#Merry Christmas Messages for Your love Ones | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hier--soir · 9 months

Text

a lover's pinch | seven

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: things get a little messy after returning home. a confrontation sparks the beginning of a new stage in your relationship with joel. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, angst, miscommunication trope, self-doubt, alcohol consumption/hangover, joel is 50 and he texts like it, les mis spoilers???, phantom of the opera spoilers???, jealous!joel, food/eating, hurt/comfort, professor DAD, professor COWBOY, soft emotional smut, unprotected piv sex, cream pie, oral [f!receiving], joel says dadgum cause i think it's so classic him and so cute. word count: 11.1k jesus series masterlist | main masterlist chapter moodboard a/n: merry christmas to all that celebrate. as always, thank you for your patience and kindness. the love for this series is nothing short of mind blowing, and i appreciate you all endlessly. i hope you enjoy this angst and potentially the most flowery + emotional ALP smut yet [if that's even possible]. also rachel i love you i'm sorry. without further ado, the beginning of our descent into The End Times x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part seven of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five, six.

Tuesday.

It's nine thirty in the morning and you buy a Coke anyways.

It’s raining heavy outside; fat droplets of water that splatter against the windscreen of your car and dribble down, slipping through the crevice at the top of the bonnet, searching for the engine, for the oil gasket, for somewhere undercover to dry out.

You tuck your legs beneath yourself, sit criss-cross in the driver’s seat, and take small sips of fizzing black sugar. Allow it to moisten your lips, coat your tongue and your teeth in that sickening, viscous way soda always does, before it slips down your throat.

There’s something unearthly about the day, unnerving—it’s Tuesday morning and you’re hungover. A dull ache behind your left eye, a kink in your neck. You check your phone.

Thick, rolling clouds loom across the sky. Occasionally, a flash of lightning, a thrum of thunder. You tear open a packet of peanuts and pluck one out, and then another. Eat until your lips are dry and puckered, and then take another drink. More peanuts then. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet.

It’s all you can stomach as your liver pumps and spasms, still working to cleanse your blood of the night before, spent sprawled on the couch with Trin and Nora.

Wearing sweaters and thick socks, gripping full glasses of wine, and watching Les Misérables. Nora, tears on her cheeks, had sung along with Hugh Jackman—'This innocent who bears my face, who goes to judgement in my place, who am I?’—and you, bleary-eyed and tipsy, had discreetly checked your phone.

You didn’t cry during I Dreamed A Dream but you’re crying for this? Trin rolled her eyes.

He sacrifices his freedom to save that man, Nora whimpered.

You woke up starving and the traffic was slow. At every red light and stop sign your fingers itched against the wheel, desperate to press inside your bag and pull out this little packet. And now, safe in the campus parking lot, you feast. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet. You feel a fleeting moment of pity for people with peanut allergies, and then you check your phone.

Still nothing.

Since you left New York on Monday morning there’s been no sign of life from Joel. No get home safe, no see you on Tuesday; no acknowledgement at all.

You stare dejectedly at the messages you’ve sent him.

First from yesterday afternoon:

Home now. Enjoy your last day in the big apple x

And then from late last night, two bottles of wine deep:

It’s raining and miserable here

Wish I was still in new york

With you

Sitting in your car now, glowering at the blank space where his response should be, you reconcile with the thought that perhaps he wants what happened in New York to stay in New York. Stolen glances and all-too-brief touches in a conference hall, his hand on your wrist at the museum, skin against skin in his hotel room, and in yours—perhaps it was supposed to happen there, not here. The lowering of walls came with a change in location, and maybe that was his intention. But those thoughts don’t ease the sharp twist in your chest when you think of him. Doesn’t take away how much you wish he would give you something – a morsel of communication, even a single word of acknowledgement. For as hard as you try to understand, you can’t forget the look in his eyes when he touched you at the cloisters, the way he breathed your name into your mouth. Sewing the seed of JoelJoelJoel into in the soft folds of your brain, impossible to forget.

You don’t think about his dinner with Rachel. Don’t consider that something may have happened that night, something that changed his mind about you. Something that made him rethink the entire weekend as you slipped into the shower and out the door, leaving him alone in your hotel bed while you headed to the airport.

No. You don’t think about that at all.

When you make it inside, clothes wet and cool from the rain, you shake your hair out like a dog. Let droplets fly across the hall as you make your way into the lecture theatre; a drizzled trail left in your wake.

The room is full when you step inside, but there’s no sign of him yet. You collapse into an empty chair in the front row and wait. The final few students filter in through the door, shaking out umbrellas and wiping their feet. And for another ten minutes you, foolishly, still expect Joel to show up.

It’s only when the door creaks open and an old man walks through, that you let the hopeful feeling rest.

He lays a worn old satchel against the desk and turns to smile at the room.

“Hello,” the stranger smiles, and his jowls quiver as he speaks. “I’m Jerry Dorfman, a Professor from the literature department, and…”

You zone out for a second, eyes darting down to your phone screen. Nothing.

“Oh, and Professor Miller,” Dorfman says, as if he’s just remembered that he shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be standing up there, in his spot. “Is tied up with a family matter. I trust he’ll be back with us later in the week.”

A family matter?

Slick with rain, staring at this stranger stood in Joel’s place, you feel like a kind of newborn. Some fresh lamb, soaked in the blood and amniotic fluids of her mother’s womb, staring through unseeing eyes, hoping to glean some understanding of this moment. This sudden burst of light, this shocking cold after so many weeks of warmth, of sweat and strong hands on your skin, holding you close. But this is Eros; the blacksmith, the limb-loosener, the crusher. A deviation from stoking the flame to the suddenly desperate, grasping loneliness of feeling as though you are standing by a lover’s window, staring helplessly through the glass, and watching them from the outside. Alone.

Dorfman tries and fails to connect his laptop to the projector.

Numb fingers type;

Are you okay? Where are you?

But no response comes.

No, not until later that night, not until you’re tucked beneath the covers of your bed, showered and sleepy, does he finally reach out.

The clock has just ticked past midnight when your phone vibrates.

Hey, I had to stay in the city another day. Just landed at PWM. See you on Thursday.

A hot, jagged feeling swims in your gut as you read the message, and then reread it. Twice, three more times, searching for some hint of familiarity. Some indication that he has been thinking about you as much as you’ve been thinking about him. That the past weekend meant something to him, like it meant to you.

Minutes pass, and when you don’t find what you’re looking for, you fall asleep without responding.

Thursday.

Nora wakes up with a stuffy nose.

This always happens to me, she sniffs. I hate being sick.

The tiles in the kitchen are cold beneath your bare toes and rain smears heavily against the windowpane. You can hear fat blooms of thunder bellowing outside. Nora’s sullen, husky voice paired with the steam rising from your mug are all it takes to convince you to stay home with her.

The two of you spend the day curled on the sofa beneath blankets. You stare at your laptop, a document open on your screen with the title of an essay sitting pretty at the top. The cursor blinks and blinks at you, taunting you, daring you to write something, anything. But Sex and The City is playing on the tv, and Nora is snoring at the other end of the sofa, and you can’t help but watch the minutes tick by on the clock. Listen to Carrie and Miranda argue about Big, and wonder if Joel has even noticed your absence.

Trin gets home from class, and you follow her into the kitchen. Peel and slice oranges and apples and lemons while she tells you about her day. Boil them in sugar with cinnamon and star anise while she complains about an argument she had with her boyfriend. Add red wine and brandy while she tells you that her Dad sent her some money, and she’ll order take out for the three of you.

So together you huddle in the lounge and eat hot Indian food with your hands. Soak pieces of naan in tarka dal and saag paneer and top if off with mulled wine, unphased by the clashing of flavours in your mouths.

And you don’t check your phone, or look at the time, and you don’t complain when Nora asks, with glassy-eyes and spinach in her teeth, if she can put on another musical.

He’s a freak, Trin frowns at the TV.

He loves her, Nora implores, staring doe-eyed at a masked Gerard Butler.

Nor, Trin scoffs, he put a wedding dress on a mannequin that looks just like her. In his fucking lair, no less. That’s freak behaviour.

He has amazing sideburns though, Nora grins. So he gets a pass.

Your phone vibrates as Erik strokes a passed-out Christine’s face, singing help me make the music of the night.

Careful that Nora won’t notice, you pull it from beneath your thigh.

Where were you today?

You stare at the words for a moment and feel your lips curl into an disbelieving sneer.

“Oh, fuck off,” you mutter, and shove your phone into the crevice between the sofa cushions.

Wednesday.

A week goes by with no word from Joel.

No word from you either.

You stay home every day. Write and read and catch up on work and take Benadryl and sip soup and then you wake one morning, relieved to find that Nora’s cold has finally left your system.

So you tug on jeans, a sweater, and share a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Share quiet conversation with Pete in his shitty old Beamer as he gives you a ride to campus, and walk into Rachel’s lecture with zero expectation that today will be the day you finally see Joel again.

“We understand that Antigone is a victim of her father’s sins,” Rachel explains. “In the wake of patricide, of incest, every one of her actions is seen as a direct consequence.”

“Even her fate to be buried alive was sewn by her father’s unwitting actions,” she pauses, eyes searching the faces across the room, gauging reactions. “And, of course, this concept isn’t unique to Greek mythology. We see it plainly in the Bible, in Exodus; the sins of your father are to be laid upon the children… these themes of ancestral curses, of the inevitability of fate – they are integral to understand when looking at our tragic heroines. We saw it with Medea, we see it with Antigone, with Iphigenia, with Electra. Electra herself said, we are bound to acquiesce—”

An interrupting knock sounds against the door. Rachel’s head swivels around, eyebrows knitted in frustration as she calls for whoever it is to come in.

The door creaks open and her expression lifts. A saccharine smile spreads across her face, shoulders loosening.

“Joel,” she says warmly. “What can I do for you?”

A shiver wracks down your spine, toes curling in your sneakers.

The broad mass of him rests in the doorway. His head peeks past the wood, just a glimpse of his curls, his glasses, visible from where you sit. Your heart thunders in your chest, palms going damp at the prospect of this being the moment you finally see him again.

He speaks a few words in her direction, too quiet to catch, and then he’s taking a step into the room. His hand grips the edge of the door, keeping it open, and he casts a glance out towards the audience. Dark brown and searching, those eyes filter through countless faces until they finally land on yours.

And for a second, he doesn’t say a word. Just gazes out at you, eyebrows pulled together in the middle of his forehead, and then—and then he fucking looks back at Rachel. Your stomach goes hollow when you see the smile on her face. She lazes against the corner of her desk, and it feels like minutes go by as the two of you stare at him. And there’s something about waiting, you think, that feels like torture. That slow, painful build-up of pressure as you sit and stare and prepare yourself to discover who he’s here for. You or her.

You’re reminded painfully of a Graham Greene quote. A passage from The End of the Affair – one you’d, perhaps foolishly, found romantic when you read it that first time. Chosen words that had warmed your chest and made you feel light, lighter than air; the way only words could do sometimes.

‘Yes, Henry?’ and then ‘You?’ She had always called me ‘you’. ‘Is that you?’ on the telephone, ‘Can you? Will you? Do you?’ so that I imagined, like a fool, for a few minutes at a time, there was only one ‘you’ in the world and that was me.

Now, as you stare at Joel in the mouth of the doorway and memory of that passage sinks its hooks in, you feel only contempt for Greene.

For you had always read that passage imagining yourself as Sarah. And someone else, some misfortunate Maurice Bendrix, had fallen into your lap, and he was the ‘you’. But not you, never you. And it’s that pride which deceives. That pride which lulls us into false senses of security.

Joel says your name then.

Says, “Can I speak with you?” You, you, you.

And it should feel like relief, to hear your name on his lips again. But you catch the way he spares another glance, soft and sympathetic, in Rachel’s direction, and that sickly hurt isn’t abated.

Her face falls, but she smiles at you. Nods her permission for you to leave the room, and only when you’re halfway across the lecture theatre, bag swung over your shoulder, does she continue speaking to the class.

Palm flat against the door, he holds it open for you, making you press against him as you slip out of the room. It clicks shut behind you and he begins to move down the hall, leaving you to follow behind with no explanation. You assume that he’s going to lead you to his office, or anywhere more private than this, but a metre from the door Joel pauses abruptly, turns, and you slam into his chest with a huff.

“Jesus,” you mutter, stumbling a few steps back.

“Where have you been?” he glowers, brows drawn tight and angry over his eyes.

“What?”

“I’ve been busy,” you grit, glaring back. “Where have you been?”

“Busy?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ve been busy too. Busy teachin’ the classes that you don’t even show up for.”

“I’ve been sick,” you roll your eyes, unable—or perhaps just unwilling—to stray from nastiness, from spite. “My apologies, Professor.”

“Don’t—” Joel snaps, and flinches as quickly as the word comes out of his mouth, surprised by how harsh it sounds in the air between the two of you. He takes a step closer, voice low now—“Don’t call me that.”

“Fuck, what is your problem?” you huff, eyes widening, exasperated. “I missed two classes, it’s not a big deal.”

“And the silence?” Joel takes a step forward as he says it. Close enough now to see the smudges on the lens of his glasses. Close enough to see the muscle in his jaw twitch. Too close for public; too close for here. “Can’t even text me back, huh? What the hell is goin’ on with you?”

Your body pulls taut at that, hands balling into fists at your sides.

“Oh, you don’t like silence?” you hiss, matching his volume. “You can’t be serious. Joel, I didn’t hear from you for days after New York. Why would I waste my breath when it’s obvious you don’t want to fucking hear from me?”

“It was barely two days,” he shakes his head, shakes off the insinuation, shakes off whatever blame you’re trying to put on him.

“Two days,” you nod, smirking angrily. “Two days after we spent an entire weekend together. Two days after we kissed and fucked and practically went on a date.”

And the word date must elicit something in him. Some minute, man-brain trigger that snaps him to attention and helps him understand the hurt on your face, the tremble in your hands. Because he says your name, voice softening, posture loosening, every bit of his body language screaming out that he wants to step forward and touch you.

And he’s speaking again, voice low, but there’s people coming down the hall, heading your way. Two figures that you can’t make out through the haze of Joel in your immediate vision. So when he reaches out and touches your hand you flinch, jutting your chin over his shoulder. A warning. Don’t do this here.

One of them calls your name and you pause, mouth open. Drag your eyes away from Joel’s features to watch the figures get closer.

“Pete,” you force a smile. “Hey.”

You realise quickly how it must look; your sullen expression, Joel staring down at you with his shoulders hunched. He must understand at the same moment, because he takes a quick step away, folds his hands behind his back.

“Hey,” Pete takes a step closer. He glances warily between you and Joel, confusion colouring his face. “Everything cool?”

Stony faced, Joel looks between the two of you, posture stiffening the longer he stares at Pete. So much larger than him, taller and broader and far more intimidating. But a man with a secret to keep isn’t one to jump quickly at confrontation, so he keeps his mouth shut. Let’s you do the talking.

Ian catches your eye over Pete’s shoulder and offers a sleazy sort of smile. You swallow down a glare and hold Pete’s gaze.

“Everything’s fine,” you lie, taking a step towards them. A step away from Joel. “What’s up, what are you guys doing in this building?”

Pete’s eyebrows pull together, and he cocks his head at you. “Said you needed a ride home today. This morning, remember?”

“This morning,” you repeat, nodding slowly. You raise your hand and pinch the bridge of your nose, thinking quickly, mind a mess. “I, uh… right, look, Pete, I actually forgot I have a meeting with Professor Miller about my final essay this afternoon.”

“Your final…” Pete trails off, frowning. “Isn’t that due in like a month?”

“Yeah,” you say vaguely, and do not look at Joel. “I’ll find a way home later, okay?”

“I mean, sure. I guess,” Pete agrees reluctantly, reaching up to grip the strap of his satchel. “Call me if you need me okay?”

And Joel’s face turns to stone at the insinuation in those words. The idea that Pete could give you anything he couldn’t. That anyone would need to swoop in and save you from him.

The pair of you stand in silence for a moment, eyes trained on Pete and Ian’s retreating backs as they head down the hall. You watch and watch until they turn the corner, disappearing from sight, and only then do you exhale a breath of relief.

You contemplate leaving him there. Turning your back on him and returning to Rachel’s lecture, ignoring his texts and letting this all fade into some painful memory. But when you look at him again—at those big brown eyes that gaze back at you—you know you couldn’t if you tried.

“You look tired,” he frowns, and it’s not angry anymore. A little sad, maybe.

“I am,” you admit, and wonder if your face betrays how much of a role he plays in that exhaustion.

“Are you hungry?”

You stare for a moment, blinking slow, and then say, “Yeah.”

Joel nods, attempts a crooked smile, and says, “Let me take you to get something to eat.”

It’s silent in Joel’s car, aside from the soft patter of rain against his windows and the dull squeak of his windscreen wipers sliding it away. The truck glides through the winding streets of Biddeford, cruising down the main road and into the left lane of a fast-food drive thru. Orders you a burger, fries, nothing for himself, passing the bag into your lap and then continuing to drive.

The bun is soft beneath your fingers. Grease soaks your skin, and you taste beef, taste onions so soft, so sweet. A crimson dot of ketchup spattered onto your pants; a bright shock of mustard on your tongue. A fry here and there. Joel’s hand, outstretched fingers, sneaking across the centre console to steal one. You shift the paper bag on your lap, tilt the opening so it faces him, easier to access, but he doesn’t take another.

He grips the wheel and asks, “Do you want me to take you home?”

You think about Pete waiting for you at the house. Think about if Ian and that filthy smirk on his face and whether or not he’ll be there too. Think about having to flesh out your excuse, your lie, and finally say, “No.”

Joel keeps driving. You eat until your pants feel tight and the greasy brown bag is crumpled in your fist and he’s pulling his truck off the road and into a short driveway.

“Full?”

“Very.”

“Good.”

“Is this your house?”

“This is it.” He drags the keys out of the ignition and knocks the door open. It’s not long, barely a second, before he’s pulling yours open with a rough yank and a soft, “Door always sticks on this side.”

A vague sound spills from the back of your throat, and he guides you up a path towards the small home. Single storey, with a large brown door and windows decorating the outward façade. Your immediate thought is that it’s very Joel, but you stop the idea in its tracks. Remind yourself that maybe it isn’t your place to think things like that.

Inside it’s even more silent, even more tense. The two of you stand in the entry way, toeing off damp shoes. Your eyes flit around his front room, but it’s difficult to focus on anything. Too much to look at, too much you want to know, and you find it easier to just look at him.

“Realised you’d never been here,” Joel murmurs after a while. He shifts awkwardly on his feet, decidedly unsure of what to say as he rests beneath the weight of your stare. “This is the, uh, the livin’ room. Kitchen’s over there.”

When you don’t respond, he clears his throat, ticks his head towards the hallway. “Bathroom is down the hall. Bedroom too.”

You feel your face shift. Deadpan stare turns to surprise, to incredulity, to blatant anger.

“Oh, the bedroom, huh?” you smile, sardonic, cutting. Your throat feels tight. “S’that seriously why you brought me here? Ice me out and then come crawling back when you want something to fuck again?”

“Woah, hey,” his eyebrows shoot up, hands drifting forward like he’s trying to calm a startled animal.

“Don’t,” you hold up a shaking hand, eyes wide and wet suddenly. “Just… don’t touch me right now, okay? What are we doing here, Joel? Seriously.”

He says your name hard and fast, surprised by how quickly it’s all unravelling, spilling from you in a tidal wave.

And spill it does. The words are wet and watery, a tsunami of pent up emotions pouring from your mouth without permission, without forethought.

“I mean, we haven’t seen each other since New York. And I… I thought being there changed things between us. But maybe I was wrong… and then you pull me out of a lecture, bring me here and say my bedroom is down the hall? Am I just… do you just like having someone to fuck whenever you want? Is that it? Someone at your beck and call?”

Joel repeats your name, sharper this name. “Don’t put fuckin’ words in my mouth.” His face pinches in anger, hands dropping.

“When it’s not convenient you try to shake me off, but when it is—at a bar, or out of town—” you list them off on your fingers, eyes growing wider and wider. “Oh, you want me then?”

“That ain’t fuckin’ true and you know it—”

“Do I?” you scoff.

“I came that night when you texted,” he implores, voice raising, all wild-eyed and pleading. “You were drunk, and textin’ and you needed a ride.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that—”

“You didn’t ask me not too either,” he crosses his arms across his chest. “You wanted me to come. Don’t fuckin’ deny that now.”

You open your mouth but he’s too quick, matching your spill with his own now.

“And as if you’re any better?” he bares his teeth now, voice low. “As if you didn’t find out I was your teacher and keep fuckin’ me just for the thrill of it. As if you actually wanted me, and you weren’t just gettin’ off on chasin’ some forbidden fantasy.”

“I…” you gape at him, unafraid to let the hurt show on your face. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“What the fuck am I supposed to think?” he hisses, exhaustion evident in the way he runs a hand through his curls and sags against the door. “You tellin’ me I should believe that you just want me for what I am? A fifty-year-old teacher who spends his time giving fuckin’ speeches to people that are hardly listenin’? Who goes home to an empty bed? That’s what you want?”

And it deflates you, a little. The wounded expression on his face – the devastating truth in those words, splashed across his expression so plainly for you to see. Disbelief.

“Is that such a crime?” you ask quietly. “To want you… and have it be that simple?”

“You shouldn’t,” he shakes his head. Grimaces. “You shouldn’t want me, I’m—I’m no good for you.”

You swallow. Feel tears hot and sharp behind your eyes.

“Then why do you keep letting me?”

“Jesus,” he exhales, and his hand is on the hem of your shirt, pulling you closer, closer, until you’re pressed against his chest, hands coming up to grip his shoulders and steady yourself. “Because I can’t fuckin’ quit you, alright?”

“Because I don’t just want you when it’s convenient,” his lips curl around the word, disgusted by the insinuation. “Because I think about you all the god damn time and if I can only have you some of the time then I guess I’ll take it. Because if you want some fucked up fantasy, then I’ll play my part if it means I get you, I don’t care—”

You cut him off, lips firm and searing against his. He goes still for a moment, mouth parting with a surprised exhale, warm when you press inside with your tongue. And then warmer, salty; tears on his cheeks, on yours.

“That’s not what this is,” you whimper into his mouth, desperate for him to believe it. “It was never about that, it was about you, Joel. I want you.”

He kisses you again, slow. All of the anger and hurt and frustration pools out of the both of you, spilling from your mouths and into the air. His lips mould over yours and his hands are warm on your waist, your back, holding you tight against his chest. When you sniffle, he pulls back, forehead heavy against yours, and sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, eyes closed. “I missed you, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for—"

“Where were you?” you interrupt. “What happened in New York?”

He hesitates for a moment, nervous and calculating as he stares you down.

You wilt a little; dejected all over again. Recoil from him and quietly ask, “Why won’t you let me know you?”

Joel’s hand hovers in the air, as if contemplating reaching for you again, but then it drops and he says, “I was with my daughter.”

You blink.

Daughter.

Daughter?

“She lives there now,” Joel sounds a little breathless, cheeks pink as the words spill from him. “In New York, with her girlfriend. I’d planned to spend an extra day there with her, and then Nina—Nina cut her hand open at the studio and we had to go to the ER, and she had to get stitches and—” He pauses, waiting for you to jump in, to interrupt, to say anything. When you don’t, he takes a breath and continues. “And I wasn’t gonna stay any longer but Ellie was worried, and she needed me. She needed me there, and—and I’m never fuckin’ there, because she never needs me anymore. So I stayed, and I’m sorry I went silent but I was… I was takin’ care of my kid.”

You think it might be the longest—and the fastest—you’ve ever heard him speak outside of a lecture hall.

His eyes drift to something over your shoulder and his entire body seems to sag a little. But it isn’t sad. It’s a resigned, sort of relaxed thing that happens – the corners of his mouth tilt up and he smiles weakly.

You turn, follow his eyeline until you see them.

Pictures, so many pictures, lining the walls of his home. Ones you’d paid no attention to when you first stepped inside, but can now see clearly. Bright eyes and wide toothy grins.

Some of Joel younger, leaner, smiling beside a little girl with curly hair. Some of him as you know him now; scruffy and greying, beside a different girl. This one lanky and pale and grimacing toward the camera as if she were forced into being placed in front of it.

There’s one picture of the girls beside each other, teenagers maybe, sat on either end of a seesaw. The curly-haired girl is on the upper end, grinning madly at the lens, while the other sits with her feet planted firmly on the ground, laughing up at her. Two of them. Two daughters?

“Please say somethin’.”

There’s a picture of Joel and he’s holding a tiny little bundle in his arms, and he looks so young and so fucking afraid. Dark eyes wide and teary as he gazes down at chubby cheeks, his index fingers crooked around the edge of her swaddle. A warm feeling swells in your chest and your body softens the longer you look at it. He’s a father.

Joel says your name and when you turn his face is all twisted up, and he looks the smallest you’ve ever seen him. Almost curled in on himself.

“I should’ve told you,” he nods, brown eyes darting across your face in an attempt to decipher your silence. “I know that, and I—”

“I’m an asshole,” you interrupt softly, and the tears never left but now they feel heavier on your waterline. Begging to spill over again.

“Hey,” he frowns, hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb swipes at the soft skin beneath your eye, begging the wetness there to disappear. “Hey, hey, no—”

“I didn’t think…” you trail off, sniffling. A sickly cocktail of embarrassment and guilt and shame swirl in the pit of your stomach and you try to swallow it down, try to send it away, but it’s persistent. “I never stopped to think that something had actually happened, that you had… I feel selfish, Joel, I’m sorr—”

“You’re not,” he hushes, fingers curling into the hair behind your ear. “You didn’t know. I should’ve told you before, and I’m sorry.”

“I thought you were staying away because of me,” you offer a watery smile. “I thought maybe you and…” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. Can’t make your lips form the name Rachel.

“No,” he shakes his head, jaw tight, as if reading your mind.

“Is she okay?”

“Ellie?”

“Ellie,” you roll the name around in your mouth. His daughter. “Yeah.”

“She’s okay,” he smiles, nodding. “They’re both fine.”

“And…” You look back at the pictures. Two. “And the other girl?”

“Sarah,” Joel says softly, pointing at wild curls and brown eyes that look just like his. And he must see the questions swirling in your brain because he speaks again. “I was twenty. My, uh, my girlfriend at the time didn’t know what to do. Didn’t wanna be a Mom, but didn’t agree with abortion, and we were so young and… well, I asked her to marry me cause it felt like the right thing to do, but she didn’t…” he shakes his head a little, a faraway look in his eye as he remembers it. “She said no. She never wanted that… so, after Sarah was born, I told her that she didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t have to?” you repeat the words, eyebrows furrowing.

“Didn’t have to stay,” he clarifies. Your lips part, surprised. “So, she didn’t, and we ain’t seen her since Sarah was a few months old.”

“Shit,” you whisper, eyes widening as the information finally starts to sink in.

“And Ellie,” he laughs then, gazing at a picture of auburn locks and shock grey eyes. “Well, that one showed up on my door some time fifteen years later. Been in ‘n’ outta foster care for years, and just started followin’ Sarah home from school one day. We did this little dance for a while; dinners and sleepovers and me slipping money into her backpack so she could buy lunch at school. And then one day she just… begged me not to make her go back to her own house. So I didn’t.”

“Wow, I…” you blink. “You adopted her? Alone?”

“I…” Joel pauses. Wets his lips, frowning as he collects his thoughts. “Alone is… I don’t think that’s the right word for it. You see Ellie was… Sarah and me, we just knew. She was family so fast. It was the only thing that made sense, you know?”

And it does, you suppose. The image isn’t hard to conjure. Joel at the dinner table with two teenagers on either side of him. Arguing over homework, over curfews, over what movie to watch. You can see the fondness in his eyes as he talks about them – the emotion laced through his words; we just knew.

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” Joel says, and that line between his eyebrows is back and it’s so deep that you can’t help yourself from reaching up and smoothing it over with your thumb. He catches your hand and holds it against the centre of his chest. Lets you feel the way his heart thuds heavily beneath the skin, a sturdy rhythm against your palm.

“It’s… it’s a lot to take in,” you confess, and his hand tightens over yours. “But I’m glad you told me.”

Brown eyes search yours, gaze heavy. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay then.”

You flex your palm against his chest. Dig your fingers into the flesh there a little.

“Can I…” he hesitates, eyes flickering down. “Do you… Can I kiss you?” You, you, you.

Your heart beats fast, and you feel his do the same, and Joel is a father, and two daughters, and I can’t fuckin’ quit you, and you’re breathing into his mouth yes, yes you can kiss me, please kiss me.

It’s warm and it’s gentle and it feels like such a kindness to kiss him now and feel less space between the two of you. Feels like a thousand apologies and explanations slipping off his tongue and you opening your arms to him, saying I understand, saying thank you for telling me.

And when you pull him closer, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, he meets you in kind, pressing your back against the wall. He shifts his hips between yours and shows you how much he’s missed you, and only when his hand drifts beneath the hem of your shirt do you pause.

He stills, warm breaths drifting across your mouth as he looks into your eyes.

“Talk to me.”

“I’m exhausted,” you admit shyly, twisting a finger through a frizzy lock of hair at the nape of his neck. You tug at it, not meeting his eye, and watch it bounce back into a curl when you let go. He nods and kisses you again, closed lips soft and not asking for anything, never asking for more than you want to give, before he takes your hand and leads you through his house for the first time.

He runs you a bath. Makes you sit on the edge while he lays out a towel and checks the temperature every few minutes. Only when he’s satisfied that the water is perfectly warm does he help peel the clothing from your body. He grips your hand and helps you step into the tub, lowering you down into sudsy water. And when you’re settled, he pulls a stool nearby and sits, keeping you company as you soak.

“S’nice,” you tell him quietly, dragging a foamy sponge across your arms. “Thank you, Joel.”

The weight of before hangs over you a little, pressing down against your shoulders as you watch him. Gauge him. But he doesn’t seem angry or upset anymore. He leans over the lip of the tub. Runs his hands through the water, over the skin of your calf, your knee. Feels the coarse hairs that have grown there over the past fortnight and smiles when they scratch against his palm.

“Said you were sick?”

“Mhm.”

“What kind?”

“Just a cold,” you whisper. He squeezes your knee, palm against your patella, fingers soft in the flesh around it. “M’fine. Past it now.”

In the soapy water, his skin feels like silk against yours.

“Changin’ of the season,” he muses with a nod. “Normally gets me too.”

And you laugh a little at that, because it’s such a fatherly thing to say and you can’t believe how naïve you’d been to not see it before. Can suddenly picture him doing this a thousand times over; resting by the bath while one of his little girls floats in the water, nose all stuffy from the flu.

At the sound of your laughter he smiles, gaze dropping to your mouth, and the skin beside his eyes pinches. Little wrinkles, so soft and so beautiful that you want to reach out and brush your fingers across them.

“You’re so beautiful,” Joel murmurs, and his voice is hushed, so low in the small bathroom.

His fingers skirt against the inside of your thigh and you splay your legs open for him, knees knocking against the sides of the tub. He glances down through the water to where you’re spread open for him to see, shameless, and smiles.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he repeats.

“So are you, Joel.”

“Psh,” he rolls his eyes, offering a delicate little smile. So shy, so feeble, and so desperate to believe you. A little glimpse of that wary weight, still pressing down on him as well.

“Mean it,” you insist in a whisper. You lift a hand from the water, wet thumb grazing the corner of his mouth. Feel the bristles of his moustache, the hairs on his cheek, prickling against your skin.

“Swoony type,” you say, smiling when recognition flashes in his eyes. Stroke the fresh blush on his cheeks. “Long hair, bedroom eyes, cheeks like wine.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, turning to press a kiss against your palm. “Can’t get away with plagiarisin’ Carson in this house, baby.”

“She just said it so well.”

“She did,” he agrees. “So did Tartt.”

“Tartt?” your mind wanes, the warm water lulling you into a sleepy sort of daze. You rest heavy against the side of the bath, gazing up at him

“Beauty is terror,” he quotes tenderly, eyes bold and earnest as he holds your stare. “Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.”

You wrap an arm around his shoulders, water droplets staining his shirt where your fingers grip the material, and pull him forward to kiss you. Joel grips the inside of your leg and kisses you until your skin prunes and wrinkles. And when he notices he laughs with you, gripping your hand to press his lips against fingertips that look like raisins. Worships the soaked skin of your fingers until you pull his face back to yours; jealous of your own hands, fearful that they might come to know his kiss better than your lips.

And when the water goes lukewarm and you don’t know what time it is anymore, he dries you off with a soft towel and offers once more to take you home. But you say no, so he smiles and kisses you again—your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids—and leads you to his bedroom.

He drags a too-big shirt over your head, helps you loop your arms into the sleeves. Dark blue and warm, so warm, against your skin.

The two of you slip beneath the covers on his bed and he drags you against his side; lets you press your cold toes against his shins without so much as a flinch.

Facing each other on your sides, those hands slink beneath the shirt, rough palms cradling your ribs, your back, holding you tight against his chest until your breathing falls in sync. And those hands don’t stray, don’t move down, they just embrace you. A carefully held apology that promises I want this, to hold you, to be with you, too.

It stays like that, nothing more, until your eyelids are heavy, and his breathing has evened out. Stays like that until your hand drops from his back to the band of his boxers, sleepy little fingers plucking at the material, trying to slip underneath.

“You should rest.”

But you whine softly; needy and insistent as your fingers press harder.

“What do you need?” Joel rasps into your neck, helping you shift them down his legs.

“Need you,” you whisper back into the darkness of his bedroom. “Wanna feel you, I—”

His mouth is soft against yours, plucking those words from your mouth and swallowing them down. He sucks your bottom lip between his, prying your mouth open so he can slip his tongue inside.

His hand in on your knee, pulling your leg up until your thigh rests heavy around his hip and you can feel the hot weight of him against your core, still slick and warm and needy from when his hand rested on the inside of your leg in the bath.

And if you’d ever subscribed to the meaning behind words like sin you suppose that once this might have counted as one. An act worthy of being sent to reside in that second circle of hell, reserved solely for those overcome by lust; left to blow back and forth in the storm of their own desire. Two people who cannot touch, should not touch, who hold their hands out to feel anyways. A touch once spiteful, once desolate and removed, now so forthcoming. A touch that says this is the only way it could have ever been. And there can be nothing sinful about it anymore. No more shame or derision behind heavy eyelids, no more you shouldn’t or I’m no good for you. Here you rest comfortably in the hurricane of that second circle, and you welcome the breeze as a comfort.

Lips against yours, Joel feeds his cock to you in slow, careful passes.

Ensures you feel every ridge, every hard line of his body. And with each gentle press inside he murmurs against your mouth. Incessant, low nonsenses of so fuckin’ beautiful and god I missed you and that’s it, baby, I know, I know. His kiss smooth as an almond, tender as a fig. Ripe and wet and tremulous as his tongue finds a home against yours, over and over.

The comforter on his bed stays pulled high, up to your shoulders, and it traps the warmth of your bodies between you.

He coaxes rough, gasping sounds from you with every shift of his hips.

Long fingers grip the back of your thigh, using his hold there to rock your body into his over and over again, slowly, making sure you feel every second of it. Slick seeps out of you around his length, smearing against the inside of your thighs and his, and he groans at the wet sounds that slip from where the two of you are connected.

Joel says your name, low and gravelly, praising every syllable. He tells you how good it feels, how perfect you are, and every word is like an undressing of the flesh. Like you’re some tender butcher, peeling back layers of his skin to let the air hit hot, red, pulsating matter, flashes of thick, porcelain bone swimming amongst it all. He keeps you close, hardly an inch of your body not touching his, and yet you can see all of him. The whole surface and everything underneath it now too. And when you say his name in return and he moans, begs you to say it again, say my name again, it’s hearts on wings, thin fire racing beneath the skin, eyes unseeing, drumming filling your ears. It’s the cold sweat on his hands that hold you shaking, that feel the way you tremble and grip tighter. It’s wanting to take those bones of his and suck them clean; lick past the gristle and taste the marrow beyond it.

It's everything and it’s nothing and it’s that silly little four-letter word that you can’t bring yourself to say, let alone think, and it doesn’t even matter because he’s here and that’s enough.

His nose rests in the hollow above your collarbone and he inhales, smothering soft kisses to skin and bone there.

He says, “You smell like me,” and when he looks up and presses his forehead against yours, he almost looks wounded by it. He stills, holds himself deep inside and just stares, and his eyes are screaming I can’t fuckin’ quit you, so you lay your thumb over the dimple on his cheek and smile. “S’my clothes, my soap…”

Your body flutters and tightens around him, and your mouths fall open in soft moans, lips slotting together again.

“You like that?” you breathe into the kiss, and he tightens his fist around the back of the shirt, pressing inward until your back is arched, and your stomach is flush against his and he’s groaning yes.

“Want you in my clothes all the fuckin’ time,” he pants, and the tip of his cock presses so deep inside that you’re gasping, mouth hanging wide open. “And when you give ‘em back I’ll wear ‘em and smell like you, and then we’ll be even.”

“Even?” you laugh a little, nipping at his bottom lip. He smiles, eyes glinting in the darkness.

“Yeah, even,” he repeats it and presses forward in a sharp thrust to emphasise his point. You don’t need to hear it again to know exactly what he means.

“Tell me you’re mine,” you whisper, and he grunts, hips shifting a little faster against yours. You feel him pulse inside of you, his stomach tightening against yours.

“M’yours,” Joel murmurs, voice like velvet and honey, so soft as he leans forward to kiss you, licking the words into your mouth. You say it back, spell it out against his teeth, his lips, his jaw. Yours, yours, yours.

He says something else then, lips soft against your chin, and you’re so close; can feel it hot and burning in your gut, almost at tipping point.

“Hmm?”

“Baby,” Joel nips at your jaw, sharpening your senses. “Tell me you’re on the pill or somethin’.”

“I am,” you whimper honestly, and his body seems to sag against yours, hips shifting in sluggish, tired movements.

Something snaps at the base of your spine, and you tremble against him, gripping the back of his neck. Soon enough he’s shuddering into you, arms going tight around your back, trapping you against his chest as his cock pumps inside your core. And it’s warm and wet and sticky and his seed drools out of you, down to your asshole, smearing against the inside of your thighs, his sheets. Your legs wrap around his waist, holding him to you, keeping him there as long as you possibly can. Riding out your highs, and then the trembling, stuttering aftershocks in each other’s arms. He pants into your mouth and all either of you can say is mine or yours, until the words mix together and become a meaningless blur of sound murmured between locked lips.

It could be minutes or an entire hour before you manage to separate from each other. All eager little kisses and whines as his soft cock slips from your hold, thick spend seeping out of you in his absence. And you just want to sleep, want to curl up in his arms and never leave, but you slink off to the bathroom first. Wet your face and drop down on his toilet. Urinate and feel his come drip out of you. And where once, with someone else, you might have cringed at the feeling, you only feel warmth; calm.

In the bright lighting of his bathroom, you can see yourself reflected in the mirror above his sink. Hair a wild mess, cheeks and lips swollen with warmth. This woman in the mirror stares back at you and she has bright eyes. She smiles at you, and you feel your lips peel back, teeth on show just like hers. You stare at her and think god, she looks happy. When you wipe between your thighs and stand, she does too. And with your finger on the light switch, a wet handtowel clutched in your other palm, you give her one last look before turning out the light, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

Thursday.

Joel sleeps on his stomach. At least, that’s how he ends up overnight.

Face buried deep in a pillow, one leg slung outside of the covers, with a heavy arm out to the side. When you wake, at first, you’re careful not to move. Not to breathe too heavily, not to cough or jostle him awake. He looks so peaceful like this. Heavy breaths puffing from chapped pouty lips, forehead smooth and devoid of the stress and exhaustion that often lines his face. A large hand rests close to you. Despite you drifting a part in the night, the body heat getting too much for you both, his fingers remain outstretched in your direction. The tips just grazing the skin of your stomach as you lie on your side and watch him.

A low murmur escapes from his mouth, face twitching a little, and then he’s relaxing again, humming in his sleep. You smile, and let your eyes wander.

There’s a pile of books on his bedside table, reading glasses dropped haphazardly atop them.

An Idiot’s Guide to Space, one of the weathered spines reads. Interesting.

A framed painting rests above a set of drawers on the side of his room. A vast landscape with a herd of horses galloping across it. Gorgeous hides of orange and brown and black splashed across green grass and blue sky. And on the back of his door… hangs a cowboy hat.

You move slowly, careful not to wake him as you rise and tip toe across the room. Coming to rest directly in front of the closed door, you slip it off the hook and admire it. You don’t even hear his breathing change as he wakes up.

Dark brown with a curved brim; the felt is soft beneath your fingers. The image of Joel wearing it, perhaps often, while living in Texas flits through your mind and you can’t help but smile. And then warm hands are on your hips, arms snaking around your waist to pull you back into a warm chest.

You gasp in quiet surprise, but your smile only broadens when Joel rests his chin on your shoulder, peering down at the hat in your hands.

“Mornin’,” he murmurs, voice gruff and deeper than usual. A pang of arousal swims in your core at the sound of it, but you ignore that, turning in his grasp.

“Good morning, cowboy.”

Joel groans, sleepy eyes drifting closed as he hugs you to his chest, swaying the two of you from side to side.

“Wanted to lie in,” he grumbles. “S’too early for this.”

“For what?” you blink in mock confusion, holding the hat against your chest.

“For you to see that.” He moves quick, tugging it from your grasp.

“Hey—” You gasp, wide eyed and ready to steal it back. But before you can Joel just lifts it onto his head with a heavy sigh. “Oh.”

“Oh?” he repeats, eyes narrowing.

Warmth simmers in your stomach and you smirk, stepping back to give him a quick once over.

“I could get used to this.”

“Jesus,” he rolls his eyes, moving to take it off but you grip his hand, shaking your head fiercely.

“Not so fast,” you coo. “I want the whole experience.”

“And what exactly is the whole experience?”

“You know—” You shimmy your hips a little. Imitate twirling a lasso in the air, wiggling your eyebrows. “Show me some tricks.”

Joel laughs at you, and you can see the desire in him to say no, to refute it, but the longer you stare him down, the more it cracks and fizzles away.

“Go on, cowboy,” you try out your best Texan drawl, falling down to sit on the edge of his bed.

He adjusts his legs, elbows bending as he waves two finger guns in your direction. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down a laugh as he makes a small pchew pchew noise out the side of his mouth.

“Oh,” you smirk. “Is that all you got?”

“I’ll have you know,” Joel huffs, pretending to holster one of his guns. Hip cocked now, still dressed in nothing but his sleep shirt and boxers; he stares you down. “I’m startin’ to think this town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”

And that gets you. A sharp, barking laughs slips from your mouth, and Joel grins in return, the skin beside his eyes creasing as he adjusts the Stetson over his curls.

As your giggles calm, he just shakes his head, still smiling, and murmurs fondly, “Dadgum, you got a good laugh.”

Your face warms beneath his stare, and you just shake your head, bottom lip snagged between your teeth. Moving quick, Joel pinches the brim of the hat and places it onto your head. It’s a little big, and the brim falls down, obscuring your eyesight before he adjusts it for you. Then he takes a step back, hands on hips.

“How do I look?” You bat your eyelashes up at him, smiling shyly.

“I don’t know,” he fakes an air of contemplation, giving you a long look up and down. “Think you might be all hat ‘n’ no cattle.”

“Hey,” you pout. “I’d make a great cowboy; just need a pair of chaps.”

“Well, you can wear the hat and the chaps all you like,” Joel murmurs, gaze heavy. “But you ain’t a cowboy ‘til you prove you can ride like one.”

Your thighs tense and you arch an eyebrow, trying to remain nonchalant.

“Is that right?”

“S’right.”

“Mm,” you hum. You lick your bottom lip and watch the way his gaze darkens, eyes trained on the movement. “Gonna let me show you what I got?”

And so you end up back in bed, straddling Joel while he smirks up at you, long fingers twisting around the hem of your t-shirt. But when you slip a finger inside the hem of his boxers, the movement so reminiscent of last night, he laughs a little and gives you a look that says, really?

You pout, confused. “I thought you wante—”

“Uh uh,” Joel shakes his head. “Not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

“Get up here.” He lifts his chin upward.

Your eyes widen, stomach tensing a little.

Desire warms the inside of your thighs, and you murmur, “You want that?”

“Do I wa—?” he cuts himself off, eyes darkening a shade. “I said, get up here.”

Heart racing, you shimmy up his chest until your knees are planted on the mattress on either side of his shoulders. He smiles, encouraging, and you grip the hem of his shirt, prepared to pull it over your head, but he stops you.

“No,” he exhales, hand quickly gripping yours. “Leave it on for me.” And then he leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, and you can only nod, holding your breath as you wait for him to reach where you want his mouth the most.

Face tucked in the cradle of your hips, Joel sighs your name. A rough exhalation, nose pressed into your skin. And it feels a little silly at first – your face is warm as you stare down at him, the wide brim of the cowboy hat tilting forward.

But then, breath hot and heavy against you, he mouths at the crease where your hip meets your thigh. Slow, drawn-out kisses that have your legs tensing over him, his hands slip beneath the shirt, tracing light patterns into the skin over your spine, all the way up to your shoulders. He keeps going until you’re shivering, a wet trembling mess in his hands, hips twitching forward with every touch of his mouth to your skin until he finally glides his tongue through your folds.

Your breathing hitches as he pants against you, chest vibrating with low sounds as he licks thick stripes up the entire length of your pussy. Eyes closed, he tastes all of you; tongue slipping over every piece of exposed skin that the position grants him. And with every broad stroke of his tongue, he dips inside your weeping hole and finishes with a gentle flick against your clit. So soft and so slow, building you up over and over until finally you break and begin rocking your hips into his face.

Joel grunts at first, a little surprised maybe, but in a second his hands are dropping to grip your thighs, locking you in place against his face.

At first, he guides you. Helps you find a rhythm that works, that feels good. Flattens his tongue and uses his grip to rock you back and forth over his face, groaning as you roll your clit against him, huffing and panting quiet little pleas. But soon enough your fingers are carding through his hair, holding him tight against you as you grind down into his mouth. Sharpening his tongue, he dips it inside of you and then drags upward, pulling your clit into his mouth and sucking gently.

You gasp, vision going hazy as you try to keep your eyes on him, try to watch, but it’s too good. He knows exactly what you like, and it all moves far too quickly for your liking. You can already feel your hips winding faster and harder against him, breaths falling shorter, everything in your stomach pulling tight and hot.

Joel can tell – he can always fucking tell – and one of his hands drifts over your ass, fingers slipping between your thighs from behind until his middle finger is circling your entrance.

“Fuck,” you inhale sharply, jaw going slack as he prods at your cunt, tongue lapping lazily over your clit all the while. “Please, your fingers, yeah, ohhh—”

A long finger sinks inside and you moan, head falling back.

“You like that?” he murmurs, pulling back to graze his teeth along the inside of your thigh. A second finger presses inside, and he curls them against that soft spot, fucking you slow and steady until you acquiesce, whimpering yesyesyesfucksogood towards the ceiling.

“Good girl,” he hums, slick tongue finding its way back to your clit.

He eats at you so lovingly. So generous as he lathes firm circles around your nerves, only ever pausing to suck you into his mouth again or press wet, open-mouthed kisses against the entirety of your cunt. Nose buried in the short curls over your mound, he doesn’t let up until your moans turn high pitched; strained little whimpers of his name falling from your lips as you press down harder and harder.

“Oh fuck,” you cry, hips rocking back and forth, faster now. He breathes you in, jaw shifting from side to side, matching the intensity of your movements with sharp flicks of his tongue. And when you fall apart, shoulders sagging forward, he moans, taking and taking and taking every last drop of what you have to offer.

And what an image it must be – you, wearing a Stetson, riding Joel Miller’s face. You almost wish you’d filmed it, for posterity’s sake.

He presses a small kiss to one swollen lip of your pussy, and then the other, before his head is falling back into the pillows and he’s smiling up at you.

The lower half of his face shines, lips and facial hair slick with your come, and you can’t help but grin back, a tired snort of laughter slipping from your mouth.

“How’d I do?” You grip the brim of the hat, tipping it down at him.

Joel smirks, hands squeezing your thighs, helping to shift you up and onto the side of the bed so he can sit up.

“I’d say you more than proved yourself,” he hums, leaning in to steal a kiss. You sigh, whining against his warm wet mouth, and reach a hand down to press it against his abdomen. Shifting lower, you trail your fingers over where his cock strains against his boxers, but Joel just tuts, pulling away and slipping off the bed.

“Hey,” you huff, gripping his shirt and trying to pull him back down, but he just shakes his head, laughing, and drags you to your feet.

“Gonna be late,” he tells you, squeezing your hips and pressing a kiss to your temple. “And you needa eat.”

Late. You’d almost forgotten that you had a lecture this morning. Joel’s lecture.

He turns, rifling in the chest of drawers, pulling out clothes, a pair of socks, while you stand behind him and watch, knees still shaking, with a fucking cowboy hat on your head. After a moment he turns, stares, and a rough laugh hits the air. Shaking his head, Joel grips the brim and tosses the hat back up on its hook before pointing towards the ensuite, telling you to shower.

“You coming?” you ask, and he just shakes his head, tugging on socks before padding towards the hallway.

“Cowboys don’t shower, baby,” he flashes a smile over his shoulder at you and winks. “They just dust off.”

When you make your way out of the shower, Joel is in the kitchen. Ironed black trousers and a neat white shirt cover his frame, and from across the room you admire him. That strong back, the pert rounded muscles of his ass. Fuck.

He manages to over scramble the eggs and burn the bacon because he can’t stop looking over his shoulder at where you rest at his dining table. Head resting heavy in your palm, you smile back at him. And when he puts a plate of food in front of you, you don’t have a single complaint.

The two of you eat fast, plucking little pieces of eggshell out as you go, smiling and laughing shyly as your feet tangle beneath the table. He watches you; makes sure you clear your plate before he takes it to the sink, murmuring something about how he won’t make you sit through me talkin’ for hours on an empty stomach. Says he’s pretty sure that counts as torture somewhere, baby.

And when he turns, dirty dishes forgotten in the sink, you’re staring at him, heart on your sleeve, and he must see it in your eyes. You know that it has to be clear as day; that forbidden four-letter word blazing across your forehead in bold letters.

Joel clocks your gaze and moves to hover over where you sit, wordlessly cupping your face in two broad palms and slotting his mouth over yours. And as he licks into your mouth, tasting the remnants of eggs and bacon and every unsaid word, you start to believe that maybe confessing wouldn’t be so bad. That maybe forbidden is a word you’ve prescribed to this feeling all on your own – that he might just be feeling the exact same way.

But he pulls back, presses two more quick pecks to your mouth and tells you to get ready, says he’ll drive the two of you to school, and the moment slips from your grasp.

Back in his car, you feel relieved to replace the memory of yesterday with this one. Windows down, the air is cool and calm against your skin as he drives you through town, sated, dopey smiles across both of your faces.

A Bob Dylan song drifts from the speakers and Joel sings along under his breath.

“We’ll meet again someday on the avenue. Tangled up in blue.” Voice low and breathy, left hand on the wheel, right hand on your thigh. You nod along to the lyrics, your fingers tracing the veins and tendons on the back of his hand all the way until he pulls over.

“Shouldn’t be seen walkin’ in together.”

“Yeah,” you agree, understanding. “Best not.”

The truck idles on the side of the road, somewhere inconspicuous down the street from campus, and you slip out his passenger door. Close it with a thud and peer in at him through the open window, eyes devouring every part of his face as if you won’t be seeing him within the hour, stood up in front of the room giving a lecture.

The truck peels away from the curb, Tangled Up In Blue still whining from those speakers, and Joel sends a quick wink out the window at you, his face a blur as he drives off. And you just smile, chest warm despite the cool Spring air on your face, walking along in the same direction – because you know exactly what that wink means. And you love it.

Our little secret.

a/n refs:

in Dante’s Inferno he said that those overcome with lust were doomed to the second circle of hell, wherein they would be buffeted back and forth by the terrible winds of a violent storm, without rest. slay.

the bacchae tr. by anne carson [read if you have mummy issues, a massive ego, or just like the idea of frolicking in the woods for a while...]

the secret history by donna tartt [read if you like unreliable narrators, strange professors and stranger students, and the nursery rhyme 'the farmer in the dell']

the end of the affair by graham greene [read if you like weird intense guys and angst and infidelity]

eros the bittersweet by anne carson [read if you're cool as fuck]

thank you for reading! x

#finally am i right?#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut

1K notes · View notes

cherryspicest · 9 months

Text

I'm here for you

Part 1 Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader

Might not be the happiest Christmas, but surely she’ll make your holiday count.

Only if you could put in the emptiness of your heart inside the white blanket and leave it under throughout the day, you could’ve done it. Yet it was impossible, only to see yourself sitting on the white comfy bed with a pillow atop your legs, blanket tucked in between and your tummy as you rest your arms over the pillow. The pouring snowflakes outside the window was not enough to count Christmas’ for you—unless she replies back with a text.

You didn’t receive any message from Sullyoon again after she greets you Merry Christmas. Though it is a holiday season, a time where she would spend more of her day with her relatives, her active status that shows online throughout the day clears out the good thoughts running up in your mind.

A few hours ago, you called her friend Lily on the phone to ask about Sullyoon, and told you she is with them while you hear clanking bottles in the background. Even with the urge of asking her to give the phone to her, you rather shrugged it off—letting her enjoy the time with her friends even if she has left you like this.

Enjoy your Christmas love! Call me if anything happens—You type into your phone, unmotivated

You feel pity for yourself, and yet still rather play stupid with all these scenarios that she would sometimes leave you. Throughout your life, losing your girlfriend is what you swore not to happen. One risky action driven by emotions is a sure path for the end of such promise.

You immediately throw the pillow and the blanket when you hear three soft knocks on the entrance door. Expecting it to be your girlfriend, but rather it was Wonyoung—your best friend—standing in front of you in a tight red dress, enough to shape out the perfect curvature of her body. She carries a paper handbag in the other hand with a small christmas tag stapled in it.

“Merry Christmas!” She greets with a sweet smile.

Her usual smile - cute voice tone combo she always does never gets tiring. The fact that she only shows that side to you gives you the reason to value it.

You let her in shortly. Her heels make soft thuds in every of her step while she makes her way towards the kitchen table to place her carriage. When she notices you never had anything to prepare, nor even ingredients and food around the kitchen, she flips around to look at you with widened eyes.

“No food? You haven’t prepared anything for yourself?” She asks, and you push your lips. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

The silence from you was enough for her to take as she scoffs in disbelief. “That bitch didn’t even visit you here, Y/n?”

“Hey, you can’t call her that. She’s still my girlfriend though.”

“So what?” She rolls her eyes and groans. “Where is she?”

“I’m just letting her enjoy Christmas with her friends right now. If she’s happy there then, can I even do anything? I just want her to be happy.”

“No Y/n, you’re stupid. You’re here fucked up around your small apartment, looking helpless, and expecting her to show up in your door when she entirely chose to stay with her friends..”

“Wonyoung, she’s my girlfriend.”

“As if I care?” She raises an eyebrow. Her voice tone went deep and natural. “Plus I know things better, she’s your girlfriend, I’m your girl-best-friend. No wonder she doesn’t have the word best compared to me—because she’s .”

“Alright, no need to say it again.” You interrupt her, and she smirks.

The amount of slurs she said to your girlfriend was enough to make any guy pissed, though you’re not one of them as you take her words completely normal. That abrasive attitude would always show up whenever Sullyoon does something that she wouldn’t like. Insults, jokes, slurs everywhere like a typical male gaming lobby.

“Chicken bucket? Fries? Steak? What do you want?” She continues scrolling on her phone, not bothering to look at you. “Caviar? Milk Tea? It’s all in me, don’t care if it's priced like Dior or Versace.”

“It’s your money.

“That’s why I’m asking you? I want my money to be wasted on something that would make you happy at least.”

You sigh. “You’re so cheesy, can you stop it for once.”

“I’m not being cheesy.” She grins. That pissed off look seems to disappear right away. “Just pointing out the reason why I’m asking you that.”

No buts, no what ifs, chicken bucket is what you chose, and Wonyoung came to agree with your decision. Tapping the add to cart, buy, then that’s it, the food will adjust for your lazy asses because you can’t head to the chicken store 2 streets away from your place.

The delivery arrives earlier than expected. There was no reason for Wonyoung to flex the thick amount of folded money inside her wallet before she opened the door—-and yet she still did. That action was unnecessary, but it's typical of her, she’d do such things to prove how lucky you are to be her best friend.

“Are you attending some red carpet event with that dress?”

She chuckles while pulling the bucket out from the paperbag. “You like it?”

“Probably yeah, it’s just funny you have to wear some luxurious shit just to visit me here.” You grab a drumstick from the bucket and take a bite. “I look poor around you.”

“I’d still appreciate it though.” She grabs a drumstick for herself too. “By the way, did she even greet you?”

“She did, atleast.”

“You even know the place is? Whom she is with?”

You sigh and grin. “What’s with the interrogation, Wonyoung? You sound like my mom whenever I arrive home.”

She pushes your shoulder, enough to move you an inch away. “Hey, I’m asking you? I don’t need your stupid side comments.”

“Come on, she’s with her friends, that’s it, I know she’d be safe anyways. The place?”

“Green flag Y/n?”

You cross your arm and smile, proud of being called as one.

“No, you’re stupid. If I could only hit you with my heels right now, I would have right now.”

“Go ahead.”

“Uh? You’re really challenging me to do so? You know I don’t say shit that I wouldn’t do.”

You keep your attention on the TV in the living room . “Go ahead.”

Wonyoung’s words were never meant to only scare you away. You ready yourself when she puts down her drumstick over the table, and reaches for her heel. She raises her shoes at you, and you manage to grab her wrist at time. You feel her pushing you more and more, not minding what and where the direction you’re both into.

“You’re so weak, Wony.” You tease, and she lets out a hiss. Her narrowed eyes show how much she wants to win against you.

“I hate you so much.”

She groans, and seems to boost up her inner strength. You feel her force get heavier. In a moment, you start to move backwards, her expression is enough for you to see her desire to contest against you. It all stops when your back meets the refrigerator.

Your world seems to pause, everything feels slow. While your grasps are at both Wonyoung’s raised wrists, you didn’t realize how close you were both. Both of your eyes gazing into each other like two interlinked bridges that never get separated. Your breaths are the only ones you can hear between, yet it never stopped you from admiring your best friend’s visual.

You let go of her wrists, it was a weird feeling to remain that composure. The sense of awkwardness struck out of nowhere yet it is a better thing to shrug it off.

When you make your way back to the table, she follows shortly in a slow pace like a little girl who broke a glass. She grabs her paper bag closer to her, revealing a wine bottle in her hand just as she pulls it out. It was the typical holiday type wine that rich people give their close ones, obviously the same level of status as them where you can’t relate.

“Someone wasted an amount of stash again.” You joke.

“It’s just wine.” She rolls her eyes. “Stop acting like you never went to the same school as me. You think you forgot how your mom even paid for my private taxi when it was too late at night already.”

“It’s my mom, not me.” You notice her wandering around the kitchen as if she’s finding something. “And, the wine glasses are in the 4th cabinet up there.”

Clumsy Wonyoung as usual, always the struggle of finding something. She’d be losing her pens every single time back in freshman years where she’ll make up an excuse of her pen teleporting in an unknown dimension.

She hands you the glass, then pours the wine carefully in it. She does one for herself then motions to clank with you in which you accepted.

“A great holiday ahead.” She smiles, then sips into her wine glass.

She’s too luxurious for you. The way you’d drink the wine glass like a milk in a cup, hoping it doesn’t look embarrassing, while she drinks it too formally as if you’re a CEO of some known brand.

Lowkey, you’re expecting some message from your girlfriend on your phone—-yet there was none. A single vibration from your pocket is enough to keep you alive—and there was none even. At least, Wonyoung is here to keep you stable and promising, a true friend who’d never leave you.

“Fuck, the hell even happened to her,” you mutter, pertaining to your girlfriend.

“Sorry?” Wonyoung pauses.

She notices the phone in your hand which gave the reason for her smile to disappear slowly. She knows it, always your stupidity, but rather not show it to you and decided to continue sipping in her wine glass.

“Ok, let’s do this,” says Wonyoung as she unexpectedly snatches your phone, then hides it behind her. “No phones tonight, we enjoy this day together like how we used to do when we were still at the same school.”

“Come on, give it back.” You walk closer, effortfully trying to grab your phone back.

“What if I don’t?”

She places the phone on her other hand, giving you a hard time reaching it unless you wrap your hand around hers.

“Friendship over then.”

“Is that so?” She stretches her arm down.

That phone is what all you wanted, and the urge of snatching it back from her is heating you up. No matter how awkward things may be, you come closer and grab her wrist behind, ignoring the close proximity between you and her as if you are cuddling like couples. Her grip on your phone was surprisingly strong that it might take you a little why before you can forcefully free it.

She looks at you in mischief, then a smirk forms into the corner of her lips.

“Let’s break our friendship then,” she says softly, and you feel the warmth of her breath on your neck, “chingu geu isang-eul wonhanikkayo”.

“So what did you just say to me?”

“Want me to translate it for you?”

A quick second glance on your lips, then she leans forward to press her lips into yours. There was no time to react, nor escape in this scenario. You feel your heart skip a beat when you feel her lips on yours, slowly accepting the fact she’s kissing you right now.

The kiss was getting deeper. She slowly wraps her arms around your neck while she pulls you even closer. You feel her tongue asking for entrance, and there was no reason for not to welcome it. She lets out a soft moan when you wrap your hands around her hips. Now it’s a make out session—with your alluring, old best friend that you’ve known more than any you’ve met.

You wanted it so badly. These hormones heat you up as if you wanted to get undressed and finish right away. Yet there was a hold back, a sense of stop like there were chains around your wrists, no matter how much you wanted to continue, it does not let you.

Placing your fingers on her chin was enough for her to stop and pull away.

“Wonyoung, I can’t. I’m sorry, this is ridiculous.” You shake your head while you avoid her eyes, pulling away as you distance yourself. “I can’t cheat on my girlfriend, you know this is wrong right?”

“I know it’s wrong,” she contests. “But that’s the only way for you to understand my feelings.

“Wony–”

“Yes, you’re right. I fucking love you, and I don’t understand why do you have to be numb throughout the years we’ve been together.” She keeps her eyes locked at you. “Because every time I confess, you always think I’m fooling with you, or either way I’m drunk, crazy, or stressed. And here my stupid ass is going to pretend it is because I don’t want to embarrass myself!”

The atmosphere between you two seemed to set upside down when you once heard that deep natural voice from her—it was a cue for her seriousness. Your feelings are mixed like scattered tin cans, nothing specific, hard to distinguish. You just wanted to leave and smell the fresh air outside to calm yourself down, yet you didn’t want to leave Wonyoung like this either.

“I don’t understand.” There’s nothing you could do but leave your mouth open. “That must be the wine.”

She forces a smile, scoffing as she begins to nod lightly while her eyes appear teary. “Yeah, must be the wine, this fucking wine. It’s always me or any shit you would see just to make me look crazy.”

“Come on, do we have to come at this point? Wonyoung you know it’s hard for me to understand this, I have a girlfriend, and . . . “

She picks up her small sling bag from the bar chair, and looks at you, fixing her hair. “I know, you have Sullyoon. It’s my fault as well, I shouldn’t have been this fragile likewise.” She sniffs and moves a few strands in her hair. “I think it’s better for me to go, Merry Christmas.”

“Wonyoung.”

Calling her name was not enough to make her stop from walking out of your apartment. The silence was loud, and you flowed with it.

You find yourself standing emptily like a mannequin as you watch the door close itself. Everything that happened flows quickly, one an action that can’t be undone, and it’s all gone. That kiss is enough to change how you see your best friend anymore.

#wonyoung #ive #ive wonyoung #izone wonyoung #jang wonyoung #girl groups #izone #long post

620 notes · View notes

royalarchivist · 7 months

Text

Ironmouse: Part of the reason why I love this server so much is because everybody's so nice. Everyone! Like, every single person is super nice! And it's like- it's like, genuine nice, it's not like fake niceness. [...] I've literally talked to almost everybody at least once like outside of the QSMP. We've talked on Discord, people regularly check in on me, we get in group chats and we play games like outside of the server... You don't really find that sort of connection all the time with people.

Ironmouse recently talked about her experience on QSMP, and how kind all the members are. I'm posting the entire conversation instead of cutting it up like I usually would because I really enjoyed hearing her thoughts on the server.

[ Subtitle Transcript ]

Ironmouse: Honestly, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I did. He's so nice, he's so- he's always been super nice to me. He's been so nice, I– part of the reason why I- I love this server so much is because everybody's so nice. Everyone! Like, every single person is super nice! And it's like- it's like, genuine nice, it's not like fake niceness. You know how sometimes like– you always hear like, "Oh yeah, you know–" when–

Ironmouse: Whenever you like, join like a new thing, right? Whenever you like join like a new thing, you always worry, 'cuz you always think: "Oh, are the people gonna like me? Are they gonna be nice to me? What if- What if- you know, what if this, what if that?" But everybody like genuinely was nice when I first came by, and everybody has been so nice to me– not just in the game, but outside of the game, and–

Ironmouse: Something special about the QSMP is like... People wanna be your friend like outside of the game? Like, I've literally talked to ev– almost– almost everybody at least once like outside of the QSMP, like... We've talked on Discord, people like regularly check in on me, and like we get in group chats and like we- we play games like outside of the server, and it's just like... You don't really find that sort of connection all the time with people? You know what I mean? It's very– it's very not common when you go on like, a content creator-like server or stuff like that, you know? You'll get like one or two people that you get close to and stuff, but like... Everybody is SO nice, and everybody's been so nice to me, and I can't tell you how many people like, wished me– not just like wished me happy birthday, or like wished- said, "Oh, you know, hap- Merry Christmas!" dadadada, it's like genuinely like... Asked how I'm doing, and like talk to me, and like... Just like– I dunno, it's just like so- so- it's so wonderful. Ironmouse: Like, I get that with VShojo a lot, like– we're all like besties, and we all like talk all the time, but I feel like it's different, 'cuz like VShojo– we're VShojo, we're like– we're our own group, but this is like... You know... You don't expect this sorta thing when you get invited to like be on some- be a part of something, you know? And it's- and it's been so– it's been so wonderful and everybody's been so GENUINELY nice to me, and I- I appreciate everybody on the server so much, and they're just some of the nicest people that I've ever met ever, and it's just–

Ironmouse: It just warms my heart, and I'm just really– really like, thankful to be a part of something so great, and something so positive! Because like, everybody's so supportive! Like– the time when like, I didn't like– I- I- I had a moment where it's like I– do you guys remember in December when I- I was not around a lot? And like, I had to take breaks and all this stuff and it turns out it was like the concert stuff? They all like would message me regularly, like, we would all keep up with each other, and we would all talk. And I remember telling them about like, how much stress I was under, and like all the- all the pressures of the concert and stuff, and– and they were cheering, and- and- and they were just so... so kind to me, it was just so– so sweet, and- and you know, I was in a group chat with a- with a few people, and they were all just so excited and- and- just super nice, and- and very- very sweet, and it's just– and it's just very– I'm sorry if I'm rambling! It's just...

Ironmouse: I dunno! I- I- I just enjoy being here, and I enjoy hanging out with everybody, and... it's just nice to meet really good people. You don't really find that. You don't find that sort of thing all the time. Don't get me wrong– it's not like I haven't met a lot of good people, like– I just feel like this whole like, my whole like– Ever, like– My streaming journey, I've just been nothing but surprised at the goodness of people? Don't get me wrong– I've met assholes and sht like that, and I've met- I've encountered some people that are NOT so nice. I'll never like, talk about it or whatever because that's their thing, and I'm just gonna do my thing and I don't wanna like, you know, spread any type of stupid drama or whatever the fck, but like... I'm just always surprised about how– how incredibly nice people are, and how genuine a lot of people are, and it's... It- it's just nice, especially since like– You're used to coming from like, a certain background and a certain like, environment where it's like, you've met a lot of like fcked up mean people in your life, and you've just been around a lot of like fckery, you know? So when- when you're around stuff that's NOT fcked, it's just like, "Woah, this is crazy! Is this- is this how life is supposed to be?!" And it's just- it's just really... it's really- it's really nice. It's very nice.

Ironmouse: Yeah, it's very refreshing, that's why I- I enjoy hanging out on here, everybody's just so nice to me. And it's not just like being nice just to be on-stream, it's nice off-stream, on-stream, friendship on-stream, off-stream, it's- it's just- it's just so- it's- it's- it's wonderful. It's wonderful. And I just have to say like... man, I'm just really thankful that like... it's crazy that like I got invited to be on here and I'm just really thankful that, you know... Quackity like, reached out to me and he's- he's just been nothing but nice, everybody- everybody's just so kind. Everybody's so nice. This is something truly special.

#QSMP #Ironmouse #February 11 2024 #Subtitles #*clenches fist* You don't want to know how long it took me to transcribe and subtitle this thing #anyways I saw people sharing a Twitter thread where Mouse talked about this #and I was like ''hey that thread cut some bits out''#so. here I am. posting the entire thing. and subtitling + transcribing it for some reason #anyways I'm shocked Tumblr let me upload this #I did lower the video quality a little bit (reluctantly) because the length + quality made the file size a smidge too big for Tumblr #but it's still pretty good quality imo. yeah?#I'm 100% applying to be a video editor the next time Quackity Studios is looking to hire folks again.#give me money so I can justify the time and effort I put into these things #Edit: Yeah I might make a shorter version of this too #just so I can direct people to this longer version as well #EDIT: LMAO I FORGOT TO POST THIS #Edited

526 notes · View notes

thesirencult · 9 months

Text

PAC READING: CHRISTMAS WISHES FROM YOUR FS

PILE 1

Your FS is going through a "10 Of Swords" moment. They have been blinded from the truth. Her light is stronger than any illusion's. You are part of this truth. You and this person share a very special soul bond. Your lives' are parallel to eachother, a thin thread connecting the dots until the moment you meet.

"Keep your map close to your chest darling.

Not many people will understand the journey you are embarking on. I do. I want you to know that I wish that all wishes come true the next year. I'm kinda hopping one of them involves me ; )

I wish you get to heal. I wish the sun is warming up your skin and your eyes are shining with hope. I wish I was there to hold your hand. We could embrace eachother under the sun.

You are my sun.

My Sun. Take the chance and that leap of faith. It will bring you closer to happiness and to me. There are times the most illogical choice and the most risky one leads us to success. The paradox of risk.

I wish you keep the flame in your heart alight and your optimism helps you rise above every single. I wish you find love and guidance within your soul.

Goodbye, for now, my Sun and Merry Christmas <3"

PILE 2

Your person is not happy. They are far away from you but energetically they can feel that you are struggling. Your person is very spiritual and they want you to hold on for a tiny bit longer. They might be older than you. When you meet they will take on the role of a mentor. They see you, the real you and they want to help this diamond form under pressure.

Your FS is very calm, cool and collected. They know what they want. Your message is more heav,y but I know, deep in my heart, that you are telepathetically connected and they constantly send you messages, especially through songs and quotes you stumble upon.

"I wish you could see yourself from my POV. The amazing, beautiful, strong soul that you are. I wish you could look at life through a different prism. I want you to take the reigns and show everyone who you are. I wish you find the strength to own your beauty.

Your energy is mesmerizing. Like a cold night under the full moon and a wolf howling in the background. Hecate.

Choose sovereignty. Choose yourself baby. You're not unlucky. Your time just hasn't come yet.

I want you to push one last time baby. Do it for me. I'm sorry I'm not there to wish you "Happy Christmas".

I wish you manifest your dreams,I wish you dare to invest in your future, in our future without thinking you don't deserve it.

You have more options than you think. Don't make any bad choice you will regret later.

I love you baby. I want you to be healthy and strong."

PILE 3

Your FS is very "hungry" for you. They want you to let them take control. They are more possessive and obsessive than you would expect. They show their emotions through touch and on the bed.

They are daring and won't mind to show that you are theirs to everyone. Your FS knows taht you have big goals and they want you to know that in the future you will achieve all your dreams.

They are pretty succesfull themselves and they want you to get that bag and level up. They love material things and they invest in their future. You would meet in an environment supporting your level up (gym, career day, course, seminar etc.).

"My lovey dovey Sweetheart,

I wish you indulge this season. I wish you let your hair down for a while. When you are mine I will help you calm down. I will take the burdens off of your shoulders and tie your hands. Merry Christmas my lovely baby. I wish this time next year we are together, driving around in our luxury vehicles.

Let me dominate you. Let me take control. I will wrap satin sheets around you and carry you to the bathroom. A bathtub full of rose petals. Champagne for you my love. Sit on my face.

I wish you achieve all your goals. I wish you get your dream car, you bossy little lady. I will hold your hand through everything. I'll be by your side on long nights and I will proudly parade you around and show you off to everyone. I want them to know that the most accomplished person is mine.

You are mine. Mine. Mine.

Always yours, your FS."

#astrology #tarot reading #level up journey #pac reading #tarot #pick a photo #pick a card #pick a pile #pick a picture #soulmate #intuitive readings #psychic #channeled message #future spouse #twinflame

695 notes · View notes

httpiastri · 9 months

Note

literally any driver: burying head in crook of neck, night kisses and shutting the other up with kisses

lacii my love <3<3 did this with lando, hope that's fine! merry christmas again, and i hope you enjoy this!! 😁

"lando, did i tell you about that time when i first met my friend clara?" the words are flowing out of your mouth like you're spitting bars. your boyfriend doesn't even get a chance to answer your question before you've started talking again. "oh my god, it's a great story. you'll love it. so, i was in a french class when my other friend, sarah-"

lando is smiling subconsciously as you ramble on about your adventures, just as you have ever since he picked you up from the club. his fingers help you slip out of your heels – not that you even seem to understand what's going on, way too focused on speaking – before one of his hands lands on your waist. he takes a deep breath to keep his composure and hold back the laughter threatening to burst from his chest at your continuous gibberish, before he guides you to his bedroom with soft touches. he chuckles quietly at the way you almost take the wrong turn and end up in his kitchen, too engaged in your storytelling to remember the layout of his apartment. he isn't surprised, though, because;

alcohol always makes you blabber.

in most situations, you're not the most talkative, preferring to choose your moments to speak with great care. but when you start to get tipsy, it is like you are the world's greatest extrovert. even after getting just a little alcohol in your system, you talk to anyone with ears, somehow assuming that they're really interested in whatever you're ranting about.

thankfully, if you have your friends around, they usually drag you away by your arm, apologizing to the poor stranger to whom you've over-explained the storyline of your favorite movie.

lando learned about this side effect of your drinking early on in your relationship. on your third date, after sharing a few drinks at a local bar, you wouldn't shut up for half an hour, not giving him a second to interject with anything. he'd been surprised, but mostly confused, until he got your text message the following morning: oh my god, i did it... didn't i?

he'd tried to pretend he didn't know what you meant, wanting to put it all behind you, but you'd persisted. i didn't shut up. i never do when i drink. i'm sorry :(

lando was always one to be quick to forgive and forget, not wanting you to feel too bad. everyone does some questionable things when drunk, and he'd seen tons of people act worse than you did. but after that date, there would be uncountably many more occasions of you not being able to hold back when booze was in the picture. award shows, drinking games at home with friends, podium celebrations. once, he even found you outside a club after a race, sitting on the curb with one of your hands petting a stray dog as your other helped you explain the meaning of life. safe to say, he is used to your habits by now.

so tonight, when he picked you up from your night out with a few of your friends, he wasn't surprised that your mouth didn't shut once during the trip back to his apartment. you were excitedly telling him about the people you'd met and the drinks you'd had, so eager to explain every detail to your boyfriend when you were getting into the car that you forgot about everything around you and he had to lean across the console to put on your seatbelt for you.

most of the time, he finds your habit endearing. but sometimes, like right now, it gets just a little tiresome.

"and then, when jamie came around, she was like, what are you doing?, and i was like, i'm just having some fun!"

you're both sitting on the edge of his bed by now, after lando's helped you change into something more comfortable for the night, your mouth still running like you're one of the gilmore girls. you don't even flinch when his hands reach for your cheeks and he stares intently in your eyes – but he can't do anything other than smile.

lando loves your voice. he loves it when you're whispering something in his ear when you're out with friends, when you're ranting to him about some stupid coworker, and maybe especially when you're moaning and whining his name.

but now, he reckons you've talked enough for today. your vocal cords must be sore, and his ears are about to fall off, so it's time to call it a night – and he only sees one way to shut you up.

mid-sentence, lando leans in, pressing his lips to yours. he swallows the yelp you let out in surprise, one of his hands gliding to the back of your neck to keep you close. it doesn't take long for you to relax into the kiss, your lips moving with his while your hands reach for the neckline of his hoodie.

it's so easy to get lost in kissing lando. when he parts the kiss, you find yourself wanting to seal your lips again, already missing the feeling. your mind is now completely blank; all you can think of is the kiss. the man beside you laughs at your hazy expression, utterly amused by how you're suddenly quiet for more than five seconds (something he's sure hasn't happened yet tonight).

when you slowly open your eyes, the very content look on lando's face makes something click in your mind. he sudden kiss, his big grin...

"was i rambling again?"

the silence that follows gives you your answer, and you throw your head back as you let out a little groan. "hey, don't worry about it."

"i really didn't mean to. you know how it is, it just happens, and i don't really feel it as it happens, you know? it's just, the alcohol, it's not my intention. i actually told sarah today that-"

and for the second time, lando pulls you into him, quieting you down with his own lips. this time, as you (for the most part) understand what he's doing, you can't help but giggle into the kiss. your boyfriend matches your smile, taking your bottom lip between his teeth as a joking warning. he lets it flop back against your teeth as he pulls away to look at you again, but you've already lunged forward, head resting against his shoulder.

"i'm sorry," you start, nuzzling your nose into the crook of his neck. "i really am."

his arms snake around your waist before he leans back against the bed, pulling you down with him and into his side. "don't be," he answers, one of his hands reaching up to the back of your head, stroking your hair. "it's cute. you're cute." you continue hiding in his skin and he makes himself more comfortable in bed, pulling the blanket over you both. "we'll talk more tomorrow, okay?"

he feels you shake your head. "i'm done talking. i've talked enough. you know those tiktok videos where you only have a certain amount of words you're allowed to say every year? that's me. i've run out of words, i used them all today."

"oh yeah, i can tell," lando chuckles, pressing his lips to the top of your head. "close your eyes, baby. tell me about those tiktok videos tomorrow."

"didn't you hear me? i said no more words. i won't talk tomorrow because-"

lando sighs. it's going to be a long night.

796 notes · View notes

unbearableblog · 9 months

Text

My Christmas gift for you.

Messages (Carmen Berzatto x reader)

Summary Carmy’s actions towards the reader might eventually lead to consequences.

Word count ~2,8k

Warnings 18+, No use of Y/N (there is rarely a name but it’s just for aesthetics, you are welcome to insert your own name), action set in S2 so possible spoilers, cursing, angst, relationship problems, possible mentions of smut

A/N God this took a lot from me! Legit flew to Copenhagen haha. I am very grateful to each and every one of you who read, liked, commented or reposted and supported this! I would never think that this would happen. I hope you’re not going to crucify me over the plot. Thank you so much for waiting!

Merry Christmas everyone!

Chapter 1 (the one with departure, Denmark, and desserts)

Things were a little different at the Beef lately.

“Richie, shut the fuck up!”

“You first, child!”

Well, maybe not so different. But they certainly were different with you. Amongst the neverending screaming, cursing, and fighting, you somehow survived getting shot at, losing the power, dealing with the IRS, and everything else that constantly went wrong with this cursed place. The amount of experience you had in this short amount of time has topped anything you've done before. You couldn't catch your breath. But that's what you do for the ones you love, right?

It's been some time since you started helping Carmen with the Beef - serving the customers on a particularly busy day, calming down Carmen, sometimes giving Richie a pep talk when he needed to keep his shit together. But mostly you just chatted with Sydney and sat in the kitchen, doing your college assignments while watching Carmen work. You could never get tired of it - he looked so professional and smart. It was his element. Well, when everything was going well.

The entire time, you were there, talking to Carmen as he prepped for the day, giving him a smile and getting one back, just watching him go on about his day and move so swiftly like a well-oiled machine. Seeing him in an apron drove you wild. You'd have to stop yourself from going up to him and touching his god-given curls or rubbing his back through his white T-shirt (but more often you failed to do so). Most of the days you patiently waited to go home and show him everything that was on your mind all day.

One time he caught you staring, mind far away from the Beef. His voice brought you back.

“Are you thinking about my fingers again?” He said while putting his arms at his hips, almost offended.

You bit your lip and looked at him with a guilty smile.

His hand went up to brush through his curls.

“You’re not gonna get any work done if you keep thinking about that. And with the way you look at me, can say the same thing about myself.”

You whine and playfully pout, not wanting to keep studying.

“Come on, princess,” he comes closer to you and whispers in your ear so that his whole voice goes through your body and his lips brush your ear “And when we get home you can tell me all about it while you sit on my ‘pretty’ cock”

Sometimes he would explain what he was doing or why things weren't going the way they were supposed to, sometimes you would share something you found fascinating in your assignment. He would always listen, even if he didn't fully understand, but you knew he was trying to. It made you feel so special - you got the whole attention of this hot 3 Michelin star chef, covered in tattoos and buff, but he looked at you with such care and softness. His muscular arms touched and wrapped around you with strong tenderness and appreciation. Sometimes you saw the same attention to the details in the food he was making - he really cared.

Everything changed after the Beef closed down.

Carmen was a little taken aback when you told him you were going to Copenhagen with Marcus. You were at the restaurant, like any other day, figuring out a thousand things that were wrong before the opening, when you heard Denmark being mentioned amongst the guys.

“Someone's going to Denmark?” you asked, turning around on your chair.

“Marcus is,” Carmen brushed off, and continued having his conversation with him.

“Wait, to Copenhagen? Why?” you felt ignored.

“Uhh, to learn everything about desserts,” Marcus answered. Carmen didn't even look in your direction.

“When? Why didn't you tell me?” you sounded excited because you were, but your heart felt like it was placed into an iron cage. Carmen knew how much that city meant to you, and to not even mention that your friend was going there felt neglectful. But maybe you were overreacting - he was probably busy, he doesn't have to tell you everything, and it surely wasn't for long anyway.

Berzatto shrugged his shoulders. “Why? It's just for some time.”

“I was actually thinking about going there too. I haven't seen my sister in a while. Maybe we could fly together? I know everything there,” you were ready to help Marcus as a bonus. You really appreciated him as a friend, and returning the favor for all those delicious pastries he made at your request would be terrific. You could also use a fucking break from Chiberia.

“For real? That would be awesome!” Marcus exclaimed with his arms, his smile releasing your heart from its prison.

“Uhh… yeah-yeah, sure, I guess,” Carmen squinted his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “I- uhhh, have to go out for a minute. Umm,” he swallowed “-meet that rep for me, yeah?”

An entire work shift of flying has gone by the time you started seeing the bronze-roofed houses sprinkled like decorations on a Red Velvet cake. You made Marcus promise you not to judge the country by its airport, as it usually was surprisingly dirty. Nevertheless, there were hints of what life there was like - a burst of energy, culture, and flavour. You walked what seemed like forever through the endless white halls with blue sections, wondering how many times Carmen had been here and whether you ever crossed paths. You kind of wished he was there. Your excitement rubbed off on your friend - Marcus was beaming with happiness, anticipating your time there. He knew it was going to be life-changing.

The moment you went outside felt like you could breathe again. The weight of The Beef, Carmen, stress, problems problems problems dropped off, was left behind, and never got on the plane. Your chest wasn't encircled by snakes that only pushed until you suffocated. Your mind was clear.

You helped Marcus settle in his awesome boat, and after reading the owner's note to "keep the water in Coco's bowl", searched for the cat for like 20 minutes. Unfortunately, your efforts were fruitless.

Marcus only let you go back alone because you assured him of your safety (you gave him a speech about how it wasn't like Chicago) and experience. Still, he made you text him when you got to your sister's. The two of you were always trying to make your relationship work, but the distance didn't make it easy. That did not mean that you were going to give up - you were used to making a lot of effort for the people you love. She was ecstatic and grateful to see her little sister. The rest of the evening was spent eating, sharing your lives, and talking about your mysterious boyfriend.

“I don’t know, he’s just so… distant. He always leaves somewhere, does god knows what when he knows we don’t have much time! Sometimes it feels like I care about the restaurant more than him. Which is so weird because he was so into it before! He planned the whole thing! And I am so fucking stressed from it all! I never even wanted to work in a restaurant but I was there for him!” you expressed your pain very loudly.

“Have you thought of… breaking up with him?”

You exhale and almost completely give up mentally.

“I don’t know… it feels like we don’t have much of a relationship at all anymore. We don’t go out, all the time is spent on the opening. I swear sometimes I’m there just for our friends and his sister, I can’t just leave them without help while he’s wandering somewhere”.

You couldn’t sleep because being in bed without Carmy by your side felt plain wrong. You were also jetlagged which meant that the peaceful world of Morpheus was avoiding you like a plague. The same thing happened to Marcus, so you both were just texting about what you were doing.

“idk, i gave up and went to get some tea” you typed, a warm mug in your hand as you cozied up on the couch with a blanket.

“yeah, same shit here. bout time to get ready anyway”

Your whole house was asleep, and probably would be so for a while. It was too dark to go out for your liking. Boredom kind of crept in.

“what is it exactly u're gonna do there?”

“uhhh i wish i knew. make some things from the pics i showed u i guess”

“can i watch?” Was it too much of a request? Who even knows if you'll be allowed there?

“yeah i think so. i'd love to not have to do this alone”

You smile, finish your tea, and get up to find some clothes.

You finally reached the place and were met by a tall man in an apron. He introduced himself as Luca, and you heard a very sultry voice softened by an accent. You wondered where he was from.

“I'm Chef Marcus. That's Liv. Is it cool if she just hangs around and watches me?”

“Hi,” you smile at him.

“Hello. You could also join in. What kind of a chef are you?”

“Oh I'm not, I'm -”

“Well, with the amount of time Liv spends in our kitchen listening to every word of the CDC, I'd say she might as well be a chef by now,” Marcus only half-jokes. You give him a look anyway.

Luca prepared everything and soon he and Marcus were working. You were sitting on the other side of the table, able to see everything. Only now you were starting to notice how strong he was, you have to be, you thought, if you stay on your feet all day. His arms were also covered in tattoos that didn't seem to make sense, like Carmy's.

“So who are you?” Luca's question doesn't sound rude, just curious.

“I'm his boss' girlfriend,” you nod as you speak.

“Wow,” he seems to be thinking something, but maybe it's just him being focused on putting the peanuts on dessert, “What are you doing here?”

“Uhh, visiting my sister? It was time and I thought Marcus here could use someone to show him around. As for here, I was really jetlagged and bored.”

Luca was amazing. The way he coached Marcus even when he made mistakes was consistently calm, stern, and leading. Not once did any of you feel berated or hear his voice go louder, all you knew was to just try again. His entire presence excreted stability and equilibrium.

After an extensive lesson, it was Marcus' turn to try. All of you leaned closer to the dessert in hopes of seeing more. You held your breath as you watched Marcus carefully place a tiny piece in the clockwise direction of the dessert when in the blurred background of your vision you felt something change. Instinctively, you looked up from the dish, and your eyes met the gaze of your friend's teacher. There he was, almost lying on the table, looking at you. As if he wasn't busy right now. As if the dessert didn't matter. Hypnotized. “Got it!” Marcus smiled and stood straight up. “Great job, chef,” Luca switched back to Marcus.

Suddenly a firework of spice embraced you in its scent, making your head go round from the all-encompassing desire to taste it.

“Oh my god, are those cinnamon buns?” you had to put your hands on the counter to keep yourself up. “Yeah,” Luca stood straight. “You like them?” “They smell amazing!” you could swear you saw a quick prideful smile brush Luca's lips.

“They are her favourite. And she's very specific about'em too,” Marcus threw you under the bus.

Luca seems interested. “In what way?”

“I'm not, okay? I just believe that cinnamon buns should have a lot of sugar and cinnamon, or else they're just buns. There was this place near the park, and the pastry they sold was like 90% dough. I didn't like that at all” you defend yourself, and Marcus scoffs, having heard you rant about it many times at The Beef.

“Abomination,” Luca shakes his head.

“Exactly! I love it when there is so much sugar that it's oozing out, that's how it'd supposed to be.”

Your lighthearted banter somehow led to Luca opening up and talking about his life and experience. He also shared a couple of stories about determination, his acceptance of not being the best, and some of his failures. Soon all of you were joking around and laughing at your pasts. You felt your heart warm up to him and thought that leaving the house was a good idea.

Marcus stepped outside to check on his mom. He called her sitter as often as he could, and every time you hoped that everything would be alright. Luca was silently doing his work, kneading some dough. It was a demanding process, but so meditative, and you couldn't help but float away watching his big hands grab and squeeze the smooth dough, throwing it back onto the table occasionally, his long fingers dug into it, leaving an impression. “So where is he now?” you ask. “Who?” “The chef who was better than you. Where is he now?” you wondered if Carmen knew him or told you about him. “Well, you tell me. Apparently, opening up a new restaurant,” the chef said, as he threw a careless nod in your direction. Huh? Your heart drops. What? You let out a nervous scoff. “You're saying it was… Carmen??” Your question was met with a simple nod as he kept working. “Carmen Berzatto, the chef that was better than you at everything?” you almost spell out. Luca just takes his eyes off the dough and watches your reaction. He is also confused. “God, he really is the best?” the question sounds more like an exhale. “People keep saying it, but I guess I didn't realize” you sit down, defeated, and stare off. Your mind keeps pacing - what happened to Carmen? How did he go from being the best to being a yelling mess of chaos? Why is someone who looked up to him so calm and collected but still successful? Why can't he be like that? “You sound surprised. What, he doesn't feel like it?” He asks while kneading the dough, this time slower and a little softer. You look at him, then shake your head away and look down. You want to tell him everything about the way Carmen treats you, and how different that is from what your beginning used to be, how he doesn't appreciate you even though you spent so much time in and on The Beef, and how unfair that is, and have his deep voice tell you the answer, but you can't. That would be weird. Luca notices your hesitation. “You know, when we worked together, he would often be… difficult,” there is a pause after he says it because he is reading your face, trying to understand if he's walking on thin ice. He isn't, so he continues. “Partly why I didn't become better than him was because he wouldn't let me.” “Yeah, he shared something like that.” His brows went a little higher, and his grip on the dough hardened and stayed there. “My point is, being with a person like that can't be easy. Man, we only worked together and I already wanted to smother him, can't imagine being in a bloody relationship,” his smile makes you laugh and for a second you forget every bad thing in the world.

Later that day you wanted to call Carmen. “Carm, you free?” You wished to tell him everything - how much you loved the city, how nice his friend was, the fun you were having, and how good this was for you. Kinda wanted to beat his ass for being so mean to Luca too. “not rn, Liv, busy”

Of course.

“Olivia! Come here!” your sister screamed to get your attention. You noticed she was standing at the door, talking to somebody, so you got up and approached her. “What's up?” you asked. She closed the door and turned to you, holding something in her hands. “It's a gift from your boyfriend,” she said in a teasing tone, and you could swear that the last time you saw her that giddy was in high school. “What? How do you know?” A drop of hope celebrated its birth in your chest. “The delivery guy said it's from a chef,” the last word she playfully stretched out, so it came out a little funny, like Tina says it. You couldn't believe it. There it was, a white box carefully tied with a red ribbon. Finally Carmen realised how distracted he was and decided to apologize. Obviously, you were gone, so he missed you. Your heart filled with warmth and you smiled to yourself - you knew things would get better. You take the hefty precious gift from your sister's hands, sit on the couch, and open it with anticipation. Inside, 9 breathtaking gourmet cinnamon rolls with caramelized sugar barely fitting, leaking out of the mouthwatering, well-kneaded dough. And a note.

"You deserve all the best in the world - Luca"

I hope you enjoyed it! Part 2 might come quicker if you comment how you liked it

Snippet from the next chapters

🏷️ Tagged everyone in the comments! If you want to be excluded, just let me know♥️ @carma-fanficaddict @eternallyvenus @sia2raw @helloheyhihowdyheya @soursopsista @m1dnightsnackz @custarrds

Dividers by @saradika

633 notes · View notes

daechwitatamic · 2 years

Text

All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t || MYG

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t

WC: 11k

Genre: exes to lovers, the babiest angst straight to fluffy smut (they’ve got shit to work out, but they get there!!)

Summary: You haven’t seen or heard from Yoongi since he broke your heart five years ago, laying out a logical list of reasons why you were better off breaking up. When a Christmas Eve blizzard traps you together for the night, you have no choice but to examine how few of those reasons are still true. And if they’re not… where does that leave you?

Rating: NSFW - minors DNI

Warnings: manbun!yoongi YES THAT IS A WARNING, drinking, language, kissing, breast play/nip stim, fingering, unprotected sex with bc (be safer than this!!!), multiple orgasms (f), penetrative sex, soft idiots in love

A/N: Merry Christmas, Kelly!!!! @here4btsfics I was soooooo excited to pull your name for @bangtansecretsanta because it gave me such a good opportunity to get to know you better and start talking to you! I really, really hope you love this little Christmas fic!

I know you said no angst so just a lil disclaimer, a synopsis I messaged my beta was "it hurts for a hot minute but then they kiss about it and everyone is fine" so I think you'll be okay!!!

Huge thank you to @kookstempo @moonleeai and @cherrysoulth for beta-ing and to @itaeewon for the gorgeous banner!

“Anything new with you? How’s work?”

You plaster on what you hope is a friendly smile and not a sarcastic one. Seokjin’s girlfriend is super nice, you remember her from a party over the summer, but you do not want to talk about work right now. You want to drown yourself in another cinnamon toast crunch cocktail and double-fist those iced, reindeer-shaped brown-sugar cookies.

You admit to being a little bit on edge.

You’ve attended Taehyung’s annual Christmas party every year since you left for college. It’s tradition, and it’s one of the only times each year that the whole group is back together again after you all went your separate ways in the world.

Except, for the last five years, Yoongi hadn’t attended. You never thought too much about why - too busy, other plans, just the fact that he’s an absolute Grinch… or maybe it’s your presence that keeps him away. You didn’t waste too much time thinking about it. You’re just always happy he isn’t there.

Until this year.

No one even had the decency to shoot you a warning text. Hey, heads up, your ex is here, very unexpectedly.

You knock back the rest of your drink and head to make yourself a new one.

You normally attach yourself to Jimin at these, but he’s betrayed you this year by bringing an absolutely gorgeous date. They’re currently hogging the doorway with mistletoe above it. You make a mental note to remind him tomorrow that the PDA thing stops being cute after a while.

“Work’s good,” you say, finally answering the question. “Nothing new. How about you and Jin? All good?”

“Nothing new to report!” she grins. Then, the smile slips off her face a little as she glances at her phone. She notices you watching and grimaces. “Sorry,” she says, “I’m not trying to be rude, I’m just keeping an eye on the radar. The storm tonight is supposed to get nasty.”

“Hey! What’s the rule tonight?” a voice bellows from the living room. It’s Taehyung, perched against the back of one of his couches, and he points an accusatory finger at the girl you’re talking to.

She must know something you don’t, because while you’re baffled, she looks chagrined. “Don’t talk about the blizzard,” she recites by rote.

“Don’t talk about the blizzard,” he repeats. “Have another drink. It’s Christmas Eve, we welcome the snow.”

“You’re the only person I know who’s optimistic enough to try to throw a party on a night they’re calling for the storm of the century,” Seokjin tells him, making his way into the kitchen - probably to protect his girlfriend from Taehyung’s scoldings.

“They say that every time,” Taehyung scoffs, waving a hand. Then he’s up and moving, heading towards the dining room, where a spread of food is laid out.

There must be more people in there, you think, because the kitchen and the living room are definitely looking a little less crowded than they were an hour ago. Yoongi and Hoseok are on the couch, glasses in hand, talking quietly. The tv, mounted high on the wall, plays a classic Christmas film in black and white. You stop before the balcony doors, peering out into the night. The lamps that line the parking lot glow orange, and you can see in the lamplight that snow is falling steadily, and it’s starting to accumulate a little on the pavement below.

Jimin comes up beside you. His date’s lipstick is still smudged in the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a hot mess,” you tell him affectionately.

“I think we’re gonna head out,” he tells you, ignoring the jab.

You shake your head, your earrings glittering in your reflection in the glass. “It’s not even nine,” you point out.

“The roads are going to get slick,” he tells you, suddenly serious. “You should think about getting an Uber before too long, too.”

“You’re going to break Taehyung’s heart,” you inform him. “I think he’s starting to catch on that people are leaving.”

“He should have rescheduled the party!” Jimin says hotly; he and Taehyung had argued about this passionately all week, ever since the forecast picked up on the storm coming through. “We could have done this yesterday, no blizzard, everyone would have stayed all night!”

Jimin’s date slinks over and presses her hand to his upper back. “Ready?” she asks, voice like silk.

“Bye,” you tell him sulkily. In the reflection, you watch him pause to tell Yoongi and Hoseok goodbye. They each stand, reaching in one at a time to give him a quick one-armed hug goodbye.

You keep watching the reflection in the glass as Hoseok takes advantage of already being up and heads for the dining room.

You knew it would happen at some point tonight - you’re alone in the living room with Yoongi. You’d just hoped it would happen after you were a lot drunker.

He meanders over. You glance at the drink in his hand - whiskey, neat. You could have guessed that on a gameshow and earned some money.

He’s dressed in all black - down to the chelsea boots. His hair is half-up in a bun that sits just behind the crown of his head. The rest brushes the tops of his shoulders, curling slightly at the ends.

He’d never had long hair like this before. It’s a crime how fucking good it looks.

Your gameplan tonight has been simple: avoid, avoid, avoid. But Yoongi stands close enough to reach out and touch you, sips at his whiskey, and murmurs, “It’s been a while.”

Five years. But who’s counting?

“It has,” you allow. You hate confrontation, you don’t want this to be a thing. You’re determined to be polite, play nice, and hopefully get out of here unscathed. “How have you been? Are you enjoying yourself?”

He wiggles his head. “Eh. You know I’m not into all that holly, jolly shit.”

“It’s a Christmas party,” you point out flatly. “Holly, jolly is kind of the point.”

He shrugs. “The point for me is just to see the guys, catch up with everyone. It’s been a long time since we were all together.”

He means we the guys, not we you and him. But your heart still speeds up at the word, the traitor.

You nod, turning away from him to look outside again. But your eyes stay on his reflection, both of you standing with your backs to the party. He looks down at his drink, swirls the amber liquid around the bottom of the glass.

“You always did hate the holidays,” you observe absently.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” he says, so gently that it shocks you into turning to look at him.

“Do what?”

“Rehash everything,” he says with a shrug. “Talk about everything we remember. Talk at all.”

“If you don’t want to talk to me, then don’t,” you snap, suddenly defensive and heated. “You came over here, not the other way around.” So much for polite and non-confrontational. But damn, he has some audacity.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, a little quickly, holding up his one empty hand like he’s surrendering. “I just meant… don’t feel like you have to, if you don’t want to. Don’t do it for my sake.”

Your temper settles, but you still feel a little… disgruntled, unsettled. “If I didn’t want to talk to you, I wouldn’t be,” you grumble.

He smiles at this. “That’s right. You never do anything you don’t want to do.”

Maybe that used to be the case.

The liquor takes over your mouth. “I didn’t want to break up,” you say pointedly, “so I guess that’s not true.”

He huffs out a single laugh, shaking his head at your audacity. “You always just say shit,” he murmurs. “To hell with the consequences.”

“What consequences?” you demand, turning to face him fully. “Are you going to dump me more? I fail to see how I could make things worse for us after five years of not speaking.”

He licks his lips, eyes on his glass again. That was the thing about you and Yoongi - he’s right, you did just say shit. And he always just handled it. He always heard you, processed it, and dealt with it productively. He never took the bait and got mad back, never yelled - even when you’d wished he’d yell.

“It’s because,” he’d told you, sometime around seven years ago, when you were together, “when you say absolutely wild shit like that, you always mean something else. And I just happen to be very good at translating you.”

Now, he meets your eyes again, having processed. Having translated. “What I’m hearing you say,” he says slowly, “is that you’re still mad at me.”

That’s all it takes to take the wind out of your sails - that’s always how it worked with you and Yoongi. You blustered and got worked up, and he defused you easily - just by meeting your gaze, just by assuring you that you were heard.

“I think I’m mad at our circumstances,” you correct quietly. “And I think I’ve had too many of these.” You eye the cocktail in your hand with narrowed, accusatory eyes.

He gives you the barest sliver of a smile. “Don’t blame the drinks,” he says, shaking his head. “You never could lie to me - it has nothing to do with alcohol.”

He’s right. For all your faults, for all the negatives you can take credit for, you always told him the truth.

Namjoon appears in the living room, a beer in hand, still in the bottle.

“I’m trying to decide which one of you needs to be rescued from the other,” he admits, looking between you, “and I honestly can’t tell.”

“Rescue him from me,” you say. “He’s been nice and I’ve been prickly.”

“You?” Namjoon says in mock surprise. “Prickly? No way.”

You flip him off, smiling.

Seokjin comes up behind Namjoon, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think we’re going,” he says, looking past you to the snow outside. “I don’t want to drive once the roads are slick.”

Namjoon sighs, following his gaze. “I was having fun,” he says sadly. “But I’m probably not too far behind you.”

“Nooo,” Taehyung whines from the dining room. “Everyone stop leaving! It’s just a little snow!”

Seokjin’s girlfriend finds him, joining your little circle, her phone still in her hand. “We’re supposed to have almost three inches by midnight,” she says in a whisper, clearly not wanting Taehyung to come after her. “We need to get moving.”

When Seokjin and his girlfriend leave, you float back towards the dining room. Namjoon and Yoongi stay behind, talking quietly. Probably, Namjoon is checking to make sure you weren’t too mean to him. Which… that’s fair.

The truth is, you aren’t mad at Yoongi. How could you be? When he ended things, he hadn’t been cruel, or unfair. His decision had been made logically. You understood exactly why he felt he needed to do it.

That’s where the hurt came from, you figured. You were always led by your emotions - quick to anger, but quick to laugh. Yoongi was always more even-tempered, logical. While you were packing up your life to move away from home for university, he’d laid out the reasons you shouldn’t stay together like they were a grocery list.

Like it didn’t hurt him at all.

None of his reasons were wrong. But would it have killed him to act like he cared? You’d been together three years - and you felt like they should count more, since they were such formative ones. Like dog years - each one should have counted for seven. It had broken your heart to let him walk away - shouldn’t he have felt something, too?

You’d dated plenty in college, a few of those relationships getting serious enough to last a few months. But at the end of the day, nobody compared to your first love. How could they? How could anyone?

No one understood you like Yoongi. No one could translate you like Yoongi. No one knew - or learned - how to settle you down like Yoongi. No one had that mental encyclopedia of useless knowledge like Yoongi. No one else had that perfect blend of dry and earnest like Yoongi. No one else fit to your body like a puzzle piece like Yoongi.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t matter now. Yoongi had left, Yoongi had taken the decision right out of your hands and walked away with it. You weren’t mad at him, but you definitely resented that.

You’d had years to get over it, to forgive him, to come to terms with the fact that he was right about every single thing. But forgiveness and understanding are one thing. Letting go - of him, of loving him - is something else entirely, and you’re starting to think that even a lifetime of years won’t be enough for that.

That’s enough of that, you think, giving yourself a rough mental shake. You set down your drink glass and head for the bathroom, but it’s occupied. You lean against the wall outside, counting your breaths, trying to get yourself back into that holly, jolly headspace.

The door opens and Jungkook emerges, singing under his breath, “Pah-rum-pum-pum-pum!”

“Hi, JayKay,” you say, moving to slide past him into the bathroom.

“Oh, hey!” he says brightly. “I was just about to leave. You have a way to get home, right? It’s getting worse out there.”

“I was just going to Uber,” you tell him.

“Better do it soon,” he warns. “Soon the drivers aren’t going to want to be on the roads.”

“Good point,” you say, and wave a quick goodbye before shutting the bathroom door. You give yourself a stern look in the mirror.

Get it together, please, you think firmly. Seeing your ex - this ex, too, not just a casual one - for the first time in five years earns you a little wallowing, you think, and you fully intend to. At home. Later. Not here, in front of everyone.

Not here, in front of him.

Back in the kitchen, the party has really dwindled down to the last few people. Outside, snow falls as steadily as Taehyung’s guest list.

The peer pressure gets to you, and you pull out your phone and open a ride-share app. It takes a while before a driver connects, but you’re persistent. Once you have a driver, you watch the little image of their car start to head in your direction on the map.

From the dining room, you hear Yoongi make a tch of frustration. “No one is picking up for me,” he grumbles, seemingly to himself.

“Good,” Taehyung says seriously. “Don’t leave me.”

You go find your coat, slipping your arms into the sleeves and doing up each button. When you return to the dining room, Yoongi and Taehyung are the only ones left. Taehyung is fully, blatantly, sulking, his arms crossed on the table and his chin resting dejectedly atop them.

“Better luck next time, bud,” you tell him kindly.

Yoongi is still squinting at his phone screen, frowning.

You feel a twinge of concern, of the need to make it better for him the way you used to on a regular basis. “Still nothing?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t even see anyone on the map.”

You check your phone again - your car is just up the road. “I have one,” you tell him. “Join mine - we’ll just request the extra stop.”

Yoongi meets your eyes, holds your gaze for a minute. Then, he says, so seriously, “Are you sure?”

You know he means it. You know if you give any indication that you don’t want him in a car with you, he won’t push it.

“Yeah,” you say. “Of course. I’m not going to leave you stranded here.”

“Why not?” Taehyung whines, kicking his feet a little in protest.

“My car’s just here though,” you warn, eyes on your screen, both of you absolutely ignoring the host of the party.

“I’ll grab my coat,” Yoongi says, and heads for the hallway.

“Sorry, Taehyung,” you say sympathetically. “I know you’re sad.”

He refuses to look at you.

After giving over-the-top goodbye hugs to try and un-sulk the whiny baby, you and Yoongi head down the stairs and outside. You don’t look behind you to check that Yoongi is following. The car idles by the curb, and you double-check the license plate against the app.

In the backseat of the car, you slide over to make room for Yoongi. As soon as he closes his door and the car lurches into motion, the vibe changes. You sit stiffly, ramrod straight, eyes on the windshield. Yoongi’s not sitting quite as straight as you, but there’s a tightness to his shoulders, like he’s holding himself carefully so he doesn’t touch you by accident with the car’s inertia.

You had put in your parent’s address when you requested the ride, since that’s where you’re staying until New Years’ Day. You and Yoongi sit in blasting, blaring silence as the car crosses the middle of the town you’d both grown up in, that you’d run around in together as teenagers in love. But, past town, towards the quiet neighborhood where your parents’ house is, the car slows to a stop.

“I can’t go through this way, Miss,” your driver says, peering at you through the rearview mirror. “There’s a powerline down up there.”

“Oh shit,” you say, which is probably not very polite of you. You lean forward to look at the same time Yoongi does, your shoulders bumping. You both recoil quickly.

“I think you can get to the development from the other side,” you muse, “but we’d have to backtrack and go around the lake on the other side…”

“Let’s just go to my place,” Yoongi interjects. “The roads are getting worse, and it’s close.”

You frown. Yoongi’s parents’ house - which you’d been to plenty of times as a younger person - is on the other side of town. Not close by your standards, but you aren’t here to argue.

Or maybe you are.

“I don’t know, Yoongi,” you say, uncertainty creeping into your voice. “How will I get home from there?”

“You might have to stay,” he admits, leaning down to better look at the road through the front windshield. The driver sits, watching you debate, waiting for a directive.

You give Yoongi a silent look like, okay, and so you see my problem?

He scoffs at you. “It’s fine. We can handle one night.”

You want to ask, how sure are you about that? Instead, you start to tell the driver Yoongi’s parents’ address.

“Wait,” Yoongi says, putting a hand gently on your arm to stop you. You both freeze, looking at the point of contact. Yoongi shakes himself out of it first, and tells the driver a different address.

The car shifts back into drive and you look at Yoongi quizzically.

“Did your family move?” you ask finally.

Here’s the thing. You know Yoongi, you get Yoongi; five years apart hasn’t changed that at all. So when he licks his lips, shifts his gaze to his feet, and starts rubbing the back of his neck, you know it’s guilt.

“Yoongi?” you prod, suspicious.

He mumbles something, still not looking at you.

“What?” you snap. “You what?”

“I sort of moved back last month…” he repeats to the floor.

“You live here?” you repeat, dumbfounded. “You live in town again?”

“Currently, yeah,” he says, and there’s something in that currently that you’d really like to examine, but you’re still fucking floored.

Yoongi had gone to university in the city - hours away. The distance thing was reasons one through four of his Why We Need to Break Up list. It had made sense, logistically. It made sense when you went abroad for university, and he stayed here. It made sense when you returned and got an internship and then a full-time job in a different city, hours in the opposite direction. It made sense when you managed to go five entire years without being in the same place.

But now he was here. Reasons one through four, moot.

Reasons five to whatever largely revolved around being young and needing to experience the world and figure out what you want in life, that kind of shit. Now it’s five years later and you’ve both experienced plenty of bullshit.

Reasons five through whatever, moot.

You wonder, wordlessly, heart pounding again, if Yoongi knows or cares that every reason he gave you to validate walking away no longer applies.

“You live here,” you repeat. You’re stuck on it, you can’t move on. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah,” he says guiltily. “I know you didn’t. I… was honestly fighting with myself about if I should reach out or not. I guess I ultimately decided not… since you’re in the city, and you have your whole life and everything…”

What life? You wonder.

The car pulls into a small, understated neighborhood. You’ve been here before; your chemistry partner from tenth grade lived in this development, you’d come to do homework more than once.

It’s always so weird to come back to this town, where everywhere you go has memories, secondary definitions. It’s not just a library, it’s the library where Yoongi had kissed you for the first time. It’s not just a park, it’s the park where you’d had your first fight, where you’d screamed at him in front of God and the ducks and all the moms pushing strollers. It’s not just a diner, it’s the diner where Yoongi had told you that it made no sense to try and stay together from different time zones.

Everything came back to him. It always had. It always does. In a lot of ways, you felt like you were fated to be tied to him this way - and you usually didn’t believe in shit like that.

You always break your own rules for him.

The place is small, and not very Yoongi-ish, but you keep your thoughts to yourself as Yoongi slides out of the car and waits for you.

“Get home safe,” you tell the driver before closing the door. Yoongi’s got his house keys in his hand, and he leads you up the walkway. It’s slick, and you try to step only in the footprints he leaves in the inch of snow coating the ground.

Inside, the light over the sink illuminates a small, mostly empty kitchen. That’s not very Yoongi-ish either, you think. You remember him cooking all the time - appliances everywhere, cutting boards hanging, pots and pans stored on hooks.

He passes the kitchen and enters what looks like the living room, reaching to click on a few dim lamps. They cast a yellow glow to the room.

You set down your purse and fold your coat up on top of it. Yoongi waits for you in the living room, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the window, watching the snow. His jawline from the side nearly takes your breath away. He’s so damn beautiful it makes you sick.

And he’s back, Yoongi is back.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, finally looking at you.

“Whatever you’re having would be great,” you tell him. You settle gingerly on one end of the couch as he busies himself in the kitchen. You shoot your parents a quick text that the roads were too bad and you weren’t going to make it back to their place so they wouldn’t worry.

Yoongi returns with two glasses of red wine. He hands you one wordlessly and sits opposite you on the couch.

“So,” you say. The awkward, hyper-polite vibe from the car is back. Like you’re strangers. Like you didn’t know each other inside and out, once. “You’ve been here a month?”

“Just shy of it,” Yoongi corrects politely. “I signed a two month lease, so… I’ve got a few weeks to figure out my next move.”

“You don’t think you’ll stay?” you ask, then sip at the wine. It’s good - of course it’s good, he’s got great taste. You love and hate that about him.

He shrugs, drinks from his own glass. “Doubt it.”

He doesn’t give you any more information than that - why he’s back, what’s next for him, why he’s here for such a short time.

You don’t press it. He’ll tell you if he wants to.

Instead, you both drink in silence. Outside, the snow seems to redouble its efforts, the wind picking up until it seems to be snowing sideways for minutes at a time before calming into a normal downward fall again.

“I think we made the right choice,” Yoongi murmurs, and it takes you a second to realize he’s talking about the weather and Taehyung’s party, not about your past.

“Mhm,” you nod, as you come back into the present. That’s a problem you have - you’re always looking back. “Imagine if we were just leaving now? What a mess. Thanks for taking me in, I guess.”

“You guess,” he repeats, rolling his eyes, but there’s no ire in it.

You drink in silence a little longer, and then Yoongi rises with a sigh. “I’ll go put clean sheets on the bed,” he says, sort of absently, like he’s both talking to you and also just thinking out loud. “And then I’ll show you how to work the tv in there if you –”

“I’m not sleeping in your bed, Yoongi,” you tell him flatly.

He balks. “I didn’t mean with me, I meant by yourself!”

“No, I know that,” you reassure him. “But I’m not letting you sleep on your own couch because of me. I’ll sleep out here. It’s fine.”

“Absolutely not,” he says, shaking his head vehemently. That long hair swishes. “You’re a guest. I’m not putting you on the couch.”

“Yoongi,” you say sternly. “If I know you’re out here on the couch and I’m in there with your whole friggin bed, I will simply not sleep because I will feel too guilty about it! And I would like to sleep. So, please, put your chivalry and hospitality aside, and let me sleep. Out here.”

He considers this, because he knows you, and he knows you’re telling the truth. “Fine,” he concedes, and disappears into what must be his bedroom.

When he returns, he’s carrying a stack of what looks like linens. He sets down the pile and you spy blankets and pillows. He pushes the pillows aside gently and picks up something else, turning to hold it out to you, an offering.

It’s gym shorts and a large tshirt, and you reach to take them without thinking. Once they’re in your hand, they feel suddenly heavy with meaning. You used to wear his clothes all the time - you might have one or two of his hoodies in the back of your closet at home because you love them and don’t want to get rid of them, even though you feel too weird to actually wear them. You’re not sure how you feel about wearing his clothes again, now that it means nothing. The alternatives are pretty undesirable, though, so you’ll have to grin and bear it.

“There’s a half-bath on the other side, through the kitchen,” he says, nodding towards the bathroom in question. “So you don’t have to feel weird walking through my room to the full bath if you don’t want to. Though... do you need to shower? I can get you towels and stuff –”

“Maybe in the morning?” you say, eyeing the clock on the wall. “Just… could I borrow face-soap? And toothpaste?”

You’ll have to make do without your make-up remover and an actual toothbrush. Finger-brushing it is.

When you emerge from the bathroom, teeth freshly finger-brushed, wearing Yoongi’s clothes, he’s standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing out the wine glasses you’d used.

You brush past him silently, and start setting up the couch how you want it. You hear the sink turn off, the click of the lightswitch as he shuts off the lights behind him. He comes back through the room and pauses in his doorway.

“Do you need anything?” he asks.

“No,” you say, feeling small in his baggy shirt, feeling small in the face of all the feelings you’re swimming in right now. “I’m all good.”

He looks at you for a long minute, searching. “Okay,” he says, finally. “Sleep well.”

He turns into his room, and you watch his skinny wrist turn as he reaches to shut the door.

“Yoongi,” you say, the word out of your mouth before you really know what will follow it. He pauses, peeks his head back into view, raises an eyebrow at you. “Thanks,” you say, meekly.

He nods, silent, then reaches to close his door, gently and effectively shutting you out.

You get comfortable on the couch, bunching the blanket up around your head how you like it. It takes almost no time at all to fall asleep, and when you do, you don’t dream.

You’re awakened sometime later by a noise, and you sit up, your brain scrambling to catch up to the present and figure out where you are.

A couch, it processes. It comes back to you a little at a time. Yoongi’s couch. Yoongi’s house. Yoongi’s house in town.

The noise that woke you must have been his bedroom door opening, because as you slowly get your bearings, you become aware of him staring at you from his doorway.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says apologetically, then moves across the room towards the kitchen. “I just needed water.” Then, from the kitchen, as an afterthought, he asks, “Do you want one?”

“Please,” you say immediately, mentally cataloging all the effects of dehydration you can feel. Cottony mouth, ringing ears, the tingling beginnings of a headache…

He returns to the living room and stops near the couch. You stretch to turn on one of the dim lamps, casting a quiet yellow on the room. He stands there in too-big pajamas and holds out a water bottle silently.

It’s definitely still the middle of the night. You can’t have slept more than a few hours. Everything feels different, somehow. It was so awkward before; you’d felt the need to be cautious and hyper-polite. Now everything feels blurred, fuzzy with sleep, softer. You’re sitting up, the blanket you’d been sleeping under still over your lap. You reach over and lift the other side, holding it up like a question.

Yoongi pads over and sits on the far side of the couch, but he curls his legs up and slips his bare feet under the blanket. You let it fall, covering him from the shin down.

He taps on his phone and grimaces at the time. “Hey,” he says, a little wry, “Merry Christmas.”

You smile. “Merry Christmas, Yoongi.”

He taps at his screen again and a speaker near his tv comes to life, playing what has to be a Coffee Shop Christmas playlist, pre-curated. You lean your head against the back of the couch, listening to the strum of acoustic guitar and the gentle snare of a drum meander through a mellow, lethargic version of It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.

“Christmas music, huh?” you tease, eyes closed. “That’s very holly, jolly of you.”

“I don’t hate Christmas,” he protests. “I’m not, like, a Grinch. It’s just… another day. So is tomorrow. Why all the fuss?”

You bump his foot with your knee beneath the blanket. “Scrooge.”

Ignoring your teasing, he looks sideways at you, something baleful on his face. “Y/N? I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

You’re surprised into silence, looking back at him across the couch. “What? What for?”

He grimaces, like the answer is too big, like he’s got an annotated list of every fault he’s mentally cataloged. “For all of it, I guess.”

You’re not letting him off the hook; this is too important to skirt around. “What are you sorry for, Yoongi?” you ask seriously.

He laughs once, quietly, incredulously, like he can’t believe you. “You really want to go there?”

“You know I do.”

He thinks before he speaks - one of your favorite things about him. “Because for the last five years, I hated myself for leaving you behind. And I wondered every day if you hated me for it, too.”

You sit in silence, feeling frozen. Yoongi lets you - Yoongi waits. Is he admitting regret? Does that mean he’d do it differently, given the chance?

Because here you are - being given the chance, in a way.

“I was never mad at you for going,” you tell him, because you know he needs to know. Yoongi doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, which means he really did wonder if you hated him. You don’t owe him much, but you figure you owe him this truth. Then you admit, “But I was mad at myself for… letting you. Did you… I mean, should I have argued? When you left?”

You’d always wondered. What would have happened if you’d fought just a little harder for him to stay?

He scoots a little closer, tugging the blanket closer to his knees, thinking about your question. “I think part of me had hoped you would… but it wouldn’t have changed my mind,” he tells you honestly. “Just would’ve made it hurt more. The way things happened, I could lie and tell myself you were fine with letting me go.”

You exhale on a note of indignation. “Fine? That was you. You were so… okay with walking away.”

He shakes his head. He must have taken the bun out when he went to bed, and his hair swishes around his shoulders, loose and beautiful. “I wasn’t okay. I didn’t go a single day and not wonder… how you were. I didn’t go a single day sure that I made the right choice.”

You feel, weirdly, kind of pissed. “What am I supposed to do with that, Yoongi? Seriously?”

He opens his mouth to answer this rhetorical question, but you don’t let him. The words pour out of you, unleashed after five years of being held back.

“This is just… unfair. Because normally, in the movies, when you get this moment - the post-mortem - with someone from your past… they always ask why, right? Why’d you leave? But I don’t need to ask why - I know the why, I understood why. I want to know… I want to know if you regret it. If you’d take it back.”

“That’s two different questions,” he says solemnly, “with two different answers.”

You cut your eyes at him. It’s the middle of the night and your brain is mostly mush. You need him to just be forthcoming, just say things plainly.

He knows.

“Of course I regret it,” he whispers finally, as if the words hold too much weight to utter any louder. “I regretted it while I was still saying it. I hated being away from you, I hated not talking to you, I hated not knowing how you were or what you were doing or if you… still cared about me at all.” He pauses, inhales slowly, rubs a hand down his tired face, then exhales with a whoosh. “But would I take it back? I don’t know.”

You exhale, eyeing the ceiling. Who’s the one just saying shit now? God. “You can’t just say things like that, Yoongi,” you tell him, eyes trained on the shitty, popcorn ceiling above you.

He says your name, still so soft, so quiet.

“What?”

“Don’t cry.”

It’s so stupid. You hadn’t cried then, not in front of him. You wipe hastily under your eyes. “Sorry,” you say hastily, trying to save face. “It’s the lack of sleep.”

“I’m not sure I would take it back,” he repeats carefully, and you realize he hadn’t been done before - you’d interrupted his thought, “because when I left… I knew the whole time that it didn’t make anything better. But if I hadn’t… I think I’d still be wondering if I should, if we’d be better apart. I wouldn’t know, so the question would still be hanging over me.”

You think he’s saying something without saying it, but it’s like four in the morning and you just aren’t sure.

“But now?” you prod.

He shrugs, like it’s so simple. “Now I know the answer.”

You want to shake him. You’ve never had a conversation go in circles like this in your life, and you need to get to the center of it. “Yoongi,” you say, your voice tight like a warning.

He knows.

He always knows. He cuts to the chase. “I have a job lined up in the city.”

You almost drop your water bottle. “My city?”

“Your city.”

“Yoongi,” you say again, pleading. “Just say what you mean.” Please.

He smiles your favorite of his smiles - only one half of his mouth lifts at first, cocky, until it spreads the rest of the way and shows his gums in all their glory. “Just thinking about that whole list of reasons we shouldn’t be together… null and void now, don’t you think?”

You feel like you can’t breathe. You’ve both been circling it like predators, and now you’re closing in.

“So what does that mean? For you?” Do you dare to ask it? You do. “For us?”

Someone else, you think, would probably have asked you, what do you want it to mean?

But it’s Yoongi - and Yoongi knows the answer already.

He’s pushing the blanket off of his legs - and yours - and coming to hover over you. Your body responds, laying back against the pillow you’d been sleeping on, making room for him like it remembers exactly how you fit. Your fingers find his jaw like they’re magnetically drawn, your thumb sliding against his cheek.

His hair falls around your faces like a curtain, blocking out the dim lamplight, as his mouth finds yours.

Kissing him again is everything. It’s absolutely everything. He’s home, he’s wilderness, he’s calm, he’s the whole damn storm, he’s undoing every seam you have, he’s stitching you back together, he’s beautiful beautiful beautiful.

His lips are soft but sure against yours, his jaw moving under the press of your fingers. You feel like you’re flying, falling, maybe both, as your eyelids flutter. He’s bracing himself with his hands on either side of you, holding himself over you. You were resting your free hand against his side, his ribs like piano keys beneath your palm, and you find yourself bunching his shirt into your fist, trying to pull yourself up, closer, closer.

You have to will yourself not to babble against his mouth, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you. You could say it six hundred times and it still wouldn’t get it all out of you. You pour it into the kiss instead, straining up to meet him, beating words away from your mouth as you toy with his bottom lip.

He drops his lower body carefully, pinning your hips beneath his own, shifting to hold himself up on elbows instead of hands. The weight of him is welcome; something needs to keep you tethered to this planet.

He licks into your mouth, tongue sliding against yours, and you inhale sharply against his mouth.

“Yoongi,” you murmur against his lips, and he turns his head to kiss your palm where it’s been resting against his face. There’s something so tender about it that tears spring to your eyes, and you blink them away quickly.

Then he’s leaning down to capture your mouth again, humming a low, happy note against you. You go for the hem of his shirt, pulling until it gets tangled against his armpits. He sits back on his haunches, helping you pull it over his head and tossing it somewhere behind you. Your eyes trace him, over and over, trying to remember every shade and every line, trying to find every difference from five years ago. He’s beautiful, flushing dark across the chest, eyes positively predatory in their focus on you.

“You, too,” he says, sounding a little breathless, and you scoot back and sit up. He goes for your hem before you can, tugging it up and over your head. The cold air assaults you and you shiver. Yoongi makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl in appreciation, lowering himself over you again. His kiss is insistent this time, one hand coming up to cup a breast, fingers deftly rolling your nipple, sending electricity skittering down your spine. You whine, deep in your throat, and you feel his lips quirk into a smile.

“Would you kick my ass if I said ‘I’ve missed your tits’ right now?” he asks, chest quaking as he tries to rein in laughter.

“Yes,” you grumble, reaching to weave your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. You tug him back so you can kiss him again, and he lets out a quiet, breathy moan as you do.

“Okay,” he says, in between kisses, “but I did.” Then he puts his money where his mouth is - or maybe vice-versa - to prove it, lowering his head and taking the other nipple in his mouth, flicking it lightly with his tongue. Your whole body reacts, feet stretching, back arching to push against his body, fingers tightening in his hair as you moan out loud. Each little motion of his mouth ignites sparks that reach every part of you - the pit of your stomach, the base of your spine, clear down to your toes.

It’s honestly embarrassing how turned on you get as he continues, working one side until you’re writhing beneath him, thighs rubbing together desperately, then switching to continue his onslaught on the other side.

“Yoongi,” you gasp, and some absent part of your brain is aware that his name is the only coherent word you’ve said in a while. “Please, you’re torturing me.”

He releases you with a wet pop, grinning up at you deviously. “So pretty when you beg like that,” he remarks, like he’s observing the weather - which is still a fucking blizzard, by the way. Then he’s coming up to kiss you again, deep and slow this time. His hand slides along your bare stomach, around and under your back, and you arch your back partly to make room for his arm underneath you, and partly because you can’t not, as his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Please, what?” he murmurs, lips close to your neck, his fingers tracing the edge of the shorts you’re wearing - his shorts. “What do you want?”

“Anything - whatever you’ll give me,” you manage. All you can focus on is his fingers, their circular path along your lower stomach, toying with your waistband.

It must be the right answer, because he slips his hand into your shorts, fingers pressing along your slit, your underwear clinging to you already. He slides his fingers along the slickened fabric, eyes on your face, listening to the tiny moans that escape when you exhale.

He shifts to his side, between you and the back of the couch, and you loop an arm around his neck - half to hold yourself up on the couch, and half because you need to be holding him. You can feel how hard he is now, as his body presses against your legs. He distracts you with a kiss, and slips your panties aside, wasting no time in sheathing his middle finger up to the last knuckle.

You hiss his name, your head lolling back against the couch in pleasure, your neck bared to him. He gives it a quick nip and then a kiss as he adds a second finger, pumping in and out of you slowly. You groan, the sound rumbling from your chest. You could let him do this all night if you had the patience - just this simple act feels so good you think you might come undone.

And if you remember anything about sex with Yoongi, he’s just getting started.

He slips his fingers out of you and brings them up to your clit, circling once, then twice, before going back to where he started, the pad of his middle finger circling your entrance, careful to stay just outside.

Your whole body turns to jelly, everything quivering from head to toe at the sensation. You grip the couch with both hands, digging your fingers in. “Ohhh my god,” you manage, something accusatory in your tone, like you’re asking him how the fuck are you doing that?

He smiles against you, middle finger still running in lazy circles through the wetness collecting there. “That’s right, I know what you like,” he murmurs, smug, his lips tickling your neck, before plunging both fingers back into your heat without warning. He repeats the cycle - in, out, up, down, around, around, in again - until you’re dizzy from it, your fingers clutching the fabric of the couch so hard that you’re sure you’ll rip it.

You have one single moment of clarity that sends you reaching down to where you can feel him hot and hard against your leg, but he shifts away, tutting.

“You first,” he says. “I want to see you make that face you make. It’s been literal years.”

“Oh my god,” you say, feeling yourself flush. “Yoongi! Seriously?”

He laughs, shoulders shaking. “What? I love to watch you lose your shit. What a fucking ego boost.” He punctuates these words with a quick change of wrist direction, suddenly pistoning against your front wall in a way that has your comeback melting right out of your brain.

He’d had you close before, and the sudden switch-up does the trick - you feel everything tighten from your shoulders to your toes, your eyes screwing shut. Yoongi shifts his weight to hold your leg in place so you can’t try to close them on him and redoubles his efforts, humming in pleasure as you squeeze around his fingers like a vice.

You let out a series of wordless cries as the pleasure builds to the point you want to shy away from it, and then Yoongi presses his thumb to your clit just so and you’re spiraling over the edge, your ears filled with a buzzing white noise, your toes curling, your desperate hands leaving the couch and clutching Yoongi instead, trusting him to guide you to the other side.

When you come down, heart hammering in your chest, you bat his hand away, breaths heaving.

“Take those off,” you pant, tugging on the bit of his pants you can reach, and shimmying your own bottoms the rest of the way off and dumping them onto the floor.

“Bossy,” Yoongi remarks, smirking sideways at you as he obeys.

You resituate yourself against the arm of the couch as he comes to kneel near your feet, stroking himself languidly. You both freeze with the same thought at the same time.

“Do I…” he says hesitantly, “do you want me to wear -?”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, mind racing for an answer. You’re tempted to just tell him it’s fine, because surely having a how many people have you been with in the five years since we broke up conversation will absolutely kill the mood right now. But that’s not really safe.

“Maybe you’d better?” you venture. “Have you -? I mean, we don’t need to talk about this right now. But I haven’t been with anyone without… you know.”

“Same here, and I got tested after… the last one. Just in case,” he admits, eyes on yours, and the moment feels heavy. Do you trust Yoongi to tell you the truth?

Of course you do.

“I’m okay if you’re okay,” you tell him. “No pressure.”

“You’re still on -?” he checks, and you nod.

“In that case,” he says, and leans over you to kiss you again. You can feel him, rubbing along the messy slickness, and it occurs to you that you haven’t even touched him yet.

You whine, twisting your shoulders to try and reach him with a hand, but he’s too impatient, lining himself up and starting to sink into you. You groan at the stretch - it’s been a while since your last fling - but the sound that tears through Yoongi’s throat is more like a growl, guttural and animalistic.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growls through gritted teeth, as he slowly rocks into you until he bottoms out, his hips tight against yours.

He’s everywhere - caging you in, hovering above you, holding you down, filling you up. He’s everywhere, and he feels both so familiar it makes you want to cry again, and also - somehow - brand-fucking-new, like you’ve never felt him before.

You can feel every ridge of him, every twitch, as he sets a slow but even pace, letting you adjust.

“God,” you gasp when he hits a spot just right. His head had been hanging above you, his eyes watching the place where he disappeared inside you, all that long hair loose, but he smirks up at you at this.

“Good,” he coos, and picks up the pace, hips smacking yours, filling the room with the lewd sounds of skin on skin, his grunts and your whines.

You’re gasping a little at each stroke, that tight feeling bubbling at the pit of your stomach growing stronger with each thrust. “God,” you growl, fingertips pressing into his shoulder blade as you hang on for dear life. “Yoongi, fuck!”

He slows on purpose, straightening up, forcing you to release your hold on his back. He grins at you, that shit-eating, one-sided grin, and then grabs your ankles, maneuvering them both to rest against his right shoulder. He leans forward against your legs and hammers into you, breathing hard, and you swear to god you see stars for a second.

“Ohmygod, yes, there,” you gasp, hands going to the backs of your own thighs to help alleviate the stretch. You need to start doing yoga or something.

The build-up is slower this time, the feeling pulsing through you in waves that strengthen and ebb again. Yoongi can tell when it’s real by the change in your voice - wordless whines rising in pitch, by the arch of your back, by the way you clamp around him so hard that he almost loses it right there.

“Yeah?” he asks, the word more like a gasp for air. “Close?”

“Please,” you beg, the sensation of pure light racing up your legs to your toes, the pulsing starting slow and determined in your core.

“I’ve got you,” he promises, brows furrowed with concentration as he works to keep a steady pace. He grips one of your ankles and switches it to his other shoulder, creating space to reach down and rub gentle figure-eights around your clit.

The wave takes you over, and there’s a long moment where you’re completely devoid of your senses - no sight, no sound, nothing but how tight tight tight everything has gone, too tight to even breathe - and then it breaks and you can hear yourself wailing, eyes shut against the onslaught of sensations. You clench around Yoongi hard, the aftershocks rolling through you, so hard that he hisses and drops his forehead to yours, his pace slowing significantly as he fucks you through it.

You go boneless as it leaves you, and Yoongi pushes all the way inside you and stills, pressing his lips to your temple.

“You good?” he murmurs, so sweet for someone who just had you experiencing the multiverse.

“Mhm,” you manage to respond, so spent and tired that you can barely form the word.

“C’mere,” he grunts, slipping out of you, and he grips the back of your neck, hauling you upright and falling backwards in the same motion, pulling you over top of him. You loop your arms around his neck, feeling floaty, and he wraps his around your middle. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, his breath loud next to your ear.

“Can you keep going?” he checks. “I know you’re tired. I’m almost there, I promise.”

“M’good,” you assure him against his collarbone, and he gives you one quick squeeze before reaching down to adjust himself. He pushes in and you cry out, the sound muffled as you press your face into him. You’re so sensitive now, the sensation is entirely different.

“You can take it,” he whispers, sliding a hand down your spine. Then, with a grunt of “shit,” he grabs you and jackhammers up into you, his fingers furrowing into the meat of your ass, so tight you think you’ll have five little bruises on each side when this is over.

You feel so close to him - your cheek presses up against his, your arms wrapped tight around him, his hands securing you in place, his heart beating wildly against yours where your chests press together.

You gasp for breath into the crook of his neck, holding on for dear life, just trying to take what he gives you. You can hear his breathing change as he gets close, his pace quickening but his thrusts starting to come less evenly, his grip on your ass tightening just a bit further as he pulls your hips down to meet his every few thrusts.

“Is inside okay?” he asks, the words sounding like they’re torn from him.

“Yes,” you tell him, but it comes out more like a moan.

“God,” he grunts in response to this, and the word tears, ending on a strangled moan as he empties himself deep inside you.

You lay there, gasping for breath, for a long minute. Then Yoongi gives you an affectionate pat on the ass, indicating that it’s safe to move.

“Go get in the shower,” he suggests. “I’ll grab you a towel and meet you in there.”

“I don’t know if I can get there,” you say, joking, but your legs feel like jelly. You grab your phone and make your way, wobbly, through the living room and into his bedroom.

You hadn’t come in here before. It’s clean, but sparse. It’s devoid of anything that makes it feel homey. It’s devoid of anything that makes it feel like Yoongi.

You keep going, padding through his room and towards the attached bathroom, fumbling for the lightswitch. You place your phone next to the sink and fiddle with the shower’s knobs until you get a steady stream of hot water going.

It feels heavenly to step under the hot water, your aching muscles relaxing in the steam. But it feels even better when Yoongi wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing his lips to the side of your neck.

“Hi,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” you giggle. You might still be riding a little bit of a post-orgasm high.

You both rinse off in silence, and then Yoongi places his hand on the knob, looking at you to make sure you’re ready to get out. You nod, but he hesitates.

“Will you sleep with me?” he asks, a little unsure, leagues different from the cocky man you’d been tangled up with mere minutes before. “Don’t go back to the couch.”

You give him a soft smile, and he turns off the water, reaching for the towels hanging just outside.

“Of course I will,” you tell him before wrapping yourself up in the soft, gray terry-cloth.

You crawl into his bed once you’re dry, and he joins you after making a quick pass through the living room to turn the lights back off and gather up the clothes you’d both tossed around. When he clicks off his bedside lamp and rolls to face you, you feel a fluttering of nerves in your stomach.

You’re not sure where you go from here.

You lay facing each other in the darkness; it’s just too dark to really see much, but you can tell he’s looking at you.

You’re laying there, letting your thoughts spool around you, the what-if’s and what-now’s laying themselves out in your mind, when you realize you’ve reached out without meaning to, your fingers tangling in his long hair, rolling strands between them. You keep playing with it, cautiously, practically holding your breath, waiting to see if he objects.

Instead, you feel him relax under your hand, letting out a long breath. “That feels nice,” he admits, voice breathy with almost-sleep and barely audible.

You fall asleep without any answers, with your fingers curled up in Yoongi’s hair.

You wake up to a warm body behind you, not quite touching. You shift your cold toes a little closer to the warmth you find, smiling when you hear him whine about it. The light outside is white, that abnormal shade of light that comes from sunlight bouncing off of snow and ice. You’re about to close your eyes again when you realize that the warm body behind you isn’t sleeping, because you can hear the incriminating clicking and clacking of a keyboard.

“Are you seriously working right now?” you ask him, rolling a little to look at him over your shoulder. He peers back at you guiltily, his glasses low on his nose, fingers frozen in the air above the keys.

“I just wanted to answer a few -”

“It’s Christmas morning!” you scold.

“I’m aware of that,” he answers dryly.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Turn it off, Yoongi. It’s Christmas and you are in bed with someone. My God.”

He shoots you a defensive look, but finishes whatever he was doing and clicks the laptop closed, leaning over to place it on his nightstand.

“You haven’t changed at all,” you say, a little fondly, sitting up a little next to him.

“Neither have you,” he says pointedly. It’s less fond when he says it.

You consider this. “You want to know something stupid?” you ask. Yoongi doesn’t answer out loud, just meets your eyes and waits. “You’re right. I haven’t changed. I think… I think I’ve been afraid to.”

He turns to face you, sensing how serious you are about this. “What do you mean?” he presses.

You stop to think, the way you learned to after spending years watching him, knowing he did this better than you. “I guess… some little part of me always wondered what would happen if we crossed paths again. If I changed too much… what if I stopped being someone you’d want? What if I became someone so different that your heart didn’t know mine anymore?”

It sounds so corny coming out of your mouth, but the truth behind it is so heavy you can’t hold it up anymore. It was a fear you’d secretly harbored for half a decade - what if fate put Yoongi in your life again, and he still didn’t want you?

And Yoongi does what he’s always done - hears you, understands you, answers you in your own language.

“Impossible,” he says softly, leaning closer to you, eyes combing your face. His voice is like a layer of snow, smooth and clear, full of something unnamable. Or maybe you don’t want to name it. You turn your head, as if that will get you further away. “That’s impossible. My heart will always know yours.”

You look at your hands, feeling a little choked up. Your heart stutters and jumps in your chest. The question you’re holding back churns in a little ball behind your ribs.

“Hey,” he says, softly but intently. You manage to look up at him. “Let’s make breakfast?” He says it like a question.

“Yeah,” you say, able to speak again. “That sounds good.”

Yoongi lends you sweatpants, since it’s too chilly to roam around the house in basketball shorts, and busies himself in the kitchen while you get changed. When you finally join him, he’s plated something for each of you, and he pushes a glass of iced coffee towards you.

You can’t help but smile. “You remember,” you accuse, and he avoids your eyes, cheeks flushing.

“You get a girl ninety-thousand iced coffees, it stays with you,” he defends.

“Ninety-thousand,” you scoff, but you’re pleased. As you eat, you look out the kitchen window. It’s bright outside, but it’s still snowing - tiny, wispy flakes floating leisurely down to join you. The road clearly hasn’t been plowed yet; the snow outside is untouched, unbothered, a perfect sheet of white. You can’t even tell where the road is, except for the mailbox poking up out of the feet of snow on the ground already.

Yoongi follows your gaze. “Looks like you’re trapped here for a while,” he observes.

“A shame,” you deadpan, and he kicks at you playfully beneath the table.

“Well,” he says, thinking out loud, “since you won’t let me get any work done… do you want to put on a movie?”

“A Christmas movie?” you ask, perking up.

He rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting a little smile. “I guess that’d make sense,” he agrees.

He leads you back to the couch, which you eye sideways, remembering clearly what this couch witnessed about three hours ago. Yoongi seems unphased, slouching sideways against some pillows and looking at you expectantly. You join him gingerly, leaning against him, and he drapes a blanket over your legs.

“Pick something,” he asks, passing you the remote - another old Yoongi trick that you remember well.

You take the offered remote, clicking through the holiday options for something that you don’t think will make Yoongi gag. As you scroll, brows furrowed in concentration, he clears his throat beside you.

“So, uh,” he says, and you stop scrolling, because he sounds nervous. “Next weekend I’m supposed to go look at some apartments. Do you… would you want to keep me company?”

You look at him, eyes wide, the remote forgotten in your hand, still aloft and pointed at the tv.

“Why?” you whisper once you find your voice.

He shrugs, wets his lips. “You know the city well,” he says. “You can offer your brilliant opinions - tell me if the neighborhood’s okay… if there’s good take-away… where the transit stops are, that kind of shit.”

“Hm,” you say, a little tightly.

He shoots you a sheepish grin. “I’ll take you to dinner after?”

You give him a look. “Say what you mean, Yoongi.”

He purses his lips a little, disgruntled at being called out. Then, busted, he sighs and tries again. “Can I take you to dinner next weekend? Preferably in the city, and preferably after you help me make some choices about my living situation?”

You grin, unable to hold it back. “Yeah,” you say, trying hard to fight back the smile, to play it even a little bit cool. “Yeah, I’d really like that.” Trying to save your dignity, you turn back to the tv and go back to scrolling until you find a movie that seems like it’s not too over-the-top.

Yoongi reaches an arm around your shoulders, and this time you settle against him comfortably. You can feel him breathing beneath you, can smell that Yoongi smell - clean and alluring, can hear the shouts of some neighborhood kids running around outside. From the tv, tinkling bells and happy strings play a medley of Christmas songs as the opening credits run.

Part of you is already thinking about when the roads are plowed and you have to go home, shower off the scent of him, update your best friend about all of this, miss Yoongi in a much more real way than you’ve had to in about three years. But at least you have the promise that you’ll see him again next weekend. You close your eyes, content, happy to just be right now.

Yoongi feels it too, obviously. He gives your shoulders a squeeze, looks down at you fondly, and murmurs, “You know what? All this holly, jolly shit isn’t so bad.”

“God bless us, every one,” you deadpan. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

He grins at you, gums showing, and you smile back before leaning your head against his chest as on the TV a little girl watches out her window for signs of Santa.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!! My full masterlist can be found here :)

3K notes · View notes

writingstoraes · 9 months

Text

merry and bright 🎄

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: aaaa i really missed writing here! it's been months since i last posted but since i have a short holiday break, i thought why not get back into it! sooo here's a small holiday piece! hope you're all having a nice holiday so far 🤍

about: christmas shenanigans with charles!

yourusername

liked by joris__trouche, arthurleclerc, wags4eva, and 205,283 others

yourusername someone's finally home for the holidays 🎄missed you beyond words, my love!

lecslover MY PARENTS

scuderiaferrari Happy holidays, Y/N and Charles! ❤️

charles_leclerc Brb, putting mistletoe in every corner of the house 😅

hamilwhattt HES SO????

charles_leclerc

liked by carlossainz55, alexalbon23, maxverstappen, and 670,294 others

charles_leclerc 'Tis the season

yourusername why didn't you post your very beautiful gingerbread man cookies? 🤔

arthurleclerc Beautiful???? pierregasly Come on Arthur, it's Charles - of course Y/N is being sarcastic charles_leclerc I do not wish any of you a Merry Christmas 😑

maxverstappen Tell Y/N Penelope misses her baking!

lecssainz55 if you zoom in on the tree you can see me on top of the star about to jump

yourusername and charles_leclerc recently added to their instagram stories!

yourusername

liked by lilymhe, racingthusiasts, lorenzotl, and 321,242 others

yourusername freezing cold these days... thanks for keeping me warm charles_leclerc 😘

charles_leclerc Only put in this world for your thermal purposes, amour

lestappenz THERMAL PURPOSESHWBHW

hotcars need me someone to keep me warm too 😣

charles_leclerc

liked by maxverstappen, scuderiaferrari, arthurleclerc, and 832,394 others

charles_leclerc The best gift I could ever ask for 🎁

yourusername is???

charles_leclerc You, obviously 😘

pierregasly Happy holidays, lovebirds 🎄

alexalbon23 Merry Christmas, Charles and Y/N!

danielricciardo Soulmates are reunited I see...

riclaren OHH daniel is a charles and y/n enthusiast???

yourusername

liked by lorenzotl, wagslove, scuderiaferrari, and 203,294 others

yourusername best time of the year 🎄 hope everyone is feeling merry and bright 🤍

tagged: charles_leclerc

lilymhe Happy holidays my loves ❤️

isahernaez happy holidays, y/n and charles! meet up soon xo

wagstuff THE RING??? IS THIS???? AN ANNOUNCEMENT

yourusername merry christmas, user wagstuff :)

-------

notes: wishing everyone happy holidays! hope you're all surrounded by loved ones :) tysm for reading and pls don't be shy to let me know what you guys thought of this!

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy, @fdl305, @iloveyou3000morgan, @cxcewg, @sassyheroneckgiant, @ang3licho3, @pitlanebabe, @riverdalexvixens, @msliz, @boherahpsody @storminacloud @leclercdream (if anyone else wants to be a part of my taglist or if i forgot anyone that asked to be tagged, pls lmk by replying or sending me a message hehe)

763 notes · View notes

simpjaes · 9 months

Note

speaking of hoon edging himself for days when you're not available, can you write a quick prompt about how he'd fill up and overflow all your holes when you get back. fuck, he'd be the type to go for ages even after you're all fucked out and overstimulated

reminder that I don't do requests but since you asked for a prompt, i'll write a lil somethin' somethin'.

christmas setting woohoo!

warnings: major edging, a billion orgasms, reader is smaller than him and can be lifted and held up.

wc: 1.4k

Sunghoon, your busy, busy boyfriend. Sunghoon, you're amazingly sweet, loving, and careful boyfriend. Sunghoon, your very, very horny boyfriend.

Honestly, he hates himself every time he does it. Sometimes it's intentional, but this time it wasn't entirely his fault.

It's the first time since you started dating him that you had to go home for a week during the holidays. Which is fine, you've only been dating him since the beginning of the year and it was somewhat expected that you wouldn't be spending christmas with him and him alone. After all, you expected him to go home too.

And he did, which arguably makes his situation worse.

Sunghoon, your needy, pathetic, and annoyed boyfriend.

What's worse is that edging is one thing, but this is just blatant torture. He thought it would be fun to be long-distance for a week. He wanted phone sex, he wanted to see you fuck yourself on camera for him, he wanted you to show him how much you missed him. And that's ultimately where he fucked up.

Because you can barely even respond to his text messages let alone call him for phone sex. Due to sharing a room with your cousin, due to constantly helping your family out with holiday preparations, due to-- doing stuff that doesn't involve helping him out.

You're entirely being distracted from him right now. Family, holiday tradition, and merry joy or whatever.

And you know, it wouldn't be that big of a deal if it weren't for the fact that his libido is far too high to have a girlfriend not on him every night. And by every night, it's really every night.

He's supposed to be distracted, though, with being home too and all. But he's entirely tuned into the fact that he's been so fucking hard since the day after you left. It's almost painful now, especially because something inside of him drives him to enjoy this torture. To try and hold off for the day you both eventually land back in the same city, and he can fuck all of this frustration out of himself and into you.

Plus, um, it's kind of hard to jerk off in his family home surrounded by said family. If anything, he should not be as horny as he is. He should be entirely turned off, and entirely tuned in to wrapping gifts and pretending santa is real.

Which, again, isn't working because with each day that passes, all he can think about is you and how you looked the last night you were together, all pretty with your lashes fluttering up at him. Pretty face, pretty mouth, pretty pussy.

Man, he's gonna fucking explode before this week is up.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Safe to say, Sunghoon did not explode.

But upon looking at him when he storms into your dorm room? He seems pretty fucking close to it. He looks sleepy, spent, and even exhausted.

You were half ready to offer your bed up for a nice little afternoon nap before he came up to you and immediately had his hand down your loose pajama shorts.

"Hoon?" You ask with a light chuckle.

"You couldn't even call me." He very nearly whined, which is kiiind of new to you.

Then it clicks. Right. Your boyfriend and his libido. His sex drive.

Oh my god, he must have been suffering.

"I'm so hard right now," He chokes out, rubbing himself against your thigh. "I've been so hard all week, babe, please."

And he doesn't really need to ask, but it's kind of cute that he does.

"Why didn't you take care of it?" You ask playfully, feeling his frantic fingers work you up so that you're ready to take whatever nightmare amount of cum he needs to give to you.

"Why didn't you take care of it?" He counters, fingers stopping for a moment before he shifts entirely, pulling his hand out of your pants and immediately shoving you back and against the small dorm kitchen counter.

You chuckle, because of course you do. You'll never get used to being needed or wanted so badly by someone, and it fills you with so much joy that he's really this desperate.

"I should maybe leave more often," You smile at him when he's slipping your pants off of you, hiking one of your legs up and against his waist before fumbling with his own pants. "Never seen you this horny--"

He shuts you up fast, your voice only working him up more and more with your stupid, stupid playful words. You're loving this, you must loooove to see him fucking suffer over you.

And then, the only sound that you can hear is the ringing in your ears as he plunges himself into you. Cock already hard and wet, pulsing with the need to fuck something. You, specifically.

It's like neither of you could speak if you wanted to, with his consistent groans and relieved sighs of feeling your pussy squeeze him like he missed so much.

"Missed you, fuck-" He manages to choke out, already nearing the point of orgasm before it slams into him without warning.

It's the first time he's ever come so fast, barely a full ten strokes into you before it happened, but you love it all the same. It felt somehow better than usual. After all, he could go for an hour or more when his sexual appetite is fed nearly every night by you.

Arguably, he appears to be able to go an hour or more now too, as your face falls into that of shock that his orgasm doesn't render him flaccid or spent.

He paused through his first orgasm, feeling it run through his body in a numbing way, only to immediately fuck up and into you harder once it's subsided. He knows he has more to give, so, so much more. A weeks worth of fucking you will be had now.

And man, you feel every inch of him, deeper and deeper until somehow he feels bigger than usual. Somehow he's splitting you open better than he ever has, and he's filling you up with orgasms that have never once lasted as long as the ones he's shaking through now.

A second orgasm comes in the form of him wrapping your other leg around his waist too, where he's essentially holding you up and against the counter absolutely railing your pussy until his legs nearly buckle.

And well, they do buckle. He's careful though, maintaining his balance before tapping your legs without a word and immediately pushing you to the floor. You stared in awe at how his cock is still working through the two orgasms, despite his brain clearly having gone blank the moment he said he missed you.

There, you give him a third orgasm with your throat. It took a little longer, and it only happened when he let it. Holding your head in place with both hands, fucking his hips into you just to feel your throat constrict and strangle his pathetic and still needy cock. You hear his brain start working again through this, and the only words he can mutter is, "it's like you're doing this on purpose, god, look at how you take it."

You take all of it and you taste all of it, again and again as he stumbled in front of you, angling his hips into your mouth to push it deeper, just to come to the point that you're choking. You wish you could have seen the way he chewed against his bottom lip and threw his head back as it happened.

You're so good to him though, letting him take it out on you like this. So, so good to him.

And it didn't stop. For hours he fucked himself into every part of you that you'd allow, offering you several orgasms in turn from sheer force and need alone. He didn't really even try, because for the first time with you, he was solely desperate to focus on himself. To empty his body of this buildup, and to fill you up with how frustrated he's managed to become.

By the next morning, you weren't the only one rendered unable to walk. His own legs felt weak, his head hurt, his eyes were strained at the morning light. But when he looked at you, smiling as if you really would leave more often just to have him lose his goddamn mind like that again, he immediately scolds.

"Why are you smiling like you're gonna do this shit to me again?"

And you'd just smile wider.

"Because I definitely will."

He rolls his strained eyes at you, thinking hard about the fact that as much as he hates not fucking you, he might kind of love the way you make it up to him.

#sunghoon smut #enhypen smut #hardthots #anon #ask

444 notes · View notes

luvs4jhutch · 9 months

Text

National Anthem

Fanfic type: Smut One Shot Word count: 2.7k+ Pairing: Josh Hutcherson x Fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI; praising, edging, calling names (baby, sweetheart, etc), unprotected sex, dry humping, oral (m receiving), creampie, female pronouns, aftercare.. (I don't know how to write endings so i'll put it as a warning too LMAO)

Summary: In a night filled with opulence, you dressed to impress for your lover's mysterious surprise. From a chic restaurant to a lavish penthouse, you basked in the extravagance he showered upon you. The evening unfolded with decadent courses, expensive wines, and whispered promises of more indulgent encounters. As the night progressed, the dimly lit room enveloped you, its intimacy heightening the anticipation with each passing moment. The air was thick with desire as the lavish surroundings became a backdrop for an unforgettable rendezvous.

Author note: This is the first time I write something here, I hope you like it. English is not my first language btw, feel free to correct grammar and stuff. Merry christmas LMAOO<3

˝Money is the anthem of success so put on mascara and your party dress.˝

You looked in the mirror one last time and were radiant. Your hair in a half ponytail; the black short dress that was both elegant and casual; your lips... they looked so desirable... You were ready, and you knew it.

You looked at the time on your cell phone 06:54 PM. You knew Josh wasn't an unpunctual person, especially when it came to you. A message appeared on the screen of the device you were holding «hope you're ready for our surprise, sweetheart» You didn't even bother to open it.

You grabbed your expensive Louis Vuitton bag and a gorgeous fur coat, both gifts from your lover.

You checked the time one last time: 7:00pm sharp. The horn of Josh's Bugatti Veyron that you already recognized sounded twice, indicating that he was already waiting for you. You took your keys and opened the door to your luxurious residence. You couldn't see him, his windows were tinted, but you knew he could. As soon as you got close enough to the vehicle, Josh got out of it and approached you, kissed your hand and opened the door for you to get into the car. “You look stunning,” he says as he sits in the driver's side. “Thank you,” you responded, giving him a smile that maybe was fake, wondering whether to add an «I already knew that» or maybe an «I always am».

"Are you ready?" he asked looking into your eyes. You nodded at his question and smiled genuinely. "Yes I am".

Josh started the engine and the car purred at the action. He lightly placed his right hand on your thigh. This would be a long night.

You drove quickly down the highway. "Can I turn on the radio?" you asked, already knowing the obvious answer. "Yes, honey," your lover responded without taking his eyes off the road. "West Coast" by Lana del Rey began to be heard on all the car speakers.

You sang along to the lyrics, feeling the breeze in your hair. Josh smiled at you, admiring your beauty and your voice. He squeezed your thigh gently, making you shiver. You leaned closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder. He kissed your forehead, whispering "I love you". You said it back, even though you weren't sure if you meant it.

You wondered where he was taking you. He had been secretive about the surprise, only telling you to dress nicely and be ready by seven. You trusted him, but you also felt a bit nervous.

You looked out the window and saw the city lights. You recognized some of the landmarks. You were heading downtown, to the most exclusive area of the city. You wondered what kind of place Josh had booked for you. A fancy restaurant? A luxury hotel? A private club? You felt a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

As you approached the downtown area, you couldn't help but think about the extravagant possibilities awaiting you. The city lights reflected in your eyes, mirroring the sparkle of your designer jewelry.

Josh, focused on the road, continued to caress your thigh with a possessive grip. The anticipation grew as the car glided through the upscale streets. You subtly adjusted your dress, making sure it showcased your curves flawlessly.

The car pulled up in front of a lavish restaurant with a discreet entrance. A valet opened the door for you, and Josh guided you inside. The dimly lit ambiance and the soft music set the perfect scene for a romantic evening. As you entered, heads turned to admire the stunning couple.

Seated at a private table, the evening unfolded with decadent courses and expensive wines. Josh, absorbed in conversation, lavished you with compliments, occasionally interrupting to share an anecdote about his successful ventures. You listened attentively, feigning interest, your mind occasionally drifting to the price tags of the exquisite dishes.

Throughout the night, you played the role of the perfect trophy girlfriend, smiling for the cameras that discreetly captured your moments. The more Josh flaunted his wealth, the more you relished in the attention and the material pleasures that came with it.

As the night progressed, Josh surprised you with a small velvet box. Your heart raced with excitement as you opened it to reveal a dazzling piece of jewelry: a diamond necklace that matched the earrings he had gifted you on a previous occasion. You marveled at it, thanking him with a kiss on the cheek.

As the clock neared midnight, Josh suggested heading to his apartment to extend the celebration. Intrigued, you agreed, wondering what else he had in store for the night.

The car smoothly glided through the city streets once more, and soon, you found yourselves in front of a sleek, modern apartment building. Josh escorted you inside, the anticipation growing with each step. The private elevator ascended to the top floor, opening into a lavish penthouse adorned with city views and opulent furnishings.

The atmosphere changed, becoming more intimate as you entered the spacious living room. Soft music played in the background, and the city lights shimmered through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Josh poured glasses of champagne, toasting to the night and the surprises yet to unfold. "To us," you added, taking a sip of the bubbly liquid.

As the night wore on, Josh led you through the luxurious penthouse. He guided you to a dimly lit room where a large, four-poster bed dominated the space. You stepped into the room, your heart racing with anticipation. The soft lighting cast an alluring glow on Josh's features, making him even more irresistible. As he closed the door behind him, you could feel the tension between them escalate.

Josh slowly approached you, his eyes roving over your body in a way that made you feel both excited and vulnerable. He reached out and ran his hands to your hips, pulling you closer, sending a shiver down your spine. "Tonight is all about us." He whispered to your ear. His lips brushed against your neck, sending a wave of desire coursing through you.

He led you over to the bed, his hands never leaving your body. He sat down, indicating with a nod that you should sit on his lap, which you did. You leaned closer to his lips and closed the small distance that existed with a passionate kiss, full of desire. His hands ran possessively from your waist until they reached the top of your back, where the zipper of your dress was, which was slowly lowered, revealing the skin that shivered down with every touch and caress that Josh gave you.

He stopped kissing your mouth, starting to focus on marking, kissing and licking your neck. Your head threw back in pleasure and your hips began to move slightly on your lover's lap, feeling his erection beneath you.

"It looks like someone prepared for tonight," Josh smirked after observing a set of beautiful lingerie that you were wearing under your elegant clothing, a gift he had given you on one of your previous sexual dates. You chuckled as you began to loosen his tie and slowly unbutton his shirt. You helped him take off his shirt while he removed the luxurious diamond necklace he gave you a few hours before.

"I have to pay you somehow, right?" He approached your neck again as you said those words. "Mhm…" He responded with a sigh against your skin "I guess you do, baby." You humped faster at his cock and he bucked his hips slightly, looking for more friction.

As the room filled with their passionate moans and soft gasps, Josh started to unclasp your bra, leaving your breasts visible which Josh quickly began to massage, licking one of your nipples while playing with the other to give them equal attention. "Josh…" you moaned softly to his ear at the sensation.

The tips of his fingers began to play with the edge of your underwear, lowering it completely as he buckled his hips looking for release. He pushed you away gently to look at you in your eyes "Kneel down, baby…" he ordered and you obeyed him like his good girl. Cautiously, you began to remove his belt and unzip his pants, him looking at you with desire and lust. You helped him take off his pants and lightly caressed his crotch. He sighed at the mix of need, desire and your hand going up and down really slowly, almost tortuously. You felt him tremble at your touch and after playing for a while you pulled down his boxers, his hard cock already dripping pre-cum. You swear your mouth watered at the sight, and you quickly started licking his length, from base to tip, on which you left a small kiss before finally taking his cock into your mouth, never breaking eye contact. Her hand slid to your hair and stroked it slowly. You swirled your tongue around his tip and he leaned his head back, holding your head tighter and closer to him. You gagged feeling the tip of his cock touching the back of your throat and he immediately loosened his grip, letting you go at your own pace.

"Fuck…" He groaned and you hummed to his pulsating cock in response. His hand dropped to the bed sheets, squeezing them as he felt a knot form in his abdomen warning him of his orgasm. You noticed this and separated your mouth from his cock, a thread of saliva joining them both, as you began to jerk him off with a slow pace, edging him off. He rolled his eyes back into his head once more feeling his orgasm cutting off. He cupped your face gently in his hands, lifting it up. He looked into your eyes. His previously brown eyes were quickly consumed by the black of his dilated pupils, thanks to desire. You clumsily climbed back into his lap, his hands immediately settling on your hips with a firm, possessive grip. You grabbed his dick desperately and lined it up to your cunt, feeling the tip of it rub against you before sitting slowly on it.

"Oh fuck!" you exclaimed as he slid into you, hitting your cervix "God… you're so good…" He moaned as he felt your hot, tight pussy enveloping his cock. His hands left your hips and moved to your thighs, holding onto them as he started moving his hips slowly, pushing deeper inside you. You whimpered, meeting his pace as you grinded your hips against him. You could feel your orgasm building up, your pussy clenching around his cock with every thrust. He moaned, seeing your breasts swaying in time with his thrusts. "You're so fucking sexy riding me like that." He said, feeling your tight pussy milking his cock. His hips slapped against yours as he pushed deeper and harder inside you. Your body shaking with pleasure. Your eyes were rolled back in your head, your mouth open panting. You couldn't believe the pleasure you were feeling, his hard cock stretching you open.

"F…fuck… im so close…" You whispered between a moan, your eyes rolling back as you felt an intense wave of pleasure wash over you. "Be a good girl and cum for me, sweetheart…" you tried to respond, but only moans and sighs came out of your mouth. The orgasm hit you like an electroshock drawing an almost screamed moan. Your thighs trembling on top of Josh; your eyes completely rolled into your head. You fell onto Josh's chest, your head on his shoulder and he held you gently. He slowed his pace so you would come down from his orgasm. Josh held you close, feeling your body shuddering from the aftershocks of your intense orgasm. His heart raced, feeling the heat emanating from your body. He kissed your forehead softly, his own breathing heavy. "You're incredible…" he whispered to your ear before leaving another kiss in your forehead.

After a few moments, his heart rate slowly returned to normal and he couldn't hold back any longer. "Ready for round two, honey?" He asked, his voice hoarse from the pleasure. You nodded, feeling completely spent but eager for more. Josh pulled out of you slowly, making sure to prolong the pleasure before lying you down on the bed, his hard cock still twitching. Your legs spread slightly. He climbed on top of you, pinning your wrists over your head. His eyes hungrily eating you up and your body trembled with anticipation.

Josh thrust into you again, his movements both fast and hard, despite his efforts to maintain control. The sensation was intense, filling you up completely. His breathing became ragged as he felt himself close. "Fuck, you feel so good… so perfect for me…". You moaned loudly, feeling Josh's rough love deep within you. Your body arched off the bed, meeting his powerful thrusts eagerly.You could feel the intensity of his movements increasing further.

"I can't hold on much longer" Josh groaned, his hips slamming against yours in an unyielding rhythm. The head of his cock brushed against your cervix, sending waves of pleasure through your body. He bit his lower lip, trying to hold off his orgasm. His eyes were filled with lust. "Fuck, you're tight" he grunted, pushing deeper inside you. You wrapped your legs around him, encouraging him to go deeper. He felt your tight muscles gripping his shaft, pulling him closer to the edge.

His movements became erratic, thrusting into you with renewed force. "I'm gonna cum…" You moaned, feeling the pressure and tightness growing inside you. You arched your back, meeting his thrusts hungrily as he slammed into you again and again, feeling his cock twitching inside you. "I need you to cum inside me… please…" you whispered, your voice sultry and seductive. Your hips bucked up against him in perfect sync with his thrusts, your breasts swaying enticingly. Your nails dug into the sheets beneath you as Josh's pace quickened even more. "Cum for me…" you moaned seductively, pushing your hips up to meet his powerful thrusts.

Josh groaned loudly, his breaths becoming ragged as he felt himself getting closer to his climax. You writhed under him, meeting his thrusts eagerly. "Fuck, you're so tight… so hot…"

His hips slammed against yours one last time, his cock throbbing inside you. eyes closed tightly as he released himself into you, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. His seed filled you up, feeling both hot and thick. He groaned loudly, his face contorted in pleasure.

He panted heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He collapsed onto you, your panting filling the room. His cock twitched inside you as he tried to regain control. Slowly, he pulled out of you, a trail of his essence leaking out.

After a few moments, his breathing returned to normal. Slowly, he rolled off you, panting heavily. He looked down at you, his eyes filled with satisfaction. "That was… intense." He said, still trying to catch his breath. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on your forehead, his heart still racing from the intense pleasure he'd just experienced. Josh smiled at you softly, his eyes closed. He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from your face.

Josh sat up carefully, his muscles still quivering slightly from the exertion. He leaned over to grab a couple of tissues from the bedside table, returning to wipe the remaining moisture from your inner thighs and between your legs. Josh gently ran the tissues over his own lap, wiping away the mix of his own semen and your fluids. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down after the intense passion he had just experienced. After he was done cleaning up, he scooped up the discarded tissues and placed them in the trash can, then crawled back and cuddled up next to you. His arms wrapped around your waist and he pressed his face into your hair, inhaling your unique scent.

"That was amazing and… you were incredible," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. "I'm gonna have to spoil you rotten after this." he chuckled and you smiled back to him. "Aww… you don't have to…" you said while caressing his cheek. "Of course I do" He responded to your attempt of kindness, brushing a strand of hair from your sweaty forehead.

You curled into his warm embrace, feeling satisfied and fulfilled. A small smile played on your lips as you knew that this would not be the end of their secret encounters. There were many things you could ask for from him and he would gladly give, just to keep you by his side.

The room was a quiet sanctuary and your mind wandered to the tangible rewards that awaited you after this secret rendezvous. The diamond necklace he gave you whispered promises of future luxuries and you heard them attentively before falling asleep in your rich loverman's arms.

#josh hutcherson #peeta mellark #mike schmidt #sean anderson #clapton davis #josh hutcherson smut #josh futturman #mike schmidt smut #smut #fnaf smut #peeta mellark x reader #clapton davis x reader

333 notes · View notes

perfectlyoongi · 2 months

Text

BEST-FRIEND!NAMJOON who has a matching necklace with rings from your favorite drink cans. you thought those necklaces were made when you were 15 years old. 16? no, 17. yes, 18 for sure. it was something simple, very insignificant, but for you and Namjoon it was memories of two days full of sun and joy. in each necklace there was a new promise of eternal friendship and infinite love. it was as if those necklaces were the rings of your friendship. you never took them off. and whenever you needed that extra strength or comfort, it was by holding your necklaces that you found a little peace. “i’ll be honest with you. i don’t remember when we made our necklaces. all i remember is your huge smile when you put on yours. and to be honest, that’s all i need to remember.”

BEST-FRIEND!NAMJOON who pretended to marry you on your last day of high school and still has the vows he made to you. you knew that your paths would separate with the arrival of adulthood, but neither of you wanted to lose that special friendship. so, as if to celebrate the love between you, you and Namjoon faked a small ceremony in the garden of his house, where vows were exchanged and sealed with a tight hug. neither of you would disappear, you would just keep growing together. “i promise that our paths will meet again and when that happens, i will come to you with a suitcase full of my love for you. i promise that i will see you again and i will have my heart empty of missing you.”

BEST-FRIEND!NAMJOON who does embarrassing photoshoots to give you as postcards at christmas. when you took that photo of Namjoon at the beginning of high school and just teased him that he looked like he had never seen a camera in his life, Namjoon took your words as a challenge. so, every year without fail, Namjoon would do a small photoshoot where he would pose as if the art of photography was a science too complex to be understood. always signing the postcards with words too sweet for the photographs used, you looked forward to christmases just because you would receive that piece of intimacy from your best friend. “merry christmas to you and me. here’s your annual postcard. i don't know how to exist. i hope this makes you smile. stay well.”

BEST-FRIEND!NAMJOON who has written down in a notebook all the promises you made to each other. from the day you started a friendship, promises started to be exchanged. small things like taking his first car ride with you, or giving handmade gifts until you were twenty-five, you and Namjoon had a long list of hopes that graced your friendship. with each promise fulfilled, Namjoon crossed it out with the date it was fulfilled. but those long-term promises, those promises that lasted a lifetime, those were the ones that graced the first page in Namjoon’s notebook; after all, there is nothing more beautiful and hopeful than “i promise to love you until the day the earth eats me. and even then i will return in the form of flowers to show my eternal love for you — N.”

BEST-FRIEND!NAMJOON who saves you whenever you have a date that goes wrong. whenever you went on a date and it was going badly or was really uncomfortable, Namjoon didn’t mind pretending to be your very sick grandfather or your little sister who had a nightmare. all it took was a message from you for Namjoon to come up with a story that would justify your absence. changing his voice, status and name, Namjoon always made sure you had a way out of that date, always waiting for you at the door of your house to have ice cream with you on your couch. “remember if you need a way out, just send me a text. i can be everything you need, just say the word. i hope you have fun and remember, i’m always here.”

BEST-FRIEND!NAMJOON who is always the first to wish you a happy birthday. Namjoon always made sure to do two things: be the first to send you a happy birthday message and the first to call you to sing you the happy birthday song. when your special day arrived, a long and sincere message found refuge in your inbox and, before you even managed to open the message, Namjoon was already calling you to wish you a happy birthday. between Namjoon’s tender voice and his gentle words, you were starting your birthday with a little encouragement and happiness — that day was going to go good, Namjoon had promised you that. “happy birthday, sunshine. i know your day will be fantastic because you will be with me, but still, i hope the day goes well for you. remember that i love you very much and that the world is a better place because you are in it.”

BEST-FRIEND!NAMJOON who had no problem declaring himself to you because he knew it was reciprocal. when the time was right, Namjoon declared himself to you without nerves or beating around the bush. he knew you like no one else. he knew everything about you, including your feelings. so when he realized that his love was desperate to find shelter in your soul, it was with calmness and affection that Namjoon spoke to you. with bright eyes and a wide smile, Namjoon just looked at you and confessed. “ i like you. i dare say i love you. and i know you feel the same, so thank you for taking care of me and my heart. i know that with you i am in good hands.”

110 notes · View notes

cyberkinks · 9 months

Text

𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐄 ︙ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘𝐔 {KINKMAS}・♡

⤷︎︎ 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬, wom!reader, fiancé!mingyu. surprises, him being the kind man he is, him meeting your family and friends, you two being lovebirds throughout this, kissing, sexual interactions, multiple sex scenes, your mom scolding you. ✨

⤷︎︎ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, use of foul language, use of pet names (maybe), misspellings (maybe. english isn’t my first language). 🎄

⤷︎︎ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞, smut, fluff, CEO au. ⛄️

⤷︎︎ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲, christmas. a wonderful time of the year that you share with your precious family and in this case, your fiancé. you honestly felt as if mingyu forgot about the week you two were supposed to visit your family in LA but little did you know. ❄️

⤷︎︎ 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫!, this is for entertainment purposes only! 🌨️

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: ❛Hello, loves. I know it's been a while but I'm back with a longer imagine this time. hope you all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it for all of you. I still have more things in the works so look out for it! love you all, merry chrismas (if u celebrate), and happy new year! muwah! (I'll try to post for new years as well!) ♡ ❜ ☃️

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝: no, unedited.

It was kinda expected and you were torn apart but you kept a smile on your face around your family since you didn’t want them to know.

mingyu promised to come with you to LA to visit your parents since he’s never met them and as always, his schedule said otherwise and he was 'disappointed' also. you had left days before chrismas since it was gonna be a long flight plus you needed to help out your mom.

you looked around as your family mingled and talked amongst each other but you kept your life private which means it would’ve been an even bigger surprise since they didn’t even know you’d thought about dating. you were the most career focused person they knew.

you sat there trying to maintain a happy face but it eventually failed and your face turned sad at the thought of Mmngyu not being able to come.

your mom noticed and came over and sat down by you. “everything alright?” she asked with a look of concern and you nodded immediately, covering up your true feelings. “yeah, I’m fine.” you reassured her and flashed her a small smile.

she looks at you and chuckles. “y/n, I can tell when you’re not fine.” caught. she caught you in your “I’m okay” act and you sigh deeply. “it’s just….someone was supposed to come but…” you didn’t know how to finish off your sentence without ruining the surprise. “the person couldn’t make it.” you look down at your coffee mug before taking a sip.

“and why not?” she asks “they’re just…busy busy.” you replied trying your best not to spoil anything. “I see and this person is making you this upset? must be important.” you raise an eyebrow at her words, wondering if she knew already.

she winks at you before walking off and you shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts and have a good time but it was hard with mingyu being on your mind so you pick up your phone from the table and sent him a quick “I miss you” message then sat your phone face down back on the table.

soon, the doorbell rings throughout the house and you look over and see your mom going to answer it. you think nothing of who it might be until you hear that familiar voice and you stand up and walk into the living room from the dining room only to see mingyu standing there with his bags in his hands. “Sorry I’m late.” he says softly before kissing your forehead as you stand there in shock “the traffic was terrible” he continued. “I thought you said you were handing things today.” I ask him with a confusing frown.

he smiles down at you. “I wanted to surprise you, love. I took a few days off.” a smile appears on your face and you lean in and kissed his lips softly. “this is one hell of a surprise.” you say with a smile before looking back and seeing most of your family standing there. “oh sorry, uh mingyu this is my mom, (F/N). mom, this is my fiancé, mingyu” you stand aside watching as they greet each other.

soon after, you introduce him to your dad, (F/N) then the rest of your family as you hold onto his arm.

After introducing him, you two sat down on the sofa looking around. you look over at him. “I honestly thought you forgot.” you spoke softly and he chuckled softly at your words. “I know but I would never, i know how important this was for you.” said mingyu with a soft smile across his lips and you smiled back before pecking his lips “well, I’m glad.” you grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers with his and he kisses your temple.

you couldn’t have been more happier in this moment. surrounded by your fiancé, friends, and family. being together with him on your favorite holiday was all you needed for christmas.

・・・ 𝐀 𝐅𝐄𝐖 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑, it was now 11 PM and everyone went to bed early and it was just you and mingyu awake in the guest bedroom.

you were relaxed and laid back against the headboard, watching TV in your nightgown, rubbing your legs against the silk sheets trying to get comfortable as you waited for mingyu to finish up showering.

you couldn’t sleep without him being next to you. you were slightly clingy.

when you hear the water turning off, a smile forms on your lips but what happens next is something you didn’t expect. you looked up and saw him with a towel around his waist as water dripped down from his body and his hair, running down his abs and his neck.

you closed your legs at the sight before looking away not being able to handle the view and a light laugh came from his lips. “can’t handle what you see?” he says in a low whisper and you chuckle before looking back over at him. “of course I can, I just…it’s different.” you clear your throat before facing the tv again, trying to get your mind off what your eyes just saw.

“different? how so, love?” mingy says in a seductive tone before drying the water from his body and you take a deep breath. “I’m not sure what I meant by that either.” you say pulling the covers down a little, trying to show him what you were wearing and he raises an eyebrow. “now? In your parent's house?” he says as he climbs onto the bed, hovering over you. “such a bad girl, aren’t you?” he moves closer, positioning himself between your legs.

you bite your lips at his words before nodding as your hands rest on his shoulders now, feeling his cock resting against your thigh as he leans in closer, moving his head down to your neck and placing soft kisses and leaving love marks behind. “wanting me to fuck you right now..” he whispers against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

your body was heating up at this point. your underwear were now soaked in your own juices. his hands grabs onto your hips, pulling you closer towards his own body.

“please, mingyu.” you breathe out, rubbing on his shoulders and biting down on your bottom lip after.

“please what, sweetheart?” his lips trails down to your collarbone, kissing on it softly while his hands slide up your gown tugging at the hem of your underwear.

you felt as if you were slowly losing control at the way he was teasing you. his thumbs trace circles on your hips, trying to contain himself since there were other people here.

“Mmmph, i need you.” a soft whine escapes your lips. a soft smirk appeared across his lips. “do you now?” he said in a low and husky manner before moving back and slowly pulling your underwear off. he smiled at how wet you already were for him and threw your underwear on the floor.

with his two fingers, he spreads your wetness around your clit then carefully dips his fingers inside of you making a sharp gasp leave your lips.

mingyu slowly thrusts them into you, prepping you for him as he bites down on his bottom lip. he loved listening to the sounds you made and knowing it was him that could only make you feel this way excited him more. he watch as you squirm underneath him “b-babe.” you moan softly, wanting to squeeze your thighs together but he stops you before leaning down between your legs and wraps his lips around your clit sucking on it gently and you quickly cover your mouth to prevent yourself from waking everyone up.

you look down watching as he pleasures you. he grabs ahold of your thighs, pulling you closer. he begins to devour you as if it were his last meal.

he moans softly against your folds, diving deeper as he continues to hold you in place. his tongue laps at your clit over and over again. he loved the way you taste on his tongue. you tried your best to suppress your moans, trying your best to keep quiet but he was visibly making that hard.

your thighs begin to shake while your hole starts to pulse. you felt your orgasm approaching just by him using his tongue. you were almost there but he quickly moved his mouth from your folds.

his chin and lips were covered in your juices. he licked it all off his lips before leaning down to kiss yours softly, letting you taste yourself as he lines himself up with your aching hole. “ready, my love?” he whispers against your lips and you nod quickly, your eyes were full of lust along with his.

he carefully slid himself inside of you, grunting instantly at how wet you were meanwhile you covered your mouth once again, trying your best not to moan loudly as he stretched you out.

“Oh god..” You gasp, gripping his shoulders for dear life. “I could cum like this..” he groans pushing his cock further into you, filling you up to the brim.

his forehead rests against yours as he slowly thrusts into you, letting you get used to his size while waiting for your cue.

after a few more slow thrusts, you nod for him to speed up his pace and he does at that moment. he grabs your legs, pinning them down on both sides of your torso.

your head went back, moaning softly into the air as you grabbed onto his shoulders tightly. “m-mingyu!” a whimper left your lips.

“you’re so fucking tight, sweetheart.” he moans, leaning in closer. the bed creaks at how fast he is going as the headboard thuds against the wall.

you knew by now that your parents knew what was going on since the guest room was next to theirs and you cursed inside your head knowing your mom was going to scold you about it today. you began to scratch at his back, moaning a little louder and he shushed you with his lips, grunting into the kiss as his pace quickened.

"you're so fucking deep!" you mewl, looking down and watching as he pumps into you with sharp and quick thrusts.

his hands grab onto your hips tighter. "(Y/N).." he grunts, throwing his head back this time. you could feel your orgasm building up and the pressure was becoming too much and it wasn't long until it finally broke loose and flooded all over his cock. you gripped onto his back tightly as your orgasms hit you like a freight train. your walls tightened up squeezing him tighter.

“fuck, (Y/N)…” he muttered through the kiss, releasing his thick ropes of cum into you and you panted heavily as he let go of your legs.

once your breathing settles down he kisses your sweaty forehead softly, his heart beating out of his chest as he holds you close. “I love you so much." he whispers “I love you, too, mingyu.” you smile, holding him tightly. after everything was settled, you both lay down in silence, listening to each other's heartbeat.

"my moms gonna absolutely scold me." you mumble softly before drifting off to sleep and he chuckles at your words before kissing your forehead one last time before falling asleep as well.

・・・ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆, you wake up in Mingyu’s arms, laying on top of him and cuddling closer to him. his arm wrapped around your stomach and you snuggle into him, your face nuzzling against his bare chest and you hum softly under your breath. “good morning.” he says in his raspy morning voice before kissing the top of your head causing you to giggle quietly. you lift your head slightly, staring into his dark brown eyes. you watch as they scan over you and your face immediately heats up. “morning.” you say smiling widely at him before giving him a soft kiss.

"Enjoyed last night?" he smirks, caressing your cheek as he gazes into your eyes and you nod "I always enjoy anything with you." you tug down on your bottom lip, pulling him closer. "I'm glad." he hums, climbing on top of you and kissing your lips softly. his lips move down to your neck, leaving soft kisses behind. "Mm, mingyu we can't. I have to help my mom prepare and the kiddos are opening their presents now." you hum, wanting him to continue despite that. “even though we’re missing it.”

"We'll be quick.." He says rubbing his now hard-on against you and you chuckle. "promise?" you open your legs a little wider, letting him between them. he nods before kissing your neck again, running his hand up and down your inner thigh, making you bite your lower lip and arch your back. he pulls away, lifting himself a bit before he slips his cock inside of you and you gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist as your back arches upward.

He moves his hips slowly as he looks into your eyes, watching your facial expressions before burying his head into your neck, nibbling on your earlobe while pumping his hips harder and faster, his teeth scraping lightly. you start moaning softly again which causes him to grow even harder at seeing your reactions. “fuck..” he groaned, grabbing ahold of your hips and slamming himself into you. “yes…” you whisper into his ear, gripping his shoulders tightly. he lets out a guttural growl, his hips pounding against yours with every movement of his body and soon you start feeling waves of pleasure washing over you, your moans getting louder and he quickly kisses your lips to shush you.

He picks up the pace once more and you clutch on his shoulders, your nails digging in, as he comes into you hard. you both collapse back onto his bed, exhausted from the intense sex. Mingyu rolls over on his side, hugging you close to him while you wrap your arm around his waist. "Nothing like morning sex, huh?" I mumble as I snuggle closer. he chuckled and kisses the top of your head before replying "not at all."

Mingyu pecks your lips before removing himself from the bed. he walked into the bedroom and grabbed a clean rag and wets it up. after he squeezed the unneeded water out of it, he walked back into the bedroom and saw that you were trying to sleep and he quickly woke you up. “no no, we have things to do.” he says as he pulls you towards the edge of the bed and cleaned you up.

After you two were all ready and fully showered and cleaned, you walked down the steps and your mom instantly looked at you two. you gave mingyu a kiss on the cheek before walking into the kitchen and you looked up at your mom who was preparing the food alongside my dad. I raise an eyebrow “what is is it, mom?” I ask her with a confusing frown.

she chuckles. “you know, I couldn’t keep my hands off your dad either but… there are children here.” she says quietly and you gulp. “first of all, ew I don’t think I needed to know that and I know, we were just caught in the moment and it’s been days since I’ve seen him since I was here half of week but I do apologize.”

“Thank you, now I need help with this.” Your mom says and you grab the cake and carefully carrys it into the dining room and places it down on the table with everything else.

After everything was prepared and ready, you all began to eat after a prayer. you sat down beside mingyu and instantly smiled at him.

“My mom scolded me as I told you.” he chuckled at your words “I know, she scolded me too, didn’t expect it if I'm being honest.” you giggle at his words before starting to eat your food little by little as your family talked in the background.

I took a deep breath. “this is the best christmas ever, mostly because i have everyone to share it with.” you smile softly at him. “I’m glad, because…this is my favorite christmas ever.” he said looking over at you and you smiled. “I love you.”

“i love you too.”

263 notes · View notes

babydollmarauders · 9 months

Text

ONE PRESENT — ALEX TURCOTTE

alex turcotte x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

summary: in which Alex lets y/n open one present on christmas eve, and puts that present to use

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, toy use, oral (m receiving). (2.6k words)

notes: merry Christmas eve!! it’s day 11 of the 12 days of kinkmas, which means tomorrow is the last day! fair warning; i wrote this while sick and on multiple medications.

“it’s not a christmas movie.”

my hand is covered in salty butter from fresh popcorn, my glasses perched high on the bridge of my nose as i argue with my boyfriend.

“it absolutely is!”

my head snaps towards Alex, lips parted in disbelief.

“Die Hard is not a christmas movie!” i huff, my butter covered finger pointing at the tv, in which said movie is playing, “it’s an action thriller!”

“but it takes place during christmas time, therefore making it a christmas movie!”

“therefore.” i mock in a squeaky, high pitched tone, my boyfriend gaping at me in disapproval.

“you are such a child.” he shakes his head, but i can see the way he bites his cheeks, fighting back a smile.

“and yet, you’ve been with me for two years.” i grin, leaning forward to peck a kiss to the indented dimple that appears when he cracks his smile.

“you didn’t let your immaturity show until a month ago, when we moved in together.”

“bullshit,” i roll my eyes, grabbing another handful of popcorn, “i let my immaturity shine in all its glory on our first date, when i laughed after you said ‘balls.’”

Alex grins, pressing a kiss to my forehead before he responds, “i love it.”

it’s not too much longer before the movie ends, my boyfriend clicking off the tv as i get up to wash my hands and put the popcorn bowl in the dishwasher.

“do you think my mom is mad?” Alex questions, his eyes glued to his phone screen. his brows are threaded together and he appears in deep thought as i walk up to him, “she’s being pretty short in her responses.”

i peer at his phone screen, his message thread with his mother open.

“i’m sure she’s just busy,” i tell him, “she said she understood you not coming home.”

“yeah, but maybe she was just being nice.”

i smile softly, pushing his phone out of his face before climbing onto his lap, legs resting on either side of him.

“babe, there comes a time when almost everyone stops going home for christmas,” my words are spoken gently, my hands rising to cup his face as he stares back at me, “we both agreed that we wanted to spend christmas together, in the new house. it was your idea.”

he nods, turning his head to press a kiss to my palm.

“i know, i just feel bad, y’know?” now it’s my turn to nod in understanding.

“i know, baby. but, we’ll have a great christmas tomorrow! i’m making my cinnamon rolls, and you’ll make the coffee, and then we’ll open not only our gifts from each other, but all the gifts our families sent.”

my eyes flicker over to our christmas tree, piles of presents extending far beyond the branches.

“my parents went overboard,” i whisper, “i’m pretty sure you have more presents from them than i do.”

Alex barks out a laugh at my words, arms snaking around my waist to pull me tight against his chest, “they love me, what can i say?”

“you can say ‘stop, don’t love me more than your own daughter! that’s not fair to her!’”

he clicks his tongue against his teeth, “but then i wouldn’t get as many presents!”

i scoff, hitting his shoulder, but i don’t get a chance to respond before he’s got us falling sideways onto the couch cushions beside us, our faces lining up so we can stare at each other.

“i love you.” he mutters softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to my lips, and i hum in satisfaction.

“i love you a googol.” i cheese at him, my response earning me a hearty laugh.

“did you just tell me you love me as much as your made up number?”

“it’s not made up!” i gasp, “it’s one followed by one-hundred zeroes!”

“i’m dating a nerd.” he groans, prompting me to giggle before kissing the tip of his nose.

“you chose me.” i remind him.

“yeah, and i would choose you again.”

“you’re so cheesy.” i roll my eyes, but my smile never leaves my face, my hand running up and down his muscled arm.

we sit there in silence for awhile, eyes closed as we cuddle up on the couch, nothing but the sounds of our breathing.

i’m enjoying the peaceful quiet until he pushes my glasses up to my forehead, pulling one of my eyelids up to open my eye. i swat his hand away, groaning.

“what?” i snap.

“hey, i have a gift for you.”

“yeah, i know,” i huff, battling with his hand as he reaches up to try and forcefully open my eyes again, “i’m opening all your gifts tomorrow.”

“no,” Alex drags out, “i have a gift for you to open tonight.”

my eyes fly open and i let go of his hand, allowing him to push my glasses back down to my eyes so i can see him clearly.

“a christmas eve gift?”

he nods, “like you said your family does; although i think mine is better than pajamas.”

“hey, don’t knock the pajamas! that tradition will carry onto our children one day.” i reply.

“and i can’t wait for that. but right now, pajamas don’t sound like a fun gift, but i think mine is.”

i allow him to sit up, pulling me up with him before he leads me to our bedroom. my silk pajamas slip across the bed when he tells me to sit and i watch as he disappears into our closet, returning with a small, poorly wrapped present.

“oooh, what is it?” i ask, excitement filling my body as i make grabby hands toward him.

“open it and find out.” he smiles, handing me the gift.

watching intently as i slowly rip off the wrapping paper, he sits beside me on the bed. as the red paper falls away, i’m left with a box in my hand, a picture of a pink object on the front with words reading ‘Bullet Soft-Touch’.

“is this-” i trail off, looking up at my boyfriend in amusement.

“a vibrator,” he shrugs nonchalantly but his cheeks twinge pink as he speaks, watching me open the box and pull out the object, “i figured it would help when i’m on roadies, and i thought maybe we could test it out tonight.”

my brows furrow as i cock my head to the side.

“test it-” i echo, momentarily speechless by his bold statement, “what, you wanna watch me masturbate?”

Alex chuckles at my confusion, shaking his head, “no, although i’ll definitely file that for a later date. i wanna use it on you.”

“oh.”

i let the idea ping around in my head for a few moments, my legs pressing together at the thought of him holding this toy between them, controlling my pleasure.

“okay.” i nod.

“yeah?”

“yeah.” i repeat, setting the box to the side, as well as the vibrator that fits perfectly in my hand.

i turn, climbing over to straddle his waist as i pull his lips towards mine, “thank you, baby, i love it.”

our lips meet in the middle, slow yet crude kisses shared between us. his tongue slips past my lips, exploring my mouth with fervor, as though it hasn’t been in the same position a million times before.

“i already charged it and washed it yesterday.” he tells me, his sentence broken up by my lips pressing against his.

i acknowledge his words with a soft moan, the energy between us heating rapidly as i gently grind my hips down against his. my silk pajama shorts, slide easily over his sweatpants, which i know for a fact is the only layer covering his slowly hardening cock.

we had changed into pajamas hours ago, before the movie, leaving him in only sweatpants, in which he never wears boxers underneath at home.

“crawl up on the bed, doll.” he pulls away, his hand slapping against my ass as i follow his demand, making my body jolt in surprise.

i lay with my head on my pillow, watching with baited breath as he moves the vibrator box onto my dresser before grabbing the vibrator itself off the mattress.

“take your shorts off.”

my thumbs tuck into my waistband, sliding not only my pajama shorts, but my panties down my legs. i flick them onto the floor as my boyfriend joins me back on the bed, sitting on his knees in front of my parted legs.

his free hand smooths over the skin of my leg, the other clicking the toy on and repeatedly pressing the button, trying out the different speeds and patterns before turning it off.

“relax.” he coos, nudging my legs open a bit more for him to fit between them.

he drops down to his stomach, his hot breath hitting against my damp pussy, and a mild shiver racks my body. his lust-blown eyes meet mine, holding contact as he lets a string of spit drop from his mouth and onto my clit.

turning the toy onto the lowest level, he gazes up at me as he lays it against my clit, my hips jerking at the sudden vibrations that reverberate through my core. his hand sprawls across my lower abdomen, holding my hips down as he circles the toy around my clit.

he watches with a grin as my head falls back against the pillows, my breathing turning into heavy pants.

“Alex.” i cry as he applies more pressure.

he presses the button again, the vibrations picking up in intensity and making me squirm underneath his touch. my back arches, eyes squeezed shut as my hands fist the sheets.

“look at you,” his hips grind gently against the mattress, his words barely heard over my cries of pleasure, “so pretty; getting wetter with each second.”

he rubs the vibrator on my clit, my stomach tying in knots with each passing minute that he holds the toy against me. pressing one last time, the vibrations gain intensity once more and my eyes roll back as my teeth sink into my bottom lip, biting so hard that i’m surprised i haven’t drawn blood.

my walls tighten around nothing, my hips wiggling as much as they can under his touch as i begin lightly grinding against the toy.

“Alex, i’m so close,” my words are whimpered in a hurried breath, my legs tensing and shaking as i resist every urge for them to close, “don’t stop! please, don’t stop!”

“i’m not gonna stop, doll,” true to his word, my boyfriend holds the vibrator still against my clit, my body trembling as my breath catches in my throat, “cum for me.”

as though i was awaiting his approval, i let go, a strangled moan escaping my lips as i reach my orgasm.

“holy fuck.”

Alex chuckles at my reaction, turning the toy off when my hips jerk away from it. he tosses it to the other side of the bed, crawling over me as he smiles.

“that was so fucking hot.” he whispers, leaning down to press a kiss to my lips.

as he pulls away, i can feel his fully hardened erection pressing against my thigh, and i immediately feel guilty that he didn’t get to cum. but spotting the look in my eye, Alex shakes his head.

“it’s okay, promise. i don’t wanna overwork you tonight when you still need to be able to walk on christmas.”

my head pushes back into the pillows as i laugh, my cheeks turning pink at the reminder that i can’t go multiple rounds without feeling it the next day.

his cock still pressing against me, my head finally clears enough to think, and i’m quickly nudging him off of me.

rising from the bed on wobbly legs, i pull my boyfriend by his hands until he’s sitting on the edge, taking my glasses off and setting them on the nightstand.

“what are you doing?” he questions, but i don’t respond, rather choosing to let my actions speak for themselves.

i sink down to my knees, watching as realization brightens in his eyes. i reach up, one hand trailing down his stomach and making his abs clench as my fingers tickle the area, and as soon as my fingers hook into his waistband, he’s lifting his hips; helping me nudge the sweatpants down his legs until i can finally pull them off.

tossing them beside me on the floor, i spit into my palm making sure it’s well lubricated before i wrap my hand around his length, his tip bright red as it glistens with precum.

running my thumb over his slit, he lets out a grunt, biting his lip as i spread the precum down his shaft for extra lubricant.

i lean forward, peering up through my lashes as i press my lips to his tip, kissing gently and coaxing a hiss out of his lips. his hands tangle in my hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail.

my tongue darts out, kitten licking his tip before i take him in my mouth, sucking gently as i begin jerking his length. his grip on my hair tightens, curses falling from his lips as his head tips back, and his reactions only urge me to continue, letting my jaw go slack and relaxing my throat as i go deeper, breathing through my nose as my hands work whatever doesn’t immediately fit in my mouth.

“fucking skilled,” he gruffs, looking back down at me as i flatten my tongue against the underside of his cock, “that pretty little mouth, just for me.”

i moan in response, making his hips buck up, and his tip hits the back of my throat, making me gag around him, tears pooling in my eyes.

“shit, fuck!” Alex groans, eyes squeezing shut at the sensation.

i pull back, my lips releasing him with a pop, and gulp in a deep breath, my hands still pumping him as i catch my breath.

once i’ve deemed myself ready, i let my tongue loll out, relaxing my throat as i taking him in again, this time, as deep as i can go. one hand drops from his length, falling down to massage his balls as i try hard not to gag around him.

tears run down my cheeks as i bob my head and despite my greatest efforts, i gag each time the tip of his cock hits the back of my throat. hearty moans drop from his lips, and i watch as his abs clench, his dick jerking in my mouth, signifying to me that he’s close.

“doll, i’m gonna-” he barely gets to finish his sentence before he tenses, his grip on my hair becoming even tighter as a grunts, cock pulsating in my mouth as ropes of cum coat my throat.

i continue pumping him, milking him dry until he finally sighs, using his hand in my hair to pull my mouth off of him. he stares down at me with darkened eyes as i open my mouth, showing off his sticky cum, before swallowing, opening again to show him it’s gone.

“fucking hell,” he sighs, hands dropping from my hair in order to lock around the back of my neck, pulling me up for a kiss, “i’m gonna marry you, you know that?”

i laugh, my throat sore and voice raspy from my previous actions, “yeah, i know.”

Alex grins, rising from the bed. he pulls me towards the en-suite bathroom, nodding his head towards the shower.

“wanna join me?”

i nod, pulling my pajama top over my head and throwing it on the counter, “but no more funny business! i can’t make breakfast tomorrow if i’m limping!”

he nods, holding his hand up as though he’s under oath, “i’ll be on my best behavior!”

my eyes roll as i turn the shower water on, looking over as i wait for it to heat up.

“somehow, that doesn’t comfort me.”

#faithlynn’s 12 days of kinkmas #alex turcotte #alex turcotte x reader #alex turcotte imagine #alex turcotte blurb #alex turcotte fic #alex turcotte smut #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl smut #faithlynn’s writings <3

241 notes · View notes