desk kicking her feet and staring at her $1 bill, waiting for the bell to ring for lunch. It was Chocolate Chip Cookie Monday, they were fresh and gooey, and she was ready.

For the first time, she noticed the design on the dollar had a weird little one-eyed triangle with a hat. She pulled out a marker and drew a little smile under his eye.

And then she added buck teeth to the smile.

And then she gave him a second eye, stupid glasses, and a spiky beard that poked out in every direction.

And then drew wavy stink lines over him and added a word bubble that said "I'M SMELLY!"

"Heh. Stupid looking guy," she mumbled.

####

With an air of haughty disdain, Bill said, "She knows what she did."

"Okay, but you'll be nice to her, right? Pleeease?"

"All right, fine," Bill said. "For you, I'll be nice."

####

"Grunkle Stannn can my friends please come over? Even their parents think it's weird that they haven't been here all summer! If Grenda and Candy come over they'll know nothing weird's going on!"

"Uhhh..." Stan grimaced. "The last thing we need is parents asking questions... Yeah, sure, you should probably do that sometime soon. Maybe after we figure out what we're doing with Bill for the rest of the summer—"

"Thanks!" Mabel hugged him, ran off, and decided she'd heard Stan say "yeah, sure, you should."

She pulled out her phone. "Candy! Grenda!" She kept her voice at a loud whisper. "Great news! Dipper's gonna be out with Grunkle Ford tonight and I kinda-sorta got permission for a sleepover! Get ready for a party. I have a plan."

####

(This is a bit of a transition chapter for a couple more plots, but I hope y'all enjoyed! Let me know what you think!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #(for the fic)#gideon gleeful #dipper pines #(for the art)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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bunnys-kisses · 3 months ago

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hullo bunny!! i’d love to order peanut butter bars and champagne with lewis hamilton!! please and thank you <3

bakery menu

want to submit your own order?? hit up the menu for more information! everything you need should be there, i love receiving requests so please, send em my way! i even have new items on the menu for your choosing! (been a busy baker!). as for this order, thank you for submitting, lovely anon! i hope you enjoy and thank you!

also check out the master-list!

peanut butter bars (“scratch me, bite me, just mark me sweetheart. show them I’m yours.”) + champagne (sugar daddy au) served by lewis hamilton (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, sugar daddy au, biting/hickies, lewis in love

it was the sight of you in one of lewis' t-shirts that made something bubble to the surface. it was an old t-shirt, the honest lewis thought he threw out.

but there you were eating breakfast at the kitchen island, the way you sat let the shirt right up a little bit more. lewis got a sight of the softness underneath.

and that was how lewis knew he was fucked.

the sight of you in his clothes stuck with him for the few days afterwards. when he sat in the kitchen he thought about it. when he was at the gym, it was on his mind. he wondered if you'd wear his jewellery very casually or the cost of it scare you off. he wondered if you'd wear his more expensive clothes.

you often shied away from things that were too lavish. you were probably the least expensive sugar baby on the planet. most would've easily pocketed his expensive belongings on top of their payments. but you one time got all flustered because lewis suggested that you got a better (read: more expensive) cut of meat from the grocery store.

but the entire thing spoke to something deeper. the lingering feelings he had for you. he knew of your little arrangement. while not a sex worker, you went with him to events and cheered him on at the track. you were almost a live-in girlfriend, but mostly a beauty to hang around him.

but he yearned for something deeper. he wanted to be your one and only. he mostly got that fix through sexual intimacy, while not part of the agreement. it was hard to deny the attraction between you two.

it only made sense in the end

“scratch me, bite me, just mark me sweetheart. show them I’m yours.” lewis groaned as he wrapped his strong arms around you. he rubbed himself up against you before he captured your lips.

he hated being desperate, but there was something about you that made something thrum inside of him. the engine of his soul was revving up at the feeling of closeness.

you giggled and held him by the back of the head to make him look at you. you smiled, his chin was on your chest as those dark eyes looked up at you. it felt so out of character, the often cool lewis hamilton was starting to get riled up.

you cupped his face with both hands and smiled, "lewis. do you like me?" you said in an almost flirty tone.

he swallowed, wrapping his arms around you to pull you as close as you could get. he tried to compose himself as he said, "you've been on my mind for days now... i think you've made me lost it. i've never been like this with anyone else."

you chuckled lightly, trying not to show the shock across your features. you could feel the tightness in your chest. you replied, "you're a bad sugar daddy, hamilton."

he shifted up towards and leaned in for a hot kiss. his lips square with yours as he held you close to him. he replied, "then i'll have to be a better lover."

you rubbed up against him, his hardened cock poked against your stomach. you replied, "good, i'm in need of a good one." before you kissed him once more.

his hands then worked to get your bra off, followed by pushing your panties down in a feverish rush. he groaned a little bit into the kiss. this was real. you both finally crossed the line after toeing it for so long.

soon you were both naked and lewis braced his hands on either side of you. he looked down at you and he licked his lips. you reached for him and playfully dragged your perfectly manicured nails across his tattooed chest.

he exhaled deeply and swallowed. his bare cock twitched at the feeling. he said, "yeah, you mark me. i'll mark you? how about you wear some of my rings. and you can claw up my back."

you blushed a little, "aren't they expensive."

"i'd pay more to have your teeth marks tattooed onto me." he replied, only half joking. he watched your squirm and almost cover your face. he chuckled and leaned in closer to you. he inhaled your scent and felt his cock grow painfully hard. he needed the sweet release of his precious angel's cunt.

"you're insane." you giggled. flowering at the attention, you always did. you were a sucker for him. at very few points in your life did you feel like the center of someone's world. but lewis was different, the light he carried for you.

it was only a matter of time before the dam came down. he took you by the hips and leaned back on his heels. he admired the feeling of your thighs in his hands. the right amount of softness under his palms.

he laughed a little, "you feel so good. i'm sorry i couldn't be your sugar daddy. i hope you don't run off and find another." he pulled you closer to him, his cock almost touching your slit.

you blushed, "don't worry. every other man just feels.... mediocre compared to you." then tensed up a little when he teased your pussy with his cock.

he felt the tug in his chest at your words. it had been boiling under the surface for so long. to have it out in the open made him feel more alive than ever. but he was careful about having sex with you.

he slowly slotted himself into you, and his hands braced on either side of you once more. you held onto his shoulders once more. being so close to him this way was nothing new. but it still left a flutter in your chest.

you kissed once more, you dug your nails into his back as he started to rock his hips. his pace wasn't painful, he wanted to indulge in the feeling of you. while you both had your fair share of quickies, in the comfort of his nice home, you had all the time in the world,

the sound of your kisses mixed with the small squeaks of the bed. you felt protected in your lover's arms. his kisses felt like lightning in your body, it was a heavenly feeling. only topped off by the pleasure coursing through your body. it felt good, really good.

lewis was a generous lover, that was why he ended up bedding so many before you. you squirmed a little from the heat that pooled in your gut with each of his heavy thrusts.

he savoured you like a fine wine. like dishes served at restaurants on the beach in rich capital cities. he moved against you at an even pace, but even that was making your toes curl.

"please, lewis." you panted as you held onto him. chest to chest.

he rutted against you, his hips rolled in a steady pace. the constant throb between your legs made you pant with want. and he in turn kissed along your jaw. soft lips against your skin.

"you like that don't you?" he asked quietly, "like the feeling of me against you. not the first time and it won't be a last time. not even close." he voice was tinged with affection.

"i love it." you panted, "shit. you always know how to make me feel good." you swallowed back the pleasure as you felt it course through you.

"pretty girl." he purred, "but you know that. we make quite the pair, i have the photos to prove it."

you got flustered under his words as the two of you move against one another. you felt hot all over with the sweat especially down your back, getting caught by the white sheets under you.

lewis' pace started to stagger and he felt the lust course through him. he quickly finished, his cum was pushed as far as it could get. the thought made him shudder, it aroused his greatly. he panted heavily, but he started to play with your clit as he continued to rut his cock into you. it greatly overstimulated him, but he was determined to make you cum.

you held onto him, your head against his shoulder as you tensed up. you moaned loudly into his heated skin and arched your back a little from the pleasure. you came and almost kicked out your legs from the intensity.

you both relaxed, with lewis pulling you to him as he laid on his side. his nose was against your neck as he started to come down. you two held one another, embraced in your warmth on top of the covers.

"i guess i broke the number one rule of sugar daddies." lewis chuckled a little.

"that's alright. i'm pretty sure it would have happened eventually. the money is nice, but i genuinely care about you."

he pulled away to kiss you on the lips. he said, "good, because i care about you too. now." he held you close to him, chest to chest, "would you like to go again or do you want to get something to eat?"

you replied as you got out of his grasp and straddled his lap. you splayed your hands across his toned chest. you said, "well, i don't think it's much of a choice is it."

he smiled, "that's what i like to hear." <3

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chlorinecake · 10 months ago

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𓂃 watercolor eyes | park wonbin oneshot

⚡︎ pairing: Stoner!Wonbin x Female!Reader | ⚡︎ word count: 7.8k | ⚡︎ genre: mutual pining, college au, smut (⚠︎) | ⚡︎ contains: awkward relationships, an original character + sungchan and shotaro, swearing, drug use/distribution, angst (?), mild dacryphilia, sexual tension mixed with fluff, kissing, unprotected sex while buzzed, heavy petting, oral (m. r)

ON TOP OF countless other obligations in your life, upcoming exams were kicking your anxiety's ass with the biggest fucking boots imaginable.

All you wanted was to take the edge off, and at this point, you didn’t care what it’d take to do that.

Introducing Exhibit A: Your closest friend and roommate, Roxanne, who so conveniently happened to be a junkie.

You brought up your need for a “quick fix” (so to speak) while studying in your dorm together one afternoon. Though, she offered to get you some help from another friend of hers who you’d never met before.

“Wait, you want me to go with you?” You asked in confusion, already prepared to reject Roxanne’s proposal at the idea of personally consulting her drug dealer.

“Yes, you're coming with me… What do you think this is, Kiki’s Delivery Service?”

“No, but… I-"

“Don’t tell me you’re chickening out, ____,” she chuckled, turning the steering wheel as she trailed down a shadowy lane.

“No, I… I want this… I need this even, it’s just that…I don’t really know what to expect…”

“Then don’t expect anything,” she answered, giving you an encouraging smile that came off as more condescending, “Expectations are for pussies anyways.”

“Roxanne, I’ve never even met this guy before,” you pressed, hoping that she’d maybe let you sit outside in the car instead of actually speaking with him.

“Look, I’m close with my dealer, and as I always say, a friend of mine is a friend of yours.”

Cue your internal sigh of submission.

“Okay,” you said, straightening your posture in your seat with a feigned confidence.

“Uhhhh, are you sure with that ‘okay,’ or is it more like an ‘okay, I have more questions’ type of ‘okay’?”

“No,” you clarified, “it means what I said… I’m okay.”

“Okay,” she nodded, before giving you a brief synopsis about this friend of hers: STEM major, weed connoisseur, and art-hoe with a shy guy undercut.

Doesn’t sound anywhere near as daunting as the drug dealers on TV shows appear to be, right?

She pulled up to one of the apartment complexes a few miles from your university. It was one of the lower quality establishments, with the only oddity being how nice the vehicles parked outside the apartment divisions were, a sleek black motorcycle belonging to none other than the mysterious drug smuggler named Wonbin Park.

“Hey, take off your hood, silly, it’s rude,” Roxanne nudged, locking her car from the keys in her pocket more times than necessary.

“But… what if someone sees us?,” you whispered, walking closely beside her.

“Then I’m glad their eyes are working? Hell, I don’t fucking know what they’d want me to tell ‘em,” she shrugged, walking up to the front door.

“So are you acting like a nonchalant loser on purpose, or is this just your way of trying to calm me down?”

Roxanne laughed hysterically at your words, showcasing the sparkly pink gem decorating her upper canine teeth as she patted you on the back.

“We’re just here for weed, babe. That will help calm you down before I can.”

You had almost missed the part where she knocked as you got lost in your head, the front door suddenly opening and basking you both with a sudden warmth, contrasting with the cold evening weather.

“Roxie?,” asked the male from the doorstep that you fought with every bone in your body to avoid making eye contact with.

“Wonie?” Your friend mocked goofily, walking up to hug the boy briefly before grabbing your hand and pulling you inside, “I hope you don’t mind that I brought a friend.”

“Not at all, my place is always open to you and your girlfriends,” he chirped with forced yet gentle enthusiasm.

“Uhhhh, she’s just a friend, considering how we’ve only slept together while clothed before… but thanks anyway!”

“Any time,” he replied confidently, walking up to the sink that was conveniently in his living room before re-lighting the dead bud of the joint he held gracefully between his plump lips, ashes falling from the tip before he inhaled a thick huff.

Some of the ash fell on his lower abdomen, and you were just now realizing that he didn’t have a shirt on.

Good thing you were used to the smell of pot by now, thanks to Roxanne’s inevitable habit of greening out every Friday night.

“So, what brings you ladies in today? I’d hate to break it to you, but I used my last condom just a few hours ago.”

“Yeah, we’re actually here for a different kind of pipe this time,” Roxanne answered, blinking as if trying to communicate with him to ditch the wild language.

“Oh,” he said, doe eyes widening as his mouth hung a little, his bunny teeth shining right back at you.

Stop staring at his mouth.

Stop staring at his mouth-

“I uh… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything,” he smiled softly, and of course you noticed because that’s where your eyes were glued the entire time, so distracted that it startled you when he reached to shake your hand.

“I’m Wonbin, but… you can call me anything you like, really.”

“It’s alright,” you returned, finally coming back to the present, “I’m ____.”

His initially confident demeanor stemmed from his assumption that you were more flamboyant like Roxanne, but he made note to be less vulgar until he could tell you warmed up to him.

Until he properly warmed up to you.

“So uh, yeah, do you want the usual, or were you thinking to try something new?” Wonbin asked casually as he leaned on the back of the sofa.

“Hmm,” Roxie hummed in thought, “yeah, my usual’s good. Just lay off the stronger stuff in the mix, though. It’s her first time.”

Something about what she said made Wonbin smile, wide and excited, peeking at you through his shaggy bangs with zero intent of hiding it.

Was he… flirting with you?

“Well, it’s my pleasure to be your first then,” he winked, getting up from the couch and heading to another room on his flat.

“You two kittens just wait here and I’ll be back with your stuff in a minute,” he claimed, which actually ended up being around an 8 minute wait while you and Roxanne went on and on about something you can’t even remember now.

The smile evaporated from Roxanne’s face as Wonbin returned to the living room while reciting the order. “You’ve got two ounces of-”

“I know the recipe, moron. You might scare my friend away if you say it out loud…,” she joked, feigning a pout as she hugged your shoulder, “so how much do you want for it, candy man?”

“It’s on the house this time,” Wonbin said, “so long as you bring me dinner tonight.”

“Fucking fat ass,” she spat, “what’re you craving?”

“Something warm,” he replied almost immediately, “with seasoned meat and a sauce… Maybe some rice, too.”

“Gotcha,” Roxie chirped as she pushed off of her knees to stand up.

Wonbin walked up to hand her the goody bag with such politeness, almost in the way that a child would give something to his big sister.

“Cool. I like eating around 7 o’clock, so you know when and where to find me.”

“Yes, through your stomach and all the way up to your greedy little heart.”

“Mhm,” he said with a satisfied hum, taking Roxanne’s spot on the couch as she walked towards the door. You and Wonbin were now sitting next to each other, his arms spread out on the back of the couch in a relaxed manner.

“Uhm, ____?”

“Oh, right! Sorry… I didn’t know we were finished,” you stammered, getting up from the couch to meet Roxanne at the door.

“Yeah, took him long enough,” she rolled her eyes, “I was starting to think he wanted us to spend the night…”

“Alright, get out of my apartment already,” he said playfully, waving a hand as if shooing you two, “and make sure to secure the bottom lock for me, I don’t feel like getting back up yet.”

“Whatever.”

Slam.

The door was closed, 50% locked, and you two were heading back down the staircase, cold air greeting you once again before you both got back in the car, driving back to your dorm room to drop off the drugs first, and then to the grocery store…

… to buy a bag of rice and a fresh pack of chicken.

“WHAT’S THAT NOISE?,” Roxanne asked with animatedly furrowed eyebrows, holding the grocery bag you two had packed Wonbin’s “dinner” in.

You ended up making a chicken roast with carrots, potatoes, gravy, and steamed rice like he asked.

“Here, hold this,” Roxanne mumbled, barely loud enough for you to hear before she dropped the bag, your reflects luckily kicking in fast enough for you to catch it before the glass container could hit the concrete stair well.

“It’s as cold as a snowman’s grave out here, Wonie, open up!,” She yelled while banging on the front door, the little dream catcher that hung on the inner side jingling with her forceful hits, “Hellooooo?”

“You’re like Doordash but with the temper of FedEx,” you heard a deep voice say from behind the walls.

“But I only charge herbal fees for my services,” she added while crossing her arms.

Creek.

The door slung open, Wonbin’s muscular arms framing the entrance with a fed up look plastered on his face.

There were two people sitting behind him on the couch playing video games. A violent game, you’d assume, given the sporadic and sharp flashes of light that filled the room.

“Is there some kind of a secret password now or something?,” Roxanne asked impatiently, not as entertained my the view of Wonbin’s still shirtless body like you were.

“Oh, right… come on in ladies,” he said with a feigned smile, extending a hand to welcome you two back in, “hope you brought enough food, because I have guests.”

You followed Roxanne and Wonbin to the kitchen, where you placed the steaming bag of food on the counter before taking out the containers. That’s when Roxanne started grabbing dishes from the cabinet.

The glass plates clinked behind you as you went to search for a serving spoon in the drawer. “Hey… where are the spoons and forks?,” you asked while still looking through one of his kitchen drawers before Wonbin suddenly tapped you on the shoulder.

“I uhm… I keep the utensils in here,” he smiled shyly, just as he reached for the overhead counter to grab the silverware he kept in a box. Your breath got caught in your chest as you felt his hips nearly fuse with yours in the moment. Luckily, he couldn’t see how flustered you appeared underneath his shadow.

“Gimme that,” Roxanne giggled, snatching the box from him and taking out two large ladles, one for the rice and another for the roast.

“Gosh, that smells amazing! Can you put cheese on mine, pretty please?,” you heard one of the boys ask from the couch, peeking over his shoulder with soft eyes.

“Yes, Taro, I can put some cheese on it for you… even though I think it’s weird,” Roxanne smiled.

“Ahh, thanks man. Oh- and who’s the new girl?” He went on, placing the controller down as he was no longer interested in playing.

“Just a friend in need of a good time—” Wonbin answered, which shocked you to say the least, “—so be nice, Sungchan.”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?,” The taller boy pitched in, “but does she even talk?”

The room went quiet for a moment, the only sound being Sungchan’s clicks from the remote controller before he got gunned down by a random player.

“Dammit, Shotaro! Why’d you stop playing? Now we’re tied with the other team!!”

“Too bad, so sad, bro. I’m hungry,” he chirped, getting up from the couch to help you bring the plates to everyone.

“Woah, who’s the big plate for?” Shotaro asked with widened eyes.

“Me and Sungchan,” Roxanne said with a satisfied smile, “we’re sharing.”

“Oh… you didn’t tell me you and Sungchan were on good terms now,” you said, breaking your awkward streak of silence, just now recognizing the taller boys face from Roxanne’s phone.

She always talked about Sungchan and his “big stupid dick,” as she liked calling it.

The pair stopped being cool with each other for reasons you don’t really remember anymore, but you’d take her sudden affection towards him over the violence you witnessed during one of her texting fits the other night.

“Shhh,” she giggled, meeting Sungchan on the couch before sitting on his lap, “I hope you don’t mind me feeding you in front of your little friends… unless that makes you shy,” she pouted.

All he did was open his mouth in response, savoring the taste of the first spoon she fed him.

It was a sickeningly cute sight to be honest.

“Sick and twisted,” Shotaro said as if reading your mind.

“Cry about it,” Sungchan joked between a mouth full of saucy rice, heart swelling from the way Roxanne cooed at him.

You and Wonbin were just now making it to the living room after getting some napkins for everyone. There was room left for the two of you on the couch thanks to Roxie sitting on Sungchan’s lap, but that meant you and Wonbin would be sandwiched together in the middle.

Great.

“Come on guys, take a seat,” Roxie said before taking a bite of the food, her teeth grazing the metal fork with a loud scrap.

“God, I hate when you do that,” Sungchan sighed, tickling her sides as she laughed uncontrollably.

“Stop that, asshole, before I drop this food everywhere!”

“That’d be a shame, this chicken is so good,” Wonbin hummed with a nod, stuffing his cheeks with more of the gravy.

“____ made it,” Roxie pitched, giving you a look.

Despite how hard you tried to fight it, you were started to feel pretty awkward.

You knew it had a lot to do with Wonbin, thanks to his cripplingly annoying quirk to not put a damn shirt on.

You did eventually warm up to everyone, even pitching in on some of Sungchan’s dad jokes.

Though, the stack of empty dishes in the center of the living room table seemed more alive than your spirits right now.

The inevitable tiredness that came with staying up late without a phone in your hand started to kick in.

“Hey, I’m gonna go wash up these dishes real quick,” Wonbin said, glancing your way for reasons you almost couldn’t process between the loud laughter of Shotaro and Roxie over whatever dirty joke Sungchan told about SpongeBob and Patrick.

Did he want you to come with him? Alone?

Yes.

By now, Wonbin was no longer in the living room, having walked to the kitchen sink where he proceeded to run soapy dish water.

The scent of lemon wafted through the dimly lit space as you stepped beside him to get the dish towel.

“Sorry,” you said nervously, noticing the way he jumped as your hand grazed his arm slightly.

“It’s alright, you just surprised me,” Wonbin smiled, drying his hands before walking over to the other side of the counter, opening a plastic bag filled with what appeared to be blunt wraps and another bag filled with fluffy green.

“You just leave that stuff out on your counter?,” You asked, voice kind of quiet over the running water.

“Mhm…,” he started, “it’s not like the cops are just gonna raid my house randomly… unless… you were to say something,” he winked, putting a filler along the inside of the wrap before sprinkling in some herb, then tucking it tightly.

“Your secrets safe with me,” you said, the faucet squeaking as you turned the water off.

“____.”

“Yes?” You asked in confusion almost… he was already starting to use your name so normally.

“Pass me that lighter from over there,” he pointed before sticking his tongue out, licking the inner side on the blunt wrap to seal it.

His pretty tongue glistened underneath the kitchen lights, captivating you once again.

Fuck, stop staring, you internally swore at yourself.

He put the blunt between his lips, waiting for you to light the tip. “Stop moving, silly,” you giggled, holding his face in place with your other hand to keep him still as he playfully moved his head around to give you a hard time.

A tiny giggle erupted from his throat, too, making your smile linger for a little longer before he bid his thanks, inhaling a huff of the smoke and exhaling it through his nose.

“Hmmm,” he hummed as he cleared his throat. By now you were leaning against the sink with no intention of washing the dishes any time soon. No intention of leaving the kitchen, either.

“C’mere,” he offered, reaching for your chin in the same way you did to him earlier before inching closer to your face.

“Wonbin-”

“Just part your lips for me, okay?” He asked in a light voice, “I want you to try it with me.”

You nodded at his words, hesitantly parting your lips as he slowly set the blunt between the opening you allowed for him.

“Okay now seal your lips,” he said, licking his own, “and inhale… slowly.”

You obeyed his words, taking a steady breath in as the warm and cloudy smoke filled your mouth… then your stomach… then your senses.

“Oh, shit,” you cursed, coughing at the way the smoke hit the back of your throat, to which Wonbin only laughed at your reaction.

“Good job, newbie,” he teased, running you a glass of water before passing it to you, your teary eyes staring back at him in a mix of embarrassment, regret, and intrigue.

“How was hitting it,” he asked, pearly eyes staring back at you.

“Just as bad as I thought,” you admitted.

“Yeah… they effects will start kicking in pretty fast, too,” he chuckled, proceeding to take a huff from the same blunt. “But,” he started, voice falling to an alto, “you know that wasn’t free, right?”

“Excuse me?” You asked, watching as he lazily cradled the joint in his two fingers.

“I only do favors for Roxie because we’re chill like that…,” he paused, biting his lip derisively as he tilted his head, “I hardly know you, though.”

You didn’t even bother checking your pockets because you knew you came empty handed.

“Aww, what is it, baby?,” he cooed, turning your chin to face him again as he took another huff from the joint.

“I didn’t bring any cash with me, unfortunately,” you replied with a halfhearted expression, already feeling yourself get dizzy.

He noticed the way you began to tear up even more from the smoke he was now gently blowing in your face.

“You’re eyes look pretty right now,” he smiled, staring way harder than he should’ve, “how do you feel?”

All of a sudden your core starting to heat up, making your legs feel as though you were merely hovering over the floor. You didn’t feel grounded anymore because you were overcome with a feeling of light.

“A little warm,” you started dryly, “but like… numb and euphoric at the same time.”

“In here?” He asked, placing a hand on your upper stomach, resting dangerously close to your tits.

“No…. It’s uh… a bit lower,” you said, reaching for his wrist before pulling his hand away from you.

That’s when you caught a glimpse of a colorful splash decorating his wrist. “That’s pretty,” you smiled, adoring the tattoo from afar.

“You think so?” He asked sarcastically before whispering in your ear, “too bad compliments won’t pay my bills.”

You sighed at his words, watching as he braced his body weight on the counter before your right hand found a mind of it’s own, reaching out to trace a line up his defined abdomen.

“Then allow me to repay you in another way,” you offered, poking his flesh with your nail a bit, “you like my cooking, don’t you?”

“Very much so, yes. But you could try pleasing me somewhere else… ‘A bit lower,’ like you said,” he whispered seductively, eyes in a daze as he guided your hand by your delicate wrist to the center of his belt buckle, a line of hair leading to the bulge buried behind his baggy jeans.

A thick vein trailed from his thumb to his forearm before his grip left your wrist.

“Wanna take a closer look?” He offered, drawing your attention back to the colorful spot on his skin even though your first mind thought he was talking about something naughtier.

“Sure,” you answered quietly, taking his hand again to examine the design, “a butterfly?”

“A moth, actually… it’s a little more masculine if you ask me,” he added, the shadow of a proud smile ghosting over his lips.

“But it has watercolored eyes,” you pointed out.

“True… So it’s like.. more ambiguous I guess?”

“Maybe… or it could just be a beautiful man,” you voiced, stroking over his skin with the pad of your thumb.

You liked this.

The look of his skin, but more so the way it felt.

The way touching him made you feel.

“Uhmmmm, guys?,” Shotaro cried out from the living room, the energy in his voice breaking the stillness of the moment, “I’m pretty sure Sungchan and Roxie are about to start fucking each other in a few seconds, and I could use a little help in here!”

You and Wonbin made eye contact at Shotaro’s words, the same thought filling both your heads:

“What?”

“Just get in here, quickly! They’re taking each others clothes off!!!”

“FUCK, MY STOMACH still hurts like a bitch from laughing so hard yesterday night,” Roxie sighed, cheeks a flushed hue either from the three shots of brandy she just guzzled or the three comforters she was wrapped in on her side of your shared room.

“Yeah… I had a great time hanging out with everyone,” you said, only half-present as other thoughts floated around in your mind.

Thoughts about when you would get to see Wonbin again?

What you two would even do?

How Roxanne would react if she knew Wonbin had been stuck in your mind like gum on a-

“What the hell are you thinking about?”

Oh shit.

“Uhm… Nothing, why?”

“It’s gotta be something,” Roxie pressed, staring at you from across the room through her false eyelashes, “you were moaning in your sleep last night with that same look on your face.”

Wow. She was quite a fast talker for someone so tipsy.

“I was?”

“Mhm,” she smirked cheekily, trailing a finger along the knitted seam of her bed sheet.

“Tell me who you were thinking about… I’ll know if you’re lying, too,” she pressed.

“I was just… gosh, why is that making me so flustered,” you sighed, hiding your face in your pillows.

“C’mon, spit it out, ____!”

“I was thinking about Wonie, okay?,” you finally admitted, hoping it would make her shut up.

“Hmm…,” she started with a satisfied smirk, “you’ve already starting calling him by a nickname, I see… what’s up with that?”

“Nothing at all,” you smiled aggressively, watching as she spread herself out on the mattress like a star fish, “would you like me to call Sungchan over to keep you company while I’m out?”

“He’s already on his way over, silly,” she smiled, flexing her fingers around nothing, “wait, where are you going, anyway?”

“Nowhere special… probably just gonna talk a walk around campus. But don’t worry, I’ll wait for your boyfriend to get here before I leave.”

She pouted at your words, lower lip poking out like a baby, “Aww… stupid… big dick Sungie’s my boyfriend… ehehe…”

SUNGCHAN SHOWED UP shortly after you managed to get Roxanne back to bed. Praying that they wouldn’t end up fucking in your bedroom while you were gone, you put on a jacket with hopes of taking that walk to clear your head, even though now you simply hit a joint to calm your nerves.

That’s when you heard a pair of footsteps approaching from outside your door, just as you were about to zip up your winter boots.

Knock, knock, knock.

A a warm feeling erupted in your stomach, making your fingers freeze at your ankles.

Standing up to peek through the door-hole, you saw Wonbin’s plump lips first, before his bright brown eyes stared back at you.

Shit, why was he here?

“Hey, I can hear you breathing from behind the door… well, whoever you are,” he giggled, which made you giggle a bit too.

There’s no way you were gonna get out of this now, but you still counted down from ten before opening the door.

“Hi,” you smiled, letting him in, “don’t know how you got on campus, let alone to my dorm room, but okay.”

“I’m friends with Roxie, remember?”

“Yes, but I don’t remember you visiting here before… like, ever.”

Even if he had, it’s not like you’d be able to forget a face or presence like his.

“Nice shirt, by the way,” you teased, poking him in the stomach to which he smiled.

That terribly cute smile of his.

“Yeah I uh… wear them sometimes,” he replied, adjusting the beanie he wore before speaking again, “Where is she, anyway?”

“Pretending to be asleep so I can cuddle with her while she sucks on me… well… not there but… nevermind,” Sungchan interupted, walking from the room with now disheveled hair.

“Hell, I left for like three seconds, what happened,” you asked, observing the fresh purple bruise on Sungchan’s neck.

“Roxie gets unbelievably horny whenever she’s drunk for some reason, and I refuse to do anything with her when half of her mind is on fucking mars,” he sighed, going to the fridge and pulling out a can of soda.

“She’s lucky I let her do this much… Wait- I thought you said you weren’t coming?” Sungchan said to Wonbin with a suspicious look.

So Wonbin was invited to your place. How fun.

“Ahh, I changed my mind out of boredom...”

“Right,” Sungchan nodded while walking to the front door, “I’ve gotta go get a lighter from my truck, but I’ll be back if Roxie asks for me.”

“Hey uh, me and ____ can go get it for you if you want,” Wonbin offered, flashing you a look.

“Really, I mean I parked pretty far away, but-”

“It’s fine, really, I saw where your truck on my way here.“

“____?” Sungchan said your name as if searching for your approval, to which you nodded which a humble, “Yeah, I don’t mind.”

“Alright then, go ahead. But take your time though so you don’t slip and break your asses…”

WONBIN LOOKED IN the roof compartment of Sungchan’s truck, just as the lighter fell down, slipping between the small crack in the seat.

“Shit,” he cursed upon trying to reach for it, “my hands too big to get it.”

“Hey, I can try getting it for you,” you offered, watching as he made room for you to take his place in the vehicle.

The drawstring of your underwear clinging to your hips as your shirt fell down your waist with gravity.

“Are you wearing a thong?” Wonbin asked, cold index finger hooking with the thin strap of your panties before pulling back and releasing it with a snap.

“Ahh, what the hell, Won!,” You yelped, retreating from the seat to swat his hands from you, “you’re supposed to be helping me!”

“No, we’re supposed to be helping Sungchan. Now get back to work,” he order you playfully, pointing back down to where the lighter fell.

You shook your head, bending back over in an attempt to retrieve the lighter once again.

He was only teasing you because he wanted to see more of your personality.

He couldn’t say that things were moving fast between you thanks to the inevitably awkward grounds your first impression of each other was cultivated upon, but he still wanted to get past the shy stage.

Skip all of the a baby steps and just start running with you.

Weakened grunts fell from your lips as you desperately fished for the lighter, your hips looking a mere second from bursting through your tight jeans given the position you were in.

“Shit,” Wonbin cursed under his breath, feeling a sense of warmth grow on his cheeks as he darted his eyes away from you.

“Oh,” you said with a muffled sounding voice.

“Um, y-yeah? What’s up?” He stuttered, still looking off into the distance.

“I’ve got the lighter… And some spare change,” you chirped, clasping the findings in your hand before reaching a foot down cautiously.

“Isn’t that stealing?” Wonbin teased, finally looking back to only see your foot slipping on the wet condensation from the truck’s running board.

“____, watch your step!” He called out with a slightly raised voice, his hands finding your waist to protect your fall, which only led to you both tumbling down together.

A strained groan erupted from Wonbin’s throat as his back hit the cold hard ground first, your body weight falling onto his center as your hands hit the gravel, slightly scuffing your skin.

You hadn’t even realized that your eyes were closed the entire time until you finally opened them, the coins you held being scattered about as Wonbin’s wide bunny eyes scanned you with shock.

His arms framed his head, nose a little red from the weather and a sprinkle of snowflakes dusting his black beanie.

“Are you…are you okay?,” he started, voice trailing off as it finally clicked in his mind that you were straddling him on the ground, essentially in public.

He couldn’t pin a finger on what it was about you that made him feel all shy like this, especially whenever he wasn’t buzzed.

“I-I’m… uh… I’m fine,” you stuttered, freeing him of your body weight and extending a hand to help him up.

“Thank you,” he huffed, a puff of cold air escaping his mouth before circling around your warm bodies, “I told you to watch your step….”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that those stupid coins distracted me,” you shivered, just now feeling the effects of the weather as goosebumps sprouted on your skin, “At least I got the lighter, though!”

Wonbin chuckled, both at your enthusiastic words and the uncanniness of this moment, taking off his beanie and adjusting it over your head before closing the door to Sungchan’s truck, pulling you close to him by the shoulder.

“Alright… let’s get back inside before we both freeze to death.”

AFTER GOING BACK inside, Sungchan had somehow managed to get Roxie out of bed, the four of you sitting on the couch while watching a random movie till midnight.

It all brought you a strange sense of déjà vu. You and Wonbin sitting awkwardly together while Roxie and her Sungchan sat like Siamese twins. The only thing missing, aside from some good home cooked food, was Shotaro’s infectious smile and a recreational drug in your system.

A soul booster.

You had gotten lost in your thoughts again, not even realizing when Roxie kissed Sungchan goodnight before he headed home.

Nor when Wonbin pretended to be sleep so no one would wake him as you slept peacefully on his shoulder.

Nor how he left your side once Roxie went to her room to sleep, reaching for the dust-ridden acoustic guitar hiding in a corner of your loft after a long forgotten ex-roommate left it behind as a “farewell” gift.

Nor the warm and woody melody he started to play from the other end of the couch, the gentle hums from his throat luring your busy mind from its slumber.

Your eyes opened with lazy blinks, vision slowly keening in on the lit joint that hung from his mouth, the sound of his fingers sliding against the fretboard and strings sending shivers down your spine.

Or maybe that had more to do with the winter air thrumming through your dorm room's cheap windows.

From the look outside, you’d guess it was sometime around 1am.

The stars were sparkling in the sky and the world beneath almost dead quiet.

“Oh- sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Wonbin said in a half-whisper, noticing the way you were glancing at him before taking the blunt from his mouth.

“Oh, no… it’s okay, I was just… I didn’t mind…” your words trailed off to a mumble as you sat up a little straighter on the couch, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, “What song was that? It sounded really pretty from what I heard.”

“Yesterday… by the Beatles,” he smiled, getting up to set the guitar back in its original place of abandonment, “it would’ve sounded even better though if I had a pick with me.”

He took another huff from the blunt, exhaling through his nose in a familiar manner as he offered it to you, “Want some?”

“Sure,” you shrugged, taking the blunt from his hand before inhaling the herb yourself, though, it was slightly different from the one you had in Wonbin’s kitchen the other night.

“It’s some of Sungchan’s pot,” he said in a husk voice as if reading your mind, “Don’t go too crazy though, ‘cause his shit’s pretty strong.”

He peeked at you through his wavy bangs, waiting for a cough from you that never came.

“Are you buzzed yet?” You asked after taking another huff or two yourself, playing with the smoke in your mouth before blowing it out slowly.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “don’t know how I managed to play a full song, but... yeah... I'm trashed.”

“It must be a talent, I guess,” you hummed at his words, just now noticing the lit candles sitting at random areas in the kitchen and living room.

Good thing, because it helped to drown out the scent of marijuana.

“What else are you good at doing while high?”

His tongue clicked at the roof of his mouth as a subtle yet unmistakable smirk creeped on his face, perfectly matching the rosy hue that began to stain his cheeks.

“You thought of something dirty, didn’t you?”

“Maybe…” he chuckled, widening the distance between his legs a bit as he sat.

Was he… teasing you?

Your eyes fell down to the blunt he placed on the ashtray beside the table, it’s lit bud ceasing with a quiet hiss.

“I’m guessing that wasn’t free either, huh?” You joked, shaking your head at yesterday's memory.

“Nope,” he smiled, “but… you still haven’t returned the favor from your first hit, so I won’t be too mean for now.”

Of course he’d bring that up again.

Right here, right now as you sat mere inches in distance from each other, both buzzed out of your minds.

“And if you were to be mean,” you started hesitantly, biting your lower lip before continuing, “what would that look like?”

He thought on your words carefully before answering, “Well, I doubt it’ll ever come to that anyway, so don't worry about it.”

“Oh, and is it the weed making you confident all of a sudden?”

“No, just the simple fact that you’ll pretty much do anything I tell you to.”

You scoffed, “That’s crazy talk.”

“Is it?“ he pressed, inching closer to you. "Kiss me,” he said, lips just a gentle wind's push from touching yours.

You didn’t budge, but your heart beat escalated all the same.

“Cute,” he smirked, his large hand finding the length of your neck, gliding up to your jawline as his thumb toyed with your lower lip. “I can see it all over your face that you want me, ____.”

“Then why are you asking for it?,” you teased.

“Because I wanted to hear you say it first… even though I already knew you’d let me do this,” he whispered, closing the space between you with a kiss, his warm mouth engulfing yours as the scent of his woody cologne filled your senses.

His other hand found your lower back, pulling you impossibly close to him as the sound of both your hearts beating and his needy grunts consumed you.

Much like the watercolor moth on his wrist, Wonbin’s gentle and vibrant masculinity couldn’t get any more precious in this moment.

This is exactly what he was looking forward to, whether he decided to guise it under the façade of a favor or be completely straight up with you, he finally got you right where you wanted.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you tugged a bit, desperate to hear more of his pretty sounds before the shadow of a smile wavered over Wonbin’s face at your actions, up until he felt your knee bump his hard-on through his pants, causing him to hiss.

“You’re being rough with me,” he said in between kissing your mouth, his hot and thick tongue darting past your lips as the kiss become messier.

Louder.

“And?” You asked, pulling away from his lips before leaving a trail of wetness down his neck, paying extra attention to a spot that made him twitch in his seat.

“And it’s so fucking hot,” he almost moaned when your teeth grazed his skin, his back meeting the couch arm as you subconsciously grinded your hips against his pants, straddling him.

“Is this how you wanted me earlier,” you said, stopping your movements, “when we were outside in the cold?”

By now his shirt was off and your fingers unbuckling his belt with gentle clinking sounds from the metal.

“No,” he said in an impossibly deep voice, looking dead at you as he spoke, “My first mind wanted to fuck you silly in the backseat… but I couldn’t to that to you.”

You giggled at his choice of words given how high you were, shimmying his pants down a bit further before halting at the waistband of his boxers, palming him gently through the fabric.

“Why not?” You asked in a soft voice, contrasting with the fierce grip you had on his clothed shaft.

“Because... even though you’re being an impossible tease right now, I felt like you deserved better than to be fucked in your best friends boyfriend's truck,” he said with a shaky voice, gripping at the couch to contain himself.

You appreciated his consideration in your heart, but didn’t wanna say anything out loud, especially not while your hands were on him like this.

And thank God for these thick curtains, otherwise the whole world would’ve seen how red his throbbing tip looked after finally being freed from the restrictions of his boxers.

You started at the base of his length before gliding upwards, spitting on the head that was already leaking a bit of his early release.

You started to pump him slowly, pearly white precum standing out as it mixed with your clear spit like watercolor.

“Use your mouth for me,” he almost begged, eyes falling victim to a blurry haze as his knuckles turned white with his grip on the cushions.

You teased him a bit by letting your warm breath ghost over his tip, eliciting a groan from him as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

The desperation inside of him only grew from here as your warm and wet lips finally wrapped around him.

You hollowed your cheeks a bit, hands resting at either side of his hips as you began using your tongue to help you take him inch by inch.

“Mmm, feels so fucking good, baby,” he said with a strained voice, his hands finding your head before his thumbs grazed your lips, one of them prying to squeeze itself into your mouth with his already thick cock.

The sight alone was enough to make him buss, so he threw his head back, biting his lip harshly to contain his sounds.

You hummed against his dick, almost feeling it in your chest once his hands pushed your head down further.

He just couldn’t deal with your teasing anymore, wanting to feel you more than he could begin to explain.

He bucked his hips upwards, rutting into your mouth like a bunny in heat. “Aww, fuck,” he cursed, watching the way your eyes glazed with tears.

He always managed to see you crying one way or another, and he loved it every single time.

Your fingernails dug into his sides as the sound of your gagging became hard to miss. He released your head with a sigh, panting as both of your faces burned with heat.

He didn’t expect you to start pumping him again though as soon as your mouth left his cock, but you knew he’d end up missing your warmth in seconds anyways.

“I wasn’t trying to be mean when I did that, by the way,” he sighed, biting his lip as you looked back at him with moist eyelashes, “I just couldn’t hold bac- nghhh~.”

A broken moan escaped his mouth once your hands found his balls, gently cradling them in your hands while alternating with pressures, your other hand still stroking him.

“I’m doing quite the favor for you, Wonbin,” you said with a rasp voice, your throat a bit sore from his actions on top of the smoke you huffed earlier, but he figured it made you sound hotter anyway. “Are you sure I’m not overdoing it?”

“Mmm… no, p-please don’t stop, baby,” he whimpered shamelessly, screwing his eyebrows tightly.

You felt yourself clench around nothing at the nickname, and judging from the way his face changed, you’d bet he noticed.

By now, he could hardly keep still, the muscles in his stomach flexing just as you felt his balls tighten, just as he was finished, chest heaving with need as you rode out his high.

That's when you started to take off your jeans, tossing them in the corner somewhere as he practically drooled at the sight of you in just a baggy top and panties, a dark spot forming at the center of your core where your arousal started to leak through.

“____,” he paused you, bringing you into his lap, your warm core sitting right atop his aching hardness, “you don’t have to go this far if you don’t want to.”

“Well maybe this isn’t just about me owing you anymore,” you whispered, kissing him on the corner of his mouth, “what if I want this?”

His cock stimulated you through your panties as he thought on your words, subconsciously rocking your hips back and forth.

“Then I’ll let you have your way with me…” he said with a rasp whisper, kissing up your neck as one of his hands massaged your tits, his other hand sneaking past your underwear to find your soaking wet clit, rubbing it slowly but with such a pressure that your fingers clung to his broad shoulders.

“I want you to make me feel like I’m falling apart,” he groaned against your skin, spreading your slick all over your aching pussy lips, “I want you to ruin me.”

You didn't waste any time with aligning him at your entrance, sliding down with ease most of the way given how wet you were.

He groaned as your tight walls fully consumed him.

“Fuck~,” you whined, feeling euphorically full as he started thrusting into you, hands gripping at your back as he became overstimulated inside you.

The drugs must've made you feel extra sensitive, especially with the way his tip fucked against your g-spot. You looked into his teary eyes, stoking his face as you helped to bounce with his movements, lewd sounds bouncing off of the walls.

“You’re being so fucking good for me, baby, just like that," he moaned as you clenched around him, too high to give a damn about filling you up raw with thick spurts of his cum.

“Wonie,” you whimpered, feeling as his hands roamed all over your climaxing body.

You felt every part of him in every part of you, and to say the least, it was worth all the awkward moments it took to get here.

THE NEXT MORNING, you woke up with your head resting on Wonbin’s chest, his messy hair spread about his head as you felt his breath faintly on your head. You probably looked like two babies with the way you were cuddling each other under the blanket.

It was a sickeningly cute sight, one might say.

“Sick and twisted,” you heard Shotaro say in the back of your mind, just as Wonbin groaned beneath you with a cat-like yawn.

“I still feel high,” was the first thing he said, making you giggle a little more than necessary before looking him in the face, the effects of your night together ever-present on his face.

“I feel…good,” you smiled.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” you hummed back, peeling yourself from his body as you blinked the tiredness from your eyes.

“You can keep a secret, right?” He asked hesitantly, voice barely audible given how quietly he spoke.

“With my whole life,” you answered, now making eye contact with him which was surprisingly way easier to do than a day ago.

He found your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “We should do each other favors more often… but… maybe not call it that.”

Was he initiating a sexual relationship with you?

Maybe something more?

“Well…” you started curiously, “what would you wanna call it instead, then?”

A grin peeped on his face that quickly softened when he licked his lips, giving your hand a squeeze once again before parting his lips to speak. “Maybe-”

“Fuck,” Roxanne sighed with annoyance, “you horny ducks didn’t blow my candles out last night… now the wax is no good,” she sulked.

“Oh, s-sorry about that, Roxie, we were smoking and it helped the smell,” Wonbin answered first.

“… wait, did you just call us horny ducks?” You asked with a mix of confusion, offense, and realization.

She heard you two.

Hell, of course she did.

“What? You think I didn’t hear Wonbin and his vocal ass practically singing as you did… whatever you did to him…?,” She rambled on, washing her hands in the sink before pulling some from produce from the fridge.

“Oh my God,” Wonbin cringed at himself, covering his face with his hands, though his ears were clearly burning red now.

“The blanket… you brought it in here, didn’t you,” you asked her, just now noticing that it was one she kept at the end of her bed.

“Yep! You’re welcome, freaks,” she chirped through a mouthful of raw celery, drawing your attention to the knife and cutting board she handled, “I’m gonna need your help soon though, ____. We're cooking for a mini get-together later with Taro and Sungchan.”

You hummed at her words, folding up the blanket while thankful that despite how high you two were last night, you managed to put your clothes back on before the sun came up.

“You guys should get cleaned up first, too, by the way,” she said, side-eyeing you as she diced a few green onions. “And preferably not at the same time, please... I’ve heard enough moans for the rest of this week, thanks to you two.”

⚡︎ a/n: I just wanna say thank you to everyone who read this goofy lil piece I wrote !! It's been a while since I wrote something that wasn't requesting, and I had so much fun getting back in my creative mode again !! Hopefully you guys enjoyed it as much as I did huhu !!

📍 check out my NEW RIIZE masterlist

⚡︎ tag list: @ashgonedash @jaylaxies @fakeuwus @ot7sevenlvr @nqvgue @riizebinnie @cherriruto @sungbbinieworld @kvstjwonnie @yjshannie @hyunjinsnumberonefun @nikisdubblchococake @babigriin @greasywall @snrrpyzen @squoxle @wonbinkisser @quirkymoon @bominute @serenityqtz @bahraini-aphrodite @jewjewbee04 @minslatte @svtf1lms @suquitoz @hyunilinia @yeonkis @pixiewoni @loljungwon @sunwonkiworld @iizanaa @bambseung @deadpool15 @s1eepyanahi @wearscvn @spkyfy @urfavmommy @anna-357j @numberonetaleprince @write4cench @choqolei @zhonglele02 @xenkimmie @whoslio @leeknow-minho2 @songbird033

#riize smut #riize x reader #wonbin smut #wonbin x reader #riize scenarios #park wonbin #jung sungchan #riize hard thoughts #riize hard hours #riize ff

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 5 months ago

Text

1k / 39 / post-apocalypse au, part 3

...

By the time Soap eases himself off of Roach’s back and Ghost hauls him into what must be the infirmary cabin, you turn around to find the camp’s gates shut tight and fortified in preparation for nightfall. One way in, one way out, as with any smart semi-permanent settlement. You’re locked into the squad’s camp. Not on purpose, Price tells you. But you swear there’s amusement behind his eyes.

No good deed goes unpunished.

It’s more of an encampment than a settlement, with log buildings and structures everywhere. Looks like something they fixed up into someplace livable. Nicer than most hovels you’ve seen since society crunched under the boot heel of chemical warfare. You’re tempted to root around the place, get a better look around inside, too, but going inside somewhere enclosed makes you feel itchy now. You sit outside at the campfire instead, leaning back against the massive, furry flank of your snoozing dog.

Price looks at you over the fireside, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. His blue eyes seem to be analyzing you.

Roach sleeps next to you, one of his front paws flopped over your leg. It must be nice to be able to go to sleep that fast, no worrying about what the morning could bring.

You don't look at Price for a long time. But the more you concentrate on looking away, the more irritated you get. You pull at the grass. Finally, you glance back. He doesn’t politely avert his eyes. That irritates you even more.

"What?" you snap at him.

Price shrugs, not at all bothered. "Just checking you out." He takes a drag of his cigarette, leans back, and eyes you. "Smoke?"

"Where the hell are you getting cigarettes? You live in the middle of the woods."

He chuckles. "Trade with some of the settlements a way away. Cigarettes always make good bartering chips."

"Not if you smoke 'em all up."

"Gotta indulge where I can." He blows a stream of smoke away from you. "Here."

He's right, too. He hands you a cigarette.

A few minutes later, you're enjoying it, letting the nicotine soak in after a long day. That's still one favor you owe Soap and now one to Price.

"Your dog got a name?" Price asks as he lights his own next cigarette."

"Roach."

"What's his deal? Mutie hound?"

"He was my dog before he went all..." You square your hands. "Big. So he listens to me."

Price eyes the beast. "Sure he does. Must be conveneint, being able to tell him to sit there and keep your feet warm, huh?"

You take another drag, leaning forward a bit more toward the fire. "Sure is. Slobber everywhere, though. And the farts he rips..."

"Worse than the mutagen?"

"Exactly. Chemical warfare."

He chuckles. "Soap mentioned you once or twice. Never a dog, though."

"I thought I lost him to the forest." You glance at Price sideways. "What did Soap say?"

"Eh. He says too much."

"Right."

"Just said you're scrappy for a civvy. Pretty scrappy, period." He takes in another drag. "Seemed fond of it."

You scoff. Civvy. Is that what you are? But you don't pick a fight about it. The cigarette is good. You feel like you could lay down in front of this fire and sleep. Maybe you will.

Price doesn't say anything more. The silence is comfortable. You take in the atmosphere. It's peaceful, really: the fire warm and bright, the forest sounds and the smell of smoke mixing pleasantly with the cloud of nicotine in your lungs.

Price takes another drag. "Soap's a good lad, even if he can't quite stop shooting his mouth off."

"How many of those you got?"

"Cigarettes?"

"Mhm."

"How many you tryna borrow?"

"Another one."

"You'll get hooked if you're not careful."

"Indulging where I can, aren't I?"

"You are at that." Price hands you another with a smirk. "And a handful. You know, that dog of yours is a lot of muscle. We could use that."

"You're not the first one to think that, old man. He only listens to me, so don't get any nasty ideas about offing me and stealing him."

Price smirks. Sounds like you have experience dealing with other survivors. "Wouldn’t be a bad trade-off," he says, shifting into a lazier position as he stares into the fire. "Might anyways. Can't imagine keeping a dog that size just for a foot warmer. That beast's gotta be put to use. Turn him into a war hound or something." He takes another drag. "Can't imagine Soap'd be happy about you gettin' killed, though. Or the other lads, for that matter."

You smirk. You can tell he's got a dry sense of humor. You do, too. "Can't kill civvies, can you?"

"You're hardly a civvy," Price mutters under his breath. "Civvies're tame."

"Shame. Guess you're not getting my dog."

"Pity." Price taps his cigarette ash into the dirt. "Got a lot of cigarettes and nobody to smoke 'em."

"Thought you bartered them."

"Just getting a head start in case the trading starts to slow down. Keeps the supply low." Price takes in another drag. "But suit yourself. Best to leave before you get hooked."

He flicks the cigarette into the fire and walks away. You watch the flames and feel the warm lure of sleep pull you closer. It's like another favor for a favor, isn't it? Roach's aid and yours in exchange for a full night of rest and another day of cigarettes and food. Maybe two days. Just enough to recharge and get enough sleep. Enough for Roach to recover.

You curl into Roach's side, closing your eyes. Just another day or two. That's all. Then you'll vanish.

Roach nudges you as you nestle into his fur. You're exhausted, but you're also safe and more or less relaxed for the first time in days--weeks--and your mind finally starts to slow down.

The fire crackles gently in front of you. Roach snores quietly, content to keep you company through the long, quiet, dark night.

For the first time in a long time, you feel warm and safe. It's not much. But it's enough.

You let your eyes close and finally succumb to sleep.

...

part 1 / part 2 / [part 3]

more Price / more Soap / masterlist

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driaswrld · 1 year ago

Text

cash in, cash out — gojo satoru and geto suguru.

wc : 1.7k

summary : the one where the boys pick the kids up, satoru loses his wallet, megumi almost throws up, the twins argue color theory, tsumiki gets the aux and suguru has a coupon.

part of : the star paradox collection.

notes : this had me cackling a bit as i wrote it i love the family dynamics esp since this is when the trio is new to the kid thing (around 2009) ALSO yes, suguru has a love for y2k girl groups : pussycat dolls being one of em don't @ me gege told me it's canon.

other : fem!reader, rs label undefined so can be read as platonic or poly (they're lowk dating w/o knowing) mentions of unsafe (?) driving?? mentions of bribery and also tomfoolery and shenanigans

current casette : father stretch my hands pt.1 - kanye west

“—now we do headcount.” Suguru turns in his seat as Satoru slows the car and shifts the gear stick to neutral. “If you’re hungry, say I!” Satoru raises a hand up, his knuckles smacking against the roof of the interior, and Suguru internally dies.

“You’re hopeless.” Tsumiki laughs to herself, rolling the window beside her down, leaning against the frame, spring breeze warming her cheeks.

“I…” Mimiko raises her tiny fist upwards, mimicking Satoru, all while Nanako unclicks their joint seatbelt and breathes a puff of air, exasperated and hair a mess.

Megumi grunts, giving a weak thumbs up. He almost looks like he’s about to throw up.

The car ride was… something to say the least—

“—buckle the seatbelt already, brat!”

“—swallow your spit before you talk, you pig.”

“Steer the car for me, Suguru.”

A click reverberates through the car as Satoru unclicks his seatbelt and turns, ready to dive out of the driver's seat and into the backseat of the car, with arms outstretched to grab ahold of six year old Megumi’s neck.

Suguru’s arm flails to the side as he steadies the abandoned steering wheel from the passenger seat.

“Why didn’t name pick us up?” Mimiko mumbles, clutching onto her strawberry colored doll to her chest.

Ignoring the repeated smacks of Megumi’s foot to the side of Satoru’s cheek, Tsumiki shrugs, gaze fixed outside the window at other cars passing by. “She had work, I think—”

“So we’re stuck with the idiots.” Megumi grunts, and Suguru’s head whips around, lips morphed into a thin line.

Pride, oh sweet pride. Nanako, busy typing away at some cute game on her tablet, looks up for a second and locks eyes with Suguru, who withers a little under her gaze.

“He called you an idiot, Geto-san.” She says, ever the little instigator.

“Take the wheel, Satoru.”

But anyways.

Satoru huffs, almost pouting as the car in front of them stalks forward into the KFC drive thru. “It wasn’t even that bad,” he murmurs as he shifts the gear stick once more, moving the car forward.

Suguru can only chuckle nervously. “Yeah, not too bad…”

Behind Satoru’s back, he gives the kids a funny look, and they all snicker quietly. Well, save for Megumi who’s bordering on car sickness from that messy car ride.

“Alright,” Satoru mumbles to himself before he pushes his sunglasses up to rest in his hair, one arm hanging out the window, looking over his shoulder for a brief moment to check everyone over. “What does everyone want off the menu?”

Honestly, he’s a little proud of himself and Suguru.

Usually, you’re the one who handles picking all the brats up after school, but somehow, the boys managed to do it.

Although, it did take a bit of crisscrossing with seatbelts shared in pairs of two— hey, at least they’re all in one piece, right!

“Twister!” Nanako exclaims with a grin and Mimiko nods along with her twin sister, setting her doll down in her lap with a smile that Suguru mirrors, something so small making him feel so… soft inside. “I want the one with the sweet flavored chicken inside—”

“I want the spicy one.” Nanako nods along, turning her attention back to her tablet, clicking away.

Satoru hums, turning his head a little to the side, and Tsumiki mumbles, “Maybe just a chicken sandwich… with some coleslaw too.” He looks to Megumi, who still has his mouth twisted into something between a frown and a pout, so cute—

“And what do you want, Megs?” Suguru asks before Satoru can, as the car treks forward in the drive thru line, drawing closer to the order speaker.

“Whatever Tsumiki gets, I’ll get that too.” Megumi shrugs a little and a smile stretches on Satoru’s face — though he hides it well, straining his head forward.

(Mimiko can see him through the side mirror but he doesn’t even remember that.)

After ordering and making it halfway down the length of the drive thru, there’s only two cars ahead until the pay window.

Suguru is helping Tsumiki plug the aux cord into her ipod touch — a birthday gift from Satoru.

“I don’t think the cord’ll fit,” Tsumiki mumbles, peering over his shoulder, head leaning against the headrest. “It’s probably too big or something.”

All while Mimiko and Nanako are arguing over a dress up game on their tablet.

“She looks better in purple—”

“But I like the yellow better—”

Megumi narrowly dodges Satoru’s elbow as he bends his arm to rummage through the storage compartment of the armrest.

“Don’t worry too much, Tsumiki—” He mumbles, haphazardly searching for another aux cable, and his wallet, because for some reason he didn’t feel it in his pocket just now. “Suguru’s good at making all kinds of things fit—”

A smack to the side of his head sends his sunglasses flying off his head into Nanako’s lap, and the twins share a look with each other. “We should try sunglasses on her—”

“I don’t want her to look like Gojo-san—”

Megumi snickers just as Suguru snatches the shorter aux cable from Satoru’s hand.

Tsumiki tilts her head to the side, a grin reaching her lips once Suguru finally gets the aux connected. “Hold on,” Satoru whispers to himself, shifting back in the driver’s seat and moving forward to take the place of the car that was just in front. “Suguru, I can’t find—”

“Check under your seat or something.” Suguru cuts him off, scrolling through the sheer ridiculous list of songs on Tsumiki’s ipod touch — most of which are Taylor Swift and a few J-Pop groups. “It’s not there.” Satoru huffs in defiance.

From where Megumi’s sitting slumped in the backseat, he can see the shadow of Satoru’s billfold laying under his seat.

Naturally, Megumi wants to watch him squirm a little. Afterall, Suguru told him to look there and he was too proud to, so…

Satoru’s phone vibrates from inside the open glove compartment where it’s charging.

“I’m sure I had it in my side pocket…” He mumbles to himself, and Suguru gives him a look of absolute defeat with a hint of nonchalance.

“Well I don’t have any money on me—” The timing couldn’t be worse really. “Of course you don’t. Because all of you freeload off me—”

Megumi rolls his eyes, “As if you don’t make six figures.”

The phone vibrates again, and it’s the least of Satoru’s problems, really.

“Is that all I am to you? Some bank?”

Because here he is, next in line to pay and he doesn’t have his card in his hand, Suguru is still flat broke as always, you aren’t here and it’s not like the brats in the back have a steady flow of income coming in.

Why didn’t he just set up his damn online accounts when you told him to?

“Maybe you should answer that,” Suguru shrugs, damn near unable to hide his little smile when he comes across a song by the Pussycat Dolls. He has half a mind to say out loud that he’s raising Tsumiki right.

The phone vibrates again.

“Satoru—”

“Jeez, fine, damn.” Satoru is shifting around in his seat like he’s possessed, patting down his pockets, all while the phone keeps vibrating.

He reaches over with a frown, yanking the charger out and answering the phone with a single tap and a curt, “I’m busy right now, what is it?" Putting it on speaker as he leans over in his seat again to search his pants.

“Hello to you too, sunshine.” Your voice echoes through the phone and Satoru winces, pink tinging the tip of his ears. “Sorry name, I just—”

“He lost his wallet and we’re going to starve.”

Megumi leans forward, sticking his head out and leaning against the passenger seat.

Tsumiki and Suguru stifle a laugh, and Mimiko lifts her head with a pout. “But— I don’t wanna starve!”

“Oh, Mimi…” You sigh, damn near ready to punt Satoru into the sun. “That’s not going to happen, Megs is just making fun—”

“I have a coupon for a biscuit from that magazine yesterday,” Suguru says and he locks eyes with Satoru who glares straight at him. “Hey, I’m just suggesting solutions!”

Shoko, who’s sitting beside you in the vacant classroom looks up from the mission report she’s signing up for the both of you and bellows a huge laugh. It really doesn’t help Satoru’s pride at all, and he grabs the phone, clicking it off speaker and hugging it against his ear.

Suguru watches as Satoru slumps in his seat, one arm hanging over the steering wheel and another out the window. A grown man, twirling the side of his hair and pouting.

He doesn’t even think twice before snapping the photo — he ends it off to the twins’ tablet, and they exit their game to open it, giggling into their tiny fists.

“name…”

“I’m not sending you money, Satoru—”

“Please! I promise I just misplaced my wallet,”

The twins pass the tablet over to Megumi who folds his lips to hide his laugh, nudging Tsumiki who leans over to giggle at the picture too.

“Pleaaasee! C’mon, I promise I’ll even set up my account like you told me to—”

Suguru sends a sneaky wink to the kids and they all burst out laughing, to which Satoru whips his head around, only to find everyone ducked down in their seats, suspiciously minding their own business.

Suguru’s even gazing out the car window, a guilty whistle leaving his lips.

“I let you two pick them up one time and—”

Satoru cranes his head out the window, his voice lowering to a whisper. “name, I’m begging you. This is a man’s pride we’re talking about here—”

“You can always use Suguru’s coupon—” You murmur.

“I’ll get a chocopie with your order.”

"I'm literally paying— hey, what do you take me for? I have some semblance of self respect—”

“Two chocopies and a twister.” He looks around before ducking his head again in a whisper, “I’ll even pay for all your meals this month— matter of fact, you can just take my card—”

“Two months, including takeout.” You grumble. “And add an egg tart, I’m sending the money to Suguru right now.”

#★ DRIASWRLD #tsr ⭐️#jujutsu kaisen #satosugu x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #suguru geto #satoru gojo #gojo x geto x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader

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yeyinde · 2 years ago

Text

past and pending | John Price x f!Reader

"Fuck, love," his voice carries the taste of cigars and scotch when it rumbles in your ear. You smell the heady Maduro on his skin when you sink your teeth into the freckles on his shoulder. He tips his head forward; his rasping groan is heavy with smoke. "The things you do to me."

(you haven't stopped thinking of what it would feel like to burn your lips on his cigar, and numb the sting with the scotch on his tongue.)

warnings: smut; literal filth; kiiiiiinda an illicit relationship(?) but ya'll are consenting adults; power imbalance by proxy; breeding kink (slight); gendered reader; female anatomy; little substance just pure filth

notes: alt title was: when ur boss has baby fever and ur like, well damn, i guess i'm taking one for the team; this man is sooo damn fine, and Barry Sloane is a 1.88m snack (and tbh, scousers always make me a little weak in the knees)

Price looks like he smells of cigars whiskey cheap leather and hickory and i am feral.

It starts in Madrid.

(Though, if you're being honest with yourself, it really starts on a motorway outside of Dorset.)

Scotch in one hand, cigar in the other, he stands on the balcony, and gazes out at the water in the distance. Eyes fixed, crystalline, on the families below playing in the sand. A gaggle of children. Their mothers lean over the railing of the tapas below, shooing them off to find their fathers.

The sounds carry through the streets, bouncing off of the stucco. High-pitched giggles from the kids playing in the cobblestone roads. The admonishing calls of their parents. Laughter from passersby.

You watch him from the doorway. Catch the longing in his eyes; wistful and melancholic.

A family. Children.

It's not your mission—this isn't what you're here for—but there is an ache in his gaze that makes you bite your tongue, words stifled in your throat.

You've never seen your Captain look like this.

He notices you—has probably known, you don't doubt, that you were there from the start—but there is something almost painful about the way he gives himself one more moment of this, one more fleeting glance, before he has to take up the mantle of a commander, of a leader.

When he turns to you, it lingers in his eyes. A shade of mourning you can't quite understand. Can't quite reconcile about the man who, hours earlier, was barking out well done! and nice shot! when you took down an enemy operative. A bullet an inch below the eye. He clasped you on your back, grinned wide under the moustache, and it tasted of gunfire when he leaned in close.

("Mm, got 'em right in the fuckin' head!")

John Price is a man you'd never thought could feel anything except the high of the challenge, the chase. He smelled of scotch, Maduro, and gasoline. His voice was always ragged, and hoarse, from how loudly he bellowed on the battlefield, a roar that echoed in the distance.

This—

This is new. Different. It's both softer and sadder than you'd ever imagined him, and how it fits inside the man you'd known as one of the only people you could genuinely trust, is jarring. And simply put: it doesn't.

The idea of his longing fills you with a visceral ache.

(You're a good soldier. You wonder if you could—)

"Ready, then?" He asks, and digs his teeth into the cigar until it dents. The glass is placed on the dresser, empty. His lips stain the rim, and you think about bottle caps and Iceland.

You can't stop staring at him, now. Like an idiot. Like a—

Silly little girl with a crush.

You fluster. Force a nod when his brows buoy, bunching in concern. Bewilderment. You're not acting like yourself.

(You really haven't been since Reykjavik when he turned to you, and said—)

It's pushed aside when he takes one last drag, chest swelling with the inhale, and breathes out, words a plume of smoke.

"Let's get these steamin' bastards."

If Madrid started it all, then his hand on your thigh is certainly the cataclysmic finale, the end.

Well, that isn't entirely true.

It's the offer of a cigar. A little scotch.

(Maybe more than a little, really.)

Alone in a tapas in Madrid, he orders too much food for two people, and a bottle of their best scotch.

Asks, gruffly in aborted Spanish, if he can have a smoke, too.

(You end up having to translate both his Spanish and English to the befuddled waiter; the heavy accent renders his words to nothing but growled smoke.)

The mission was a success. Gaz perched on the loft across the street, the man cornered by Price, his only exit cut off by you—it was as smooth as one could go. Easy, almost. Effortless.

It should have been the first sign that things were going to unravel, quite quickly, from that point on.

Gaz declines the invitation. Laswell in your ear, well, you've earned it. You should have said no, too. Stayed in your room, ordered out, and poured over the piles of documents that will be waiting for you sooner or later. Red-tape means every moment must be noted down, each breath counted. Each step. Each choice. It's a mountain.

But Price had his face turned toward the streets when he asked. The breadcrumbs of his gaze led you to a woman holding a blue swaddle in her arms, cooing down at the lump hidden under soft cashmere. Old ladies congregated around her, faces lit up with joy.

He watched for a moment, and you saw that aching thing in his eyes when the woman peeled back the layers, showing off a ruddy-cheeked baby with a smattering of curly brown hair on his tiny head.

A catch, then, in your throat, when the words were out before you could stop them: I want to.

"...to go," you added hastily, flushing brilliantly under the lights in the hotel room. His hotel room. The one used to reconvene, to plot, to plan. The one that reeks of him—

The man you captured is held in a prison by the authorities, departing tonight under the cover of darkness. His weapons sit in the corner. Focus. You stare at them to ground yourself. "With you, that is."

Price turns, eyes finding yours when you lift your chin—automatic, magnetic: your Captain looks at you, and you offer a nod in response.

The longing is thick, palpable. It burns, and it aches, because it isn't for you. It's for some unattainable thing he's decided not to pursue.

You taste the flavour of it when he speaks, when he clears his throat, and gives a gruff good in response.

It, of course, is not good.

It's very bad.

Dangerous, even.

The attraction you feel toward Price—Captain, boss; off-limits —isn't anything new. It's not incipient, but it hasn't had a chance to take root, to hold firm. You haven't let it.

You'd felt the same swell of intrigue before; a fledgling thing that always dissipates before trouble starts. This should have been no different.

(But trouble comes quicker than you'd expect.

And you've always been rather good at lying to yourself.)

The look in his eyes. The tightness in your chest. Scotch on your tongue.

It festers when he leans over, eyes pools of cerulean, and says, want a cigar?

And now—

Now:

Your lungs are heavy with smoke that, apparently, isn't supposed to be there.

Not supposed to inhale, dove, he tells you, words rough from his own puff, and drenched in humour.

You sputter, knuckles pressed to your mouth to stop yourself from looking foolish in front of your Captain. Too late, of course. His eyes dance with mirth, lips crooked with the tang of it.

You duck your head. "Fuck, that's disgusting."

"Don't blame the cigar." He grins, easy, relaxed. The bucket hat on his head looks out of place in a tapas in Centro, but he's never felt more touchable to you when he's bathed in the mundane.

(At least it isn't the leather jacket, the beanie—)

You swallow down the acrid taste of tobacco on your tongue, sending him a sharp glance from the corner of your eye. "Who do I blame, then? The teacher?"

Price lets out a soft huff, a little chuckle under his breath, and tips his head in concession. "Yeah, alright. My fault, love."

Love. It makes your chest feel tight. Head dizzy. You can blame it on the pungent concoction of cigars and scotch, but it sits too heavy in your chest for you to pretend.

You drop your gaze to the table, to the half-eaten plate of setas al ajillo that sits in front of you as if it will somehow have an answer in the oil. That you might find god amongst the sauteed mushrooms, and he'll smack sense into your head. Don't be stupid. Don't be—

"Another?" He rasps, the word sticks to his throat.

The smoke from the cigar makes your head feel gummy. It's a balm that soothes over all the little voices in the back of your head that scream at you to stop. This is a bad idea, they say. You'll regret it in the morning.

But—

You want to impress him. Stupid. Price meets your stare when you lift your head. A smile. A nod.

He doesn't mention the way your hand trembles when you take the cigar proffered to you between a thick thumb and forefinger. He has a burn scar on his first knuckle. A round circle.

It's not the way you'd hold a cigar.

Your eyes linger for a moment on the burn, mind startlingly empty, as if refusing to partake in piecing together whatever it means, if only for his privacy. His own sense of untouchability.

Price is the core of the group. The man who everyone—even Ghost, to some extent—relies on, and absolutely respects. It's ironclad. Unshakeable.

He's the man who is always looking at you, at others, first. When something happens, his eyes are drawn to everyone else, making sure they are stable on their feet as the world around them crashes, and burns.

You know because, now, you're always watching him.

A silly little girl with a crush.

It began in Reykjavik.

A slurry of imported chemicals drafted by a man with an abhorrent agenda led you, Price, and Laswell on a chase through the city. It was close, down to the last nanoseconds. And then—

"You alright?"

Shaken. Terrified. You turn to him, and he's there, watching you. Eyes drawn tight. Taut, humourless smile pulling on the corners of his—for once—clean-shaven face.

It's hard to begin to grasp the words necessary to properly convey what you felt at that moment. Panic. Horror. Dread. Fear. They come close, but they miss that unnameable feeling of your heart leaping into your throat when the seconds ticked down to five, four, three…

Too late. Too—

And then a gunshot. A bullet in the man's head. Success. It felt too close to be considered a win. Like grasping at victory with the tips of your fingers as it fumbles from hand to hand. Narrowly snatching the win from the jowls of defeat that nipped at you.

"S-sir—"

He's there. Hand on your shoulder, firm and steady: it's the only thing that keeps you from toppling over.

"Mm, stay alert," he mumbles, eyes cutting back to the throng of agents—on loan from Norway as Iceland hadn't the means to take care of it on their own, the very same people whose pride refused to allow you any intel, almost leading to—

"Eyes, ears are everywhere."

It's the solid weight of his presence, his unmovable utilitarianism, that reinforces the liquid relief in your knees, giving it the stability needed to congeal, to harden.

Iceland was the first taste of reality. The first mission where you realised every single second mattered.

"Did good," he says under his breath, and nods at you when you turn, bewildered, to him. "Might not seem like it, but you held yourself up. Did what needed to be done. Good job."

There is a softness in his eyes, one that you can't place, but it makes your pulse race.

And now, that same something swims in his cerulean gaze, slightly misted from the scotch, but remarkably the same.

You drop your gaze again. His stare is heavy—its not oppressive, or intense, but its—

A lot. Weighed down by something that has been steadily building since you bunkered down in a frozen bivouac on the fringes of the Arctic. Each breath of plume of pure white. Nestled tight together under a single insulated blanket, sharing heat. Keeping each other from the white death looming at the edge of the door.

It sits there, now. The tendrils of frostbite in his eyes: memories of when the snow piled so high outside your door, you'd begun to fear that this little shack was going to be your icy prison.

His chest under your chin. Heat bleeding into you.

("Gotta stay warm," he'd rasped, gaze flickering to you in steady intervals. "Can't turn the heat on. They'll see us.")

In the morning after everything, he found you on the terrace overlooking the landscape, the rolling hills of white in the distance. Back in the sanctum of your hotel. The one free from tundra and sleet. From the howling winds that slammed against the shack you both holed up in for the night. Surveillance. Your first taste of it.

"You good?" He murmurs. It's a loaded question, and feels more like a test.

Still—

"I will be." A lie.

"Go on." He calls it.

You turn to him. "We—;" the words are heavy on your tongue. Blame, and anger, and— "if they shared information with us, we would have gotten to them sooner."

And then you bite your tongue, eyes darting across the barren balconies. Eyes and ears are everywhere, he'd said. Test: failed.

"Mm, yeah," he mumbles. His presence is comforting. A kinship born from ice and darkness. He leans against the railing beside you, fingers looped into the straps on his tactical vest. "Could have done a lot of things quicker."

"Why did we need to wait?"

His laugh is caustic. "Bureaucracy."

"Sounds pointless when people are waging chemical warfare on the innocent."

"Mm, you're not wrong." He adds, his breath a plume of white when he huffs. "But red tape is the line that keeps us in check. Can't go around shooting whoever looks at us funny."

"But—"

"I agree, though." His words are low, and doused in the residuum of anger from missions you've yet to experience. A chasm is carved between you. An uncrossable moor. "Fuckin' politics."

His hand is almost as heavy as the steel in his eyes when he pulls it free from the strap on his chest, and lays it on your shoulder. "Get some rest. Maybe a bloody drink if you can. They only got vodka," he spits the word out like it's blasphemous, and considering he's never too far away from a cigar in one hand, and a scotch in the other, you think, to him, it might be.

It's a dismissal. A nice chat, have a lovely day, ta. He's your Captain, a man who shares each success with everyone, but bears the weight of each failure on his own. This debacle only reinforced the notion that you can't keep operating in the strict lines given to you, but there is very little you can do to stop it.

Fuckin' politics, you think. And then—

Cacoethes.

"I mix a mean vodka cranberry," the offer is out before you can swallow it down. "I mean—it isn't scotch, but—"

He pauses by the door, hand in stasis over the handle. The silence is stifling.

"Sorry," you murmur, chastised. Embarrassed. "I didn't—I hope I didn't cross a line."

He turns his head, brows drawn together.

(You wonder if he, too, thinks of the cabin. Of the bottled water shared between you, the heavy breath that settled in the middle of the negligible space that separated you, turned toward each other to protect your vulnerable pieces from the frigid cold.)

Then, a flash of teeth. His moustache wobbles. "Sure," he murmurs. "If you can make it taste like it isn't vodka, I'll go for one. Not much of a pint, but…"

"Should have taught me how to smoke in Iceland," you say, reaching for the proffered cigar in his hands. Your eyes slide over the burns, the pock marks in his flesh that could not be self-inflicted, but you turn from them; your gaze, instead, fixed on him. "Might have kept us warm."

A rasping chuckle falls from his lips. He has a smear of ash in the corner. A dollop of oil on his beard by the seam of his mouth. "Iceland," he repeats the word, and it sounds like an old friend, filled with a touch of fondness you can't quite capture when you think back on the time spent there.

(A panic attack in the shower stall, head full of vodka and cranberries— definitely not a pint, he rasped, but still took another swallow; your eyes were fixed on the bob of his Adam's apple—and him. Run. Run. Don't look back—

Alright? His eyes are on you. On Gaz. Laswell. He makes his rounds between everyone, silently checking in. It warms you, and makes you think of the taste you caught on the rim of the water bottle. Hickory. Smoked sandalwood. Scotch. Your nose pressed tight to his chest. The heavy weight of his arm around you. Gotta get up, lo—

Love. You wonder if that's what he was going to say before he cleared his throat, and looked away from you.

A lie. Yes.

He calls it. Yeah?

No. Never. The way the amber light from the early morning sun caught the lazuli in his eyes made your heart shatter, and ever since he pulled you from the wreck years ago, you haven't stopped thinking of what it would feel like to burn your lips on his cigar, and numb the sting with the scotch on his tongue.

A tight smile. Distant. Hidden. Always, Cap.

He relents.

You wished he pushed. Gave you a reason to spill your vodka-filled guts on the tarmac to rid yourself of this rut you'd fallen into. An endless stasis of does he, he can't, could he, he might, don't get your hopes up—

His hand is between your shoulder blades. A soft smile in your direction.

—too late.)

"Ah, Reykjavik," it's a slow burn when he speaks, heavy with smoke. Voice thick, full of static. His eyes catch yours. Price leans in close, as if he's sharing a secret; something confidential and meant only for you. The heady scent of hickory fills your nose. You roll the scotch in your glass, but taste vodka on your tongue. "Might have, but then we would've had to keep it lit while running away from the terrorists in the snow."

"I've seen you keep one lit in a hurricane, sir."

There is something coarse in the way he huffs; a gravel-filled husk of droll mirth that rumbles from his chest. His knuckles brush yours when he passes the cigar over. "Only time I ever lost one was when our heli went down in Mexico. Simon got an earful that day."

"Amazing."

The cigar is less intense when you let it fill just your mouth until the smoke is stagnant between your teeth. It's—sweet. Robust.

"You sound very impressed," he husks again, words pitched low. "But I'll have you know it was my last good one. Quite a shame."

Fingers touch again. You wonder if it's on purpose. If he, like you, can't get enough of the warmth on your skin. If it makes him think of the chill—

"It sounds like one. I don't know how you finished the mission at all, sir."

"I had a spare." He smiles, but it's taut around the edges. Then: "none of that—," he stops, clears his throat again. Lower, barely a whisper, he adds: "none of that sir stuff here. Just call me—"

"Cap?" You breathe, heart thudding in your chest. The scotch. The cigar. Maybe, it was packed with weed. A little nicotine. Something that might make your heart race, your palms sweat. Your stomach burn.

"John."

Your heart pounds, but it's off-rhythm. An irregular beat. The pattern is wrong, the crescendo stutters. It's not—

"John," his name is caught in your throat; a corrugated wobble of a breath barely recognisable as a word, but he finds it, anyway. His eyes lift, catching yours. It's heavy. Oppressive. You think of his arm on your waist, his breath in your ear—

Another tight smile. His eyes are liquid sapphires. "Yeah, love."

Love. Love. Twice, now, he slipped and uttered it.

(Lo—

Thrice, then, if you count Iceland.)

"John—," you need to stop. To put distance between yourself and this man who is wholly off-limits before the wet tip of the cigar, once clipped between those full lips, will become a crutch. Addicting.

You don't know where it starts.

The cigar in your mouth makes him groan low in his throat. Your eyes drop when he shudders. His hand on your thigh. Voice in your ear.

"Gotta stop this, love."

The first thought: he knows.

The second: he knows.

There is a chasm between them. In that paradoxical degree of separation lingers a firm, judicious no. It is resolute. Ironclad.

But the sheath is made of latex. Your hands feel the sting of the rubber bands when your fingers pluck at the bonds holding it all back.

"And if I don't want to?" Your lashes fan your cheeks, eyes peering up at him through the wisps cresting over your pupils. Tongue peaks out. A tease. "John? "

His pupils dilate in response, blown wide until pits of coal eclipse the sapphire; a black hole lined with a thin halo of blue. The hairs on his upper lip flutter when he heaves out a breath through his nose.

John's smile is tight. A fleeting thing that flickers across his face before disappearing into a hard frown. "You don't know what you're getting into, love—;" he stops himself, clears his throat. Your name falls from his lips, saturated in smoke.

You meet him. One step back, one step forward. A dance until those blues fix themselves solely on you.

Maybe, it's the scotch. You've always been more brazen with amber than clear.

His Adam's apple bounces when your hand drops, covering his. Your fingers stroke the powerful hands that hold your flesh firm between scarred fingers; nimble and dexterous despite the thickness of them.

"Then show me."

His groan tastes of tobacco and ash.

It should be awkward, and uncomfortable, but it isn't.

Price's hand curls over your waist, tucking you to his side as you lean against him, hip bumping into his thigh, hand settled on the warmth of his back.

You wonder if everyone around you can tell that you're going home with this man, your boss, and he's going to fuck you when you get there. It feels sacrilegious. Wrong.

But not even the spume of trepidation that wells inside of your gut is enough to stop you from getting this. Him.

You want it. Need it.

Your hand slips over his chest on the corner of the street. His eyes flash, caught in the light from the veranda.

Does he feel it, too, you wonder? All those moments that lead up to this? Soft words over the comm. Late nights spent pouring over coordinates and maps, reaching for something at the same time. Hands brushing. Eyes meeting over the median. Smiles shared. A world in the dead of night when everyone else had long gone to bed. You should have, too. You didn't. You stayed up as long as you could, soaking up his company.

Mornings met by the coffee maker.

No tea, it seems.

They have tea, sir.

Not the good kind.

You're just picky.

Look at this—it almost makes you ashamed to be British.

Only that?

He's untouchable—well: should be, rather; but Price is anything but. He's a constant amid many raging storms, a rock in times when the world feels like it's spiralling down toward some cataclysmic abyss and your fingers aren't quick enough to reach out and catch it.

But he is.

Always.

Your failsafe. Your security net. The only man on the planet who will rage against insurgents and terrorists, and politicians and red tape in equal measure for his team. He'll risk his neck, offer his jugular, if it means you can finish the mission.

Gaz in your head. He said something to me once… stuck to me, y'know? We get dirty, and the world stays clean.

It bludgeoned into you then just like it does now. It's the perfect iteration of exactly who Price is. He's not a hero. He doesn't pretend to be one. But if him gunning down a man on the fringes of society means that innocent people in the cities get to sleep at night without even knowing what he, and his men, sacrificed, he's content. He never asks for anything except the freedom to keep peace—however it comes about: in a hail of bullets, a fist against a man's jaw until he spits out blood and teeth and the truth, or in cuddling together on the verge of hypothermia so people in a country he has no connection to can continue to live without fear.

John is—

Well. It was inevitable, wasn't it?

They can't forge a man like him into existence, and expect you not to feel overwhelmed in his presence.

This feels inevitable.

And sure—human resources and internal affairs might have opinions about that, but it's been brewing since he pulled you from a burning wreck on the motorway (a small travesty in what could have been calamitous had you not decided to trust the SAS with an impeccable moustache, and your gut, and broke every rule in the book), and then looked you in your soot-covered face, and asked: have you considered a transfer?

Your drug enforcement days slipped into the past when he offered you a spot on his team.

And now—

Your lip is raw from the cigar burn, but the taste of scotch on your tongue soothes the ache. His hand is heavy on your waist, flesh hot to the touch like he is burning up in a fever.

A woman wanders past, the same one you saw earlier with a baby swaddled in blue, but—

Price only has eyes for you.

"C'mon, love," he husks in your ear, his breath heavy with smoke and scotch, and sending shivers racing down your spine. "Wanna come back with me?"

And you—

("I'll follow you—")

"Anywhere, John."

His hands are reverent when they brush across your skin. The heavy weight of his palms pressing against the back of your thighs makes you tremble. His rough skin feels good as it grazes yours, touch softer, more gentle than you thought he'd be.

It's a strange contrast—you'd come to expect gruffness with your Captain. His voice, his words, his practices all carry the same abrasive lilt to you, and you assumed that he'd fuck you the same way. Rough hands, brutal commands barked out.

It's none of that. It's—

His eyes peer down at you, spread out below him, and he carries the same tenderness in his eyes as when he stared at the women from before. Families. It settles inside of you. This unexpected way he handles you so gingerly makes your heart pound, and makes your core knot.

He looks at you as if you're the best thing that has ever happened to him.

And you can't be. It's impossible, isn't it? This man who'd lived many lives before you even knew how to shoot a gun, or tie your shoelaces, should not be looking at you as if you'd offered him salvation.

But he is.

You press the back of your forearm to your crown, arching your back for him. His eyes are drawn to your body, to the way you open up for him, and the darkening of his eyes makes you pant.

Your hand reaches up to his chest, palm pressed against the thick bed of unruly auburn hair that covers his pulse, and the feel of his thick body over you makes your cunt throb with need. You want him. You want him so badly that it hurts.

"This what you want, love?" He husks in your ear, beard tickling your skin. "Want me to fuck you, yeah?"

It had sprung up when you first tumbled into the room. The dance is familiar—the steps ingrained in your head, now muscle memory—but he isn't just any partner. You stood before him, unsure for the first time since you caught that aching sense of wishfulness in his eyes and knew that you wanted whatever permeated in those cerulean depths to look at you, and hold you in the same regard.

Now—

Your body is fever-hot, and he stands by the minibar, offering you scotch.

"I want you—," the words tumble out, a breathless lull in the otherwise silent room, broken only by the glass nozzle clanking against the side of the cup he set out. You've shocked him. You swallow thickly when he turns, brows lifting.

"I want you." You repeat, firmer this time.

"Are you—"

You skip the introductory waltz and immediately jump into a tango when you breathe: I want you inside me, John.

You know he aches for it. You can feel him twitching inside of you; deep and full. The head of his cock nudges against something soft in your cunt that makes you spasm around him, whimpering.

"Yes, sir…" you pant, heavy and breathless. The way you address him makes him grunt, makes his hips cant into you, the movement tinged in desperation. "Fill me up."

Price groans, rolling his hips into you. Each thrust knocks the air from your lungs until only the cloying smoke from his cigar resides inside. You're dizzy, dazed. He fucks you like he's worshipping you—each time he moves inside of you, he aims for that gummy place that has your nails digging into his sides, legs locking around his waist, caught on the bend of his thighs, as he rides you through it.

He tastes of smoke. Loam. Sandalwood. Butterscotch. "Please," you murmur, tongue laving over the indents of your teeth in his skin. You wish it was permanent. "It's your own fault, Captain."

"Yeah?" He grinds his cock inside of you until your eyes roll back, mouth dropping open as white-hot pleasure spools in your core. "Sounds like you need some discipline then, soldier."

Fuck —

He does it again, thrusting into you this time until he's seated in deep. You whine at the bliss flooding your core.

His hand lifts from your thigh, and you blink your eyes open, watching as his tongue sweeps across the pad. His eyes are wicked in the soft light spilling from street lights outside; bluer than the wide, open ocean.

You shiver when they drop to your cunt, spread out for him and stretched taut over his twitching cock. A frisson passes; waves crashing against the shores, frothing white.

His hand drops, thumb pressing against your clit. "Gonna cum for me?" He murmurs, a sonorous knot in the quiet room. You hear the roar of the ocean in the distance. Humid breeze flutters through the open balcony.

Anyone can hear you. Can hear how badly you want your Captain to fill your cunt, to make you see stars, and swaddles of blue—

You keen low in your throat when his thumb rubs tight circles over your throbbing clit, cock knocking against the gummy walls of your cunt. His head brushes your womb, presses there tight for a moment until your back arches in that deep-seated ache, that quiver of pleasure-pain that lacerates through your core.

"Fuck, fuck—," you whimper, needy and breathless, hips working in time with the insistent press of his thumb, working you in small, shallow circles. "Cap— Captain, please—"

"Fuck, love—," he throaty words a bitten, jagged plea that sticks, thick and molten, between his molars. You can feel him twitch within you. Feel the way he batters into that spongey nook inside of you that has the Aurora Borealis flashing behind your lids. "You're a cheeky little thing, aren't you?" He pants, bending down to press his teeth over your raw neck, already bitten and bruised, chafed by the coarse hair of his beard.

His groan rolls out of him; dredged up from deep within his chest. The rumble of pleasure, the sloppy way his hips snap into you, now, all practise and control dissociating with his desperation to get you to cum on his cock so he can fill your pussy up with cum, deep enough that it floods your womb—

"Cum for me—!" He snaps, the words chewed out and broken, punctuated by a deep grind of his cock. "Need to feel your pussy cumming on my cock, love; you want it, don't you? If you be a good girl and cum for me, I'll fill your pussy up—"

Your toes curl at the wrecked, raw tone of his voice, breaking over the end. He wants it. You feel him throb within you at just the thought.

"Yeah," you whine, that spooling coil in your belly pulling tighter and tighter with each brutal thrust, each nudge of his cock as it bludgeons inside of you. "Want you cum inside my pussy, John—"

His head tips, forehead dropping to rest on yours as his eyes roll back, fluttering with the sultry plea that drips from your cigar-singed lips.

You taste smoke when his thumb presses against you, the other sliding over your body until he has a palmful of your breast in his grasp. Each roll of his hips makes you see white; tendrils and wisps of smog fill your eyes until all you can see is a hazy blue through the curtain of snow. Fog on your breath. His words in your ear.

It pinches taut when he turns his head, beard scraping your skin, and presses his lips to your temple. Slurred words that taste of tobacco. "Need to feel you cum on my cock, love —"

Liquid bliss spumes deep when you cum—a deluge of euphoria richer than scotch, and more addictive than nicotine.

His name is a choked sob into the thick blanket of desire that weighs down on you.

He drops, his torso flat against your chest as he slots his mouth over you, tongue delving deep as he ruts into your pulsing cunt, fluttering like a heartbeat as you cum around his cock. He groans into the messy kiss—hickory and smoke and the bitter tang of scotch—and you feel him jerk within you before he pushes in as far as he can. He doesn't stop until your cunt swallows him to the base, where he sits taut against the seal of your cervix. And then you feel it. You feel him throb deep inside of you, stuffed full of his cock, and a molten spume spills out when he cums.

He's cumming inside of you, filling your pussy up—

Your cunt clenches, a soft flutter against him at the thought of it, the feeling.

His head lifts, then, and you can see the draw of his brows, the clench of his jaw, the grunts that slip out, deep and punctured, from between the grit of his teeth, and you think you could get addicted to the sight of him in bliss.

Your hands slide over the slick bulk of his back, nails raking softly over the skin as he shudders against you, heaving from exertion.

"Christ," he rasps in your ear, whiskey-timbered and heady with malt. "You're gonna make me lose my goddamn mind, love."

You tip your head back, grinning. "What is it you like to say, Cap?" You purr, fingers dancing over the indent of your teeth. "We're all a bit crazy."

You lay with your head tucked on his shoulder. His arm is bent at the elbow with his palm under his head; your hand rests on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart under your skin.

It's—

Cosy. A little moment where you feel liquid and blissful, eyes lidding as you peer at his naked chest—flushed roseate, peppered with auburn that that runs all the way down to the indent of his groin—and map the dusting of rust-coloured freckles that peak through the wisps of coarse hair. It's domestic. Basking in the acrid afterglow of your illicit coupling.

Your index presses into a thick patch of hair just below his pectoral, catching the curls on the tip until they wrap around your finger. He rumbles deep in his chest, and pulls the lit cigar up to his mouth, biting it between his teeth, before dropping his hand down on yours.

Cerulean peaks through a thick breath of ashen smoke. You feel shy, suddenly. Demure. Maybe, it's the scent of sex and tobacco thick in the air, the taste of spice and scotch on your tongue, or the way his cum stains your inner thighs, leaking out of you, and drenching the sheets below. Proof, then, that you fucked your Captain.

Most people start at the bottom of the totem and work up. It was a running joke amongst your class when the physical demands of the role became too much, and the drills got harder, and harder the more you sloughed through the ropes.

All the way to the top. The easy way. On your knees, soldier, you'd pass between each other in covert secrecy, eyes fatigued but grinning wide. How easy it would be, comparatively, to just lay back and let your drill sergeant have his fill. It was all chatter. Jokes. None of it was real, and if anyone of you ever had the notion to act on it—

That has never been your goal. Sergeant, Lieutenant, Captain—none of it meant anything to you until a hand appeared out of dense, black smoke, a gruff: c'mon, now, I got you following. It still doesn't. Not really. Does he know that, though? That you'd followed along dutifully behind him, not over some sense of grandeur or hero-complex, but because you admired the shape of him, the grit.

John's hand slides over yours, fingers tangling between the brackets of your own until you're locked together, palm pressed against palm.

There are years worth of things you want to say, but they dissolve in the malt still saturating your tongue.

Price's hand is rough. Scarred and weathered; aged and worn.

Your hands don't quite fit together. His brackets are too wide for your slender digits to rest without being swallowed whole by him. His fingers are the exact opposite: too wide, too thick. The seam between your knuckles aches when he slides his into the gaps. Like everything about him, this, too, is stretched taut.

Still. Still—

His hand folds over yours, devouring your palm, and suddenly all your listing axes are righted, centred. The ground you walk on is firm, solid.

It's always like that with him, you find.

His warmth bleeds into your palm.

Price shifts. His hand slips from behind his head to take hold of the cigar in his mouth. The knob of his wrist rests on your shoulder, cigar dangling between his fingers.

You wonder if this is the moment when we shouldn't have, we can't come in.

He clears his throat, always a low rasp as if he'd just gotten done screaming. Hoarse and rough. You don't think you can go back to before when you didn't know what your name sounded like falling from his lips when he cums—

"You don't know what you do to me, love."

Don't hope—

"And what is that?" You peer up at him through the wisps of auburn.

His eyes make your pulse race. A lagoon in the middle of the Arctic. A deep, endless pool of blue.

Price offers you the cigar, and bends down to press his sweaty forehead against your temple when you lean up and take it.

Scotch. Hickory. Smoke.

A motorway in Dorset. Your superiors snapping at you to leave it alone. You followed him then, and when he mumbles in your ear, words drenched in malt and petrol, you know you'll follow him even now.

"You make me want things, love. Things I shouldn't."

You catch his clear blues in yours. The cigar burns when you press it to your bottom lip, catching the taste of him on the end.

"You have no one to blame but yourself," you whisper, squeezing his too-big hand in yours. "I learned from the best, you know."

"Cheeky—"

—he takes you back to Iceland when your allotted off-time mysteriously syncs together: a fumbling romantic at heart. he has no idea what he's doing. wooing, courtship, and long-lasting were never words in his vocabulary, but he tries.

—on his phone, you catch a glimpse of what he was looking at so intently on the plane: romantic places in Iceland: romance for idiots

—it doesn't surprise you, then, when you find the article yourself that he sticks to each individual one like it's a personal mission. flowers. chocolates. "don't know what's so special about these bloody things. do you really like them?"

—it surprises you, even more, when you press your lips to cheek, murmuring, "i like you more," and see the flash of roseate flooding his cheeks.

—Gaz is firmly on team "i don't want to know" but too bad for him, he's the only one you can really tell.

"please tell me he doesn't wear The Hat... y'know...," his face looks a little ashen when he says it. You smile. "...Please. No, you can't—hey! You can't just walk away—!"

#john price #john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price #captain john price x reader #cod mw2 #cod #cod mw #cod mw2 fic #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #he's daddy asf #captain john price x you #cod price #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x you

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comatosebunny09 · 4 months ago

Text

You would be caught like this: sitting on the weight bench with hearts in your eyes as you watch the object of your daydreams do pull-ups.

“I’m not really good at ‘em myself,” you lied to your gym partner, acting all cute and shit. Shyly twisted side to side to stir up the theatrics as you tugged on your towel, and he couldn’t help but play along pity you with a placating hand placed on the crown of your head.

Truth be told, you could bang out a good twenty pull-ups before muscle failure set in. You’re a tough bitch, after all.

“Mind sharing your technique?”

He wryly smiled as if he were onto your game. Knew you were playing stupid. But it was all worth it, acting oblivious if it meant being subjected to, well…

This.

He’s all sweaty. All peach-tinged cheeks, flexed tendons, and grunting softly, effortlessly hoisting his chin up towards the bar. His shirt does nothing to hide the devastation of his muscles. A part of you thinks he chose something extra fitting today to entice you.

You sigh wistfully, your cheek propped in your hand and a dumb little smile cresting over your lips. Lock eyes with him now and again, not once missing how his lips twitch into a shadow of a smile.

He enjoys the attention; you’re sure of it. Not like you’ll complain. Sitting front row to his workout sesh is a real treat. Bonus points for the gym being empty at this hour—less people to share the show with.

“Having fun?” he breathes out, arms fully extended and a smirk to his lips.

You’re not really thinking when you reply dreamily, ankles crossed, and swaying all giddy-like. “Ooooh, yeah.”

He chuckles something lucid. “Thought you were here for lessons,” he adds with a head tilt and a quirked brow. “Can’t learn shit if you’re just sitting there.”

“I’m a visual learner,” you say with a dismissive waggle of your hand. “And you’re messing up my flow. Keep goin’.”

He laughs again. The sound of it curls in your chest, turning your insides to a primordial ooze.

“Yeah, right.” He sets himself up to start another round of pull-ups, fixing you with a gaze that spills like liquid over heated coals. “Might wanna wipe the drool off your chin before you continue ‘learning,’ sweetheart.”

The resulting mortification on your face is priceless.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy drabble #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #this came from watching zayne workout #but like leon doing the same talking shit #i love him your honor #friends to lovers #kinda #tw: language

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mrchiipchrome · 5 months ago

Text

And I Only Have Eyes For You

a/n: I know this was supposed to be out ages ago, but shit happens and then we die right, there’s no reason to fret now:) also I dropped my phone and now it’s all cracked also I got into a really good school

W.C. - 5.6 k

——————————

Watching on in stone cold fear as the girl sits down beside him, her lips meeting his cheek as his hand comes down to lay on her thigh, seeing the muscles in the man’s forearm flex as he leans back in his seat.

Em’s elbow digs into your side after a few seconds, almost like she’s telling you to do something, react, at least slap a smile onto your face instead of the almost permanent look of shock currently donning it. Nika’s eyes scan over you, flitting from your hair down to the exposed skin at the top of your chest, and as her eyes meet yours, there’s a sure glint of recognition within them.

“I haven’t done anything, thank you very much.” You see the way Em rolls her eyes playfully, waving her hands around as she proclaims her innocence.

“Nika meet my very annoying little sister, and her friend.” The pained smile on his face catches your attention for a mere second or two, the hand appearing in your line of sight breaks the steady stare at the man.

Hearing how Nika introduces herself to the girl beside you just makes you fall back into that almost sedative state, face lacking emotion, eyes turned downwards making you look at the table, a faint tint of pink dusting your cheeks.

You completely miss the small, tender smile the Croatian directs towards you, and the way she almost leans down in an attempt to catch your eye. Em’s uncharacteristically sharp elbow digs into your side again and you return the favour quickly, her yelp almost ringing out through the entire restaurant as she glares at you.

“I’m sorry my friend’s a bit of an idiot.” She sends a teasing smirk your way as you refrain from hitting her right there in the middle of the restaurant, the menacing look she sends you almost nightmare fuel.

“The call is coming from inside the house Em.” That’s all it takes for them to start arguing with each other in hushed voices, not really wanting to disturb the rest of the guests like they usually did. As far as you knew, the siblings argued more than enough for you to regret ever even wanting to have a sibling.

Looking at them through the corner of your eye, you once again don’t notice the curious gaze of the beautiful girl across from you, her eyes flitting over your features in an attempt to remember where exactly it was she recognised you from.

“I’m Nika.” Her voice makes shivers run down your spine, steady eyes fixed on yours almost making you more nervous than necessary. All of a sudden her hand is right in front of your face, the perfectly manicured nails that would feel oh so nice running down your arm on full display, likely only for the time being since you were pretty sure preseason training was starting soon.

Looking at her cluelessly, it takes you a few fair seconds to grasp her warm hand in your cold one, her soft skin against yours almost waking you from your stupor. Slapping a kind smile on your face, you shake her hand just as you were taught all your life, only pulling your hand back when it was appropriate.

“Yeah I almost gathered that much, you introduced yourself to Em before.” A teasing look makes its way onto your face, the older girl rolling her eyes playfully at the banter.

“So…you’re not going to tell me your name?” Nika places her chin onto her hand, her head now propped up with her fingers covering her mouth and the mischievous smile stretched over her lips.

“Do you not like the mystery?” Your tongue comes out to wet your lips, ring clad fingers tangling together in front of you like that of a super villain. The brunette’s eyes follow your every move, from staring intently at your lips to glancing down at your fingers knitting together and then back up to see the amused glint in your eye.

“Are we in Scooby Doo or something?” Leaning back into the backrest of your seat, you smile brightly at the girl across from you, shrugging your shoulders in amusement.

“Alright, you got me there love, I’m an open book, ask me whatever you want and I’ll answer truthfully.” Sitting back in your seat, you wait for her first question to come, for the accented voice that intrigues you so much to inquire about you.

“Your name?” It’s the way she asks it, the low tone with the accent covering the words almost seductively, it makes you almost lightheaded, as if you were to pass out at any moment just because of her presence.

“Pretty Girl Jones.” When she raises a single perfect brow in your direction it’s to tell you that she wasn’t impressed with the joke. “I’m just kidding, my name’s Y/n, Y/n Y/l/n.” Crossing one leg over the other, you study her expression, watching as she purses her lips before they curve up slightly at the corner.

“Where are you from?” Your eyes glisten in the artificial lighting of the restaurant, the top of your chest rising and falling with every breath you take. Tilting your head ever so slightly, you fix the girl across from you with a curious look.

“You really don’t recognise me, do you?” Nika’s eyes study your face once more, her mind straining to remember where she knew you from, now that she knew that you knew her in some way, somehow.

“Am I supposed to know you?” Her tone is somewhat cocky, but the question was valid in its own way, she was extremely drunk when you first met her and it wasn’t like everyone that saw you just knew your face, knew your name.

“I don’t know, are you? I fear that’s a question you’ll have to find the answer to yourself darling.” With a playful wink, you do the thing you always do with women like her, well no one has ever been at her level but still, you flirted.

“Darling? Are you flirting with me Y/n Y/l/n?” The brunette smiles once more, that teasing, but still genuine smile that she had been flashing at you all evening. It puts a larger smile on your face, the entire top row of teeth being exposed.

“What if I am?” With raised brows, the girl in front of you leans in closer to your side of the table, gesturing with her fingers for you to do the same. Without even meaning to, your eyes drop lower to where the low neckline stops, seeing what seems like miles upon miles of skin.

“My eyes are up here.” Snapping out of your stupor, your eyes immediately snap up to meet hers, the amused glint in hers almost calming your racing heart and blood red cheeks.

“No…no, yeah I can see that- uhh.” That little smirk appearing on her face again is what clues you in on what’s happening. Leaning back in your seat again, you roll your eyes dramatically, although a small laugh sneaks out from between your lips.

“You’re messing with me, aren’t you?” She leans back just like you had moments before, tilting her head to the side and narrowing her eyes.

“I don’t know, am I?” The chuckle you let out at her reversing your own words from before makes Em perk up, her eyes no longer focused on her brother but rather you and her brother’s girlfriend.

Emma’s eyes widen slightly as she takes in the scene in front of her, Nika’s head tilted to the side, the amused smile painted upon her lips as her eyes are fixed upon yours. You were in a similar position, leaned back in your chair with an almost lazy smile on your lips, a pink tint to your cheeks that’s impossible not to notice.

But before she could think about it more, her thoughts were interrupted by the waiter coming, a large bright toothed smile on her tan face.

She’s attractive, dark brown hair filled with curls that went way past her shoulders, but put up in a ponytail just for the occasion, striking green eyes that could put even the most intense of people on their knees. Her plump lips were covered in clear gloss and her canine teeth poked down especially from the perfect row of front teeth. Her slim body popped out in just the right places, with wider hips and slightly broader shoulders, that was not to mention the light freckles littering her face.

If she wasn’t standing right in front of you, in her full server do up, you would’ve thought that she was a model.

But even in all her gorgeous glory, she didn’t even possess a fraction of the sheer beauty that the girl across from you had.

“Hello everybody, I’m Juliana and I will be your server tonight, can I get you started with some drinks?” You see as Cal’s eyes run down her body, almost whistling at her. The urge to punch him in his rat face gets stronger every second that passes, especially when Nika notices exactly where his eyes lay, the way her whole demeanor changes.

The playfulness from before disappeared in less than a second, in its place was a certain sadness, a familiar sadness. A wish to be someone, something else, so that you’d finally get their love, their appreciation.

For you it was your parent’s companies, and for Nika it was any passing girl.

“I’ll have a whisky coke, if you can sweetheart.” He winks at her, but when her disgusted expression reaches him, he can’t do anything but be taken aback that someone finally resisted his charm.

“I’ll take some Chardonnay.” Em smiles all sweetly, knowing fully well that she’s too young to legally drink. It makes you elbow her in the ribs, but she just looks at you with a reassuring look, nothing to worry about.

“I’ll take the same, thank you.” Nika nods towards Em, signaling that she wanted the same as your best friend.

“What about you darling?” Her pen stops writing in her notepad as she looks at you, a special intensity just for you in her gaze. It makes you stutter and fumble over your words, not really used to the attention from women that you’ve been getting the entire evening.

“Uh, a coke please.” She smiles knowingly in your direction as she writes down your order, turning to the other three to get their id’s.

Both Em and Nika hand her their fake id’s, very out of place with the Nika you knew, but then again you weren’t always the best judge of character. She looks them over for a second or two before giving them back and walking away.

“You have a fake id?!” You hiss at the girl beside you, looking at her incredulously, and as she looks back with the same look you get even more confused.

“Yeah, everyone has one, c’mon Y/n don’t tell me you’ve never had a fake id before.” Looking at her all innocently, she can’t but throw her hands up in exasperation, wondering how that was even possible.

“Here are your drinks, I’ll be back soon to get your orders.” The tan skinned girl disappears after dropping your drinks off, a wink thrown your way. It’s weird, that what you think at least, people flirting with you.

Taking a long sip of your drink, you look on as the girl walks away from the table, an almost skip in her step that would be unnoticeable if it wasn’t for your studying eyes. All of a sudden, someone clears their throat, making you actually pay attention to the people at the table.

Noticing Cal’s amused gaze settled on you, you quickly recognize that it was him who’d completed the previous action, the man obviously trying to catch your attention.

“I’m sorry, I forgot your name.” His smirk almost suggests otherwise, but having been raised with the proper set of manners that you had been, you begrudgingly answer his unasked question.

“Y/n, Y/n Y/l/n.” Looking back at him through bored eyes, he seemingly has an epiphany when he hears your name fall from your slightly chapped lips. His eyebrows shoot up towards the sky as the fingers of his right hand start to click, the noise acting almost like a catalyst for his remembrance.

“Y/l/n? Wait, like the owners of the largest manufacturers of automotive parts in the whole world? That Y/l/n?” Once again, Nika’s eyes start to study you, just waiting for your reaction to the words uttered with the tone of a curious adolescent. The nearly faux curiosity in her stare weighs it down as it falls upon you, sweat gathering at your hairline.

“Yeah, among other things yeah, that’s just the main company, but there are countless other startups that we own.” You keep your tone plain, as if you were speaking about the weather or the newspaper, that’s what you’d been taught, speak about it like it’s the most boring thing ever so as to not reveal too much. But still, Nika’s studious gaze remains firmly on you, not budging even after Cal runs his hand up and down her arm.

“So you’re like…loaded.” The man gestures around with his hands as if to show how much money he thought you had, his mind seemingly blown that you were the heir to what was the fastest growing company in the world, gaining millions each day.

“Well that’s an oversimplification, but simply said, yes Callum, I’m loaded.” The corners of your lips peek up, sarcasm dripping from your words. He smirks, arm tightening around the back of his girlfriend’s chair, the girlfriend that’s currently looking at you with a look you can’t decipher. It’s a mix of recognition and confusion, with a sprinkle of something else too.

“So you’re paying then?” You see as Em’s face contorts, showing her embarrassment at her brother’s blunt question, at the same time Nika’s hand comes down on his shoulder, slapping some sense into him.

“Sure, if you’re nice, the first thing you can do is keep your eyes where they’re supposed to be.” It’s obvious what you’re saying, everyone had noticed the man’s eyes straying and that simply wasn’t okay with you, especially if you were to pay for his meal. His cheeks flush ever so slightly, seemingly embarrassed at being called out, his girlfriend looking at you all confused, like she didn’t understand why you’d said what you said.

The awkward tension between the four of you soon gets broken by the girl next to you, if there was one thing that Emma Anne Whitmore hated then it was silence, well not hearing her own voice. Her hell was having to sit in complete silence, the girl always filling it with random stories or comments about whatever she felt was necessary.

“So, Nika, how did you meet my brother?” Em leans back in her seat, blinking a few times as she waits for the answer from the taller girl. The woman in question has her soft lips wrapped around the rim of her wine glass, the bitter liquid spilling down her throat filling her with a pleasant warmth.

“We met-” Callum’s deep voice carries throughout the restaurant, his smug smile making you more annoyed than you probably should’ve been.

“Is your name Nika? Speak when you’re spoken to.” You interrupt him, your tone nothing less than deadpan just like your expression. Sure interrupting people went against most of the things you were taught growing up, but the man needed to learn some manners and if you had to teach him then so be it.

He’s taken aback by your direction, his cheeks turning a darker shade of pink as the smile on Nika’s face grows exponentially, her glass of wine being placed back on the table. Em has the most vivid reaction, bursting out into giggles almost immediately at the situation, leaning in closer to you so that she could whisper in your ear.

“I’ve never seen anyone be able to shut him up that effectively before, you have to come home with me for family functions.” Looking at the girl through the corner of your eye, the amused smirk on your face is obvious, you enjoyed shutting him up as much as Em enjoyed watching it happen.

Gesturing for Nika to answer Em’s previous question, her gentle smile sent your way warms you through and through.

“We met at a basketball meet, a shared workout.” Her words are covered in that adoring accent, the one that has your heart melting into a puddle in your chest, her hand coming up to push a strand of hair behind her ears.

“You met this loser at a basketball meet? Did you put him on his ass?” Em reaches to take Nika’s hands in hers, giggles coming from the both of them as they look at each other giddily.

“I locked him up too, he didn’t score a single point.” Nika’s giggles fill your ears, as well as Cal’s sighing, the man clearly didn’t think that his failure was as funny as you did. His hand comes up to pinch the top of his nose, right between his eyes, in exasperation.

“Babe let’s no-” He starts off, his face contorted into a grimace at the embarrassment he got from his girlfriend revealing that she was practically better than him at his sport.

“Let the lady speak.” You interrupt him once more, fixing him with a stern look that you’d learned from Leah. She called it her captain look, you called it her mom look.

“Thank you Y/n.” Nika smiles at you whilst her boyfriend rolls his eyes sassily, the only thing missing from his look was a pair of long nails, if you added that he’d be the perfect sasser. The picture that appears in your mind at the thought makes you chuckle quietly to yourself, the hyper masculine man in front of you feminized is just effortlessly hilarious to you.

Faint steps coming towards your table catches your attention, the tan woman coming back to your table, presumably for your orders. Her bright smile catches your attention, pearly white teeth on full display showing off the small diamonds on either canine glimmering in the soft lighting of the restaurant.

Juliana purses her plump lips, the playful glint in her eyes shining extra bright as she notices the slumped form of the only man at the table, the man who clearly had a girlfriend yet decided to flirt with her.

“So, what do we want to eat tonight folks? Are we thinking pasta or steak? Something completely different?” Picking up the menu, your eyes study the names and descriptions of the dishes wondering silently to yourself about what would be good and worth ordering, but as the never ending list continued, you got completely lost in reading. So lost in fact that you didn’t even realize that the others already had ordered.

“Alright, and what about you honey? What do you want?” Looking up confused, you can suddenly see that all their attention was on you rather than anything else. Thinking about it, you decide on what it is you want, to which you tell the gorgeous server.

“Uhm, I’ll just take an entrecôte with roasted potatoes and some salad, thank you.” Juliana writes down your order on her notepad, pen scribbling harshly against the thin lines on the paper. When she looks back up at the group around the table, her bright smile is still very much present on her face.

“Medium rare, I assume?” Shooting her a timid smile, you nod your head at her, not even looking around at the others at the table, barely even feeling the intense gaze of the girl across from you.

But as her soft hand brushes against your own, you suddenly feel that warm feeling spreading through your chest again and all your attention shifts, the girl in front of you keeping your focus hostage.

Even as Juliana’s hand brushes against your arm long after Nika’s hand has retracted, your attention still doesn’t shift back to her, your eyes focused solely on the careful smile on the older girl’s pink lips.

Even as the server walked away from the table, likely to put the orders in for the kitchen, all your attention remained on Nika and the way she moved, the way she talked and looked. It’s impossible not to notice the soft curves of her lips, the sharp turn of her jaw, the dark locks framing her face in that beautiful way that’s made exclusively for her.

“So Y/n,” You hear Cal’s voice call out for you, looking on as he takes a sip of his drink, thin lips wrapping around the rim of the tall cylinder glass. “Are you and my sister, you know…?” As he gestures around with his hands, you get a fair idea of what it is he’s asking you.

“No Callum, I’m not having sex with your sister, we are best friends, with a strictly platonic relationship.” You see the way Em clutches at her chest playfully, her overdramatised expression making for a great laugh, her overly shocked gasp adding to the comedic effect.

“How could you say that Y/n/n?! I thought we had something special.” You hear the giggle from across the table just in time as Em turns her back on you, pretending to be mad. Looking at the two people on the opposite side of the table with a tiny little smile, you soon turn back to Em, deciding to play into the action.

“I’m sorry darling, you know you’ll always be my favourite girl.” Turning your head towards Nika, you send her a quick wink, why? You had no idea.

“Even over Leah, Jordan and Lucy?” Em looks at you over her shoulder, like she was in some dumb 2000s romcom, expecting you to agree, to say that she was better than all of them.

“Well…” You start off playfully, Em turning her whole body back around so that she’s facing her brother, not wasting a single second in slapping the back of your head, your hands flying up to clutch at the place her hand had connected with your head at.

“Ow, what did you do that for?” Somehow your eyes land on Nika, for some reason she’s like a magnet for your eyes, and you had a sneaking feeling that she’d be the sun to your solar system in a few months, your entire life revolving around her. If that was weird, then you’d gladly be the weirdest person in all of history, because it meant you got to be close to her.

“Stop being such a baby, I didn’t hit you that hard.” Em rolls her eyes, the slight up peeking of the corner of her lips suggesting that she’s not being serious, her long fingers threading with each other in front of her.

“Can you see what I have to put up with?” Another slap is delivered to the back of your head, but this time it doesn’t bother you as much, the sweet sound of Nika’s boisterous laughter masks the slight feeling of pain from the less harsh slap. She was just the sweetest person ever, how could her laugh make you fall to your knees? How could she be so cruel as to not let every single person in the world take part of her?

“Here’s your food, if any of you have any questions or want to order anything more, don’t hesitate to call on me.” In your stupor, you hadn’t even noticed Juliana nearing the table with the meals, her steps simply fading into the background.

“Thank you.” You call out for her, the rest of the table following your example, watching as she turns back around with a timid smile, her hand waving ever so slightly at you all.

After that, the table falls silent, well relatively so as the sounds of forks and knives meet the glass plates. The steak on your plate was tender and slightly bloody, just like it was supposed to be, and as you look up at the others around the table, you notice the girl across from you glancing over at it. She really was a creature of habit.

Stabbing your fork into the slab of meat, you cut a piece of it off with your knife, leaning over and pushing it off your fork and over to her plate. Looking up at you with an inquisitive expression, you only shrug in response, the small mischievous smile plastered on your lips surely telling her all she needs to know.

You perk up again when an elbow digs into your ribs once more, your head snapping to the side only to see Em’s innocent smile and the obvious try in doing puppy dog eyes. What was it she was trying to convince of this time.

“Can I try some of yours?” Rolling your eyes, you push your plate closer to her, letting the older woman take part of your food and transfer it to her plate, pure daylight robbery. A small ‘thanks’ later and half your steak is gone, barely enough to feed a small child.

“I swear I keep getting robbed of my food.” You huff out, stuffing a potato into your mouth in fake anger, playfully glaring at both Em and Nika. All Nika does is shrug, almost saying that it wasn’t her fault that you were so easy to convince, while Em just leaned over and pressed a sloppy kiss to your cheek.

Wiping your cheek off with your hand, you’re quickly met with an offended gasp from the girl beside you and as you roll your eyes, she makes sure to express her disappointment in you by kicking your shin under the table.

“Ow, what’d you do that for?” Looking at her incredulously, you clutch your shin under the table to lessen the pain radiating from the point of origin and up towards your knee. “You want your sister back?” This time you look at Cal, the man holding his hands up like he’s surrendering, a smirk on his face.

“Nah I’ve had to deal with her the past 20 years, now it’s someone else’s turn.” A brand new smile creeps up on your face, one of those ‘okay I guess you’re not as bad as I thought’ smiles. He sends you one right back, nodding at you carefully, almost as if to tell you ‘I guess you’re fine after all’.

“Ouch, first of all I don’t like either of you, secondly you’re both assholes.” Flipping you both the finger, both you and Callum have a hard time trying to keep from laughing at her grumpy expression. The only way to actually do so is to put more food into your mouth, but even then it’s hard to hide the way the corners of your mouth tug upward.

Another slap gets delivered to your shoulder without you even having to do anything else, making you stare at her confused.

“Stop abusing me please.” You laugh out at her, furrowing your brows when she sticks her finger in your face, sticking your tongue out to pretend lick at her finger. Pulling her hand back with an audible ‘ew’, she looks at you suspiciously out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m watching you.” Shaking your head at her, you just keep on eating with the smile plastered firmly on your face. You were smiling a lot more than normal, the effect of agreeable people perhaps.

When you look up next, basically everyone’s plates are cleared, only small scraps of food left. Feeling around for your back pocket, you quickly find the lump that your wallet created in the space, pulling the sleek leather pouch out. Opening your mouth, you don’t have to wait for the people at the table to quiet down, seeing as they’re already pretty silent.

“Anyone want dessert?” As both Nika and Cal shake their heads to say no, you notice Em looking at you with that look in her eye, and you knew what she wanted without her even having to utter a word.

“We’ve got ice cream at home Em.” Cal looks at you all confused, as does Nika. What was up with them?

“Does Emma live with you? I thought she lived in a dorm.” The only man at the table asks, looking at you through squinting eyes, the girl beside him furrowing her brows in response to his question. She looked perfect, that was something no one could ever deny.

“No, she’s just at home with me a lot.” The two of them look at the two of you with an ‘aha’ look, your platonic relationship with the girl next to you having been questioned more than once that evening.

Long fingers fumble with opening the black wallet, the card in the small pocket almost impossible to pull out without longer nails, but in the end it slides out without all too much fuss. You call Juliana back over to the table with a wave of your hand, the sleek black bank card in your hand ready for her to take.

“We’re ready to close out.” You tell her as soon as she reaches the table, having decided after all to pay for everyone since Cal had played nice for the most part. “What’s customary for tip here? 20 percent? Add a 60 percent tip and close us out please.”

Adding a small wink to the end of your sentence as a sort of gesture to thank her, she quickly gets a move on to the card machine, swiping your card and clicking on the screen in front of her. She likely feels your steady gaze on her all throughout the transaction, even as she bends down slightly to write something on the receipt.

Surprisingly enough, despite Emma’s usual aversion to silence, nothing more is said at the table, not until Juliana comes back with both your card and the receipt, 11 small digits clearly written out in dark blue ink on the back of it.

Sliding your card back into your wallet and your wallet into your pocket, the four of you leave the table almost simultaneously, a small gap between you and Em and the couple behind you. It’s not until everyone is outside that you actually take a closer look at everyone, the small details you wouldn’t have noticed earlier in the artificial lighting, like the way Nika’s eyes shone so brightly in the setting sun, or the way her brunette hair glimmered with the way the sun hit it. Even the small sunburn over her nose was visible now, a natural beauty beyond comprehension.

“Thank you for tonight then, it was nice to meet you both.” Sticking your hand out along with your words, you wait for the tall man to shake it, meeting his smile with your own, and while you expect the girl beside him to do the exact same thing, she did something you never would’ve expected.

Her arms wrap around your torso, head landing almost directly in the crook of your neck like it was made to fit perfectly there. Hesitantly wrapping your own arms around her strong body, the hug lasts slightly longer than either of you probably expected, and as you pull away you’re surprised to not find any type of awkwardness between you and what’s practically your sister-in-law by extension.

Looking away from the pair of them as Em says her goodbyes, you’re only really brought back down onto earth by Em pushing against your shoulder. Turning back to wave at them as you walk away the only one that apparently has the same thought as you is Nika, sweet beautiful amazing Nika.

And so, you wave slowly to her, smiling softly when she waves back, all before turning back to walk towards your car with your best friend attached to your hip.

Your thoughts are plagued with the girl who possesses that soft smile that makes your stomach flip, the one who’s just so perfect in every way. The one who made you not even look at that waitress’ number, just because not a single person would be comparable to her.

Your keys jangle as you hang them on the hook on the wall, pushing your shoes off and almost throwing yourself on the couch.

“What is up with you?” Emma asks as she bypasses the living room in search of the ice cream in the kitchen. Her hand glides over the cushions, sliding over the top of your head casually.

“Nothing.” You answer her, just as your phone buzzes, a notification coming through for you. Ignoring Em’s various grumbling sounds, you pick your phone up, looking at the instagram notification.

nika.muhl started following you

Smiling full toothed, you quickly open instagram and follow her back, both on your alt and main. And as En jumps over the back of your couch with the ice cream and two spoons in hand you get another notification;

nikalovesbball has requested to follow norflondonforever

norflondonforever has requested to follow nikalovesbball

nikalovesbball has accepted your request

norflondonforever has accepted your request

Taking your spoon from Em’s hand, you quickly turn the tv on to the cartoon channel before she can comment on your sneaky activities.

Cartoons and ice cream, the best solution to your problem, your big, humongous, terrifying problem.

For now at least.

#woso #woso x reader #arsenal wfc #woso imagines #wbb x reader #uconn wbb #nika muhl x reader #nika muhl #ocs #i have no clue when the next chapter will be out #ngl I’ve been watching a lot of bewitched lately

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ellieswyfe · 1 year ago

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HOOD EREN TALES

(hood #eren) being ur man ur mann 😜🫶🏾

warnings: theres smut in this so be warned (nothing too bad but..) daddy kink, cunningligous, oral (f recieved), i dunno jus hood shit 😭

mood song

hood eren who keeps it on him to protect you. he doesn't like to use it- he'd rather fuck em' up with his hands instead but still...(he buys you one too in your fav color with your name carved on the side.)

hood eren who goes to ALL the cookouts and bbqs. the fam loves him and damn near more than you (rude 😒). he helps on the grill with the uncs and always listens to their long ass stories. soo long that you have to steal ur bf back.

hood eren who drives a chrome purple blacked-out doge charger with leather seats and purple stitching. he doesn't like all that extra shit in his car but for you, he keeps a few snacks, period products, and had your name hand sewn into the seat. (def his passenger princess)

hood eren who sells and has you come with him to "help out" even though you do nothing, he says that you're his good luck charm and that if your a good girl you might get a treat after.

hood eren whom after his sales, eats your pussy in the back seat. he slurps and smacks as his tongue circles your clit, pulling and sucking your soul out.

hood eren who is a messy eater and enjoys your fighting back. he thinks it's cute but has to put an end to allat cause he can't enjoy his meal when its tryna run away from him. he grips up your thighs and slaps your hands away when you try to sheath them in his brown locks. and to make matters worse, when he sticks his tongue inside and finds your g-spot its over..

hood eren who makes you call him daddy right before you cream. and when you do.. he doesn't stop. it's like he has infinite stamina because if anything it amps him up even more. "c'mon baby, cum for daddy." and loves it even more when you respond back "daddyy feels so gooddd." or "daddy wait too muchh g'na cumm."

hood eren who makes his good girl squirt, cream, and spasm all over his tongue. your juices getting on his chin and his pristine leather seats. but when you whine about it and begin to cry n sniffle, he tells you to not worry about it and to let daddy fix it.

hood eren who ALWAYS takes care of his baby. <3

___________________________________________

i luv luv luvvv eren sm he’s rlly my boo 🥺

A/N THERE DEF WILL BE A PRT 2 I JUST GOTTA FINISH THE END.

A/N (edited) PRT 2 IS POSTED

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dmercer91 · 1 year ago

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the girl in your arms, me94

in which mark is very persuasive (18+)

here is the very delayed part 2 to the girl in your dreams (mark estapa x hotline girl! reader) brought to a screen near you by the common cold and the extra free time it provides (4.5k)

“if that boy of yours keeps coming in here, you’re gonna owe me a new pack,” you jumped out of your skin, the voice unexpected from behind you

“he’s not my boy. i’ll get you a 20 from my tips tonight, dot. cant buy my own cause then i’ll keep buyin’ em,” you murmured, quickly slipping her pack of cigarettes into your back pocket and going out the back door

he was already there.

you stayed as far away as you could without being serenaded by the other fellow nearby, a regular with a guitar who’d become attached to the idea of you in his bed

you took the pack back out and slid a cig from it, taking the lighter stashed in the empty side of the box out with it as well and placing it in your mouth

sliding your thumb along the lighter, it made a familiar flicking noise at you, but refused to light

again, and again, giving you nothing but sparks of false hope where you desperately needed a flame

he was next to you before you could even vocalize any frustrations, having watched you carefully for the right moment to come closer

you cursed your coworkers empty lighter, looking up at him while his tongue poked out through his lips, eyes focused on lighting your fix

the one you’d only needed cause he was here in the first place.

“you look real pretty tonight, y/n/n,” your stomach flipped inside out, backwards and side to side all in one, his tone sweet and honest

truly, what you would give to stop caring about sweet tones and genuineness

“i drink cause of you, n’ you’re smoking cause of me.. so why can’t-“

“mark,” you quickly shut him down, scolding him in a way that had his eyes filling with sadness

he looked lost, like a puppy at the feet of its person who’d seemed to forget they’d ever had a dog to begin with

your hand was shaking as you pulled it to and from your lips, trying to ignore mark as he took a step closer

“y/n, please,” he whispered, hand ghosting over your waist for a moment before landing, thumb softly moving back and forth over your skin

you twitched at the initial contact, settling far too quickly for your liking, but then moving away.

“you need to stop coming here, baby. really. you’re not doing anything good to yourself,” he shook his head, grabbing your hand once you dropped your cigarette and squished it into the pavement

“m’ trying to do good, i promise. good by you, i’ll always be good by you. please just-“ you cupped his face, his ramble cutting off within a beat and his cheeks going warm against your hands

his eyes fluttered shut, lips parting like just the feeling of you against him brought him a lifetime of peace.

he nestled closer, placing kisses against your palm and making your heart ache harder than it already was

“you’ve done a real good job, mark. at proving that you’re the boy in my dreams. you’re an angel boy. still doesn’t mean that i’m right for you,” his eyes blinked open again, that flash of pain stronger and longer lasting

you shouldn’t have touched him, especially not like this. it was a false sense of hope, but you didn’t know any other way to keep him quiet

“you are, though” he croaked, earning a hitch of your breath

you didn’t mean for any of this to happen

“you’re my girl. stubborn, n’ trying to do the right thing even if it hurts. beautiful, and smart and you. you’re her, you’re right for me,” you gulped, wiping your thumb against the high points of his cheek ever so gently

and then, you did the only thing you could think of.

“i don’t want this, mark. i just want you to leave me alone,” you watched as his chest heaved, as he blinked away tears and shook his head like he was shaking off a bad drill at practice

you watched as he pulled from you, tilting his head like he was confused. you’d never outright told him it’s not what you wanted, cause that wasn’t true.

he knew you were trying to protect him from yourself and somehow your words still felt unbearable

you’d stabbed him in the heart, weeks ago. he’d clean off the knife, hand it back to you as an act of peace, you’d carefully do it again, leave the knife in place every day he came to the bar, it was a routine.

tonight, you twisted the blade, pushed it deeper.

“that- that’s not true, you’re lying,” he stated, voice shaky and eyes watering. you couldn’t watch this, so you turned and headed back for the door

he grabbed your wrist, making a point to be gentle with you no matter how upset he was - he’d never hurt his girl.

he grabbed both of your hands and a tear dropped down his cheeks

“you’re lying to me. admit that you’re lying,” he was almost frantic, eyes switching back and forth from wide to numb while he tried to regulate his thoughts

maybe you weren’t lying. maybe you hadn’t wanted to hurt his feelings, so you spared him until you got too annoyed, needed to get him off you.

it was like his world was crashing down, all hope lost, until a cab drove by, it’s fog lights reflecting in your eyes to show that they were watering- you were on the verge of tears

seeing him like this, upset and confused and crying, made you cry

he was right

“you- you are lying. you’re lying, why? why’d you say that?” you just shook your head, trying to pull away from his hands, but he pressed his forehead to yours.

you couldn’t. moving away from him while he was like this, that wasn’t an option. especially when all he truly wanted, the thing that would fix it all, would be to call you his.

feasible, but a bad idea.

but then he moved closer, and closer, until his lips were brushing against yours. until you could taste the beer on his mouth

until your hands were in his hair and his were cupping your face

he was as sweet as you’d dreamt. a few quick, soft kisses first, those turning into long, meaningful ones.

his hair was soft and his lips were softer, he was jittery and you knew what came next would crush him, but that he wouldn’t back down regardless.

you pulled away, marks hands tilting your head so you’d be looking up at him, swollen lips and red cheeks hidden in the dark of the night

“please go home, mark,”

“i’ve only had two beer. you can’t cut me off,”

tonight was the same as the last, save for the fact that it was far past last call, and there had been no cigarettes or kisses

on top of that, mark was still nursing the same beer he’d got from you however many hours ago, watching you clean up with a glint of admiration never leaving his eyes.

so, the same but different.

he was still here. he’d still shown up like he had every other day you served, he still only drank beer, and he still requested you as his server despite every other member off the bar staff being well aware who he wanted.

and even though it got you in shit with ryan, cause he was jealous and pissed cause one guy was taking up a spot in his bar to only ever spend $16, even though you might’ve felt like you were leading him on, giving in a little too much, you could never refuse him.

you could never tell him to leave, only explain that you couldn’t be his. you could never kick him out of the bar when, truly, it would crush you to see him leave

it would crush you if one day, he didn’t walk through the doors at four pm sharp, right as you clocked in.

it would crush you if you looked towards the door after walking out onto the floor and didn’t see a wind struck head of fluffy, messed up blonde hair

if he wasn’t always standing there with a shy grin and sunburnt cheeks, looking for you.

harder than it’d crush him, you think. if you told him to go. he just didn’t know it.

it was just the two of you, in silence. you always turned off the music after most of the drunks left, not wanting to give yourself anymore of a headache then you had already

after cleaning up the dishes, you pulled the mostly empty bottle from a grinning marks hands and threw it out, then carried the recycling to the back along with the bag of trash you’d previously tied and laid by your feet.

you gently moved his hands from the counter and he set them on his lap, eyes following you while you sprayed down the counter and wiped it down with a rag.

you looked up at him for a quick second, then back at your table, and then to him again.

“where’s home, for you? know you’re not from newark,” mark licked his lips slightly, taking a second.

your question didn’t require a second, not unless he was lying, so you paused your cleaning until he spoke up.

“here, with you. you’re home,” you sent him a scolding look, shaking your head slightly.

you thought of correcting him, drilling it further into his brain that you couldn’t have him, he couldn’t have you.

and then you remembered the night before, where his voice went hoarse and his eyes were teary as he plead with you to tell him you didn’t want him to leave you.

you refused to have that again, so you blinked

“i’m not- i’m.. that’s really sweet, baby. but you know that’s not what i meant. where’re you from?” he grinned sheepishly, your lack of correcting him only boosting his confidence

“michigan. where’s your home?” the look he gave you, soft and curious, want written all over his face, told you that the answer he was looking for was him.

he wanted you to tell him he was your home, like he’d told you.

that was a little too far for your liking, felt a little too manipulative, too much like you were lying to him. so you took it literally.

“i’m from manhattan. hell’s kitchen, if that’s what you’re asking. but i don’t think i found home yet,” you eyed him before scrubbing out one final sticky spot on the wood counter, watching as he looked down with a frown but quickly collected himself.

it stayed quiet while you finished the rest of your closing tasks, his eyes drilled into you wherever you went.

you let him stay seated while the rest of the chairs in the bar had been on countertops and tables, everything shut down for the night.

“you should get going, sweetheart. i’ve gotta count my tray,” you slid him his card, already having closed him out for the sake of his bank account, knowing he had a tendency to tip egregious numbers.

like he knew already, he handed you three twenties, and you shook your head.

“you’re not tipping me 700%, mark. please go, i’ll see you tomorrow,” you kept your tone sweet, tried to treat him like any regular customer.

but he wasn’t.

“come with me,” he whispered, leaving the cash on the table despite your efforts to make him keep it.

you eyed him from the side, tugging your cash drawer out of the till and placing it down.

he grabbed your hand in both of his, messing with your fingers, kissing your palm sweetly. “come with me, please?”

you shook your head softly, cupping his face and swiping your thumb along his cheek quickly before taking your hand back and starting to set up your count.

“to your hotel, baby? you know i can’t. if i come home in the morning ryan’ll be a handful,” he shook his head, just as you did. but with anxiety filling his eyes

maybe this was a bad idea.

“to michigan. i’ve already got your plane ticket, n’ ethan’s switching rooms now that our friend mackie is moving, so you could stay with us. with me,” he mumbled, blush intensifying his already red cheeks.

“mark..” is all you could say, slowly pushing your drawer back into its spot, the count be damned.

“please? please, just give me one chance. i’m just trying to help, i-“ you grabbed his hands, soothed his rambles with sweet patterns on his knuckles.

you shook your head solemnly, and he stood from his chair. you met him on the other side of the bar, planning to try and comfort him with a hug, but he grabbed your face.

his hands were big compared to your jaw, but he was so soft, so gentle with you. you knew he’d beg just from the glint in his eyes.

you knew you’d give in when he pressed his forehead against yours, let his fingers glide in under the nape of your neck so he had his hands buried in your hair.

“please. if you don’t like it there, i’ll get you your ticket back. i just need you to let me prove that you’re perfect for me. please, one chance. s’ all i’ll need. i- i wouldn’t have got the ticket if i didn’t think you’d come, i know you want to, y/n. please,”

“i can’t,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes and shortly beginning to stream down your cheeks

“you’re wrong. tell me you want to come? you can leave this, you deserve better. i know- i know you want to, i know you do,” you took a deep breath, wrapping your arms around his neck while he adjusted his forehead on yours, grounding you

“you know i do,” you confirmed, “but-“

he didn’t let you finish. there wasn’t an excuse in the world that could make him drop this. drop you.

“then come,” he pleaded, stepping closer to you and moving one hand to the top of your head, pushing your bangs back out of your eyes.

you nodded slightly, just enough for him to feel it against his forehead and let out a sigh of relief, like a brick had been taken off his chest.

he kissed you, again. just as sweet as the last, but hungry.

your fists clenched around his shirt, balling it up to keep him as close to you as humanly possible.

he backed you into the counter, so gentle with you it was a shock his hips moved you at all. the hand and the top of your head moved to your waist, his fingers touching every free inch of skin they could manage under your shirt

it was a long while before you pulled away, only to catch your breath, and you were met with the mark you met on the phone. blushing and out of breath.

the mark that whined, and pleaded, and drank up praise like he needed it to survive.

so, you dragged him by the collar and led him to the back room, shoving him up against the metal shelving, adorned with cutlery, towels and clean dishes.

he stayed put while you rummaged through the lost and found bin, picking out one of the many neck ties that came off of the floors of the bar.

you gave him a soft kiss, tugged at his shirt and watched him pull it over his head, always the perfect listener.

you kissed him again, keeping his concentration centred on you. your hands ghosted his abs, his upper body shuddering from the sensation.

you raised his arms, your mouth the perfect distraction as you tied his wrists to the shelf with the tie. he hummed as you tightened it, pulling on his bonds slightly and then tugging his head back

you smiled, and any panic left his features. instead, he was just needy, like never before.

“there’s my sweetheart. good,” his hips jutted and a sweet sigh fell from his lips, the perfect combination of ‘good’ and being your sweetheart bringing him to his own personal heaven.

“d’ you remember our first call? when i said if i got the chance, i’d get my mouth on you? get myself off? and then, you said no, that i could use you… you’d just be my own personal fuck toy,” you looked up at him and he nodded softly, out of breath though he’d hardly done anything.

“yes.. mh, i remember,” he blinked, looking down at you while he tried not to come in his pants from just the way you’d been treating him.

“do you wanna see if you can actually handle that, baby? all that stimulation..” you teased, biting your lip as he nodded vigorously

“please.. yes, baby. please, i’ll be so good, so-“ he chocked on his breath, words coming to a halt the second your hand pressed over the zipper of his pants.

you palmed him slowly, nipping at the skin on his shoulder to keep yourself occupied while he lost any verbal control he thought he had.

“fuck.. fucking god, so good,” his eyes fluttered shut, whines spilling one after the other.. over and over until they got louder, and louder, til he was begging again.

“please.. can i have more? please, baby.. said- said i could have your mouth, want your mouth more than anything,” he babbled, opening his eyes so he could give you a sweet, soft look.

he tugged on his ties, wanting so badly to just touch you, touch himself, even. he hadn’t been sated since the last time he’d called the hotline

he tried so hard, but the thought of you, without your voice or your touch wasn’t good enough anymore

this? this was heaven on earth for him, but he’d still beg for anything you’d give him. beg for more, regardless of if he can handle it.

you gave him a peck on the lips, taking your sweet time unbuttoning his pants while feeding him more and more kisses

once his jeans were pooled around his ankles, he kicked them away. your lips still connected, you slid your fingertips under the waistband of his boxers, never going any further than that.

he whined, yanking at the tie so harshly the shelf he was linked too rattled, cutlery and dishes coming down and clattering around the two of you.

neither of you cared. silently thanking your manager for his refusal to buy real dishes, getting plastic ones in place.

i don’t want any drunk idiots breaking the expensive shit

idiots? maybe. but you weren’t drunk.

“you made a mess,” you mumbled against his lips, leaning right back in and being met with his tongue slipping into your mouth

“the floor or my boxers?” he replied, earning a giggle from your lips.

you waited til you were nearly suffocating before pulling away from him, kneeling down and kissing his hip bones. his light, joking mood switched right back to a needy one, head knocking back against the shelving

you kissed the head of his cock through his boxers, precum having leaked through long ago and giving you a clear idea of where he was most sensitive

“i think the boxers were my fault, baby,” you teased and he hummed, tugging again, more gently this time as to not drop anything on you now that he knew his limit.

you kissed along his happy trail, pulling his boxers down once you got to the waist of them, much to marks enjoyment.

he sighed in relief once they’d hit the floor, kicking them away to where his pants had gone and bracing himself.

you started with your hands, spitting onto him and slowly moving up and down, twisting your wrist.

you swiped your thumb over his head, earning a sweet moan from above you and a twitch of his thigh.

once you were sure he’d had enough teasing, you wrapped your lips around his tip, sucking softly and revelling in the gasp it pulled from him.

the quiet, soft grunts your hand had cause turned into sweet, needy ones the second he felt your mouth, so you went deeper, and deeper, each new inch of you he was feeling making him louder and more careless

and then you did it one last time, your nose pressing against his stomach and a cry following your hum.

you looked up to see him wriggling his wrists in his restraint, desperate to touch you but being unable to work around the knot you’d tied him up with.

“oh.. angel. my angel, fuck that feels so.. perfect, you’re perfect,” he rushed out, now gripping onto the metal bar he was linked to. you hummed against him, earning a sweet ‘fuck’ from the back of his throat

his voice cracked adorably, halfway through a moan. his soft, more or less controlled tone becoming nothing of the sort. gritty and raw, like he was singing after throat surgery

you bobbed your head back and forth, eventually pulling away for a breath, letting mark catch his as well.

the second your lips were on him, though, his hips rutted forward, he’d lost all control.

you pulled away again, giving him a scolding look even though he wasn’t looking at you. his eyes were closed, but he could feel it

“m’ sorry, baby. m’ so sorry, you feel like heaven,” he whimpered, hips twitching once more.

you decided not to be too harsh on him, give him back his stimulation. that was the whole point, wasn’t it? to give him too much to see when he broke. so that’s what you were gonna do.

you didn’t let up until he hissed, fucked into your mouth again, and came. without warning, simply an ‘ah, fuck’ followed by a warm sensation down your throat.

he apologized before you could even pull away, claiming to not have known he was so close

in truth, he was afraid you wouldn’t have given him your permission.

you swallowed, marks eyes going a little wide as you hummed and licked the remnants of him from your lips

“that’s alright, baby. i’m meant to take care of you, remember?” he nodded slightly, but then shook his head

“wanna be good for you.. want you to tell me i’m good,” you smiled, standing back up and giving him a soft kiss.

“tell me i’m good, please? s’ all i want,” you hummed running your fingers through his hair, already sticking to his forehead with sweat even though you’d only given him head.

“i can’t tell you that unless you are good though, hm?” he frowned slightly, eyes begging for you to give him something he’d be able to succeed at- something he could do no problem. he just wanted your praise

“we’re gonna sit over there,” you pointed to the desk chair by the computer, the one you were currently meant to be doing payroll on. “and i’m gonna let you have your hands, baby,”

he nodded sweetly, eyes following your movements as you quickly rid of your shirt and shorts, leaving you in your undergarments

you untied him, leaving kisses along the irritated skin of his wrist, caused by his pulling and tugging.

“sit, baby.” he nodded and made his way over to the chair, pupils blowing wide when you sat yourself on his lap.

“now, you can touch. use your mouth, leave kisses.. but you can’t come until i say, sweetheart.. okay?” he nodded once more, looking up at you while you lifted yourself and slid down onto his length, eyes rolling and fluttering shut from the feel of him.

he bit down on your shoulder once you bottomed out, the noise threatening to spill from him embarrassing at best, pathetic at worst.

you shuddered, gripping onto his shoulders and using him as leverage to ride.

he touched anything he could. his mouth went from your lips to the tops of your boobs and everywhere in between. your neck, shoulders and chest would no doubt be littered with his love bites when he was done

he never used his hands to control you, only squeezed and traced and loved on you.

you could feel the vibrations of his moans against whichever spots he was using for kisses, the nipping not keeping him quiet in the way he thought it might

if anything, he was being louder and the muffling toned it down to his previous volume.

he thought you felt perfect, like he could die right here with you wrapped around him and be the happiest man to grace the afterlife

you hadn’t realized how badly you needed him. how close you already were with just a couple rolls and bounces of your hips against him

he filled you just right. he wasn’t painful, but he certainly wasn’t leaving any room for growth. his moans and whines egged you on until you were fluttering around him and gasping.

your stomach dropped and your world was spinning.

mark had pulled away to look at you, enamoured with the way you gnawed on your lip and squeezed your eyes shut

“mark.. mark, fuck” you whimpered, stumbling over his name and losing your breath.

that almost had him, especially when you started going a little quicker to ride out your high, nearly getting yourself there a second time with the new pace and with mark getting louder

he just stared at you, hoping and praying for your permission before he broke without it.

“you’re so good to me, sweetheart. my good boy,” you ruffled his hair, pulling at it slightly and smiling at the feeling of him releasing.

he gripped your waist so hard you thought you might bruise and his final stretch of moans were so soft and angelic, you wished you’d recorded them so you could add them to every playlist you had and every one you’d ever make

a long string of curses and mumbles of your name followed as you continued to grind against him

eventually, you settled, pressing your forehead against his and chuckling breathily

you kissed him again, and again, his hands going to the side of your head.

“gonna be the death of me, y/n/n”

“s’ one hell of a way to go,”

you leant your head on marks shoulder, the flight attending noting procedures in case of an emergency.

mark kissed your temple, grabbing your hand and rubbing along your knuckles.

“you ready to go home, angel?” you smiled, looking up at him and pecking his lips

“i’ve been home since last night, at the bar. you’re my home,”

#e’s fics #mark estapa #mark estapa x reader #mark estapa smut #hockey imagine #nhl imagine

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