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luvwestwood · 13 days

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❝ SAVE A COW, MILK THE ...!? ❞ - Choso Kamo

— (18+) .. SEEMS LIKE THE LOCAL MILKMAN HAS A DIFFERENT TYPE OF MILK IN STORE FOR YOU.

ᯓ★ warnings. (18+), milkman! choso, msub to mdom, overstimulation, titty jobs, p in v, resolved sexual tension, oral (m rec), squirting, slow burn, praising, slight? creampie, suggestive language and actions

ᯓ★ notes. I made choso soo whiny in this I fear.. please beware, there is a LOT of irony in this LMAOO.. plus I need him real bad I think u can tell, anyways hope u all enjoy, this was my 1.4k gift <3

4,862 words (17m read)

please check out and support the actual artists piece on twt!/ig, - @/iamdebruh! + art (center of heading) is by @/yunonoai on twt.

Eggs, sugar, heavy cream, flour, vanilla extract and.. and..?

You analyse the countertop carefully, eyes flickering over each ingredient you had pulled out of the grocery bags less than a minute ago.

"Let's try this again.." Sticking a finger out, you point at the produce one by one, performing a routine of a silly head-count. "Okay- eggs, sugar, heavy cream, flour, vanilla extract and…" Your index finger lands on an empty space that was yet to be filled, and finally, it registers into that brain of yours.

"Oh, how could I possibly forget the milk?!" You cry out in pure distraught, scanning the other countertops in hopes of accidentally misplacing it somewhere instead. Pretty useless though, as no sudden miracle was to be found anywhere.

Groaning, you bury your face into the palm of your hands— mentally cursing at yourself for forgetting one of the vital ingredients for the cream pie, how could you?

Hissing as you pace around the kitchen, you open the fridge with brutal force, head close enough to imploding as you rummage inside for a drop of milk to be found.

"There's no way I'm making a second trip. Not with these gas prices." You whisper to yourself, drawing your head back from being stuck deep inside the fridge, using the curve of your ass shut the doors.

Nibbling on your fingernails, you take one more glance at the ingredients on the counter; contemplating whether you should head back, give up fully and try another day, or….

ding dong!

Hand on hip, your head darts to one side, towards the sound of the doorbell. Who could it be?

Dragging your feet to the front door, you reach over by your side to the console table; digging your hands into the glass bowl for your keys.

Another knock sounds from the door, a deep voice speaking from behind it. “..Delivery!”

As you fiddled with the lock, you glanced over to the clock on the wall; reading exactly half past four in the afternoon. You weren't expecting anyone, really. You usually kept to yourself on Fridays, just to relax from a week’s worth of busy work.

Taking a swift look into the peephole, you could only see the glass covered with white— it seems that whoever is outside is clearly blocking the view.

The door opens widely, revealing a familiar figure you tend to see a few times each week— the milkman. You take note of the few beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, unable to be hidden by his cap. Did he.. run here?

Dark brown hair, tickling the top of his shoulders; cap embellished with "Milkman" just before the brim. Covered in white, bar his black pants. You recall that he goes by the name Choso, a piece of valuable information you managed to pull out of him during an interaction only a few weeks ago.

You must admit, your milkman was quite decent looking for someone with a position like his, and the cute bow tie encircled around his neck depicted him to look sweet and dandy. Wait, there's no way I'm swooning over my local milkman right now.

"Oh, Choso- How could I forget?!" You chirp, seems as if he came at the most ideal time you could possibly think of. "What a coincidence, just in time for my cream pie!"

His biceps scream against the fabric of his short-sleeves, begging to be let out as he tightens his grip around the neck of the glass bottle. "I-in time for your what?" Ears painted with a tinge of red, he looks shocked, more on the flustered side.

Letting out an anxious giggle, you point back behind you with the use of your thumb. "Sorry- I meant I was just about to bake a cream pie right now, and I realised I forgot the milk." Looking over your shoulder, then back at him, he smiles back; clearly flustered over the misunderstanding.

"R-right, I apologise, it's been a really long day.." He hands over the bottle, slightly crouching down to pick up his carrier that rested at his feet. "You're actually my last delivery today, they let me off early cause of the work I've done this week."

Holding the door open with your foot, you carefully place the jug on the same console table behind you, smiling to yourself as he went on a tangent about all the things he had accomplished this week— as if he was expressing genuine content rather than boasting.

"Well someone has been a good boy this week, huh?" You innocently beam at him, Choso's knuckles growing white as he clenched the carriers handle. He seems appreciative of the comment, but looks as if he wasn't used to receiving any.

"..Yeah.." Diverting his gaze away from you, he decides to stare down at the top of his shoes, until something you say has his eyes darting back up at you in a split second. The air so thick with tension, the two of you suddenly stay silent.

Humming before you speak your words, you ponder and wonder if your offer was a bit out of line. "..Would you like to come in for a bit? I could really use some help in the kitchen," Not hearing an immediate response from him, you add on, "You could have some of my cream pie afterwards. It would be a workout going down all those steps again, I assume!"

Choso reaches a free hand behind his head, scratching at his nape in contemplation. He knew that you were referring to the endless flights of stairs that were nothing but a nuisance to him as he tried to get to your apartment.

The fact that you had been the only customer in this entire apartment block, didn't have any effect on him though— as it was you he was looking forward to see each time he's out on the job.

Each time he dropped the same jug of milk at yours, only meant that his low lying interest in you would continuously grow, to the point that he couldn't think of anything else, but you. The man was whipped.

He wanted to get to know you better, but couldn't muster up the courage. He felt as if there never an appropriate time to do so, and the fact he landed a job as milkman, the guy assumed that you thought of him very little.

“I.. don’t know if I should..” He mumbles, anxiety and hesitation written all over his face— so easily read.

You roll your eyes, now leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, Choso slightly taking a step back to refrain from crossing a certain line with you so up close. “Come on, it’s not like I’ll get back to your boss with this!”

Crashing at yours for a bit meant that he'd finally have the opportunity to spend some time with you. Little steps, am I right? He couldn't miss out on something like this. Only a fool would do so.

"..I-I'd love to help you with your cream pie." He blurts out, lips parted due to solely being mesmerised. The two of you gawk at each other for longer than intended, but it doesn’t allow things to turn awkward. Was it the choice of words? The tone? What was it, really?

You blankly stare at him for a second longer than he did, nodding in approval. You had very little hope in him actually saying yes. "..Alright, come in." Beckoning at Choso, you step aside, noticing how he hesitates for a moment, just before he enters at his own will.

You watch as he walks further into the apartment, stopping considerably at a point just to not go out of bounds.

Your own eyes trail down his back, surprisingly so broad, that was now facing you. Having to peel your gaze away, you safely lock the door, dropping the key back into the dish beside you.

Grabbing at the jug, you make your way past Choso; taking yet another glance behind your shoulder for reassurance, just to see him trailing behind you like an obedient puppy.

"Make yourself feel at home, don't be shy!" You remarked, stepping around the kitchen island as you gathered the ingredients back onto the counters; Choso stopping just by the stools in front of you. He seemed all quiet and timid, even doing a double take before he decides to place his carrier on a stool beside him.

He sets aside his cap, politely tucking it away into his carrier before calling for you from across the island. “So.. Is there anything I could help with..?” Extremely eager to assist you in your endeavours, he found it so absurd that he was literally with you, right now, in your own apartment.

“I’m okay for now, just relax for the time being.” Your tone reassuring, you continue your current task as soon as you flash him another smile.

Swiftly putting some ingredients into a bowl, you still occasionally glance up at Choso— the second time round, you didn't even notice that he was already situated beside you, his hands gripping at the edge of the counters as he watched your every move.

"..Hmm, you ever made a cream pie, Choso?" You blurt out, carefully sieving the flour into yet another bowl. You must admit, your words intentionally had a different meaning to them. It was funny, and you knew he would flip out; his burning gaze at the side of your head being unavoidable.

His cheeks flash hot, words stumbling after one another. "I uh, haven't, no.." His voice growing small, you were right in thinking that he thought of a different kind.

Choso mentally argued with himself for doing so, as now wouldn't be the best time to feel his cock strain against his pants. He had to immediately swat the thoughts away, as they were already tight enough. "..Have you?"

His sudden reply had your sieving come to a halt as you slowly looked up to him next and you; just to see that he was still doing the same. Staring into his eyes, you try to think of an answer, swallowing the lump in your throat in the midst of it all.

"..No, I haven't." Your words come out in a whisper, noticing how his eyes alternate between yours and your parted lips. "I've never made one.. It's my first time today." Blinking slowly, you grow timid, your eyes making its way back to the bowl.

Resting your two hands flat down on the counter, Choso's breath hitches— his finger reaching down towards your chin. Guiding you to properly look up, he slightly crouches down to close the space between you two, and in a split second, your lips latch onto each other.

Eyes squeezing shut, you melt into the kiss, wrapping both arms around his neck to bring him closer; Choso letting out a subtle grunt as he hesitates about where to place his hands.

"I.. wanna touch you,” Resting his forehead against yours, his voice trembles, finishing with a helpless crack. Choso was practically begging you, and something about that just had you over the edge. "You don't know how much I've been wanting this.. I need you.. please..”

And he wasn’t lying. He wondered how your soft skin felt to his touch. He always wondered whether he would ever be able to have the chance to make you feel good.

Breathing heavily against his lips, you just nod hysterically, and in less than a second he slithers both hands under your ass, hoisting you into his embrace as he gently places you on the counter beside.

Your lips crash onto each others once again, Choso feeling up and down your body, his demeanor showing how much he's been wanting this for ages. He couldn't even believe it himself. You? Allowing him to have you? Is he dreaming?

A mewl escapes your lips as he cups your face into his hands, his ticklish kisses eventually moving down to your neck, the way he touches you seem so tender, and genuine, Choso didn't want to rush anything. He wanted to savour you.

He anchors himself between your legs— chest heaving so intensely from pure excitement. Meanwhile, you strip your top off, Choso swallowing a lump as he processes the fact that you had nothing else underneath this whole time.

He wastes no time, eagerly latching his mouth onto a breast, groaning as he firmly shuts his eyes, tongue relentlessly swirling around your nipple. His free hand fondles with the other as you comb your fingers through his hair, caressing it gently to let him know he's doing a good job.

You let out a string of breathy moans, a pop sounding from his mouth as he lets go. Pausing for a moment, you try stabilise your breathing, confusion written on his face.

"The sofa," You pant, Choso doing more so the same; his brows furrowed in despair as he yearns for more of you. "Let's move to the sofa.."

And he nods, beckoning you to wrap your legs around his torso once again, your arms being used as support to cling to him. You rest your head against his chest for a split second, allowing you to hear the ecstatic pace at which his heart was going at.

His feet stops just before the sofa, giving you the opportunity to drop back down, in which you suddenly grab his hand and pull him along. Choso seems perplexed, until you gently push him down onto the sofa by the chest, and he could do nothing but stare at you in pure adoration.

"Just relax yourself, okay?" Your voice soft, you kneel after he nods obediently, more than happy to agree with whatever you say.

You don’t dare look away, fingers toying at his belt buckle; which soon enough you end up undoing. Choso was about to lose his mind, and it took a lot in him to not leak right here, right now.

Tugging on the waistline of his pants, the man shifts his hips around to allow for more leeway. His mouth remains open as quiet, irregular huffs slip out, so eager to experience the very next thing you'll be doing.

Stopping as soon as his pants met his ankles, you smile, noticing the wet spot that had formed on his boxers— your hand gently rubbing up and down his protruding bulge. A whimper chokes out of him as he shuffles around a bit more, causing him to bite down on his bottom lip to suppress any more moans. He was too afraid to admit that anything you do has him melting.

All he could do was look down at you between his legs in bliss. Choso just couldn't believe it, and this was definitely not how he expected to end his evening.

His boxers follow after his pants, feeling him shudder under your touch as he comes into contact with the cold air. You shift around upon seeing his throbbing, leaking tip; not letting anymore time pass as you wrap your mouth over it, your satisfied humming sending vibrations to and through him.

Looking up to observe a reaction, Choso only slaps a hand over his mouth, groaning into it as his face returns to the same, crimson red; his other hand shaking as he tries to rest it on the back of your head.

Your head bobs up and down, cheeks hollowing and a free hand kneading at his balls for extra stimulation— Choso endlessly whimpering into his palm as his head falls back into the cushions, eyes eventually closing as he floated around in a pool of pleasure.

Buckets of spit trickled down your chin as you continued sucking him off, Choso squirming in the seat from time to time, his legs unable to stay still. You decide to take another peek, looking at him one more time, and thought to yourself; he seemed cute with the bowtie still on, his actions causing a flutter in your abdomen.

"Mmh," Muffled, as he was too busy suppressing a loud moan, he gives up, hand leaving his mouth to grab onto the sofa behind him. His other free behind your head tightens its grip, Choso suddenly fucking his hips up from the sofa, his teeth gritting as helpless grunts try to slip out. "Cu.. I'm gonna.. Uh.."

Your two hands suddenly place flat onto his thighs as he fucks into your throat, Choso's array of whines intensifying as he feels his balls contracting constantly, his face so warm to the touch.

So helpless, his two hands sets its place into your scalp, Choso bottoming his cock into your throat as he lets out a lengthy moan as a familiar feeling he had never felt washes through his body.

Tears welling up in your eyes, you mentally note to yourself to continue breathing through your nose, Choso’s prolonged groan causing a pool between your legs. You feel a rope of warm fluid shoot down your pipes, your hands repeatedly slapping at his thighs for a sliver of air.

His head hauling back down, he didn’t look the same as he did a few minutes ago— Choso’s eyes low and dark as he pulls you off his cock, a questionable grunt coming from him as he takes note of your fucked up face.

He tried his best not to laugh as you shot him a deathly glare, and of course failed. His smile fades, turning into horror as he watches you slide his cock in the midst of your cleavage, lip quivering as you drop an orb of your own spit on his tip that was slightly peeking out.

Choso’s hands grip at a cushion nearby on the sofa as you began to clamp your breasts together around his cock, moving them both up and down— throaty whimpers instantly emitting from him as you reinforced the stimulation on his still sensitive girth.

“Nghh—,” He cries out, mouth left gaped as he felt yet another foreign knot forming in his stomach; somehow identical to what he felt before orgasm, but just stronger.

“It’s too.. too much,” His words come out in a whisper, Choso’s let’s stamping the sides of your arms as you were anchored between them— his whiny voice trembling as he felt yet another impending orgasm that was about to hit him even harder.

A devilish smile plasters onto your face as you occasionally stuck a tongue out to chafe over his throbbing tip, Choso only able to let out deep grunts this entire as he occasionally looked down at you in a state of euphoria.

“Agai-n, I’m.. cum..” Incapable of finishing a sentence, his tit engulfed cock twitches, much thicker ropes of white shooting up into the air, dropping back down into your chest as it splatters droplets everywhere.

Choso’s head feels heavy at this point, his eyes lazily scanning his surroundings as he spots you decorated with the white drops that somehow managed to make its way to your face too.

Getting back to his senses, he attempts to sit up, legs still weak but with enough strength, his first instinct was to tend to you; the same hands clawed in your scalp making its way back to your cheeks as he kissed you so lovingly, his teeth nipping at those lips that were wrapped around his cock a few minutes ago.

Him being the first to pull always, it seems Choso has a request of his own. “..Get on the sofa,” he instructs, no sign of a stutter left to be heard within his words.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you beam a sinister smile as your aching knees rise off the ground— followed by you throwing yourself onto the sofa beside him.

You watch as he slightly jerks his cock, his eyes watching you take your turn obey orders. Raising your hips slightly to make things easier, you stripped the last of your garments; kicking away your underwear to the other side of the room.

Choso mirrors your actions, kicking off his shoes and trousers as he follows with his knee settling between your legs. You look up and survey his every move as his fingers yank at his bow tie, loosening it overall— his hands still trembling as he attempts to undo all buttons of his shirt.

You giggle, reaching down playfully toying with yourself as you place a foot on his bicep, shamelessly exposing your pussy even more to him as he peered down at you in utter silence.

Finally stripping away his shirt, the bow tie keeps its place and hangs around his neck— your impatient self subtly grinding against his thigh— your slick evidently leaving a mark on his skin.

“Just fuck me, Choso..” You whisper, sticking a finger into your leaking hole that has been that way ever since you made out with each other. Your words examined his ability to maintain his composure, Choso felt that it was time you did the things he wanted you to do.

His breathing hitches, Choso sucking in a breath as he leans in closer, as he guides the tip of his cock to align with your hole. An unoccupied hand grabs your legs, hoisting both on each of his shoulders.

Folding you into a mean mating press, your arms encircle his back, your moans tickling the shell of his ears as he slid himself in— throaty grunts also sounding from him.

Choso begins to move his hips slowly, your mouth gasping at his girthy cock stretching you out completely— his face buried into the crook of your neck as his hot breath fanned against your skin.

“Faster.. faster Choso..” You plead, his hips immediately snapping into you at a faster pace, his lowly grunts returning to the familiar whimpers as your gummy walls wrapped around his entire length. Feeling him in your gut, you chant his name like a prayer, Choso doing his best to fuck you in all the right spots.

A loud moan slips past your lips, your manicured nails scratching at his chiselled back like a kitty and it’s scratch post. As he fucked you into the sofa, something similar to a growl was heard from him as you dragged your nails down his entire back; surely leaving an evident trace of you behind.

Seemingly not enough for him, he uses his knuckles by your sides to prop himself up- Choso grabbing your ankles into the grasp of one hand and pushing them down further and infront of him this time.

On the verge of losing his mind, Choso’s hips brutally fuck into you, his cock deeper than ever— a white, creamy ring forming at his shaft.

His heart races at the sight of his thick cock disappearing in and out of you down below, Choso almost hypnotised at the sights as if he were eyeing a pendulum. His hand lets go of your ankles, grabbing for the edge of the sofa above your head— cock drilling you mercilessly into the cushions.

You mewl and whine, utilising maximum strength to keep your eyes open and hold a good view of Choso, his free thumb reaching down to swipe a stripe on your cheek as he coos a few praises at you.

The position you were in as of now had been churning both of your minds, Choso admittedly finding it difficult to continue fucking into you as he was about to cum at any given moment.

“Fuck,” he sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, eyes looking into yours as he studied your facial expressions, “So pretty,” Your cheek eventually fits into his palm as he fluctuates the pace at which he was fucking into you— nothing but satisfaction and adoration to be seen in his eyes.

His hips rut into your hole slow and deep, your hands grabbing at his wrists as you felt him bullying your cervix— cock endlessly rubbing between your walls, tip seldomly hitting against your sweet spots.

The legs of the sofa creak against the floor boards, eventually beginning to scoot itself to another side of the room. You couldn’t care less about consequences you might face with the downstairs neighbours tomorrow.

Strands of his hair stick to his forehead and temples, your fingers hooking around the strap of his necktie to pull in him closer, your lips yearning to have his on yours.

Your walls uncontrollably clench around his length, Choso’s head falling back in bliss; his mouth emitting short, overwhelmed breaths for a few seconds.

Your tits press against his chiselled chest as he fucks you silly, almost as if it was payback for treating him like he was clueless. Did you really think he’d let you boss him around?

Choso’s leans down once again, mouth sucking and leaving marks all over your breasts as he feels himself coming to one of his many orgasms today— buckets of sweat glistening over his physique like a glossy finish.

You grab at his bicep, slapping it repeatedly to give him notice of your impending orgasm— Choso planting a wet kiss on your lips to quickly swallow the ‘O’ your mouth had formed.

He instantly slides his cock out of your hole, taking his length into his fist as he pumps himself slow. His fingers fan over your clit as he ushered you to orgasm and make a mess, so desperate to have you cum all over him. Alternating between sticking his middle and ring finger inside, Choso curls his digits up as he jerks his fingers inside of you.

Your head peers down to see his forearms flexing with his every move, your eyes rolling to the back of your head; squelching noises coming from your pussy.

“Don’t…don’t do that-“ Your brows furrow, lips returning to its O shape as you attempted to hold his wrist as he continued to curl his fingers into you. He knew what he was doing. Choso wanted to make you squirt.

His pleas fucking your mind to an extent, it felt like a mixture of bliss and torture— your eyes struggling at this point to remain open.

“..Come on,” He urges, so needy as he strokes his cock as in-front of you as he watches how you unravel underneath him; Choso slapping his heavy length on your inner thigh whenever he has the chance. “Come on pretty, let go—“

“O-oh, Choso—“ You squeal, fingers reaching and scraping at his pelvis as he got back at you for fucking him up to overstimulation. Your nipples sore and perky, he had to resist the urge to suck on them again.

He spits out his words closely together, pressing his forehead against yours for the second time as you peered your eyes up into his.

“Come on, come on- that’s it,” Choso cooing at you as you released your juices all over his fingers, a sob could be heard from you as a hot flush rushes through your body.

His hand absolutely soaked as he pulls out, Choso nonchalantly wraps his mouth around his fingers, sucking on your slick— his saliva mixing in with the shining fluid that covered his hands.

Pulling you closer to his pelvis by hooking his two hands around your thighs, Choso slips himself back into your hole— your inner thighs soaking with juices.

A mutter of curses under his breath, Choso absolutely loved your warm walls taking his cock whole, his girthy length moving with ease due to the present slick.

Choso was on the verge of losing his mind once again as he realised that he literally got you to squirt less than a few seconds ago, his cock desperately throbbing all over again.

His cock fucks in and out of you, this time cautiously slow as he made sure not to cum inside of you— your clenching walls making it a difficult task for him.

Too sensitive, Choso pulls his cock out with haste, slapping his tip against your clit as he released his own load just outside of your pussy. His entire face flooded with rouge, cock profusely leaking; his grunts in synchronisation with his throbbing balls.

With the use of his tip, Choso pushes the load back into your hole, his cock completely stilling inside for the time being.

Your mind in a daze, you let out a sigh, Choso’s hand caressing up and down the side of your legs as he remained anchored between them.

“We literally just fucked off with the baking. Went and did a whole other cream pie…” You scoff, hanging your head off the sofa, an upside down view of your kitchen filling your vision— everything still left exactly how it was on the countertop.

Silently laughing, Choso takes your leg into his grasp, his head turning to the side as he plant a kiss on your calves. Bringing a hand down to your hole, he stuffs a digit or two in, scooping a few beads of his cum allowing it to coat his fingertips before moving his hand closer to your lips.

“..Milk delivery,” Choso chimes, mimicking his first words from outside your door earlier.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ © luvwestwood ‘24 . all works are owned by me, and originally come from my own head. please do not repost on a third party platform.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ as always, thank you for the love on each and every one of my posts! it means the world to me. ily all soo soo much!

[luvwestwood masterlist]

#choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #choso smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #choso kamo #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso kamo x female reader #choso x reader

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he-calls-me-kitten · 2 months

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Sugar, Spice and a Tempting Vice

VA! MC x OM! Characters

"Hey Levi, any new game recommendations for me? I just finished the last lot of books Satan suggested." You asked, plopping down your head on his shoulder to look at his screen.

"M-MC! You have to warn me before you do such things!" He muttered, his ears turning red as he scrolled some webpages pages for you. "But okay yeah these are the new games that are out recently... see anything you like?"

"Oh my God! It's out it's out!" You pointed excitedly at the screen. "Pretty Little Things is out! Finally!! I was dying to tell you all about it!"

Levi visibly stiffened up. "You-you were waiting for this particular game to come out? Are you sure it's not another game with a similar sounding name?"

"Nah uh this is the exact same one. Look up the list of voice actors in this game!"

"WHAT?! MC WHY IS YOUR NAME IN HERE?????"

"Yes! This was the new part-time job I couldn't tell you about since it was still in production! Im so glad you can just play it now!"

"...it's uh ready for download on all platforms already...so which character did voice?"

"Oh spoiler alert, my character is the only one that doesn't have a name, you have assign me one, the same way you name yourself. They even designed the characters to resemble all the VA's and add in some of their personalities, isn't that sweet?"

"Hahaha y-yeah definitely sweet! I'll be sure to check it out soon!"

"Great! Lemme know what you think of the game okay?!" You squeezed him in a small hug before you left.

Later in the Demon Brothers only group chat:

Levi: Code Red! Code Red! ASHSKSHSKSKSJJSKKS

Mammon: WHAT WHAT THAT MEANS AN MC RELATED EMERGENCY RIGHT??

Asmo: OMG are they OKAY?? Should I go check up on them in their room!?!

Satan: I'm already on my way.

Mammon: NOT BEFORE ME YOU'RE NOT!

Belphie: Is MC hurt in anyway?

Beel: Did they pass out from hunger?! I can bring them emergency snacks right away

Lucifer: Can you lot not lose your minds everytime MC is mentioned? Pathetic. Levi, calm down and tell us what's wrong.

Beel: But Lucifer I just saw you hurrying up the stairs to MC's room too...

Satan: Typical Lucifer. By the way, MC is perfectly fine, happy even. Levi what are you on about?

Mammon: Yeah MC can't stop smiling! It's a good thing that happened, you idiot! Why would you scare us like that?

Asmo: Omg apparently MC voice acted in a new game! Levi I need you to download it for me ASAP please!

Beel: Me too, please.

Belphie: Me three.

Lucifer: I've already done it, you all can do it yourselves if you could do your own work for once.

Satan: Oh shut up, MC just did it for you right now as they did it for me.

Levi: It's a Dating Simulator. With multiple H-rated DLC endings. And MC is one of the dateables.

...

Levi: Hello?!! Did you guys not see my message?!

Levi: Seriously no reaction?! You guys aren't freaked out by this?!?

Beel: I just heard several doors opening and closing at once.

Asmo: Oh come Levi, I think you already know what our reaction is Levi ♥️ How can we possibly hold in our excitement after such a news!?

Levi: Are you all downloading the game together?!!! Y'all are hogging the bandwidth too much, my download speed has gone way down!!

Simeon: Hey

Simeon: I heard some demons in a cafe, raving about a game where MC plays one of the main characters?

Solomon: Indeed MC just sent us all a link right now.

Simeon: Oh is that so? I'll get Luke to help me download it after he's done with his.

Levi: Luke is playing it too?! I don't think it's appropriate given it's certain hidden endings!!

Barbatos: MC already made sure of it. He only has access to the sibling and friendship routes. It's a special version they added for all ages.

Diavolo: It already has downloads in the ten thousands. I'm really glad to see how MC is beloved by Devildom.

Levi: Are NONE of you affected by the fact that there are erotic routes with MC's VOICE?!!

Solomon: Oh I personally cannot wait hear my adorable apprentice's performance.

Barbatos: Ahem. I'd rather not comment on it.

Simeon: Same.

Diavolo: Same.

Levi: Sigh. We really are just a helpless lot at the mercy of MC.

To be continued...

#obey me #obey me smut #obey me solomon #obey me satan #obey me mammon #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me lucifer #obey me simeon #obey me diavolo #obey me barabtos

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hier--soir · 4 months

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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

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dduane · 5 months

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Peter Mum's Soda Bread Recipe

With work around here the way it is at the moment, most likely EuropeanCuisines.com won't be up again until the end of the year. (shrug) Such is life.

With that in mind, here per @the-book-of-night-with-moon 's request is the famous soda bread recipe that brought people to the site again and again for a couple of decades. If the recipe below seems very plain, that's because the way soda bread is done in North America and elsewhere in the world is not how everyday soda bread's made in Ireland. No fruit, no sugar—except for an optional spoonful if the baker likes it: I omit it—no nuts or other similar addenda: nothing but flour, salt, soda and (ideally) buttermilk. (Breads here that do have fruit and whatnot are referred to as "tea breads" or "fruit soda".)

The ingredients:

450 g / 1 lb / approximately 3 1/4 cups flour (either cake flour or all-purpose)

Optional: 1 teaspoon sugar

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda

Between 300-350 ml / approx 10-12 fluid ounces buttermilk, sour / soured milk, or plain ("sweet") milk, to mix

If you're using plain milk, add 1 teaspoon of baking powder to the dry ingredients. This is perfectly legit; lots of professional bakers in Ireland do their soda bread this way, without the buttermilk and with additional raising ingredients besides baking soda.

So: preheat your oven to 200C / 400F. Meanwhile, mix the dry ingredients together well in a good-sized bowl, and then add the liquid and mix everything together. Like this:

youtube

That raggedy texture you see in the middle of the video is exactly what you want, and part of the secret of getting soda bread to rise properly. You have to get the loaf done as quickly as you can, so that the rise in the oven is maximized; and with minimum handling. This isn't a bread that needs to be kneaded. Just get it into a soft, mostly-cohesive lump as quickly and gently as you can, and shape it into a round about an inch to an inch and a half thick.

Finally have ready a really sharp knife to do that final cross-cut, which allows the loaf to spread and rise fully. Be careful to slice, not press. You don't have to cut incredibly deep: from a third to halfway down the round is plenty. ...There's endless online lore about how this is supposed to let the fairies out. Fond as I am of fairies, I prefer to think of it as letting the chemistry and physics out. (shrug) To each their own.

As soon as the oven's come up to heat, shove the loaf into the center of the oven on a nonstick baking sheet—I used a silicone mat here, but more for the look of the thing than any real concern about the loaf sticking—and bake it for 40 minutes. When you're done, it should look something like the one in the picture at the top of the post. It'll be easier to eat if you let it cool down most of the way; and a lot easier to slice if you put it in a paper or plastic bag overnight.

Anyway, tomorrow, so @petermorwood won't sulk, I'll make soda bread in the farl style instead of the above style that some of the locals call "cake". Farl's done on a griddle and cut into quarters for baking, and its geometry makes it uniquely suited (as Peter's father used to say) for eating large amounts of butter without a spoon. :)

ETA: attn @middleagedandoutoftouch: Check out the gluten-free soda bread from Ballymaloe. ...And there seem to be quite a few more of them out there: try this Google search.

#soda bread #baking #recipe #recipes #Ireland

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roosterforme · 6 months

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The Adventures of Dr. Tits | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Jake gives you the world's most obnoxious nickname. Bradley has an identity crisis. And you're the one making sure everybody gets home safely on New Year's Eve.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, suggestive language, drinking, beer pong

Length: 2800 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time! Banner by @mak-32 Check out my masterlist for the reading order

Bradley walked into the bedroom and froze as you were putting on your favorite pair of earrings. "What's wrong?" you asked, shaking your head at him. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"You look fucking hot."

"Oh," you said with a smirk.

"This is a new dress," he rasped, running his fingers along the black fabric at your shoulder. "I really like it."

You kissed his cheek and whispered. "I knew you would, Beer Boy. It has a very low neckline."

He scoffed, "That's not the only reason I like it." But his eyes hadn't strayed from your chest for nearly thirty seconds. When his gaze finally met yours, he added, "My wife looks beautiful in everything."

"We're not married yet," you reminded him as his hand skimmed down your arm to your left hand and your engagement ring.

"Only because you didn't want to get married the day after I proposed."

"We were standing in a Denny's parking lot!"

He just shrugged and laced his fingers with yours. "Sounds perfect to me. As long as it's us."

"A Denny's parking lot," you emphasized, and you could tell he was trying not to smile at your look of indignation.

"Nothing's too good for my girl," he replied, barely concealing his laughter.

"Incredible," you muttered as you tugged him closer for another kiss. "You can take the Beer Boy out of the fraternity..."

He followed along, fingers linked with yours, as you led him into the dining room so you could finish setting up. "Wait, wait, it's like mistletoe. We have to kiss when we stand here," he said, leaning down to kiss you hard and proper in front of the doors that said SUGAR WILL YOU MARRY ME?

"Like mistletoe? I can't believe how sweet you are," you whispered as his lips trailed down to your neck.

"Let's call everyone and cancel." His tone was coaxing and his lips felt amazing.

"No," you moaned softly. "It's your Top Gun holiday party. And it's New Year's Eve."

When his mustache grazed the top of your chest as he said, "I'd rather tell everyone else to beat it so I can fuck my fiancée," you almost caved. But you promised everyone months ago, when you first moved to San Diego, that you and Bradley would host the annual party. There was a running joke that they got so wild one year, they almost got kicked out of a restaurant. But there was no way that was true.

"We have to host. I promised."

"This better be low key. Seriously, I just want a nice, quiet night in," he grumbled.

You laughed while he acted like he was being tortured as he helped you carry the pretty punch bowl and crystal glasses you found at a thrift store into the dining room. "Everyone will be gone right after the stroke of midnight," you promised him. "And I thought you liked your coworkers?"

He grunted and shrugged. "No, I like Nat. Bob's okay. Jake's annoying. The rest of the guys are fine."

"Oh my god," you whispered in awe, wrapping him up in a hug. "You love me the most, and I'm the only person you're not cranky for, Beer Boy."

He chuckled and pressed his lips to your temple. "You're just catching onto this now? Ten years away from you has made it so that I want to be with you all the time."

Okay, well now you were thinking about canceling after all. If he was going to be extra sweet like this, you wanted him all to yourself as well. But then you heard someone knocking on the front door. Before you let Bradley go, you said, "If you're well behaved tonight, we can talk about wedding plans tomorrow."

He perked right up. "I'll be so good."

"But it's still a firm no to the Denny's parking lot."

When you let Nat inside, she gave you a hug and said, "Hey, nice tits," before carrying a bottle of champagne to Bradley. At least now he had his friend to talk to. And you really didn't think your dress was that low cut...

After another knock, you let Bob in, and as soon as he looked at you, he was blushing profusely and stuttering. "Welcome, Bob," you said, really starting to regret wearing this dress in front of anyone except Bradley. When you leaned out onto the porth, the neighborhood was all lit up with twinkle lights. This was your first December outside of Virginia or Chicago, and it was still fairly warm outside. As you propped the door open for the others, you didn't think you'd ever get used to this kind of luxury. You had warm weather and the love of your life.

Soon Javy, Mickey and Reuben arrived with three identical smiles as they looked at you and gave you lingering hugs. "Okay, yep, that's enough," you said as Mickey squeezed you extra tight.

"Hey, Baby! Sugar!" Bradley was calling from the kitchen as you followed the guys in. "Oh, there you are. Do we have any solo cups and ping pong balls? And didn't I buy a case of PBR?"

You just looked at him like he'd lost it. It was New Year's Eve, and you were in your new dress. You even made sure he actually looked nice tonight instead of wearing one of his ratty old tee shirts. You had champagne, and he made crab dip and mini quiches to serve everyone.

"Maybe in the hall closet? And I'm pretty sure I talked you out of the case of Pabst Blue Ribbon," you said with a frown. "That's cheap fraternity beer, Bradley. We have actual incomes now. Only good beers all the time."

"That's okay," he told you with a quick kiss as he headed for the hall closet. "We can just play with the champagne!"

"What?" you asked, ready to follow him, but the guys had turned up the music. When you looked in the dining room Nat was moving your punch bowl to the floor in the corner, and Reuben was carrying four glasses precariously stacked up in each hand. "What's going on?"

"Rooster said he's a beer pong master," Javy said, before shoving three mini quiches into his mouth at one time.

Reuben was laughing. "He said he used to party at his fraternity house, but we don't believe him. Not Rooster."

"No," Mickey added. "Rooster always follows the rules. Never breaks them. And he never gets drunk."

"We're playing fucking pong," Bradley said when he returned wearing a backwards cap and holding red solo cups and a pack of ping pong balls. Everyone cheered. "They don't believe I'm a ringer, Sugar," he whispered just to you. "I'm about to fucking smoke their asses."

"Don't get too drunk," you said as Nat took the solo cups and squatted down to fill them using the punch you made with extremely expensive champagne. "Oh god."

"Happy New Year," drawled a voice behind you, and you spun to see Jake holding two more bottles of champagne. His gaze dipped quickly down to your cleavage before returning innocently to your face. He shook his head and said, "You know, sometimes I think Bradshaw might be onto something here."

"I'm never wearing this dress again," you muttered as he handed you both bottles with a huge grin on his face.

"Now where's everyone else?"

Just then, loud cheering erupted from the dining room, and you walked through the doorway to find Bradley and Javy playing against Bob and Mickey. Nat changed your playlist to one that sounded like it belonged at an actual frat party, and Reuben was scooping one of your crystal glasses into the crab dip and eating it with a spoon.

"What the fuck?" you gasped. It was like you were back at the Beta Gamma house ten years ago as Bradley took his nice shirt off and tossed it onto the doorknob of the door that said MARRY.

"I'm about to kick your ass, and the dining room table isn't even regulation size," Bradley told Mickey as the WSO missed a shot. "Sugar, we need to look for a table that's regulation dimensions, okay Baby?" he shouted over P.I.M.P. by 50 Cent. He just kept sinking shot after shot into the cups, and Bob was already looking drunk.

So maybe they all really did almost get kicked out of that restaurant before?

Jake was unbuttoning his shirt as well now as he said, "I have next game. There's no way Bradshaw can get this lucky all night long."

Bradley smirked and laughed as he looked at you. "I can, and I do, Hangman. Don't act like you haven't seen Sugar before."

Jake laughed, and the other guys cheered. You cradled your forehead in your hands as Bradley wolf whistled at you. "Jesus," you muttered, trying to decide if it was a good idea for you to get drunk yourself or if you needed to babysit the whole group.

"Why isn't your wife playing with you?" Nat shouted, and you contemplated closing the front door before your neighbors complained about the noise.

"We're not married yet!" you replied, but Bradley had his arms wrapped around you immediately.

"Sorry, Baby. I got excited and just grabbed Javy. You know what they say about old habits, and I haven't played beer bong in years. You're my partner next, okay? Your boobs will help distract the opponents."

You gave in and started laughing, because this whole thing was ridiculous. You let Reuben serve you some crab dip in a crystal glass, and you ate it while everyone around you got progressively drunker on your champagne punch.

Once Bradley and Javy handily won the matchup, he kicked Javy to the other side of the table to team up with Jake who was now completely shirtless. "You're up, Baby," Bradley said, reaching for you with so much excitement. "We're going to kick ass like we used to." His lips tasted faintly of champagne when he kissed you, and you were surprised. He was so good at this game, he rarely had to drink anything.

"Winning team goes first," Jake said, rolling the balls across the table to you as Nat set freshly filled cups in front of you. Bradley arranged the cups perfectly like this was actually his profession instead of aviation. And you just stood there and laughed as he stepped behind you and helped you square your hips.

"Okay, now, you need to be awesome, Sugar. Just like college. Because I've got like street cred on the line here."

"I got you, Beer Boy," you promised him and he moaned softly in your ear.

"Remember, it's all just a math problem, and you're so fucking good at math." He released you with a little pat on your butt, and then he was peeling his sweaty undershirt off and tossing it aside before fixing his hat. As soon as you were able to stop laughing, you tossed the first ball with a perfect arc, and everyone in the room watched it splash into the solo cup right in front of Jake while Bradley whooped.

"What did they teach you people in Virginia?" Jake asked, looking at you like he was thoroughly impressed. And then you watched Bradley toss his ball into one of the cups, and Javy groaned as he and Jake picked up their cups and drank.

"Roll those balls back over here, boys. We made both of our shots, so we go again," Bradley said before he kissed you hard in front of his friends. "Do you have any idea how badly I want to marry you in that Denny's parking lot tomorrow?"

You were laughing as Nat, Reuben, Mickey and Bob all lined up on your side of the table to cheer you on with the crab dip. "Kick their asses! Jake and Javy are good at everything!" Nat shouted over Big Pimpin' by JAY-Z. You did a little dance and then tossed your ball directly into another cup.

"It's just math!" you said with a smile.

"It's math!" Bradley reiterated to Javy and Jake. "And I feel bad for the two of you, because she's a mathematician." Then he made his second toss, too. "And I lived in a fraternity house for three years."

Jake and Javy looked miserable as you chanted, "Chug, chug, chug!" until they emptied their cups. Then you made another absolutely beautiful throw, and Bradley didn't let you down. In fact, the two of you made every single cup, and Javy and Jake didn't even get a chance to throw a single ball.

"House rules! You drink our cups, too!" Bradley informed them, gesturing to the untouched solo cups lined up at your end of the table.

"Get to it boys," you said as the others cheered.

Bradley was all over you again as Javy coughed and sputtered as he tried to chug champagne. "I swear to god, Sugar, if we weren't already engaged, I'd propose right now," Bradley told you as you adjusted the cap on his head and ran your fingers through his curls that stuck out from beneath it.

"I'd say yes again," you whispered just for him. "Who's ready to get their asses kicked next?" you asked everyone.

You and Bradley cleaned up so handily, the two of you were barely buzzed, but everyone else was hammered by midnight. The front door was still wide open, and the TV was on as you waited for the countdown to the new year. Bradley popped a bottle of champagne just for you and he to sip as Nat sat on the floor right in front of the TV with the punch bowl on her lap. Most of the guys were lined up on the couches, but Jake came right over to you when he stumbled out of the bathroom.

"I need to know how you did it," he slurred to Bradley as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pointed at your chest. "How did you manage to get Dr. Tits here? She's exquisite."

You sputtered as you laughed. "Did you just call me Dr. Tits?"

Jake leaned in close to your ear and laughed. "I'm sorry, but I can't even remember my own name right now, darlin'."

"Okay, Hangman," Bradley said as he handed you the bottle of champagne and pulled Jake off of you. "Clearly she has a thing for fuckboys. You can look, because she's smoking hot and it would be impossible not to, but you don't get to touch."

Well, you couldn't deny that. Jake winked at you as he sat down next to Nat before laying on the floor. Bob had the hiccups, Javy was asleep, Reuben was still eating the crab dip, and Mickey was running to the bathroom to throw up as the clock struck midnight. "I love you," Bradley promised before he kissed you sweetly. "And I think we should spend the day tomorrow laying on the couch and talking about getting married. What do you say, Dr. Tits?"

You pressed your lips together and then said, "Only Jake is allowed to call me that," as you erupted into laughter at the scandalized look on Bradley's face.

You kissed his cheek as he said, "I swear, just for that, it's Denny's or nothing, Sugar."

"We'll talk about it tomorrow," you replied laughing as you looked at the sloppy mess of Bradley's coworkers on all of your living room surfaces. "Now help me get all of them in Ubers so you can help me out of my dress."

"Oh, hell yes," he replied as he started clapping loudly. "Wake up guys. Rides are coming. Time for you to go so I can get lucky."

The two of you herded everyone outside and into the two cars when they showed up. "Night, Dr. Tits," Jake announced loudly to your entire quiet street as he kissed your cheek before Bradley shoved him into the waiting SUV.

"Dr. Tits..." Reuben said with a laugh. "Sounds like a superhero who is very good at beer pong."

"She is a superhero. She puts up with Rooster's shit," Nat said as she climbed in behind Jake.

"I think my sister went to Comic Con as Dr. Tits one year," Mickey said deliriously as Bradley helped him with his seatbelt. "The many adventures of Dr. Tits. She's my favorite Avenger."

Javy was already asleep on Bob as the cars pulled away, and Bradley scooped you up on the driveway and carried you back toward the porch. "You wanna go on an adventure with me, Sugar?"

You took his hat off and put it on your own head. "Are you talking about undressing me or marrying me right now?"

"Both," he replied easily as he kicked the front door closed behind you.

"Then yes."

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

Beer Boy and Sugar warm my cold, dead heart. Fuckboy Jake, drunk on champagne, also warms my heart. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster imagine #rooster x reader #rooster fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw fic #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme

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reiderwriter · 4 months

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Hi there! It's me :"> again I read that you're closing your request soon and I just want to put another in before the deadline haha But by no mean you should put more pressure on yourself please take all the time you need, I'm always here happily waiting while enjoy reading all of the fabulous writing you had for other requests <3 Much love to your work <3

I have a request for s smut fic when the BAU was called in for a case: the victims were workers at the local bars/restaurants, the bau!reader recognised one of the bars the unsub frequently target is the one she used to work at as bartender/mixologist while putting herself through school and asked to be the undercover while other agents supervise. After successfully closing the case, the BAU decided to celebrate at said bar and the owner was happy to let the reader personally make your friends any cocktails outside of the menu.

The reader then learned about all the mildly irritations and possessive feelings softdom!Spencer had while watching people hitting on you behind the bar, but all of that can be solved with a (almost criminally) 3-sugar-cube level of sweet of a cocktail the reader personally made for him hiding an ungodly amount of alcohol which made the night a lot more interesting ;)

I'm sorry if all of my requests are soo long I know you want to have as much details as possible but please lemme know if you feel like it's too much haha Happy writing!! :">

A/N: Thank you for your request! I was partly inspired by this post to help me out with some of the drinks orders, so go check it out for more character headcannoms!

Warnings: NSFW, soft dom! Spencer, spanking, semi-public sex, jealousy, slight breeding kink/ creampie, thigh fucking etc. 18+ Minors DNI

It had been a good few years since you quit the bartending job that put you through college, so you didn't realise just how much you'd missed it.

You thought it was the universe intervening when a case popped up in your college town, and the bar you'd spent every weekend in for nearly three years straight from the end of your undergrad to the first years of your masters degree was at the dead centre of Spencer Reid's geographical profile.

You knew the unsub had been hunting from bars, and it took only a few nights of surveillance to catch his scent, and one more of a simple cover to get the guy.

You'd taken up your spot once again, slipping easily back into making cocktails and pouring pints of beer on tap - a skill you were regretfully slow to learn but happy to see stayed with you even in your brief retirement.

You busted the bar while your coworkers tried to look inconspicuous sitting around as customers. Diligently, you served them mocktails and alcohol free beer ad regulars clapped you on the back, greeting you like an old friend as you worked to catch a killer.

JJ was the bait, and you were glad, for once, that it wasn't you, even if that thought made you feel guilty. She slipped out with a crash, and all eyed were on the man that followed her quietly to the alleyway out back.

He practically arrested himself. All in all, it had taken maybe three days to catch the guy, and you'd never been so happy to have had to work a double shift to do it.

“Y/N, if this FBI thing doesn't work for you, I'd be glad to have you back behind the bar. These college students just aren't what they used to be.” Your ex-boss grinned at you, indulging in his own glass of whiskey now that the case was closed.

He'd graciously invited your entire team to spend the rest of the evening at the bar celebrating (for at least a drink or two before his wife came to collect him). You were shocked when Hotch took him up on the offer, but happily stayed behind the bar mixing up the drinks.

“Okay, now that we've found out you're this magic mixologist, you have got to make us personal cocktails. I want to see how drunk you can get me, Y/L/N.” Emily laughed from the corner, finishing the last dregs of her virgin piña colada.

“My dear Emily, it is not the mixologist job to get you drunk, it's the mixologist job to keep you sober for as long as possible so you keep buying drinks.”

“No, come on kid, I'm intrigued as well. I'm not a cocktail guy but you've been pouring like a woman possessed tonight. Help.me out here, Spencer, hasn't she been on fire?”

Spencer's eye caught yours and your heart skipped a beat when he gave you a small smile. He'd been quiet all night, and you felt a little regretful that you'd made him stay so long in a place he wasn't entirely comfortable with. But he was still here, and surprisingly, still drinking, nursing the beer that your old boss had served them all when they'd returned from the crime scene.

“Mixology is an interesting field of study. When you think about it, it's practically chemistry.”

“I like to think of it as alchemy,” you grinned at him, enjoying the way he could turn anything into something more complicated and mathematical than it is. “Because one sip of one of my cocktails will have you thinking you've unlocked the secret of immortality.”

“Okay, if that's how drunk we're getting tonight then I'm calling home now,” JJ laughed standing from her chair and already dialling the numbers.

“Okay - here we go.” You grabbed the bottle of vodka from the counter and started, keeping your eyes focused on Reid as much as you could.

–X–

After two hours and about 5 rounds of cocktails, you'd nearly defeated the entire team. Your ex-boss had thrown you the keys half an hour earlier and called himself a cab, leaving you behind to close up just like old times.

Hotchner and Rossi had given in after two drinks each, apparently old and wise enough to know just how much alcohol was in an Old Fashioned and a Negroni each.

“Oh how the mighty have fallen,” Emily had mocked them on the way out, but two drinks later and she was asleep in the back of a cab having been carried out by both JJ and Morgan.

You'd used the good gin in her Aviation cocktail, and it was only a matter of time before she ended up peacefully sleeping the week away.

The only member of the team left standing was, surprisingly again, Spencer.

You'd gone simple with his Espresso Martini, though you'd made a big show and dance about adding twice as much brown sugar syrup than the recipe required.

“A sweet cocktail for the man who drinks the sweetest coffee known to man.” He'd brushed his hand across your fingers every time you'd passed him a refill, and you'd felt the familiar jolts of anticipation pass through you with each shared glance.

Your old boss had even noticed that you were ‘sweet on that little coworker of yours,’ and you'd had to do your best to stop yourself from openly flirting with him whilst he was sat there at the bar.

You'd done it for tips every single shift, not caring about the consequences, buy with Spencer, you so desperately wanted there to be consequences that you never so much as tried.

“We should pack up and head home, Spence.” You said, cleaning up the final glass of Mai Tai Derek had left behind, but when you turned around to see him, he was gone.

More accurately, he'd moved to your side of the bar and was sliding his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you in.

You gasped his name like a prayer, not expecting his cold fingers to curl under your shirt as he buried his head in your shoulder.

“Spencer! What's… what are…”

“Let me hold you.” He didn't say much more than that, but he didn't need to say more. You'd already.relaxed into his touch, eyes shutting so you could focus on the feel of his skin against yours.

“You're good at this,” he mumbled, words slightly slurred. “Everyone was watching you, they all wanted you to pour their drinks.”

You listened to each word of his voice fighting off confusion. Who was everybody? There hadn't been another customer in the bar since you'd made the arrest.

“The old men in the corner, they looked down your top when you picked something up for them. I heard them talking about it, how they thought about stuffing a couple of one's right here,” his hand trailed up to your breasts and you gasped, “like you were some stripper.”

His hands were slowly caressing you as he stood, chest pressed against your back, and you felt desire flood between your legs.

“Spencer, you're drunk, we should get you back to the motel.”

“My blood alcohol level should be around 0.11, so yes, legally I am drunk. If you want me back at the motel, be my guest, but I don't think I can keep my hands off of you tonight, Y/N.”

His words were blunt, delivered the same way he usually talked about case details, or books he'd read. There was nothing in it to indicate he'd meant to turn your world upside down just like that.

His hand had moved under your bra now, and you snapped back to reality, grabbing his hand and halting his movements momentarily as you craned your neck to look at him.

“Spencer, you're not in your right mind, you're going to regret this-” you didn't get to finish the sentence as he cut you off, pushing his lips into yours softly. With each second, his passion grew, until the two of you were caught in a battle of tongues, saliva dripping down your chin as you cared about nothing else but the pleasure you found in each other's mouths.

“The only thing,” he whispered between kisses. “That I'm going to regret, is if I let you walk me out of that door without showing you how much I want to possess every inch of you.”

His words were insistent but there was a question hidden in his movements. He'd withdrawn slightly, giving you enough space to turn him down should you want to.

You didn't.

Instead, you let a hand run up the back of his neck to his hair until you were pulling him down into you, stepping back into the warmth of his broad chest as you opened up to him.

Your other hand relinquished his, letting him explore your chest further and doing much of the same as you tried your very best to twist in your spot to get a better hold of him.

He was holding firm though, despite everything he'd drank, and had pushed you once again against the counter, hand moving between exploring your ass cheeks, and placing your hand firmly underneath you on the table so you could stabilise your position.

He worked his lips down your neck, prying your other hand out of his hair and placing it parallel to the first, before pulling your hips back slightly and encouraging you to arch your back.

You only realised you'd assumed a position for spanking when the first blow landed on your ass.

It was soft, all things considered, and he was still busy bruising your neck that you almost thought you'd imagined it.

The next one was harder though. It was real.

“Spencer!” You gasped as he stroked a hand over your asscheeks.

“Shhhhhhhh s'okay. You have a beautiful ass, I'm just making it prettier.”

His hands fumbled over your pants zipper, and then pulled them down to your knees as he continued stroking your ass and licking your neck.

The material limited your movements, trapping your knees together as he delivered one more blow. The skin to skin contact was too much and you let out a sinful moan, surprised at how loud you were suddenly managing to be.

You'd never been spanked before, never even thought about it, but something about Spencer's hands on you, the lingering scent of alcohol in the air had every hair on your body standing in excitement.

You heard Spencer unzip his own pants and were a little regretful that you didn't get the honour. You wanted to see him hold him in your hand, take him into your mouth and play with him until you knew just how he worked. But your back was still to him, and he wasn't giving you the space you needed to turn around and catch a glimpse.

“Every man in this bar tonight wanted to be where I am right now,” he whispered into your hair as he kissed the crown of your head, and then pushed your panties aside and ran himself along the lips of your cunt.

It was a night of sounds - the zippers, his whispers, your moans - bit you still weren't expecting to be able to hear your arousal.

It was erotic, near pornographic how wet his spanking had made you, and he let out small groans of appreciation as he gathered your juices on his cock.

He didn't try to breech you just yet, but rocked his cock between your thighs and cunt, teasing you just enough to keep you hooked, but nowhere near where you needed him to get you.

“Every man who was in here wanted you, and I got you. Right?” He asked again, practically rutting against your cunt.

“Y-Yes, Spencer.”

“Yes, sir.” He corrected, and you gasped as his hand struck your ass again, dangerously close to where his hips joined yours.

“Yes, sir.”

“Be a good girl for me, baby. I want to take care of you.”

With those words, he lined the tip of his cock up with your entrance and slipped in.

With your knees still locked in place by your pants, it was really up to Spencer to control the pace. You didn't spare a second for the thought that had you been completely naked with a better range of motion that he still wouldn't relinquish this quiet control of you.

With one hand on your hip, and the other curled around to reach your clit as you arched your back against him, it wasn't long before he was setting a vigorous pace.

It wasn't that he was thrusting particularly fast, or that he was doing it ridiculously hard, like some men who knew no better tried. It was the combination of how far he was able to reach with his careful concentration on your pleasure.

You felt him speed up once before quickly drawing himself back to the even tempo, doing his best to not get lost in you.

His fingers traced your cunt in a slow figure eight as first, before experimenting with different movements, shapes, words until he'd been rewarded by your cunt clenching around his cock as you came all over it.

You gasped in shock, and flushed, so shocked it took only that long.

Instead of congratulating himself on getting you off though, he used your orgasm to inform himself of what you liked, what you so desperately needed from his fingers and his cock.

And most importantly, he didn't stop.

Even as your body twitched and spasmed around his cock, he kept up his wrist movements, keeping your body warmed up as he finally took his turn.

“Tell me how much you want this,” he whispered into your ear.

“I want this so badly, Sir, I need your cock pumping in and- ahhh out of me.”

“Tell me how nice my cock feels,” he again ordered and you willingly obeyed.

“Your cock is perfect, it's so big and warm, like it was made just for me.”

“Good girl, now tell me how much you want me to shoot my cum inside of you.”

Your mouth went dry as you choked out a moan, his pace getting rougher and rougher with each thrust. You hadn't heard him correctly, surely, your brain was imagining things.

But he prompted you with a slight tap to your face, a slap that wouldn't leave any mark.

“You don't want my cum all over this bar, do you? It would be a shame for your ex boss to fail his hygiene inspection.”

“Cum in me! God, please cum in me.”

He gripped you tight around your waist as he finally pushed himself over the edge, filling you with his seed and keeping you pinned in his arms until he was sure that none of it would escape.

“I'm glad you agreed, because I wasn't asking,” he said, chest still slightly heaving as he rode out his orgasm, lower body twitching in its sensitivity.

When he finally did pull out, he'd spent so long inside you, cockwarming, that not much of his cum slipped out. He cleaned you up with a clean dishcloth you pointed to on the counter, and pulled your pants back up, quickly manoeuvring his up too.

After a brief moment of silence, you finally turned to look at him, melting into his arms again as you took in his fucked out expression.

He stroked your head quietly for a few minutes, before pulling back from your hug.

“This bar doesn't have CCTV, does it?”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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leclercstarrs · 4 months

Text

sweet like sugar, nate archibald.

summary: in which you come home to find a certain someone waiting in your bedroom for you.

warnings: fem!waldorf!reader, sort of sugar daddy/baby dynamic, oral, not yet proof read!

notes: this is overly long so i cut the smut short and lame, sorry bbies!!

Walking out of the elevator and into your house, you’re shocked and slightly concerned when you’re met with the sight of Chuck Bass sitting in your living room. “Ew, Kill me now.” You groan.

Your words catch his attention and he turns in the couch to face you, “Lovely to see you too.” He gives you his classic smirk, immediately creeping you out.

“Why are you here?” You roll your eyes as you walk through the foyer and towards him, your shoes clicking on the floor. “Well?” You raise an eyebrow, placing your small handbag on the coffee table in front of the man.

“I’m here for your sister. She’s upstairs, we’re leaving for a dinner party.” Chuck explains, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Is that an issue?” He then questions you.

You don’t respond for a moment, staring him down, a cruel look on your face. “Yeah, actually, it is an issue.”

“You have a lot of nerve, you know that?” Chuck shakes his head, trying to intimidate you by stepping closer, “Talking down on me and acting all high and mighty as if I’m unaware of you and Nate’s dirty secret. Actually, speaking of Nate and that, uh, secret..If I were you I’d go upstairs and check out your bedroom.” He whispers, but quickly backs away and exits the living room when Blair starts coming down the stairs.

“What’s going on here?” Blair stands next to Chuck and the two of them look back at you.

“Oh, nothing. Just some banter, your sister seems to be..” Blair’s boyfriend puts on his strange checkered coat, “Not super fond of me.”

Blair glares at you, turning around and grabbing Chuck’s hand, taking him with her, not before he can get a small laugh at your expression, though. The pair enter the elevator, exiting the house and going on their date.

You, however, slowly make your way up the spiral staircase, walking towards your bedroom, Chuck’s comment from earlier stuck in your head. You’re not necessarily ashamed of the supposed secret arrangement between you and Nate. By definition, you’d be considered his ‘sugar baby’ but the two of you don’t view it that way. You’ve been friends with him since childhood, and as you got older, you started feeling attracted to him. Eventually, you both figured out the fact that you felt the same way, and things got physical since. You never wanted to put a label on it and every time he came over to your place, he’d bring you gifts or something you previously mentioned wanting. Now, it’s become a tradition. You fuck him and he gives you whatever you desire.

You gently push your door open, a shocked look on your face when you find Nate sitting on the edge of your bed, your room decorated with candles and white Christmas lights. “What is all of this?” You grin, looking in the corner on the room to find a fake Christmas tree, piles of gifts underneath it.

“Merry, early, Christmas.” Nate laughs, standing up from the bed and walking towards you.

“You’re so unbelievable!” You cover your mouth, “Nate, is this all for me?” You point at the neatly wrapped presents under the tree.

He nods, “Yeah. Chuck helped me set it all up.”

“I can’t accept all of this, Nate.” You shake your head, you back away from him, a guilty look creeping onto your face.

“Of course you can, I want you too. Besides, if you don’t, it’ll go to waste.” He insists, sitting back down on the bed, motioning for you to sit next to him.

“Okay..” You sigh, taking a seat next to him. “I guess I should get you something nice then, hm?” You look at him.

“Only if you want to get me something.”

“Of course I do, Nate.”

For a moment, you both sit in silence, unsure of what to do. Deciding to speak up, you turn your body so you’re fully facing him. “I can give you a present now if you want one.” Your tone is soft but seductive.

“Oh, really?” He holds back his smile, moving his hand up your tights and under your skirt, massaging your thigh.

“Hey, I’m the one giving you a present.” You scoff, “You’ve given me enough.” You move his hand away from your body, this time you push him back on the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. Slowly, you part the fabric, kissing down his abs, then hovering your mouth just above his v line. “Hmm” You hum, lifting your hand towards the bulge peaking through his pants.

“Fuckkk.” He groans, tossing his bed back as you palm his dick over the pants. “Please, baby.”

“Please what? Use your words.”

“Come on.” He starts getting desperate and increasingly needy.

You bite your lip, deciding to answer his pleas. You slide his pants off and toss them on the bed, then very slowly taking off his boxers, teasing him as much as possible.

“(Y/N).” He huffs.

“Fine, fine.” You let out a small laugh, feeling content with yourself. Instead, you wrap your hands around his dick, starting to jerk him off while you work on taking the rest of him in your mouth.

“Holy shit.” He moans, his eyes rolling back as you continue to take your time and slowly suck his cock, occasionally stopping and licking his tip, trying to prolong his pleasure, considering everything he does for you. Nate gently takes a fistful of your hair and helps bob your head in a rhythm, getting you to take all his dick. “That feels so good.” He breathes out. You pick up the speed, sending him over the edge. “I’m gonna—” He starts but quickly stops when you move your hands and completely take him in, his jaw opening and his eyes closing as he fills your mouth with his cum. You sit up swallow, then kissing him, letting him taste the remains of his juices on your lips.

#x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #gossip girl x reader #gossip girl imagine #gossip girl fanfiction #nate archibald x you #nate archibald x reader #nate archibald fanfiction #nate archibald fanfic #chuck bass x reader #blair waldorf x reader #serena van der woodsen x reader

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 6 months

Text

Can't Avoid It Forever

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~800

Warnings: fear of needles, fluff

Summary: Spencer needs to go to the doctor to get his blood drawn, but the most difficult part is finding him.

Square Filled: jack hotchner (2021) for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

“Have you seen Spencer?” you ask someone.

“No, sorry.”

You sigh and continue searching for your boyfriend who has to be in here somewhere. He’s not in the offices, you’ve already checked the garage, and the floor above and below the BAU. You walk through the double glass doors into the bullpen and see Derek by the filing cabinet.

“Derek, where is Spencer?”

“Uh, he’s not at his desk?”

You look over to see it empty.

“No. Where is he?”

“I don’t know. Last I saw him, he was at his desk. Sorry, mama.”

You know he knows where he is but instead of pressuring him to tell you, you move onto the next person you see. JJ walks over to Spencer’s desk to deliver some files, so you slink up to her side and a sweet smile.

“Hey, JJ.”

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Have you seen Spencer?”

“Last I saw he was in the break room getting some coffee. You know him and his coffee,” she chuckles nervously.

“He better be,” you mumble.

The only person in the break room is Emily who is sipping suspiciously on her drink. She barely looks at you when you enter which makes you narrow your eyes in suspicion.

“Hey, Em.”

“Oh, hey Y/N. What’s up?”

“Where’s Spencer?”

“Uh, last I heard he’s in Pen’s office.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Emily. I have been running all over this fucking building looking for him.”

“What?” she fake gasps. “I swear, I’m pretty sure he’s in there.”

You groan and leave the break room, missing the way Emily snickers in her hands. You walk over to Pen’s office and knock once before entering. She’s the only one in here but Spencer isn’t anywhere to be found.

“What’s up, sugar?” Penelope smiles.

“Where is Spencer?”

“Last I saw--”

“Do not lie to me, Penelope. Where the hell is Spencer?”

If anyone were to break under your stare, it’d be Penelope. The second she squirms in her chair you know you’ve got her right where you want her.

“He told me not to tell you.”

“Did you know I can hurt someone twenty-one different ways? Half of which you won’t see me coming.”

“Hey, no need to get violent.” You raise one eyebrow and she sighs in defeat. “He’s locked himself in the family bathroom.”

“Thank you,” you smile sweetly.

You leave her office and go to the only family bathroom in the BAU which is located outside the bullpen but before the elevator. You knock twice on the door without saying anything. If Spencer hears it’s you, then he won’t open the door. When he doesn’t answer, you knock three more times.

“Who is it?” Spencer asks.

Without answering him, you keep knocking until he gets annoyed at you. He opens the door to tell off whoever it is, but as soon as he sees it’s you, he tries to close the door on you.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

You slam your foot into the bathroom before he can shut it on you, and you push it open with all your strength.

“Oh, hey, Y/N. What’s up?” Spencer says casually.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“I’ve been right here.”

“Come on, we have to go.”

“I need to get back to my desk. JJ has some files for me to do.”

“You know damn well Hotch gave you the rest of the day off. Don’t lie to me.”

“But we need to babysit Jack. You know how Hotch likes us to be punctual.”

“That’s not until after school which is in five hours.” Spencer tries to think of another excuse as to why he doesn’t want to leave but you’re not going to give him the chance. “No more stalling. You need your blood drawn. You’re going to the doctor.”

You grab his hand and pull him from the bathroom to drag him all the way to your car. He’s been dreading this doctor’s appointment all week but his doctor needs this blood sample from him. Spencer bounces his leg nervously as you pull out of the parking lot. You reach over and place your hand on his leg to give him some comfort.

“Baby, I know you’re scared. I know you hate needles, but the doctor found something in your blood. They need another sample to make sure it’s not dangerous.”

“I know,” he sighs. Ever since Tobias and his use of Dilaudid, he’s been deathly afraid of needles. He doesn't care if it’s for personal or medical use. He is terrified but he knows this needs to happen. “That doesn’t make me any less nervous.”

“Would you feel better if we got ice cream afterward?”

Spencer’s leg stops bouncing at the thought of a sweet dessert.

“Will there be sprinkles?”

“Yes,” you laugh, “there will be sprinkles.”

“Okay, fine.”

He’s the biggest baby but he’s your baby.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fiction #spencer reid fan fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fiction

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bluberryfields · 7 months

Text

"David is very easy to fall in love with." - Michael Sheen

Hi. How are you? Good, I hope. Okay, so can we talk about just how fucking beautiful David Tennant is? And by “we” I mean “I” and by “talk” I mean “babble incoherently into the void”? Great! I’ll attempt to impose a bit of organization on this just to satisfy my pathological need to inflict structure on words (thanks college/job/brain), but I can’t promise much. Also, there will be A LOT of pictures and gifs. (you’re welcome?)

And this isn’t just because I am deep in the bottomless well of Good Omens fandom and that Crowley is basically the most breathtaking creature that has ever existed. Well, not just because of that.

*cue Aziraphale's "good lord" from 1793*

ANYWAY, like a lot of people, I became a fan of (i.e., fell deeply and irrevocably in love with) DT during his run as the 10th Doctor. He was young and bright and full of just about everything – joy, sorrow, wit – making him incredibly watchable. His look was also so charming: big bouncy rooster comb of hair, absurdly cheeky smile, expressive-as-fuck eyes and eyebrows, and a tall, lanky form that seemed to be made of rubber and the kind of granulated sugar that could only be found in candy from the 90s that are now banned in all first- and second-world countries.

So yeah, I was super into him and his Doctor’s adventures. And I continued to watch him in other projects and still swoon (looking at you, slutty Hamlet)

even at characters where that was not the desired reaction (fuck you, Kilgrave, you delicious monster).

I would also always become a bit (a lot) weak in the knees at his voice regardless of which accent he took on, though always preferring him doing any Scottish brogue because of fucking course.

youtube

Roll that tongue, you sexy beast.

But what I want to get into today is just how incredible he looks in the year of 2023.

He’s 52 years old and I am somehow even more attracted to him. Maybe it’s because I am myself older, and my tastes have matured alongside? I certainly do enjoy gray hair way more than I did 10 years ago.

He’s aged incredibly well, probably a combination of good genes and good health, and he’s clearly not clinging to the Hollywood idea of “youth”.

(insert obligatory grumble about the double standards of men being praised for aging and women being demonized…the potentially problematic nature of the term “aging well” in general…acknowledge this with my enlightened brain but ignore this with my slutty heart…fuck the patriarchy, etc. etc.)

He’s still tall and skinny, even gangly at times, all long arms and legs that can move in impossible directions with unfathomable grace.

His face is leaner, that incredible bone structure creating sharper edges that draw the eye. Speaking of the face, he’s got these creases on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes and mouth that are evidence of time spent well: smiling, laughing, living. Makes you want to trace your fingertips along each one.

Oh god that smile? Good lord. It’s weapons grade charm that can also be quite intimidating. Sweet, humble, silly, scary…full spectrum of options here! His shark smile is the definition of “irresistible” in my Dictionary of Delicious Dudes.

I am both proud of and grossed out by my own word choice.

Continuing with that face...the hawkish nose, the dimples you want to drown in, the big eyes, those motherfucking eyebrows...

I could seriously write a whole essay about those eyebrows, but I already give my therapist enough to worry about.

Oh those eyes. “Piercing” is a term usually reserved for blue eyes, but I would argue it applies to DT’s bottomless chocolate pools in that they slice through my heart every damn time.

Honorable mention does go to those Crowley snake eyes because they could have been distracting and diminishing to his overall look, but they absolutely are not.

Such a pretty shade of yellow.

Random tangent to swoon about his hands. For whatever reason, I like checking out a man’s hands, and DT’s got a set that drives me wild. I can’t even really explain why, but I just really like the way he articulates with them. Crowley is a perfect example, what with the miracle snaps, caressing globes, and holding whisky glasses. Yum.

Delicious demon digits

Fresh tangent: How does this fucker look good clean shaven, with stubble, and a goddamn beard? How is that allowed?

He's got a face that makes me wanna take up sculpting

Further, how is his fucking neck so hot? Like, seriously, show me the math. I can’t stop staring at it. And when it’s cloaked in a turtleneck? Please, sir, may I have some more?

Fuuuuuuuck

With no segue whatsoever, I am absolutely obsessed with his hair, across all contexts. Big, bold, blood-red Crowley coifs (especially in Season 2)? Check.

Proper gentleman side part? Check.

Side shave with cartoonishy springy 14th Doctor shock? Check.

Lockdown locks with and without headband? Check!

It’s a goddamn buffet of delicious options.

Oh damn speaking of that 14th Doctor look? Good fucking Christ on a buttery Ritz cracker. The whole DT collection is on display: the hair, the eyes, the bone structure, the smile, the clothes, and even the glasses!

To quote Pam on Archer, “I swear to god, you could drown a toddler in my panties right now! I mean, not that you would.”

Now that you (I) mention the clothes, I never cease to marvel at how he can wear pretty much anything and look amazing. Stripes, patterns, wild colors, etc. He just always looks…not exactly comfortable, but sort of at ease like the clothes were created with him in mind. And this goes across the spectrum of Casual to Costume to Promotional (e.g., interviews and premieres).

They are almost illegally cute together

We all know by now how ridiculously tight those Crowley pants are and how it influenced his signature serpentine swagger (thank you, Costume department, you’re the real heroes). That said, he and those slinky hips still looks so incredibly natural in them like they came from his actual closet.

Stupid sexy snek

And he pulls off the look of more ridiculous stuff like full Shakespearean costumes or that sad gray-hoodie-black-shorts-and-Wellington-boots combo from the first season of Staged. He somehow gives off the air of “whatever, they’re just clothes, man” while also looking like a damn model.

Georgia is a very lucky woman

Final thoughts: I know DT dislikes talking about how people think he’s so attractive because I’m sure it feels a bit icky if you just want to live your life and do your job. But my guy also clearly understands that he’s not some ghoul who has succeeded on incredible personality and acting chops alone. So, that said, maybe he'll forgive me for posting such a long, rambling, ode to him?

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ddejavvu · 1 year

Note

could you please write a spencer x bau!reader where they're both just completely pining for each other but neither of them have the guts to admit it so one day at work she kisses spencer on the cheek really quick and he just melts 🤭

Reading through an unsub's numerous journals with Spencer sitting beside you is like watching a toddler try to run a marathon with a pro athlete. You're not nearly going as fast, and you feel a temper tantrum coming on.

You even rub at your eyes toddler-style, fists balled up and aggressively pushing against your lids. It makes your head ache, and blurred lines spiral in the void of your vision.

"Interesting, here he mentions fields red as blood, but that's typically a phrase used to refer to the red poppy, and there's no stretches of farmland out here that could have been turned into a meadow."

"Mm," You hum muted in your throat, still assaulting your eyes, "Interesting, Spence. What does that mean?"

"Well, probably- uh, are you okay, Y/N?"

"No," You moan, creasing the journal in your lap as you slump forwards onto the table with your arms curled around your head, "I'm tired, and I've read so much that my head is starting to hurt. And you're still thirty-two journals ahead of me."

"Thirty-four," Spencer mumbles, then his slender hand comes to rest cautiously against your back, "Do you want to rest? You can nap if you want, uh, no offense but I can probably finish these faster than you could."

"No offense taken," You admit, wrestling the journal you were working on out from your lap and holding it out blindly for him, "Have at it, wonder boy."

True to his word, Spencer lets you sleep. But he goes above and beyond, patting you gently on the shoulder, then rougher when you don't wake.

"Y/N," He hisses, kicking at your foot beneath the table, "Hotch is back."

Your boss's name inspires terror in you that can only be achieved at the threat of unemployment. It compels you to snatch a journal off of Spencer's pile, flipping it open to a random page just as Aaron strides through the door.

"What have you found?" Hotch looks at you expectantly, and you let Spencer fill his role as Team Rambler with gratitude swirling in your chest.

When he's filled Hotch in on all the nitty-gritty scrawled into the unsub's journals, the older man nods.

"I'll have Garcia check for any notable poppy fields." He informs you, already reaching for his cell, "And keep looking for regional dialect in there, you two, that'll help."

You nod obediently, and Aaron is gone.

Spencer's much more intrigued by his task than you are, so he doesn't notice you leaning closer to him, already engrossed in the journal once more.

"Thanks, Spence." You gush, pressing your soft, puckered lips to Spencer's cheek in a kiss that shoots fire down his spine, "I'm gonna go get some coffee, want some?"

His eyes go wide, and he hasn't had any time to process your kiss, my god, your kiss! until you're already standing, lingering by the door waiting for his order.

"Uh, no," Spencer shakes his head, then, "Or- yes! Please, um, lots of sugar. Please."

"Extra sweet," You promise, and Spencer wonders if you meant to describe yourself, "Got it, pretty boy."

As it turns out, the nickname makes him blush a lot more when it comes from your mouth and not Morgan's.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one-shot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid hc #spencer reid hcs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid dialogue #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fanfiction

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morallyinept · 18 days

Text

Homage - A Javi Gutierrez x Blind F!Reader One Shot

Written as part of my B O D I E S Series 🤎

BODIES MASTERLIST

Summary: A collision in a coffee shop with an enigmatic man sparks an exhilarating romantic encounter.

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x Blind F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity, Reader does have hair. Reader is completely blind. Reader speaks & understands Spanish.)

Word Count: 6.7k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Triggers & Warnings: Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/oral F receiving/fingering/lots of kisses/Reader is completely blind and uses a cane and guide dog/I've tried to write this story without describing Javi's expressions etc... because Reader would not see them, but there is a little bit of Javi POV/Javi falls hard for you/lots of slushy, soft romance/mentions of Nicholas Cage

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: It's important to me that all types of readers are represented in my work, therefore this collection of stories is written for readers with REAL bodies. However, anyone can enjoy them. Whilst this story may not specifically represent your own personal journey, it is my hope that it resonates and offers comfort and enjoyment. The condition/disability mentioned in this story is not 'one size fits all' - everyone's journey is personal and unique, and I have undertaken as much research as I can to write accurately and respectfully. 🤎

MAIN MASTERLIST | JAVI GUTIERREZ MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

In the bustling coffee shop, the air is filled with familiar, enticing aromas that dance on your senses.

The rich, earthy scent of freshly ground coffee beans mingle with the sweet scents of caramelised sugar, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere around you.

Notes of toasted bread and buttery croissants waft from the bakery counter, tempting patrons with their comforting fragrance. Amidst the sweet haze, hints of cinnamon and nutmeg linger, adding a touch of spice to the air.

You can hear the air humming with a melodic symphony of sounds, creating a vibrant backdrop for conversation and camaraderie that surrounds you. The rhythmic whirring of coffee machines echo throughout the space, accompanied by the gentle chinking of cups and saucers as baristas expertly craft each beverage with care.

Amidst the chatter of patrons and the occasional burst of laughter, the soothing melodies of soft music plays in the background, adding to the ambiance.

It’s a song you know and you hum along to it as you patiently wait your turn.

Amidst the hustle and bustle of the coffee shop, the sounds of steaming milk and frothing foam mingling with the hiss of espresso machines, envelops you in a comforting and familiar embrace. It’s a weekly treat coming here after a busy week of work.

You feel Nicolas’ tail pad against your leg and you reach to pat his head, scritching behind his ear that you know he loves.

“Almost there, Nicolas.” You reassure your canine friend, who is also your trusty pair of eyes.

You clutch onto your cane and wait patiently in the line pondering in your mind what takes your fancy today.

Nicolas guides you through the bustling queue of the quaint coffee shop until you’re at the front and place your order with Juan, who greets you personally and asks how you are. You always like the sound of his voice, he always sounds so peppy.

As you patiently wait for your coffee to be made, recognizing the familiar voices and chatter of the other baristas, a sudden collision startles you.

"Dios, mio! I am so sorry!" (Oh God!) A male voice exclaims, laden thick with embarrassment.

You chuckle softly, your fingers searching for your cane that's no longer in your grip, but the band around your wrist guides you to it dangling within reach.

“No harm done,” you say with a warm smile. Collisions happen on the regular in your world.

But the man continues to ramble. “I am so blind, I should look where I am going. ¡Ay no, mi camisa. Está arruinada. Probablemente el café no salga con el lavado, and... Oh, shit.’ (Oh no, my shirt. It is ruined. The coffee probably won’t wash out.)

The man's tone shifts, realising his mistake. "Oh. I didn't mean to... I-I didn't realise you can’t… Oh, and now I feel terrible for making such a ridiculous comment about my ridiculous shirt."

“I'm sure your shirt is okay.”

“No, it really is ridiculous, even without the coffee stain.” He chuckles. “Are you okay, you didn't get splashed with hot coffee, did you?”

You smile into the direction of his worrisome sing-song voice. “No, I’m fine. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I…” You hear him sigh “if you could see what I look like now, it would make you really laugh.”

You smile, your curiosity piqued by the nervous energy radiating from him. "Well, you certainly sound cute when you're flustered."

You hear him fumbling for words. "Thank you... I-I... oh, wow."

“Let me buy you a new coffee.” You offer.

“Oh no, let me buy you one. I bumped into you, it is the least I can do for my clumsiness. Please, I insist.”

You accept graciously. “Thank you, that’s kind.”

“Not at all. What would you like?”

The man orders your coffee with Juan, and his again, and introduces himself whilst you both wait.

“I am Javi.” His Spanish accent colours his words.

You reach out for his hand and it’s soon filled with a soft, emanating warmth. His hand feels big and his grip gentle. You tell him your name in return amd he sighs enthusiastically.

“And who is this handsome fellow?”

“This is Nicolas.” You say, stoking behind the canine’s ear.

"Oh, I love your dog's name! Did you name him after Nicholas Cage?"

“No.”

“Oh, I love Mr Cage. I am a big fan.”

“Me too.”

Javi chuckles nervously, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, not that you can see it, but you can sense it in his smile and the way he titters nervously. You've conjured up an image in your mind of him wringing his hands eccentrically, and it makes you smile.

“Uh, would you like to sit and drink your coffee with me?” He asks.

Your face lights up with a smile as you nod in agreement. "That sounds lovely, Javi," your voice tinged with excitement. “Lead the way.”

“Would you like to take my arm? My hands are full of coffee cups.”

“I can follow your voice if the route is clear, and Nicolas can do the rest.” You explain with a smile.

“Okay, great… Shit,” you hear him mutter followed by the sound of something scraping against the floor.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I just… Uh, the chair. I did not see it. I promise I'm usually more coordinated," he replies sheepishly.

Your laughter rings out melodiously. "Oh, I'm sure you are. It's just my luck to encounter the exception," you tease, following the gentle pull from Nicolas carefully.

Javi grins, relieved by your lighthearted demeanour. "Consider it a unique skill of mine, I was hit by a car once." He quips, his accent adding charm to his words.

“Gosh, that sounds awful!”

“I was fine. We are here, right in front of you. Can I help?”

"I got it." You reach out for the table edge as your fingers glide across it and you slide into the chair. "You're quite the character, Javi," you remark, taking a sip of your coffee.

Javi chuckles nervously. "I guess I am. But you know what they say, it takes one to know one," he replies with a mischievous sound in his tone.

You raise an eyebrow, feigning offence. "Are you insinuating that I'm clumsy too?" You tease, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

“Of course not! You're the epitome of grace and elegance," he replies with exaggerated sincerity, earning another giggle from you.

“Well, you're wrong, I fall over a lot, mostly over this.” You say, tapping your cane against the table. “Nicolas keeps me upright most of the time.”

“Then he is doing a very good job.”

As you drink your coffee, Javi can't contain his excitement as he begins to recount his favourite Nicholas Cage films.

"You know, Nicholas Cage is a cinematic legend. Have you ever watched Con Air?" Javi asks eagerly.

You smile, shaking your head. "I haven't. Tell me about it."

Javi rambles with enthusiasm as he dives into an animated description of the action-packed film.

"It's a rollercoaster of adrenaline! Picture Nicholas Cage as Cameron Poe, a former Army Ranger who finds himself on a prison transport plane filled with the worst criminals imaginable."

You listen intently, captivated by Javi’s passion for the movie. "Wow, that sounds intense."

Javi murmurs in agreement around a slurpy sip of his coffee enthusiastically.

"Absolutely! He can seamlessly transition from action-packed roles to more nuanced characters. Take Leaving Las Vegas, for example. It's a poignant drama where he plays a suicidal alcoholic. His performance is truly mesmerising."

“Have you ever met him? You sound like quite the fan.”

“Yes. He came to my birthday party last year. I turned forty.”

“Really? That’s amazing!”

"Yes, it was. We had a good time together. I just realised... I've been talking about these movies as if you've seen them, but..." Javi's voice trails off, his worry palpable. He hesitates, unsure of how to proceed. "I... I didn't consider that you might not be able to see the films," he admits, sheepishly. "I'm sorry if I made assumptions."

You smile warmly, reaching out to gently squeeze Javi's hand and find his wrist instead.

"It's okay, Javi. I appreciate your honesty. I may not be able to watch them in the traditional sense, but I can still listen to them. Audio descriptions allow me to enjoy the stories, just like everyone else. And, I absolutely love movies."

Javi’s sighs with relief, his worry dissipating as he breathes out. "That's fantastic! I'm so glad to hear that," he exclaims, his enthusiasm returning.

"Yes, it's pretty cool how technology has made entertainment more accessible for people like me. So, feel free to keep sharing your favourite movies with me, okay?"

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

“How am I blind?” You pre-empt.

“Yes. But only if you are comfortable in telling me.”

“I had Meningitis when I was a child. It attacked my optic nerves and I lost my sight.” You simply say.

“I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay, it could’ve been much worse. I’ve adapted and I have a really good life. Nicolas gives me a lot of independence.”

“Were you very young?” Javi asks.

“Yes, I could see and I remember things. I remember what my parents looked like, and the sun. I loved watching the sun set. I think that is what I miss the most.”

There is a reflective pause between you before Javi speaks again.

“I think you are very brave, and very beautiful. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be very forward.”

“It’s okay, I quite like it.” You smile, as you drink more of your coffee.

Your conversation about movies continues, and Javi offers a pastry and more coffee, to which you accept as you spend a couple of hours together in the coffee shop talking and laughing.

Summoning his courage, he asks you a question with a hopeful tone.

"Would you like to watch a movie... with me?" Javi asks, his voice tinged with excitement.

Your face lights up with surprise and delight. "Are you asking me on a date?”

“Yes, I mean… shit. Yes, if you would like to, perhaps this evening? You might have plans and that is okay, but I am enjoying talking to you and would like to get to know you some more.”

“That sounds wonderful, Javi," you reply, your smile growing wider.

Javi beams in response through a giddy chuckle, relieved by your positive response.

"Great! We can choose a movie that has audio descriptions,” he suggests eagerly. “I have a home cinema, if you feel comfortable coming back to my place?”

“I do. Besides, Nicolas would tell me if you had bad vibes.”

“Animals always know.” Javi agrees. “I like him.”

You nod enthusiastically. "Nicolas loves movie nights just as much as I do," you say, patting your guide dog affectionately.

“I have a few errands to run in town first, but if you like, I could pick you up later?”

“I’d like that.” You nod.

He explains he has a villa on the coast, which is a short drive from town, and you're familiar with most of the landscape except the coastline, so you're touched when he tells you to put his address in your phone and text someone you know for reassurance.

He also gives you his number and is fascinated when he sees you navigating your phone with confidence using a talkback app.

“This is marvellous!” He says as you explain how it works as the little computerised voice talks back to you. “Can I drive you home?” Javi offers after you both finish up your coffee.

“No, that’s okay, I have errands to run too,” you smile.

Javi holds the door open for you and Nicolas, and outside the fresh air and warmth of the summer feels good on your skin.

“Well, I shall see you later this evening, mi sol.” (My sun)

Smiling, you feel him squeeze your hand affectionately. “I look forward to it, Javi.”

“See you, Nicolas.” He says, and you hear him walk away, leaving you with the biggest smile chiselled on your face.

Using your fingertips, you dab on a slick of lip balm, and spritz a final spray of your favourite perfume, inhaling the delicate notes with a smile, when Nicolas barks softly as a car pulls up.

Opening the door, you can hear Javi greet you on the other side.

“Oh, wow…” He says. “It is possible you look even more beautiful than when I saw you earlier today. You are glowing, just like the sun...”

“Thank you, Javi.” You say, feeling your cheeks warm.

You fetch your purse and step out with Nicolas in tow, with your cane looped around your wrist.

“Would you like to take my arm? My car is parked a little way down the road.” Javi offers, and you smile linking around him, Nicolas padding along on the other side, and your cane out in front.

You hear him greet passers by in Spanish, in between talking with you, and it warms you that he’s not averse to being seen with you as he pats your hand with his around his muscular arm, and makes a note to warn you when an uneven payment or dip is approaching.

And you can only smile at his rapt attention to you and your surroundings.

Most strangers you encounter are indifferent or ignorant to the limitations of your world, more often than not getting annoyed at you when they’re the ones who bump into you to begin with. But Javi seemingly embraces the challenge naturally, adapting effortlessly as you walk along and talk animatedly with him, his laughter infectious.

As you walk throughout the world, you rely on your other senses to guide you, and Nicolas or GPS apps on your phone always help. The sounds of traffic and the chatter of pedestrians provide valuable cues about your surroundings, helping you to navigate the busy thoroughfare with confidence.

With each step, your cane will sweep the ground in front of you, detecting obstacles and uneven surfaces. Remembering routes, using auditory cues that took years to move around the town confidently by yourself.

But when you can take someone’s arm, like Javi’s, that load is shared and you can relax a little more into the trust that he’ll lead the way for you safely, without letting you trip and tumble or get lost.

The car journey is pleasant; he has a convertible and you can feel the warm wind in your hair, and smell the salt from the coast. You both listen to gentle jazz music as he drives and describes the sights to you.

Inside the villa, he tells you where most things are situated, and you explain to him that it will take time for you to remember a new space. He tells you to let him know if you need the bathroom or anything at all, and he can happily show you the way.

He leaves you on a comfy, velvety feeling sofa that you sink into, as he fetches a bottle of wine and some glasses. Placing it in your hand, you sip from the cool crispness of the dry Vermentino, as he explains his home movie collection to you.

After deciding on Con Air - purely from Javi’s energetic description of it in the coffee shop - you feel him settle in beside you, a dip in the cushions, as his shoulder brushes against yours.

You can’t see it, but Javi can't shake off the nervous excitement coursing through him, but you can certainly sense some of that energy as it bleeds into your skin.

With a gentle nudge, he casually drapes his arm around your shoulders, trying to appear cool and composed despite the butterflies in his stomach.

You hear the clicking of his mouth as he smiles when you lean into the comforting warmth of his touch, a contented smile playing on your lips too as the movie begins to play.

You can sense Javi's nerves, but his presence feels reassuring and comforting.

And he smells really good, like fresh mandarin, vetiver and a faint blend of coffee beans. Each inhale of his scent at this close proximity makes your mouth water.

As the movie plays on, Javi's attempt to be cool is palpable, but his nerves are betraying him. You can't help but notice his subtle fidgeting against you and the way his breath catches every now and then.

With a playful smirk, you whisper teasingly, "nervous, Javi?"

Javi’s stutters, caught off guard by your observation. "Me? Nervous? No way," he replies, attempting to maintain his composure.

Javi tries to focus on the movie, but his mind keeps drifting back to the warmth of your presence beside him. As he steals a glance at you, he catches you smiling softly, lost in the magic of the film's audio descriptions as you listen intently.

“Is this okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“Yes. It’s perfect.” You say, listening to the audio and the sounds of explosions and gunfire from the screen.

A little while later into the movie and summoning his courage, Javi leans in a little closer, his heart pounding in his chest. "I hope you're enjoying the movie, mi sol," he whispers, his voice barely above a murmur.

“I am. I can hear that you are.” You say. “I can hear you smiling. I’d love to see it.”

“Shall I tell you what I look like?”

“Actually, I have a way of seeing what you look like.”

“How?”

“May I?” You ask, raising your hands and turning to him.

Javi's heart skips a beat at your request, but he agrees, his own curiosity piqued. “Yes, of course.”

“Can you guide my hands to your face? I don't want to poke you in the eye,” you giggle.

Chuckling, he takes them and places your palms onto his cheeks and they feel soft and prickly at the same time.

“You have facial hair,” you smile in wonderment.

“Yes. It is short, how I like it. Too much and I look like a crazy scientist.”

Your fingertips begin to trace the contours of Javi's face, delicately mapping the features you can't physically see. You feel the warmth of his skin, the curve of his cheekbones, and the soft, silken stubble of his jawline beneath your touch.

With each gentle caress, you paint a mental portrait of the man before you, capturing the essence of his presence in your mind's eye. And he's a sight to behold.

Javi holds his breath, feeling a rush of vulnerability and intimacy as you tenderly explore his face. He allows you to touch and feel without reservation.

He watches you as you concentrate and smile, your eyes pulled just over his shoulder as you explore.

As your fingers trace the contours of Javi’s face, you start to comment on what else you can feel.

"You have a strong jawline," you observe softly. "And your cheeks... they feel warm, like you're smiling."

Javi’s breath catches in his throat at your words, a warmth spreading through him at your gentle touch. "That's because I am," he admits, the smile evident in his voice.

Your fingers continue their exploration, lingering on Javi’s features with a gentle curiosity. "And your nose... it's curved and proud," you remark, your touch light and reverent.

Javier chuckles softly, the sound tinged with affection. "Well, thank you for the compliment, but I have a big nose and a big head," he replies, his heart swelling with gratitude for your openness and acceptance.

You work your hands over his prominent eyebrows and into his hairline, feeling silken curls cascade down either side of his face as you weave them through your fingers like ribbons.

“What colour is your hair?” You ask.

“Brown, like chocolate.”

“I imagined it to be brown. I like chocolate.” You smile, sweeping your fingers to the centre of his face and your tips skim over a fuzzy, well-groomed moustache and glide across his lips.

They feel plush and full. You feel him breathing against them, warm and a little moist.

Then you feel him pucker and kiss them gently. He immediately apologises when you drop your hands into your lap.

“I am sorry. I-I don’t know what came over me.” He flusters.

“It’s okay, Javi, really-”

“Are you sure? I-I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“No, I mean, I would've preferred it if you’d kissed my lips instead.” You say, smiling.

“You would?”

“Yes.” You nod.

“Oh. Then, I can kiss you?”

“Yes.”

You feel him get closer, like a shadow encasing your face, and you feel his own hands cup your cheeks; his breath felt on your lips as he gently presses his mouth to yours.

You moan into his mouth as he kisses you delicately, lips parting around him as he smooches gently, and you dare yourself to dip your tongue inside to fully taste him.

And it immediately makes him whimper, the sound traversing your spine and into your core - prickles bursting all over your scalp, tingling.

He strokes the skin under your eye with his thumb and you feel him shuffle closer. Your hands feel across the expanse of his shoulders that feel broad and thick, and sweep up his neck into the bundle of small curls at the back of his nape.

Your body feels like it's fizzing; your mind perfectly silent as you lose yourself in the feel of his kiss.

His tongue gently swirls against yours and you can feel the fuzz of his facial hair tickle against your chin and lip.

His kiss dazzles you, leaving you breathless and wanting.

“That was really nice,” you say, your breath still tangled in your throat as you part.

“Really nice.” Javi agrees. “I should stop before I get carried away.”

“Me too.” You chuckle, but you pull him closer for another, lingering kiss, enamoured by the way he tastes and explores your mouth.

“I would really like to see you again, another date, perhaps some dinner?” Javi asks, he peppers your cheeks with a slew of little kisses.

“I’d really like that.”

“Perfect,” he smiles. “Oh, let’s rewind the film. We have missed the best part.”

He pulls you gently into his arms as you both settle in to enjoy the remainder of the film, Nicolas laying at both your feet snoozing gently.

Javi is the perfect gentleman, driving you home after the film, and kissing you again on your doorstep, leaving you to go to bed that night with the biggest smile on your face, so much so that your jaw aches.

Your dates with Javi go well and increase in frequency.

You spend a lot of time with him, his warm hand secured in yours as you go wine tasting together, and he watches you sip at the different fruity wines and comment on which ones you like best.

He cuddles up with you, watching more films together as you snuggle into his muscular arms and share more heated kisses.

He takes you back to the coffee shop and buys you breakfast. He dotes on Nicolas and plays with him, whilst you listen to the sound of Nicolas grunting as Javi rubs his belly.

He’s the perfect fit for you with how gracious and attentive he is. He’s always asking questions too, learning eagerly about how you navigate the world; his curiosity welcomed and encouraged as he asks things that surprise you and make you smile at his thoughtfulness.

He finds it all genuinely fascinating and you don’t feel like you’re invisible when you're with him.

Then comes the day when Javi asks you if you’d like to stay over after proposing to cook dinner for you, and you agree that you’d love to, despite the nerves surfacing.

It’s been a long time since you shared a bed with anyone, and even though the excitement of being in his arms floods through your veins, a little trepidation also surfaces.

Javi arrives to pick you up at your homey little apartment in town, Nicolas is left with a friend for the evening off, and Javi carries your overnight bag into his convertible.

He holds your hand and opens the passenger side door for you, letting you sit comfortably.

You can't ignore the growing sensation blossoming between you both, Javi had been sudden, like the weather. A ray of warm sunshine falling into your lap, quite literally it seems.

With every shared laugh, every gentle touch, you feel that warmth spreading in your chest, igniting a spark that dances in the air whenever you’re together and it emanates and glows brighter each time.

It’s a feeling you can't quite put into words, a subtle yet undeniable connection that tugs at your heartstrings and leaves you breathless at his enigmatic and infectious energy. It’s as if something magical is unfolding between you, a budding romance that defies explanation, but feels undeniably real.

In Javi's presence, you feel alive in a way you haven't before, as if you’re able to see the world through his eyes. His laughter is music to your ears, his touch sends shivers down your spine. He imbues you with a certain confidence you’ve never possessed before.

He makes you bold, and daring, as you stand on the precipice of the cliff with him, his hand tightly wound around yours.

“Are you ready, querida?” Javi asks, as you feel the setting Mallorcan sun streaming on your skin.

“Yes,” you laugh, giddily.

He explains that below the cliff there is the ocean water, and you’ll be safe and far enough away from the rocks. He’ll hold your hand tightly as you both jump.

“Oh my God, we’re really going to do this!” You squeal as he tells you to step back a few paces with him.

His hands guide your waist as you step backwards and you feel it lingering there and burning, long after he lets go and takes your hand again.

“On three, we run forward together!”

You can hear the wild excitement in his voice as your heart hammers in your chest, steeling yourself for the exhilarating plunge ahead.

The wind whips around you, carrying the salty scent of the ocean and the distant cry of seagulls on its breezy tendrils.

“Oh fuck!” You tremble with a manic laughter pouring out of you.

“Ready? Uno. Dos-”

“Javi!” You giggle. feeling a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“Tres!”

He runs with you, hand tight in yours, and yells at you to leap at the exact moment - and you do, feeling yourself fly through the air off the cliff edge as it disappears from under your feet.

The rush of air engulfs you as you descend, sending you hurtling towards the water below. For a brief moment, time seems to stand still as you plummet through the air, heart pounding as you brace yourself for the eventual impact of diving into the water.

Then, with a splash, you break through the calm ocean; the shock of the cold momentarily taking your breath away.

As you surface, laughter bubbles up from deep within you, mingling with the sound of gentle waves and Javi’s rambunctious laughter echoing off the rocky cliffs.

“Javi, dios mio! You do this for fun?!” You exclaim as you cough; salty water washing around your mouth.

“Si, it is exhilarating, no?”

“Oh, can we do it again?” You nod excitedly. “Shit, that was amazing!”

“You crave more!” He chuckles loudly. "You crazy woman! I love it!"

You feel his arms around you in the water, drawing you near as his lips graze over yours. He kisses you as you wrap your legs around his waist to stay buoyant.

“You’re crazy. ¡Estás completamente loco.” (You’re completely crazy) You say, smiling and still buzzing with him guiding you through the exhilarating adventure, and reminding you that with him by your side, you’re capable of doing anything at all.

“Crazy for you, mi sol.” Javi says, with wet, salty lips pressed against yours.

Together, you swim to the shore; the adrenaline still making your body shake as you bask in the euphoria of your daring feat.

After drying off back at the villa, you sit with him on the terrace and enjoy a gorgeous cooked meal of Bacalao a la Vizcaína, or Basque-style Cod.

You sniff your fork and take a tentative bite, savouring the rich flavours of the tender fish and tangy tomato sauce, closing your eyes, relishing the taste of the dish as it dances on your taste buds.

"What do you think?" Javi asks, his voice filled with hope.

You nod enthusiastically. "It's delicious, Javi. The flavours are incredible!"

"I'm glad you like it," he replies, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

You sip on more delicious wine from the bottles he’d brought in abundance from your wine tasting date. As you talk and laugh and hold hands, eventually it gets later in the evening, and Javi suggests going up to bed together.

You can sense some hesitation in his voice though.

“Javi, take me to bed.” You say to him, stroking his face.

“I am not expecting anything.” He says as he kisses your knuckles.

“I am.” You say and he titters. “I want you.”

You kiss his cheek and his hands slip around your waist.

“Te deseo más que nada,” (I want you more than anything) Javi says, his breath warm on your face. “Come, this way.”

He guides you up the stairs slowly, letting your hand touch the wall and your feet stepping carefully up. He lets you know when you’ve reached the top.

You round a corner with him and he opens a door. It smells of him in there, his familiar cologne tickling your nose and beckoning you in as you enter.

He walks you towards the bed and you sit on it, feeling it plush and springy under your weight. You feel it dip beside you as he sits.

“Are you nervous, Javi?” You question with a soft smile.

“A little. I-I want to please you.” He says.

“I’ve no doubt you will.” You reach for his face, grazing your fingers against his silky cheek as he kisses you.

“I must confess, it has been a little while,” he says carefully.

“Me too.”

“Oh, that makes me feel a little better,” he chuckles.

“Quítame la ropa, Javi." (Take my clothes off, Javi) You whisper to him.

You feel his fingers undo the buttons on your shirt and he slides it off over your shoulders, kissing over them gently. You can feel his hair brush against your skin making you shiver.

He lays you back and removes your jeans until you're in just your underwear.

“Beautiful,” he says.

“Let me take yours off.”

He guides your hand to the buttons of his own shirt and you undo them, stopping to stroke at the smooth skin and leaning forward to kiss at his neck.

His hands weave inside your hair as you kiss down his throat and onto his chest. He lays back as you reach his slacks, hovering over the button.

“Please, querida.” He whines as you unbutton it and slip them down his waist.

“Javi, are you not wearing any underwear?” You giggle as you feel nothing but smooth, warm skin under your fingers as you move up and down his hips.

He chuckles. “Sometimes I like to go without. It is very freeing.”

Laughing you run your hands into his thighs, feeling the soft, downy hairs there become more plentiful and a little coarse.

Soon your fingers reach his cock, hard and thick as you glide over the smooth curve of its swell resting up against his belly. You feel it pulse and twitch under your fingers.

You can feel the wetness at the head, slick and sticky, as you slide your thumb over it, and he hisses.

“You feel big…” You say as you pump gently, listening to the sounds of his breaths catch in his throat.

“It is average, I think.” He gasps. "Mmm, that feels so good."

“You feel amazing.”

You feel his hands unclip your bra and then caress your breasts, massaging gently as you whine at the feel of his pads trailing across your nipples.

His lips find their way into your neck as he kisses and gasps whilst you touch him.

He lays you back and you feel him remove your panties, the silk of them sliding down your legs.

“Mira tú, eres tan hermosa” (Look at you, you are so beautiful) Javi whispers. You gasp as you feel his breath warm your thighs.

You reach for him, hands gliding over his shoulders and he runs his nose across your stomach.

“Can I taste you, querida?”

“Yes, please…” You groan, feeling your body tingle in anticipation as his breath draws closer to your hot, pulsing centre.

“Javi!” You gasp, as you feel his tongue sink into your folds.

Warm and wet, you feel him explore and trail his tongue through your slick, groaning in delight as he breathes and hums at the taste of you.

“Deliciosa…” he sighs. (Delicious)

You feel his tongue flick across your clit, back and forth as he works you up; your thighs twitching around his face as your fingers tussle inside his hair, surrendering yourself to the dreamy, floaty feeling that envelops you.

He sucks on your clit a little harder, and you feel his fingers sliding through your folds. You moan out when you feel them penetrate you, spreading you open around them as he slides them in and out.

“Mmm, Javi, you’re so good at that…” You whine as he laps at that sticky seam between your thighs, nose snuffling against your mound.

“Feel good, mi sol?”

“So good.”

You feel a warmth spreading through your body, like a gentle embrace from the sun you remember as a child.

It radiates from within, filling you with a sense of peace and serenity that washes over you like a swelling tide as he laps and kisses at your sopping cunt.

His tongue flicks over your clit again; your body jolts, the stream of pleasure flooding bright light through your limbs.

“Por favor, no pares Javi, se siente tan bien…” (Please don’t stop, Javi, it feels so good.)

You feel his breaths increase around you as he licks and sucks harder, his fingers diving deep and stroking against that fleshy spot inside, bringing you to your knees as you cry out for him.

Your body shakes, your spine arches off the bed as you come; his name falling from your mouth around incoherent expletives as he continues to stroke and lick you through it.

Feeling weightless, you’re floating on a cloud, carried away by the currents of the wind until you come back again, panting and breathless for more.

Javi crawls up your body, planting kisses as he goes, until he reaches your mouth. You groan when you can taste yourself on his lips; feel the wetness of his chin graze against yours.

“You taste really good,” Javi whispers with a smile laced around his teeth.

You giggle nuzzling into him as you feel his length brush against your thigh.

Your hands trail down his body, feeling every inch of warmth from his smooth skin; infatuated at how he shudders as your fingers glide down his spine, and you fondle over his pert ass, listening as he grunts when you squeeze it.

You reach for his hard cock between you, feeling him twitch and throb inside your hand as you stroke him; eliciting strained groans from the back of his throat around his generous kisses.

“Your cock feels so hard,” you smile as you run it up and down inside your grip, your fingers on your other hand cupping around the tight swell of his balls.

“Mmm, so hard for you, mi sol. Fuck, that feels so good.”

“You like that?”

“Yes. Very much.” You can hear him grin.

You just listen to his pants as you pump him, how his voice is strangled in the back of his throat to the point he’s almost whimpering.

He sounds so good that you could just come again listening to him as you clench continuously.

Soon his hand stops you as you increase the tempo.

“I am sorry, but if you keep doing this, I will come. And I don’t want to leave you unsatisfied just yet. It might change how you feel about me.”

“Nothing could change how I feel about you, Javi. I really like you, a lot.”

“Good. I really like you a lot, too. And I am not a selfish lover.”

You guide him towards you, feeling him prod gently at your slick entrance as you both groan. He teases his head in your folds, running it up and down and feeling how you tigthen and squeeze, just barely over the thick crown of him.

“I want you inside me, Javi.” You breathe.

“Si, I want you too, mi sol. I have thought of this moment.”

He sucks gently on your bottom lip as he pushes his hips forward and slides into you.

You clasp onto him gasping, it feels incredible; him slowly opening you up as he pants into your face, telling you how beautiful you are in a mixture of English and Spanish pelts.

“Oh shit… mi sol…” He whines as he works his hips, thrusting in and out slowly and you can hear how wet you are around him as it squelches with every movement.

You wrap your hands around his neck, as he buries his face into yours. His hips thrusting a little faster as he builds you up.

"You have such a gorgeous pussy for me," Javi whines into your shoulder. "Oh... wow. Feels so good."

"You feel amazing, don't stop," you groan.

He sucks your nipple into his mouth as you wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him closer.

His hips begin snapping harder into yours as he watches your breaths catch at the back of your throat with each shunt into you.

Holding onto your hands as he slides his cock in and out of you; his hips doing all the work as your fingers interlock in midair.

He leaves you suspended in a growing bliss that will neither drop you unexpectedly, or force you to confront your finish with a speedy resolution leaving you unsatisfied. Building you up slowly, listening to your moans and pants and feeling your body clench and buck around him when he hits the right spots.

He edges you with his cock, slowing down when he can feel you drawing near to that peak, and your face contorting in pleasure as he lets you skirt the edges of your orgasm, around and around on the precarious ledge.

Then, his hips will snap harder again pulling you to the edge of that cliff once more when it settles, and feeling you claw into his back gasping and whining for more as you start to shake around his cock.

“Javi!” You groan, your skin damp with sweat and you feel his hand on your face, thumb stroking around your lips as you suck it into your mouth.

“Let me have it, mi sol.” He encourages with gritted teeth as he watches you combust. “Oh, you look and sound so good when you come for me. Yes, yes… more! Take more of my cock, it is yours. All yours, mi sol...”

You can’t help but just burst and quake beneath him as he fucks you harder. Calling his name, clawing at his shoulders. Writhing and bucking and arching.

You ride him to his own finish, his hands on your waist as you rest yours on his chest and work your hips. You feel his thick length bottom out inside you as you slide down him each time. Hear the way his breaths quicken, how his body tenses under your fingertips as you gyrate and grind.

“Si, si…” He stutters as he tenses underneath you. “I am going to come. Where do you want it, mi sol?”

“Inside,” you say as you lean over him as he cradles you. “Come inside me, Javi.”

He crushes you to his chest as he thrusts upwards in a steady, hammering rhythm as he empties out with a loud grunt.

“Oh shit!” Javi whines, his hips jerking as he fills you full, and you moan softly into his neck, sucking on the clammy skin there as he shakes.

He holds you in his arms afterwards, pressed up tightly against his chest as he kisses over your head; the two of you silent save for your waning breaths.

“That was incredible,” Javi whispers, nuzzling into your neck. “You are so beautiful. So perfect… I’ve never seen beauty like it before.”

“Javi, you’re a poet.” You grin, reaching up to touch his face.

“Ah, but you like it, yes?”

You nod, smiling and completely blissed out.

“Was it good for you?” He asks gently.

“It was perfect,” you agree with a smile and running your hands through his silken, sweaty curls.

“I am glad I bumped into you in the coffee shop, querida.” He says in your ear, tip of his nose brushing your conch. “It was the best day, even though I ruined a perfectly good shirt.”

You chuckle as he pulls you closer in his arms. “Definitely the best day.” You agree.

“I am a very lucky man.”

“Yes, you are,” you smirk, and he chuckles, kissing and nuzzling into you.

“I want to do so much more with you, mi sol. More dates. More of this. I really, really like you.”

“I really, really like you, too.” You twist to kiss him and feel him smile against your lips. "I feel like... I feel like I've seen the sun rise again, with you." You whisper, feeling like you've never experienced a true happiness like this before. "Thank you, Javi."

It does indeed feel like the last ever sunset you saw. Beautiful and lasting forever inside you. It's rays permeating through your bones with every touch, every kiss. Every singular word of affection given.

"Really? Oh, wow!" He gushes as he squeezes you tight. You hear him sniff and you reach up to his face feeling a wetness under his eye.

He kisses your fingertips gently. "You are my sunshine. Mi sol... You are everything."

You wrap yourself around him as he pulls up the sheets over you both.

“Sleep, querida. In the morning I shall make you a delicious breakfast.”

“Sounds amazing. Or you could just have me for breakfast instead.” You suggest with a grin.

“Oh, mi sol. I plan to.” Javi smiles. "And for lunch and dinner..."

I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Javi, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤

BODIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

JAVI GUTIERREZ MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #javi gutierrez #javi gutierrez x reader #pedro pascal characters #javi g #javi g x reader #javi g smut #javi g fluff #tuwomt #diversity #inclusion #bodies series #jett's writing

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